A/N: Well, this chapter was a long time coming. I'd apologize for the delay, except a) this update is much longer than my other chapters, and b) I got hardly any reviews at all last chapter. Which is a shame, because that was a pretty defining and intense one, and one of my favorites to write so far! I hope I didn't scare anyone away with it. was glitching that day, though, so I'm going to blame it on that because I'm sure you'll all give me something nice to read in the next few days. )

Thanks to those that did review the last chapter - deangirl1, MontyPythonFan, Benigma, riquitv and Maz Kazama. You all made my days!

Please let me know if any of the characters seem OOC, as well. Sometimes writing late at night isn't the best thing!

Warnings: Language, violence, gore. Still "T," but keep in mind this story will eventually be rated "M."

Embarrassed by the fear he felt, Sam tried to ignore that little inkling of doubt his stomach held, the one that insisted there was something wrong despite the only evidence being just a couple of hours of lost time. Sometimes he hated how much of an emotional creature he was. It was such a stark contrast to Dean, who insisted upon burying any sort of feeling that came from the waste up. Sam had learned to embrace this part of himself a long time ago, but sometimes he still wished he could be a bit more like his older brother in that regard.

In many regards.

Sam shook his head and looked at the area around him. Although the street was lit by lamps, the closest one to the convenience store was out. Sam frowned at this, his mind over-working with a list of creatures that held any sort of effect on electricity.

And he definitely had demons on the brain.

Sam let out a small groan and ran a hand through his mussy hair. This was ridiculous. What the heck was going on?

The street was completely bare all the way to the store. There were no cars parked on the curb, no drunks stumbling home in the late hour. With trained eyes, Sam watched the sides of the road for any movement or other suspicious activity as he made his way along. The area they were staying at was right on the main road; the current walk being a side street. It hosted chain link fences and badly-kept bushes on both sides. Not a whole lot of potential for hidden boogie-men.

When Sam made his way into the shop, he couldn't help but search the entire building before swallowing in fearful disappointment and approaching the clerk. He pulled out a picture of his brother from his wallet, saddened at the passing thought that he knew he kept it there for exactly this type of reason.

The clerk was an older man, with greying hair. He was a little rough around the edges, but seemed generally warm in spirit. Sam held up the photograph.

"Have you seen my brother?" He asked, his voice coming out a little thicker than he had meant it to. "His name is Dean…" No need for aliases here. "Dean Winchester."

The man took a quick study of the picture in front of him, then raised his blue eyes to study Sam. "Awful lot of you looking for this fella," he said, "He in some sort of trouble?"

Sam's breath caught in his throat. An awful lot…? He swallowed. Shook his head. "Please, sir… he's missing. Have you seen him tonight?" A small pause. "There was someone else looking for him?"

The older man nodded. "Said she was his wife. Haven't seen him in here since yesterday, told her that too."

The youngest Winchester's eyes swam back in forth, registering the information. The clerk's words were settling into his stomach like cold, hard marbles, and he fought not to panic right then and there. "Sir, can you tell me what she looked like?"

"She was a little shorter than you… black hair, dark blue eyes. Pretty little thing. You saying she wasn't his wife?"

Sam's eyes finally stopped moving and fell back to the clerk. "No… no. She is…" He fumbled for a reason. "She's his ex-wife… I'm a little worried she might hurt him…"

Something in his voice, his distraught face or his dark eyes must of seemed genuine enough, because the greying man accepted this with a small smile of sympathy. "I'm sorry, son, if I had known…"

"No, it's okay," Sam told him. "I just…" His voice caught in his throat. Alarms were screaming in his brain. Dean's gone. Dean's kidnapped. Dean's hurt… He suddenly realized that his mind had taken over and he pushed the thoughts away, gaining control of himself. Saw the concern in the clerk's face over his hesitating speech. "Is there anything else you can tell me?" He asked, his voice very close to pleading.

The man shook his head sadly.

"She didn't say anything?"

"Nope. Only that she was looking for her husband, Dean Winchester. Had her own photograph."

These facts sent a chill through Sam. Whoever this person was, she knew Dean's full name. And had a picture of him…

Sam clenched his jaw. Green eyes focused without noticing on a pack of batteries behind the clerk's head. He didn't know what to say anymore. He felt like he was in several different parts, none of which were in working condition—his voice, his body, his mind…

"Oh, wait a second."

Sam's attention snapped back to the man.

The clerk shuffled out from behind the counter, walking in small steps to where Sam stood. Hunter instincts put the Winchester's body on guard. Human instincts assured him that the clerk was no threat.

The man bent down at Sam's feet and picked up a scrap of paper. He handed it to the much taller youth before shuffling back to his original spot. "She dropped that, earlier, when she bought a pack of gum… been meaning to pick it up but I forgot all about it."

Without a word, Sam practically ripped the bit of paper open. It was a receipt. His eyes scanned the information, and a glimmer of hope lit up his previously dull eyes.

It was a time-stamped ATM receipt.

Sam nodded his thanks to the employee before all but dashing out of the store.

Ebbing on the edge of consciousness, with the shadows of his mind threatening to overthrow the shadows of the cold, stone room, Dean had no idea when exactly it was that the pain in his arms began to fall silent. He thought that he might have passed out for a while, but he had no way to be sure. The dim light streaming in from the window above his head did not really seem to get brighter or darker, ever. When had he been taken from the dark street outside of his and Sam's hotel room? It had been night time, hadn't it? His head swam in the murky thickness of ill treatment and surreality.

Had Sam noticed that he was missing? Dean's narrowed hazel eyes flicked around the room, trying to concentrate. Sam. Where was he? Oh please let him be okay...

How long had he been in this dreary room, cold and cruel and now reeking embarrassingly with the stench of vomit? Time really had no power here, and that made him nervous. It could have just been minutes since she had left, or it could have been hours.

It could be just minutes until she returned...

His breath picked up, his mind changing directions at the thought. His captor made no sense to his knowledgeable mind, on any level. Not as a vampire, not as some sort of self-righteous angel of vengeance. Not even as just a plain old lunatic. Dean didn't know what would happen next, and that scared him.

The thought of the vicious Myah was amping his adrenaline and quickly spurring his consciousness. His sense of time had dissipated into the night outside of the convenience store, but he refused to think that his free will did as well. Maybe he didn't know what the crazy bitch had in store. Maybe he couldn't feel much of his arms right now, and maybe that meant something bad. But maybe he wasn't going to just hang around and do nothing about it...

These thoughts pushed away his doubts. Determination was setting in, overwhelming his helplessness and distracting him from the crusty stickiness that was on his mouth. Tenacity was something that seeped through his blood along with the Winchester name. He was not going to get his captor get the best of him.

He was feeling less nauseated than before, and although both his mind and strength were ill at ease, he swallowed the large lump in his throat that may or may not have been fear and shifted his weight so that he could get his feet out from under him.

Initial movement alone was a feat within itself, suggesting to him that it had probably been more than a few minutes since Myah's departure. Sluggishly, he strained his left leg out from under him. Let it stand beneath him, surprisingly bare toes curling over the stone. He shut his eyes; his entire body, whether he could feel it or not, was trembling from the effort. What was wrong with him? Was he really pathetic enough to not be able to get up?

No, he couldn't accept that. Dean wasn't good with limits. With one leg kneeling and his other holding his weight, he began to push himself up. His back pressed harshly against the wall behind him, and it scraped against his bare skin. His dead arms pulled against the shackles. Once again, time eluded him but he didn't care, didn't notice. Only saw the progress.

He made it to his feet.

Panting, all of his remaining strength was struggling to hold him there. He leaned against the wall, no longer supported by the chains. He had somehow managed to have his hand snaked around them, tightening the slack. Whether it were an accident or his own doing, he was grateful that Karma didn't seem to have a jarring fall in store.

He took a deep breath. Opened his eyes, allowed them to adjust to his surroundings once more.

Shut them with a gasp against the blinding light that suddenly filled the room.

The door.

He heard her laugh. He hated how he felt cold fear run through his body at the sound of her voice. He wasn't supposed to be scared of this shit, he was supposed to escape it.

Through his clenched-shut eyelids he heard her voice, a knife through the thick dark. "Well, well," she said, footfall sounding closer and closer. "Is this what Winchesters do to pass the time?"

Part of him didn't want to open his eyes at all. It was a very small, childish part of him, something that he didn't consciously realize he still had. He grew up when he was four; boy did he grow up big. To be thinking that if he didn't open his eyes-- if he didn't see this ruthless presence in front of him—that she wouldn't be real, was ludicrous. He silenced this stupid, innocent wish and forced his eyes open into narrowed slits.

Her attire was similar, but had changed enough to suggest that it was different day. Time, there it was. Peeking through in the oddest of places. He stood there, pressed against the wall with all his might, and glared at her.

"Cat got your tongue today, Dean?" Myah smiled, jeeringly. She placed her pale hands on her hips, the epitome of health and strength compared to his pathetic position.

Dean swallowed, hazel eyes shooting daggers, and muttered raspily, "Screw you."

The vampire frowned. Her stare echoed his. Slowly she shook her head. "Oh Dean. Don't be so bloody ignorant. You really don't want to piss me off."

"I really don't take orders very well." His low voice in his throat felt like the gritty wall on his back, piercing and foreign. His breaths were still rapid. A cold sweat now, glimmering in the light beyond Myah's back.

A swift movement, followed by pain. He was back on his knees again; the vampire's leg had shot out so fast that he hadn't even seen it. Dean cried aloud despite himself. Pins and needles, or rather screw drivers and rail road ties, stabbed mercilessly at his upper half, thanks to the tease of regular blood circulation that being on his feet had allowed. It was a new onslaught of fire, that ceased only a little after a few moments.

Still, he found it in him to mutter, "Bitch."

Again, she was on him so quickly that his eyes could not follow. Her hand was in his hair, and she tugged his head back so hard that he thought his scalp could no longer be attached. She forced him to look into her sweltering, navy eyes. Her low, cold voice rang through the air. "You'd better start treating me with respect. Did you really think you were going to escape?" She eased up a little, held a gentle hold on his sandy spikes. "You're never leaving here, Dean Winchester."

Again, with the name. She knew his full name. And if she knew who he was, Dean could be sure that she knew who Sammy was too…

"What the hell do you want with me?" He rasped, nostrils flaring with his gasps of breath.

"I already told you, Deanie." Her smile became sweet, so much of an astonishing change that he was surprised and sickened and lowered his eyes. Her hand left his head and fell to his chin, forcing him to look back up at her. "You're my dessert."

"Is this some kind of a sick joke?" He asked, after a pause. His head was throbbing, his body still trembling. Life was really sucking. "Because if it is, you really shouldn't quit your day job. Er, night job. Whatever."

Myah continued to smile at him, but it seemed sharp and cool. "No, Dean. This isn't one of your little jokes," she said slowly, as if explaining simple math to a five-year-old. "No, it's just as serious as that frightened little boy you're trying to hide."

To this, he had no words. Only a startled look of contempt.

The vampire reached behind her and pulled out the curved knife that she had used on him earlier. It glinted in the dim light, golden flashes that sliced fear into Dean he was horribly ashamed of, without even coming close to him.

She savored the expressions on his face, he could tell, even though he fought so hard to keep them at bay. His eyes held steady, straight ahead, at a spot only he could see. The slow lowering of the blade was purposeful, and for that he hated her even more.

He could barely feel the razor sharp edge this time as it cut through the forearm of his left arm. In his peripheral he could see the red drip down his side, lessened by a position above his heart but still a flow nonetheless. He grunted and grew pale, fighting to keep his resolve under control. This wasn't happening. Not again.

Myah lowered her mouth to the cut, tongue surprisingly cool against his flesh. Dean tried to ignore the putrid sensation of her sucking on him, tried to ignore the sharp smell of blood that graced the air once more, making him dizzy. He was assaulted with the sticky memory of what she had done to him earlier, and could suddenly taste the metallic warm taste of old blood in his mouth, mingling with the acrid after-taste of bile. Felt the dry, crusty stains around his mouth. His nausea returned full force, and he clenched his eyes shut, willing himself not to be ill, berating himself for showing weakness.

Like everything else, he didn't know how long it had lasted. By the time she lifted her head again he was full-on shaking, sweat dripping down his worried forehead. He waited a moment and then opened his eyes. Looked up at her warily.

She wiped away his blood from her face with the back of her hand, staring back down at him. Licked her lips, her teeth. Her human teeth. She hadn't pulled out her second set.

And she hadn't forced his blood into his mouth.

For that, he felt a pang of sickening gratefulness that shamed him.

Myah smacked her mouth. "You're just as tasty as I thought you'd be, you know that?"

"S-screw you."

Slap. The sound echoed louder than his heartbeats, his already rare cheek alive with pain once more.

"You like it rough Dean?"

His eyes were beginning to glaze over, but his mouth responded without a second thought. "Damn s-straight…"

The wrong end of a knife to his temple. Ringing in his ears, red flashing before his eyes.

"Yeah, baby… j-just like th-that." Barely above a whisper.

Dean let out a choke as Myah's cold hand suddenly encircled his throat and squeezed. She was bent over him, raven hair falling in both of their faces. Animalistic eyes bore into his. "I had a small supper," she growled slowly. "I think I can go for some more pie."

Without breaking eye contact she sliced his right forearm, quicker and more deeply than before. Dean felt it that time, and let out a small, gagging gasp.

Myah turned and slurped at his blood hungrily, ruthlessly. Her hand tightened on his throat, and Dean's lungs hitched for breath. Panicked hazel eyes tried to look anywhere but at the vampire. They always fell back to her, though, his mind hardly registering the horror he was witnessing.

He felt several tearing pains and it took his mind a few moments to register that she had just released her second set of teeth—fangs—into his flesh. He shut his eyes against the pain. Felt the edges of darkness begin to creep in on him.

She stopped suddenly and let go of his throat at the same time. Stood up. Made no move to tidy the glistening red juices that dripped down her jaw this time. She had a primal look in her eyes that he couldn't tear his hazel gaze away from, and he coughed and choked at the new-found abundance of air.

Time stood still as silence danced in front of them.

When the vampire had seemed to calm herself a bit, she spoke in a flat, even tone. "You ready for a third round, Dean?" She asked, navy eyes glinting with malice. "That's the great part about being a girl. I'm always ready for another."

He didn't reply, just continued to hitch for breath. Seethed contempt and fear. Battled the rise of bile in his throat.

"You don't have anything to say? Don't want to show off that supposed steel will of yours?"

Dean swallowed. Words were not automatic this time.

Myah broke into a smile, finally. Her features brightened with what the hunter swore to be affection. She took a step towards him and ran a hand through his hair. "That's a good boy, Dean."

She turned and started to walk away, but hesitated. Spun around to look at him again. Dug her free hand into the pocket of her swaying black pants. Closed the gap between them again, and Dean tried to hide a flinch.

She inserted a key into one of his shackles, and then the other. The sudden lack of support sent Dean tumbling to the ground with grunt. Body on autopilot, he slowly and painfully moved himself into a fetal position. Strained to turn his head and look up at her, his hazel eyes a messy confusion of so many different emotions that he didn't know what to feel.

"Do something about those wounds. Don't want you to bleed to death in here." A small, dry, cherry grin.

She turned again and began to walk to the door. Just when Dean thought it was safe to drop his gaze, she froze and looked back at him once more. She studied him, with a look that was not malicious or fond or anything else he had seen her display. No, her face held a curious gaze. "You need to learn to let go of Sam, Dean." She said. "Life's so much more painful when you're holding on to others. Especially when you don't have much of it left…"

And with that she was gone, leaving him to lie there with her words echoing through his brain.

A/N: There you have it! Now I have to bring up the poor grammar. I have a lot of bad sentence structure, but I assure you that most (hopefully all) of it was purposeful. I hope it adds to the mood and feel of the story. Also, spell check is telling me that I've made up four words in this chapter. If you can pick out two of them (without using spell check!!) and send them to me in a PM (not in the reviews, please!) you'll win a spoiler to the story!

Don't forget to review. :)