I haven't forgotten about this story! I've pretty much got it all planned in my head, I just need to write it. I've had a new computer that didn't have Word on it, so it took me a while longer to type this up than it should have. It's also shorter than usual, but it pretty much cut off where it cut off and I didn't want to stretch it just because, so I hope you're satisfied and I'll try to post more soon!

Disclaimer: Pshya. I totally own Supernatural. And Yoda's totally a young whipper-snapper.

Dean had no idea when he'd fallen asleep or how. He woke stiff and sore and with a terrible taste in his mouth and he had about three seconds of discomfort before he tumbled back into panic. He wanted to run, try to get out something, anything, but he knew it was useless. This thing that had him was stronger, faster, better acquainted with the playing ground, but there was no reason to think it was smarter.

He breathed deeply for a few moments, trying to stifle his feeling of helplessness that drove him to flail out like a spooked horse. He had no idea what this thing wanted from him or how to get out, but he knew that somewhere on the outside, Sam and John were looking for him, and they would find him somehow or other.

What he had to do was stay alive for them to find him. Which meant that he had to avoid this thing, since he couldn't fight it and it probably wanted to kill him, given his experience. He swallowed. He wished he knew how long he had been asleep. Hell, he wished he knew where this thing was. He wished he knew where he was. He wished a lot of things that he wasn't getting.

Suck it up, sweetheart, he thought to himself, suddenly feeling a surge of hope. He had a mission now. Stay alive, stay hidden, wait for Sammy and Dad. Wasn't much, and he'd pretty much thought it all already, but it was something to do.

He moved to crawl from his hiding place, hissing when he went hurt hand first. He looked at his snapped pointer. It was awkwardly bent, swollen badly. He had to do something about that. He tore the cuff from his shirt, awkwardly crawling with one arm into the room. He perched beside the sofa, halfway hidden, and looked around the room. Seeing nothing, he stood slowly and looked around.

Seeing a pen, he snatched it up. He braced it against his leg and snapped it to the length of his finger, then used it as a brace between his pointer and his middle finger, wrapping it in the cuff to top it off. He twitched his fingers a few times to test it. His finger still hurt, but it didn't move as much. He breathed out a breath and crept into the next room.

It was too damn perfect.

He stared at the phone, and for all intents and purposes, it was staring right back. Slowly realizing something, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.

"Son of a bitch," he whispered.

It was a trick. It had to be. He would dial up Sam, and he'd be screwed over somehow. No signal, the thing would appear from nowhere, something. But damn, if she was just screwing with him and the only reason he wasn't calling was because he was afraid it was a trap…

Or maybe she knew there was no point, something that had just hit him like a slap in the face. If he called Sam, what then? He didn't know where he was. He looked at a window, hoping to get a view of something outside, but they were tinted. He didn't know what he was up against or how to kill her. All he knew was that he'd woken up who knows when, who knows where, and he was screwed.

But at least they would know he was alive. That he was mostly OK. That he wasn't torn apart in some gutter somewhere, another statistic in a series of monster killings.

He dialed Sam and waited for one ring, two rings, "DEAN! Where the hell are you?" He could hardly breathe. Maybe he'd forgotten for a second how scared he'd been (still was) and how nice it was to hear Sam's voice, even bellowing into his ear.

He almost got out something before the hand clamped over his mouth. The phone slipped from his hand and clicked closed. He was pushed down to the floor, his wild kicking taken for granted. He would never, ever admit it if he ever got out of this alive, but at that moment, he burst into tears. He was scared and he had just been torn away from Sam, his greatest source of comfort.

He was also tired, hungry and a little worse for wear, in his defense.

"Dean," came a vaguely familiar voice. "You can't have really thought that would work."

He wanted to quip, growl at her some snarky come back and pretend that he didn't have tears running down his face and that he wasn't helpless as a baby, but her hand was still clasped over his mouth, taking away that one little comfort from him. He kicked, hurting his legs and feet more than her and screamed profanities that didn't even form whole sounds, each action more pointless than the next. It helped, but not enough.

He blinked away his tears, breathing in through his nose to regain his composure. And as soon as he did, he wanted to scream and scream and never stop screaming. She pulled her hand away and smiled at him, sitting back to pin his legs with her own weight. It didn't matter, though, because he'd forgotten to struggle.

"Please," he blurted, his throat dry and working without his brain, which he wasn't sure was working at all anyway. "Please, no. No."

"Dean," came the soft voice, unmistakable now. "Begging already?" That tone was not alright in that voice, that smile was not alright in that face.

"Please, do anything to me," he continued, unable to stop. The thing had found the one torture he couldn't stand, no matter how hard he tried. "Anything. But not as my mom, please."

The face of his mother stared back at him, smiling in a way that her face should have never smiled, sending white hot pokers of pain through his very soul. Her one hand found his wrist, and his finger throbbed as he tried to pull it away. He was well beyond tears at this point.

Dean Winchester was bawling, pleading and begging.

"Please," he whispered desperately one more time, and she smiled at him, her look indecipherable, then snapped his wrist.

Dun dun dun! Still with me? Review! Leaving in disgust? Review anyway! Ta ta!