Author's Note: My friend is letting me post this on heraccount until mine is activated. Anyways, I've read a lot of stories where Sam's always the victim. So I got the idea, what if for one time Dean was the victim, someone fighting against something that can't be stopped.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, Dean or Sam; though God knows I wish I did.

He bit is lip in an effort to keep the scream locked inside. How had he been captured and ended up hanging by his wrists in a cold basement? How had they gotten around him quiet enough to knock him out, those where the types of thoughts running through seventeen-year-old, Dean Winchester, as he hung; a hot fire poker searing through his skin.

How he wished his father would finally decide to make an appearance. However next to him hung the missing girl they had been looking for. Nadia Hayworth, she couldn't have been anymore than thirteen years old and hearing the screams that emitted from down the hallway made him sick to his stomach. Of course the things they made him do to her made him even sicker. Unfortunately what his father had thought was a demon was nothing but sick human beings. Oh he was pretty sure at first that he could take him, but that had resulted in the various ways of torture from psychological scars to physical.

Nadia moved next to him, her feet swinging out knocking the fire poker away from his leg. Where she had gotten the energy to move was beyond him but he was thankful that the poker wasn't scorching his leg anymore. He cast a look at her; she looked just as bad as he did. Her ebony hair fell limply around her face and one side of her was swollen.

"Hey you okay?" His voice was rusty and his throat hurt.

"So sleepy. I wanna go home," she replied her voice tight and filled with tears.

"Yeah, we both do. My dad should be finding us soon and then you'll be able to see your parents again. They miss you."

"I don't blame you. What they have us do is nothing more than a couple of perverts trying to get off, whether or not they succeed isn't our business. What's your name? I figure it'll be better if I know the name of the guy that's screwing me under false pretenses."

"How old are you?"

"Fourteen. Going to answer my question?"

"Dean, my name is Dean."

"That's a nice name. My name is Nadia but I think you already knew that." Her eyes drifted shut, "try sleeping. I'll see you later."

He could hear the voices down the hallway coming for him. He braced himself for the unending torture they'd to him before they'd take away the only thing left of him. His body began to sweat uncontrollably and his legs shook beneath him. He had to wonder whether or not he'd finally die in a place like this, fighting against something that he didn't have a clue how to fight.

The door opened and in stepped two Spaniards, both had pox marked faces and greasy black hair. The oldest one, Juan had a perchance for young boys; whereas his younger brother, Jorge, had a fetish for watching those that were reluctant about sleeping around and young girl. Why else would they bother finding the perfect specimen of each before being able to enjoy themselves.

Juan spoke, his accent thick, "Are you ready? You look ready."

"Go to hell." Even that little sentence took so much energy.

Juan shook his head and his hands reached forward to stroke down his quarry's body. "Oh no. I can't do that. I need to find a way to release myself, make myself whole again."

Dean suppressed a shudder and shot a look over at Nadia.

Her gray eyes were wide and flashing with anger," Leave him the hell alone. What more can you want? You've already taken some of the most precious things from us."

Jorge slapped her with such force it shook the chains above her. "You will speak only when told to speak." He tossed a look over at his brother. "Perhaps she'd like to watch this time around. It seems she fancies herself a heroine for him."

Juan smirked. "Si, I think you are right. Watch as he begs for mercy."

He stepped closer to Dean, his hand hovering near the waist of his jeans. He could see the stomach muscle of his treat quiver and that made him all the more excited. Undoing Dean's jeans, he smirked as the girl's face paled and he could tell she wanted to say more while he pulled the jeans down.

Dean Winchester sat straight up in bed. That nightmare had plagued him for almost ten years; ever since that incident. It had taken a week after that before his father finally found him and Nadia; a week of providing nothing but sexual release for two bastards that were better off dead than in prison, where they currently resided.

He dragged a weary had over his face. He just wished that he could find his father, find somewhere to be safe.

His cell phone rang through the hotel room, making him jump just slightly. Reaching over he read the face of the phone and it was a number he didn't recognize. Sighing he answered, "Hello?"

"Dean?" a soft voice, trembling with fear asked.

"Yeah, who is this?"

"They're out Dean."

"Nadia?"

"The Martinez brothers were released yesterday and they're after both of us. I need help. Please help me; help us."