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“You’ve really done it now, Dean,” Sam shouted, racing through the woods, dodging trees and gnarled roots under his feat. He cast a quick glance over his shoulder and heard the screech of the weeping widow behind him, a ghost that had been targeted anyone that came near the burial site of her children, which just so happened to be in one of the best hunting spots in the small Delaware town.
Beside him, Dean struggled to keep up, dodging a patch of thorn bushes at the last moment to bring himself closer to Sam’s side.
“How was I supposed to know she had more than one gravesite for her children,” Dean called, sentence cut off slightly in the middle when he was forced to leap over a fallen tree.
Sam was about to open his mouth to say something when a translucent figure suddenly appeared, wearing a camouflage dress with her murder weapon of choice: a small knife made out of three spikes from a deer’s antler, which was how she killed her victims.
Sam didn’t have time to stop and jumped to the side when she swung her weapon, continuing to scream.
“Sammy!” Dean lunged for the woman, but she grasped his shoulder and sent him flying through the air, colliding harshly with a nearby oak tree. His body hit with a sickening crack, Dean falling limp on the ground, no longer moving.
Sam panted hard, gaze darting between the woman and Dean. He kept on his toes, hands clutched into fists. He had dropped his sawed off shotgun full of rock salt when he was bolting away from her about 12 meters back. This was going to have to be a battle of wills without his trusted means of at least holding her off.
The woman screamed once again, face contorted in rage. “You dare kill my children!”
“I didn’t kill your children,” Sam attempted to explain. “It was an accident what happened. Hunters mistook them for deer when they were drunk and then you killed the other three. You have to move on.”
The weeping widow surged forward and slammed into Sam, taking him to the ground.
Sam landed harshly on his back, the air momentarily knocked from his lungs. He sputtered and gasped, pulling air into his mouth without being able to force it into his lungs. Tears leapt into the corners of his eyes as he struggled, hands raised to defend himself.
The weeping widow sank onto Sam’s chests, arms stretched out so her hands could grip around his throat. Sam’s eyes widened as her nails dug in, constricting his windpipe. He sucked in a few timid breaths through his nose, but the weeping widow pressed harder until small dots of color danced in front of Sam’s vision. Pain spread through his body, masked only by the overwhelming feeling of dread. He thrashed and fought, but the woman continued her pursuit, grinning wickedly as the light began to fade from Sam’s eyes.
‘I can’t breathe,’ Sam thought urgently, chest howling in protest. ‘I can’t breathe!’
“P-Please,” Sam managed to choke out, eyes rolling back into his chest and body no longer having the energy to fight her. Numbness began to spread through his body, starting at his extremities and working their way up.
Just when Sam felt the pain start to fade into nothingness, the widow began to burn. Fire lapped at her features as she turned back to see Dean standing, holding her antler knife in the air, the tip beginning to burn and turn to ash.
Dean smirked and threw the antler on top of a pile of bones that had been dug up from a shallow grave, right under the tree Dean had been thrown against.
“How do you like that,” Dean taunted, watching the flames devour the bones and the woman. “Bitch!”
The weeping willow drew away from Sam, who was coughing and gasping now that the weight had been lifted from his throat.
She yelled once more before disappearing in a heap of fire and ash. The forest grew strangely quiet, apart from Sam rolling onto his side and coughing so harshly that he almost gagged.
“Sam!” Dean abandoned the still smoldering bones and rushed to his brothers’s side. He couched beside him, knees digging into the mud. His hand rested on Sam’s shoulder, giving it a tight squeeze. “You okay?”
Sam looked up with tears in his eyes that threatened to fall. Each breath was still wheezy through his lungs that were shocked they were actually receiving oxygen again. “I.....I-I’m fine,” he choked out, each word almost impossible to force from him.
Dean sat beside him and reached forward, examining the deep red marks on Sam’s throat. One would obviously be able to tell that it was a handprint, though the reason Sam had it would be one that people would jump to conclusions about. Dean was willing to be 100 bucks that no one would ever be able to guess the real reason.
“She got you pretty good, aye, Sam,” Dean questioned, watching his brother rub at his eyes and cough again, directing it towards the ground.
Sam shook his head. “Don’t want to talk about it,” he rasped. “Hurts to breathe.”
Alarm showed on Dean’s face. “Do you need to go to the hospital or something? Maybe do a breathing treatment?”
Sam had suffered from asthma as far back as Dean could remember. It had gotten so bad at one time that their father had to request nonsmoking rooms at motels and shower as soon as he came back from one sleazy bar or another. It had gotten better as Sam grew older, only needing his inhaler for emergencies when they were in a particularly dusty situation or also during long runs; that could also set off his asthma.
Apparently getting choked didn’t exactly help with that, which was a surprise to neither brother.
Sam thought for a moment before shaking his head. “I’m okay.” He took in another breath, this time leaving his coughing until his entire frame shook. “I just need a minute.”
Dean dipped his head in understanding. He would give Sam a million minutes if that was what he requested. Besides, Dean’s body ached too from being thrown against the tree. In fact, he wouldn’t have been surprised if he had a dislocated shoulder or a mild concussion. Adrenaline was keeping him upright and alert, and he was certain the same could be said about Sam too.
“Guess you can scratch off getting choked by a ghost from your bucket list,” Dean teased. “I mean, not everyone can say that’s happened to them.”
Sam shot Dean a sideways expression, eyes glittering in frustration. “I believe this is your fault,” he reminded. “You specifically told me all the bones were located in one place.”
“Well, the bright side is that we torched the sucker. We wouldn’t have found her weapon or her bones if we hadn’t have gotten chased this way, so......I think you may owe me.”
“Owe you?” Sam would’ve laughed if his throat and lungs would’ve allowed it. “Yeah, I owe you a punch in the stomach. That’s what I owe you!”
Dean chuckled and rose to his feet, stretching his hand down to his brother.
Sam debated for a moment before grasping Dean’s hand and allowing him to pull him up.
Sam was momentarily unsteady on his feet, needing to lean on Dean for a moment. Luckily, he was able to find his balance soon enough and shook off the rest of the pain, pleased to find that his lungs were working overtime to combat the struggle to breathe. His throat was still sore, and he guessed it would be like that for a while, but he had definitely had worse when it came to hunting. This life definitely wasn’t for the faint of heart.
“Ready to haul ass,” Dean asked, brushing off bits of dirt and grass from his jeans.
Sam shook his head. “Gotta find my shotgun first. It shouldn’t be far from here,” he explained, already taking off in the direction they had been chased.
“Seriously, Sammy?” Dean jogged over to keep up with Sam, matching him stride for stride.
Sam shook his head. “I wouldn’t have dropped it if someone hadn’t alerted the ghost we were here. I think that’s a tally in your column of ‘screwing up hunts’.”
Dean rolled his eyes and hit his non-injured shoulder against Sam’s good naturally, amusement glittering in his eyes. “How about whoever finds the shotgun gets to pick where in this hellhole we eat?”
It wasn’t exactly the best reward considering there were only two places to eat in the town until they got back to the highway: a 50’s diner or a Tropical Smoothie. Dean had adamantly refused to eat at the Tropical Smoothie, complaining that he didn’t want anything healthy. Sam hadn’t argued with him, although a smoothie had sounded good multiple times. Now, however seemed like the perfect opportunity for Sam to back at his brother for all those greasy diner meals and for the ghost choking him.
“You’re on,” Sam replied, eyes scanning the forest.
Perhaps getting choked by a ghost could still have its perks.