I'm Not Insane

Sam struggled to open his eyes. Everything was blurry and unfocused; it was as if he was looking through a sheet of frosted glass.

He blinked again, shaking his head slightly. This turned out to be a big mistake: a sickening stab of pain seared just behind his eyes. He moaned, squeezing his eyes tightly shut in an attempt to make the pain stop.

"Finally. I was just starting to get bored."

His eyes snapped open again. Despite the pain it caused, he automatically turned his head to follow the sound of the voice.

"That's it, honey. Nice and slow." The voice seemed familiar, but he couldn't still quite place it.

He forced his eyes to focus and found that he was looking at the young nurse, who was sitting in a chair a couple of feet away. What was her name? Katie… Kylie? As he glanced down at himself, he saw that he was still strapped down, unable to move anything below the neck by more than an inch. "Where am I?" he asked, surprised that it came out so coherently while his brain was still filled with thick pink fog.

"There really isn't a lot of point in telling you. You're not leaving anytime soon." She smiled, but the expression didn't reach her eyes, like cold dark marbles in the pale background of her face.

"But…" Something in his mind suddenly clicked into place. "Where's Eddie? Is my brother here?"

"You mean Dean? Because that's his real name, isn't it, Sam?"

"W-What?" He stared at her, suddenly remembering her name, not that it helped him any. Karla! That was it.

"You lied about your names. I know who you really are, and I know that everything you said to the doctor about the demons, and the apocalypse… All true. Right, Sam Winchester?"

Sam nodded, somewhat reluctantly. There was no real point in continuing the charade. She already knew the truth. Some remote part of his mind noted that the movement didn't cause as much pain this time, and filed the information away for future use.

"So why? Why would you go to all that trouble?" She laughed. "Because you just couldn't bear the thought of all those poor crazy people getting killed, could you?"

"What do you want from me?" Sam demanded, hiding his fear behind a mask of defiance.

Her smile changed from pitying, to hard and mocking. "Can't you guess, Sammy?"

His eyes narrowed at her casual use of his childhood nickname, but trepidation coiled in his stomach like a steel spring. It was her, he thought savagely. The whole time, we had it wrong… "You want my blood," he said, bluntly.

Karla, or the semblance of her, smirked, her eyes filled with triumph. "My, my, you are a smart one, aren't you?"

"But…why me? There must be loads of people in that hospital." Sam genuinely wanted to know the answer to this question, but at the same time he dreaded what he might hear.

"I saw how you attacked your doctor. The fury which drove you… You were going to kill him; I saw it in your eyes." Her own eyes lit up as she saw his discomfort at the memory. "I couldn't let that much raw power slip through my fingers."

"So… You drink my blood, and suddenly you have my anger issues?" Sam quipped, forcing his expression to remain impassive as he tried desperately to hide his true feelings. This was the last thing the world needed: a bloodsucking wraith/vampyre monster on the loose, with the anger-management problems of an emotionally unbalanced hunter.

"No, silly. I could do that, but I'd have to kill you and what would be the fun in that?" She chuckled; the chilling sound echoed off the walls and a shiver ran down Sam's back. "No, I'm not going to kill you, sweetie."

She leaned in, so close that he could feel her breath, warm on his neck. When her lips were barely an inch from his ear, she whispered, "I'm going to make you mine."



Dean put his head in his hands. This is hopeless…

He'd spent every waking moment asking everyone he could about what had happened to Sam, even talking to other patients (the less mental ones) to try and dig up any new information on the killings, Sam, anything unusual.

Nothing. Sam was gone, and he had absolutely no idea where to start looking.

"Hey, Dean." Martin came over and sat beside him. "You alright? Where's Sam?"

Good question. "You haven't heard? They took him away last night." Dean inwardly winced at how despondent he sounded.

"No…" Martin looked down at his knees, shaking his head slowly. "No, they can't have…"

"They have," Dean said flatly. "I have to find him, Martin. I have to."

The older man nodded hesitantly, then leaned towards Dean conspiratorially. "You'll need to come up with a plan then…" He trailed off, looking at Dean expectantly.

"Why are you– Oh, no." Dean shook his head. "I can't get out of this all by myself. If either of us knows this place, it's you."

Martin looked terrified at the idea of such a huge responsibility, but when Dean's expression didn't change, he nodded again. "I'm sure we'll think of something."