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deeranger · 1 month

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Lost in the Woods

So, I made this drawing and a little imagine for the SPN Eldritch Bingo 2024 for the square "Lost in the woods".... 🙃

Word count: 1,277

Characters: Sam Winchester

Warnings: Open/ambiguous ending, implied possible mcd, creepy forest entity

The cold yellow light from the moon somewhere above is quick to bleed into almost pitch-black darkness as soon as it hits the naked canopy. The many crooked branches simply filter it out, like skinny fingers grabbing and choking out the light. Sam can barely see his own hand in front of his face, let alone where he's putting down his feet. Great. That's just great. He should've never gone on this hunt alone.

Only faint remnants of moonlight manage to weakly illuminate the ground in random spots scattered on the forest floor and on tree trunks and shrubbery. It creates an eerie sort of glow that seems to contrast the black, and Sam would probably find it fascinating if it wasn't for the fact that this place is oozing pure evil. It's like the forest is watching him, like there's something breathing right down the back of his neck. It feels... Ancient. So much so that even the oldest oak tree in this godforsaken place is no match at all for the age of whatever lives here. One thing is for sure, it is never going to let go should it get its claws into him. And a scary feeling is brewing in Sam's mind that that is exactly what's going to happen if he doesn't find his way out of here. And soon. God, he should've stayed on the trail.

A twig loudly snaps under his boot, and the young Winchester swallows down a gasp. With his pulse skyrocketing, he freezes to the spot like a statue, all senses on high alert. The forest seems to hold its breath along with him, waiting... And watching. The feeling of being observed is intense, and Sam suddenly feels like a newborn gazelle circled by a hungry pack of lions, all alone and vulnerable in the middle of the goddamn savanna. He's a friggin' sitting duck and he knows it. And whatever is out there knows it too... And it's getting closer. He can feel it. Shit.

The hunter's fingers that clutch the Taurus have turned slick with sweat now even though the forest is chilly. And suddenly, he's seriously doubting if the silver bullets in the gun's chamber will help him at all. Probably not. Same goes for the flask of holy water in his pocket. And for some reason he's pretty sure that spewing out an exorcism won't work either.... Not out here, not on this thing. No, this time he's in way over his head and every weapon he brought is pretty much as useful as a chocolate teapot.

Cursing himself internally, Sam strains to pick up on whatever is lurking in the shadows... But all he gets is darkness, silent as the grave. It's like he's being watched from all sides, like danger is somehow everywhere around him now, pitch-black and one with the shadows clinging to every surface. It's omnipresent, a looming threat ready to pounce at him from any angle. He needs to turn back, needs to get the hell out of here now if he's going to stand a chance at getting out alive. But how? It's all around him and he lost his bearings a long time ago. He isn't even sure which direction to move in and by now he's not sure if it matters either. He's surrounded.

"What are you?" he hears himself ask into the chilly forest air. It comes out shakier than he'd like, and a gray mist hangs in the air from his breath until it evaporates and disappears, fleeting like a ghost. But the forest doesn't answer. Instead it offers more silence, heavy and ominous, and the darkness seems to somehow grow blacker yet, choking out the last bit of moonlight.

"What do you want??" Sam tries, automatically backing up when the night expands and creeps closer, black and tar-like and threatening. It's everywhere. The metallic taste of adrenaline spreads in his mouth, and his heart hammers against his breast bone with such frantic speed that he's uncertain if he might be passing out. He can't see anything. The blackness has reached him now, thick and evil and almost pulsing with something too ancient to even name. It's clinging to him, like a terrifying second skin, alien and predatory and freezing.

"No—"

It feels like he's breathing icewater all of a sudden, like his lungs are freezing over, blooming ice crystals gnawing at his insides and lodging themselves in every tiny blood vessel. It's like he's literally getting smothered from the inside, chest too heavy to even heave properly despite his efforts. God, he's never felt a cold like this before. This is… This is it, isn't it? Instinctively, he knows he doesn't have long, maybe just a minute or two before it's too late. Before he's absorbed into whatever it is that's pouring into him, devouring him. Killing him.

"D-Don't—" he chokes, and panicked he tries to force his eyes to see anything but blackness, to identify what it is that is now lifting him off the ground. He expects to see the crooked branches overhead, like bony fingers of an old crone reaching for him on a backdrop of pale moonlight, but he sees nothing. Nothing except a sea of black, a void, endless and hungry and absolutely diabolical.

As he feels life draining from him, his mind frantically spins and races in one big jumbled-up mess. His life flashes before his eyes, pictures of his childhood, of countless dingy motel rooms, faces of monsters that are no more and of those that got away, of everything that matters and doesn't, of all the things he still wants to do, what he needs to do... And like a red thread in all of it is his big brother's face. Dean. He can't leave Dean. Not like this, and... And not yet. He's not ready, the world isn't ready. But most importantly.... Dean is not ready. It's way too soon, his big brother will not be able to cope with losing him like this so soon after what happened at Cold Oak, after Sam left him the first time. No, he'll spiral in no time, Sam is certain of it. Or he might make an even nastier deal of some sort in his efforts to bring him back… And Sam can't let him do that, can't let him lose himself like that again. But what can he do to prevent it, really? Hell, not even Castiel can heal the kind of hurt Dean is going to feel no matter how hard he tries. Oh… Wait. He forgot. That could be his last chance, the very last straw to grasp at. He's not sure if he can even get his vocal cords to move, but he has to try, has to focus despite the solid cold that has settled deep in every bone. But he's listened before.... Maybe he will listen again? Just once? He has to. He has to.

With the last bit of air left in his lungs, Sam prays to the night sky he knows is somewhere up above him, obscured by ragged branches and blackness. It takes all of his might, and in the chilly forest air he calls out for the angel, voice thin and cracking. He feels the darkness around him angrily pulse in response and it constricts, wraps around his body like a snake, coiling and deadly silent. There's no room to breathe anymore. There's no room at all, and Sam falls as silent as the forest around him, blind and paralyzed... And waiting. Waiting for the flutter of wings or footsteps to approach. Just waiting. Hoping.

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