Author's Note: Not mine, etc. but I'm not giving Dean back. Also, I really want Dean to call me babe. Like really. want. Please? Pleeeeeeeeeaaaaase?

Summary: I was barely hanging on when the Winchesters finally found me. Two weeks in the hands of a demon leaves you with little sanity left but Sam and Dean won't let me give up that easy. Dean x Reader. T for language and some torture sequences.

Nightmares - PART 1

The demon plunged the scalpel into my stomach again and my body shuddered in pain. I had long ago abandoned any attempts at keeping up a brave face. The ugly bastard saw I was hurting and that he was getting to me with every slice. I couldn't hide it anymore and whimpered as he drew the blade out, slowly, with an extra little twist at the end.

"Screw…you…" I said though it came out more like a sob and nowhere near as intimidating as I had intended.

The demon laughed. "Running out of juice, are we? But I'm not even close to being finished with you yet."

Hours had passed like this in a blood red haze of agony until I had to fight for every minute of consciousness. Part of me wanted to black out, to forget what this demon was doing to me, to skip out on the pain, but I couldn't, not if there was even a sliver of opportunity for freedom. The cuffs around my wrists were so tight that I'd lost all circulation to my fingers and wiggling out of them was impossible but it didn't stop me from trying over and over until my wrists were a bloody mess.

It didn't take long for me to lose track of how many days I had been stuck in this abandoned warehouse with the demon. With no windows to tell night from day combined with my fading in and out of consciousness, I grew disoriented fast. The only bit of information I managed to gather for certain was that we were far from any city or town, no people around to hear my cries for help.

The demon had taken the meatsuit of an average looking guy, maybe an accountant or other generic businessman, wearing crisp black slacks and a white button down shirt, the collar undone, the sleeves rolled up. He looked perfectly normal which made the fact that my blood coated his arms up to the elbow even more gruesome.

Sometimes the demon would stop, tilt his head to the side as if he heard something then vanish, literally, vanish. There one second and gone the next, leaving behind the faint rotten egg smell of sulfur floating on the air, a nasty reminder that he would return.

He didn't seem to have a purpose for me other than torture. For as long as he was able, he'd keep me alive, a little toy to play with, a mangled mouse to bat around at his leisure. He had dressed me in a white cotton shift that quickly became soaked red with blood, leaving me looking like a doll straight out of a horror movie. After cuffing my wrists, he had spread my arms wide, connected to chains on either side of the warehouse so I was completely vulnerable. I couldn't turn aside or deflect any of the blows he decided to hit me with, all I could do was wait it out and pray he stopped soon.

But the disturbing thing was that he seemed to feed off my pain. When he'd come back from wherever he disappeared to, he looked haggard, old, wisps of white in his hair. After a few hours of torturing me, he'd take a deep breath, straighten up to his full height and his face would be young again, his hair dark and sleek, his shoulders straight. He needed me…which meant I was going to be stuck with him for a long time.

"You know," the demon said, setting the tip of his scalpel against my cheek and applying just enough pressure for a thin line of blood to form little beads along the sharp steel edge. "It's been two weeks and those Winchester boys still haven't come for you."

I said nothing. A tiny nudge of doubt worked its way into my brain. I knew they would come, they had to but…why was it taking so long?

"I don't think they truly care about you," he teased, applying more pressure to the blade.

I bit my lip as he slowly dragged the scalpel through my skin, hot blood seeped down my cheek.

"When they come," I said with a shaky voice. "When they come, they are going to kick your ass so bad and I hope and pray to god that I'll be alive to see it."

The demon scowled at me. "You've got a foul mouth on you." He pulled back, leering down at me as I knelt on the floor. "They won't be coming, you should know that."

"Like I believe you, lying piece of crap."

The demon tapped the scalpel against his palm. "I called in some favors, set up a false trail that leads oh, three days' trip away from here, away from you. Just enough time for me to finish you off."

As hard as I tried to keep a straight face and not show the disappointment and fear that had rammed into my stomach like an iron fist, the demon saw it. He smiled, rolling his shoulders and tilting his head back as if he was facing the sun and soaking it up only he was soaking up my fear, feeding off of me.

"Ah yes, you do believe me," he said. "You believe me whole-heartedly. You've got a strong faith, I can feel it, oozing out of every pore. Let's see how much more I can make you believe."

He turned back to his table lined with various tools of torture, took his time rearranging things. For a few agonizing seconds, all I could hear was the clink of metal against metal, the rasp of something heavy sliding across the steel tabletop, the whir of an electric tool, probably a drill.

Then he turned around, trailing the worn, stained leather strap of a whip through his fingers.

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He was gone, finally, but I didn't think I'd be alive to see him when he came back. The only sound in the empty warehouse was my heavy, ratcheting breathing. I lasted to the count of ten before the tears started, the first time I had allowed myself to cry since the bastard kidnapped me…what did he say? Two weeks ago? So long…

A footstep echoed outside the warehouse door. I groaned. If the demon was back already or if he'd sent his friends to get in some of their kicks too, I couldn't take more. I tried to stay strong, I really did, but I couldn't hold on any longer. I just couldn't.

The door was flung wide and slammed against the wall. I didn't even raise my head to see who it was. If it was the demon with a gang of his friends…that wasn't the last thing I wanted to see before I died. I'd rather stare at the cement floor, flecked with my own blood…

Suddenly, two large hands were against my cheeks, gentle, raising my head.

"Come on, babe, talk to me."

I sobbed in relief at Dean's voice, at the warm, soft pressure of his hands against my face. I could just barely see him since my eyes were almost swollen shut. I felt the cuffs fall away from my wrists for the first time in two weeks. Slowly, every movement laced with agony, I leaned into Dean, my arms around his neck.

"I got you, it's okay," he whispered. I felt his arms come around me but stopped short of touching me. "God, there's blood…everywhere."

Dean finally set his hands against my back lightly but I still flinched.

"Sorry, sorry sweetheart, just...Sam, help me out."

Dean carefully pried one of my arms from his neck and Sam pulled Dean's coat off with one hand, a shotgun in the other, all the while on the alert, keeping an eye out. Dean tucked his coat around my shoulders. I shivered as the cloth touched my raw skin but Dean tightened his hold on me. "She's shaking pretty hard, Sam, we gotta get her outta here."

"The demon's still around," Sam said. "There's fresh blood on his knives. He's close."

"Son of a bitch," Dean growled. "I'll rip his lungs out. You're sure?"

"Positive."

"Then we get her to the car first, come back and deal with him," Dean said.

He slid one arm under my knees and the other arm around my back. When he started to pick me up, a fresh wave of pain washed over me and I screamed, my fingers twisted into Dean's t-shirt. He lowered me back down immediately but didn't let go. My breathing came in short, tight gasps against the pain that seized my rib cage, squeezing my lungs.

"I have to do this, babe," he said. "I have to move you, I'll make it quick."

I nodded, took a deep breath and tightened my grip on his shirt. When he lifted me up again, I buried my face in his shoulder and clawed at his back in an effort to keep quiet and hold on to the shred of consciousness I was barely maintaining. Every step Dean took caused more pain to jolt through my body. The Impala, wherever it was, seemed miles away. I felt myself slipping, my head tipping back as a black haze swarmed at the edges of my vision…

I heard the click of the door handle then felt Dean shift against me as he eased me into the backseat of the Impala. Dean brushed my hair away from my face and held my gaze as his hand came to rest against my cheek. His jaw clenched with concern as he leaned over me, one hand resting on the seat next to my hip. He pressed the cold barrel of the Colt into my palm.

"Take this," he said. "If that son of a bitch comes anywhere near you, don't hesitate to send him straight back to hell, got it?"

The gun felt far too heavy as I struggled to stay awake. I could barely lift it with both hands if I concentrated hard enough but it was something at least, something to fight back with. I was no longer tied up, helpless, at the whim of the demon.

"Got it?" Dean repeated.

"Yeah," I mumbled, pushing myself to sit up a little more, shaking my head to clear my mind of the fuzzy haze threatening to take me under.

Dean lingered for only a few seconds longer before he began to back out of the Impala. A stab of fear seized me again, tightening my throat and I reached for him in desperation, my fingernails digging into his forearm a little harsher than I had intended to.

"Please," I pleaded all the while hating myself for what I was saying. "Please don't…leave…" The last word came out in a pathetic little squeak.

He placed a hand on my ankle and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "I'll be right here, I promise."

A gunshot shattered the stillness. Dean's head snapped up as he scanned the surrounding woods, the warehouse, and the barren, muddy dirt road.

"Sam?" he called.

No answer.

I gripped the pistol in my trembling hands, watching the trees, the bushes, waiting for the demon to show up at any second.

"SAM!" Dean roared again, his voice tense with concern.

"Go," I said, forcing the word out despite how much it terrified me. The last thing I wanted was to be left here, alone, barely conscious while a demon was on the loose, a demon who wanted to torture me and kill me but if Sam was hurt or, god forbid, the demon took him…I knew exactly what would happen to him and it wouldn't be pretty.

Dean took a quick glance over his shoulder at me, hesitant. I must have looked like a mess, covered in blood, bruised, but I was fighting, fighting so hard to keep it together for just a little while longer.

"GO!" I repeated but this time my voice was stronger and didn't have that annoying tremble to it. "Just get your ass back here fast so we can leave."

Dean took off running. I huddled in the backseat as pain pulsed through every muscle in my body and my heart hammered in my chest. This was what the demon had been waiting for I realized about five seconds too late. Get me alone, away from the Winchesters so he could tie up the last loose end…

A loud thump on the roof of the Impala made me jump. The high pitched, nerve-wracking whine of metal against metal dragged down the roof. Dean was going to be pissed as hell when he found that scratch. The demon poked his head down in front of the windshield, a hideous grin on his face. He waved a knife at me, still covered with blood. Was it Sam's blood? Dean's? Mine?

It didn't matter. He was coming for me. This was it.

Slowly, keeping the pistol behind the seat and out of his line of sight, I struggled with both hands to pull the hammer back. My fingers were still numb from the tight cuffs and my hands were slippery with sweat, dirt and blood. I wiped my palms on Dean's coat as the demon jumped to the ground and reached for the door.

"We meet again so soon, love," he purred.

I pushed myself as far back in the seat as I could as the demon began to crawl into the car, arm outstretched towards me.

"Back off," I growled, raising the pistol mere inches from his face.

The demon stopped and, I noticed with a small thrill, his eyes widened a fraction of an inch in surprise. "So the little mouse was given protection, how cute. You really shouldn't be allowed to play with such things, dear. You might hurt yourse…"

As the demon reached to take the gun from me, I planted a kick square in his chest despite the pain that seared through my body. He stumbled backwards out of the car and rage twisted his features. He started towards me again but I pulled the trigger.

The gun bucked in my hands and the bullet nicked his shoulder. The demon groaned, clutching his shoulder where a stain of blood blossomed across his crisp white shirt. I scrambled to pull the hammer back again and as I aimed to take another shot, two pairs of hands grabbed the demon by his shoulders and he was yanked backwards clear off his feet.

While Dean held the demon down by the neck, slipping in a few good punches, Sam started up the Latin incantation. The demon writhed, hissed and shuddered as black smoke poured from his mouth. I watched, impassive, while the demon suffered the way he had made me suffer for two weeks straight, hour after endless hour. The entire thing lasted less than a minute and then it was over, silent.

I slumped in the backseat, curling in on myself. The door opposite me opened again. Dean's voice drifted to me but I couldn't quite make out what he was saying. He sounded so far away, so distant, like he was at the end of a tunnel, a long, dark tunnel…