A/N: Hi there. I spent 3 hours on this chapter only to have it delete itself inexplicably. Which is why this is one day late. Lots of blood, sweat, and tears were put into re-writing this, and I'm still not as happy as I was with the first copy. Oh well. The response to this story was pretty phenomenal, so thanks to VattaKeto, LittleSilence, Leandra Falconwing, Souless666, Jenna, Kas3y, and Sharllissa for reviewing. Thanks also to retune who followed or favorited! Anyways, onto the story, where I have an excuse to vent my vehement dislike of buying jeans.

-Jaq

Dean had found it significantly more difficult to find the correct-fitting jeans than he had thought it would. What the friggin' hell was size 8/29 supposed to mean? Or the fifty different types of jeans- skinny, bootcut, straight, he didn't have a problem with, but boyfriend? What kind of style is that?

After trying on no less that sixteen different pairs, he found one that was suitable. Next, a shirt. And probably a new bra. To Dean's secret dissapointment, he didn't quite fit into the one he currently had.

Paying for the pants was a little trickier. Without thinking, he handed over the credit card to the sour-faced youth running the register.

"You're...Richard Wallace Davis?" the cashier said skeptically.

Dean smirked, thinking fast. "Ol' Richie is my brother."

"Uh huh. ID?"

Dean cursed silently. He almost never got ID'd. He had a driver's license of whoever their latest scam was, but he didn't have one like this.

"Left it at home. Look, if you don't believe me then that's just peachy. Now how 'bout you stop staring at my boobs?" Dean snapped angrily, following the cashier's obvious gaze.

"Aw, I wasn't...take the pants and go, okay? But next time bring an ID," he said, his cheekbones coloring.

Dean gave him a dirty look and walked out of the store. He could change in the bathroom of the next store over.

After changing, he glanced at the time. He had about ten minutes to find J Crew and meet Sam. He looked over to a directory in the middle of the plaza.

J Crew was hard to miss. It took up a huge section of the mall, and the storefront was front and center. Unfortunately, it was clear on the other side of the mall. Still, it wasn't hard to get to. Dean stepped just inside and looked around.

There were athletic clothes in the corner he was standing in. Runner's shorts, tank tops, sports bras, athletic socks, even headbands. Dean sincerely hoped that he would never, ever wear a sweatband. Ever.

He checked the time again. Sam was three minutes late, and it wasn't like him to be late. Dean frowned and pulled out his cell.

Voicemail. Dean swore, and when the message replayed he spoke hurriedly. "I'm at J Crew. If you don't call, text, or show up in the next ten minutes I'm assumimg something bad has happened."

He ended the message. Dean was hungry- in the frenzy of the morning he'd completely forgotten about breakfast. When Sam got there he was definitely going to hit the burger bistro that was in the food court. He could smell it from here, with all of the fat, juicy burgers sizzling on the grill.

Ten minutes came and went. Dean's brow creased. He called Sam once again to tell him he was leaving, and began to walk back. As he did so, he noticed CAUTION- DO NOT ENTER signs upright around one of the bathrooms. He frowned.

"What happened?" he asked one of the maitinance guys on a whim.

"Electrical short. Funny, only happened in the bathroom," the guy said in a heavy Philadelphia accent, pulling up his pants at the same time. He really needed a belt, and if his line of work called him to be in public places so often Dean sincerely hoped he got one.

"Huh. Did it...uh, smell weird?" Dean asked, a horror story spinning itself in his mind. Electrical shortage? The fuse box that Maintenance Guy was working on looked perfectly fine to Dean. The man himself was also peering at it.

"Funny you ask. It smelled almost like rotten eggs in there, you know? But it's a bathroom. Could smell like anything. Nothing's wrong with this stupid fuse box! They sent me all the way from men's apparel in Old navy for this. I'm going to call somebody," the man griped.

Not good. Very, very not good. "Oh. Thanks."

Dean swore under his breath as he ran back to the car. Sam wasn't one to leave his phome unanswered, and that plus sulfur fumes equaled no good scenarios that Dean could think of.

-:-

Sam woke up in a dark, cramped space, his legs jammed up against his chest and his arms twisted uncomfortably behind his back. Handcuffs secured his wrists, and he was becoming aware that duct tape or something was over his mouth.

He wiggled around a bit, but was unable to move to a more comfortable position. Suddenly, his phone rang, and Sam realized that the tinny sound was what had woken him up. It was in the front pocket of his jeans (which was annoyingly small), however, and there was no way to reach it.

It rang several more times until going to voicemail.

Sam cursed silently. Dean was probably freaking out. Assuming, of course, that Dean was still at the mall and unharmed.

Whatever he was in lurched to the side, and Sam panicked. He couldn't see anything, couldn't do anything about it, just sit tight and wonder what the hell was happening.

It lurched again, and Sam heard footsteps on gravel. Back and forth it swug, with Sam inside. So, he was being carried. His cell phone began ringing again.

This time, whatever he was being carried in paused, and Sam silently implored the phone to stop ringing. Why, oh why, couldn't Dean just text?

"You hear that?" came a voice from the outside, muffled slightly.

"Sounds like a mobile phone. You think we oughta answer?"

"Sure, we can spin whomever's calling in some direction." Sam felt the box (he had decided it was definitely a box of some sort) lower, and then jolt to a stop on the ground.

Sam heard creaking noises, and suddenly the lid was lifted off. He blinked rapidly in the sudden light, blinded for a few seconds.

Whoever had captured him had really done a good job at jamming him in wherever he was-even now, with the lid off, Sam couldn't have escaped.

A hand reached into Sam's line of vision and pulled out his cell phone.

"Hello?" a rough voice said into the instrument.

He waited for a few seconds and then replied to the speaker (who must have been Dean), amusement barely percievable in his voice. Sam knew it wouldn't translate over the phone's tinny speaker. "Sorry, I don't know who Sam is. I picked this up off the ground in Pennsylvania not fifteen seconds ago."

Another pause. "No. Hey, you okay? Is Sam your boyfriend or something?"

"Your brother? Oh, sister? Gee, I'm really sorry. I'll tell her to call you. I'll put up a notice for the phone. Have a nice day."

Sam heard his phone snap closed, and he felt his heart start to pound. Judging from the weather- blistering hot and dry- they were nowhere near Pennsylvania. Which meant that Dean would have a harder time looking for him. Maybe the phone GPS? It had worked in the past.

A face leant over the box, and Sam struggled harder. The face was dark, dark brown, with close-cropped hair and an eyebrow piercing. It would have actually been very handsome, if it weren't for the eyes. Those were jet black, malice glintimg in them.

"Well, well, well. What have we got here? According to the spell, you are Sam Winchester. But you certainly don't look the part. My partner has just popped off to place your cell phone in Pennsylvania, and make sure the GPS is on. If that pesky brother of yours decides to go anywhere near it, he'll die. Gruesomely. But enough monologuing. We aren't even there yet."

The demon reached behind Sam and lifted something. As Sam saw the lid come back down he cursed, the sound muffled almost to nonexistance by the duct tape. Then it was pitch-black again.

Vaguely Sam wondered how much air there was in the box, but he dismissed it. It probably wasn't airtight, seeing as how he'd spent the last...amount of time locked in it. What was going to happen to him when he arrived at the unknown destination was a lot more worrying.

A/N 2: I hope you enjoyed! Please leave a review if you did- they make me really happy and less inclined to punch my laptop. Thanks for reading and have an awesome day!

Note on Dean trying on 16 pairs of jeans- I know my size and I still end up trying on a lot, so I figure that someone who doesn't know their size is apt to try on even more.

-Jaq