Your stomach felt like it had gnawed through your back by the time you finally heard footsteps.

Your cage, you had discovered, wasn't much longer or wider then five feet. Bars were on three of the sides, and a rocky wall was on the fourth side. The moisture refused to dry, and you felt thoroughly chilled to the bone. Fortunately, you had your jacket with you, but it didn't do much about the constant icy sensation under you.

Despite the pinprick of light above, it was still impossible to see, even once you had adjusted to the dark. There weren't any shapes that you could see; it was just too dark.

The footsteps echoed from far away so you assumed that it was quite a path to get down to this underground lair.

"Hello?" you tried cautiously as the footsteps neared. "Please, help me!"

The breathing was heavy and deep. It sounded vaguely familiar, and it took you a moment to realize it was the large demon-werewolf that had knocked you out. You cringed at the memory, lifting a hand to your still-painful head.

You crawled forward so that you were near the bars. "Let me go!" you begged. "I swear I won't tell anyone where you are, I just want to go home!"

"Weren't you listening?" the man said. "We're keeping you here so that Crowley nor the angels can't get you." He let out a throaty laugh. "I can't wait for them to all panic and wonder where their superb weapon has disappeared to."

There was the sound of something sloshing.

"Meanwhile," the man continued, "she's sitting in a dark, dank cage covered in cold oatmeal."

It took you a moment to process what he was saying, and you frowned in confusion, until a wave of cold slop hit you right in the face. You yelped and scrambled backwards.

"That's all your food for three days," he said. "Make it last."

The footsteps slowly echoed away.

He's kidding, right? Something told you he wasn't. You quickly scooped all of the oatmeal together, painstakingly pulling every bit out of your hair and off of your clothing. It took at least half an hour to get the oatmeal in one pile, and once you did, for the first time you were relieved it was dark. No doubt that there was dirt in the oatmeal from it landing on the cave floor of your cage. You scooped a bit of it up in your hand, feeling a slight gag in your throat, and tossed it down.

It was bland, chunky, cold, and slimy, but you choked it down, relieved for the sustenance.

Where's the time freezing when I need it?

But I suppose it wouldn't do much, sitting in a cage.

You sat down on the floor, deciding to conserve the last two thirds of the small pile of oatmeal you'd collected.


Five days had passed. You could tell because the pinprick of light disappeared every so often for a long twelve hours of inky darkness.

Sam and Dean weren't coming.

On the first day, you kept calling out for them tentatively. Maybe they were in that underground cave with you, still knocked out, but you weren't alone. You were wrong.

On the second day, you were ready - ready for them to come storming in at any moment. You'd kept yourself entertained by squinting in the pitch black and trying to see which way they would come through, when they came.

On the third day, you'd resigned yourself to the fact that it'd probably take them a while to find you. All of your oatmeal was gone by the third day and you'd sat in pain for most of the day, strong cramps rolling through your abdomen like thunder.

By the fourth day, you'd lost hope that they'd be coming. One part of you thought they would, and the other part didn't.

Now, by the fifth day, you were sure.

On the bright side, you weren't hungry anymore. Something told you that wasn't a good thing.

But the thirst was worse. Of course, there was enough water on the edges of the wall that you wouldn't be running out any time soon, but it was so difficult to get any of it into your mouth. You ultimately began licking the wall when the thirst felt like it had dried your throat and peeled the flesh away.

Still, those licks didn't quench the thirst for a tall glass of water. One with ice cubes clinking in it. Taking a deep sip, feeling the mouthful of water, moistening your cracked lips and throat, swallowing and having the sensation of water slide down.

The darkness felt like a constant blindfold. You were beginning to see flashes of images, and you figured it was a normal reaction from the brain - creating images to make up for the lack of vision - but they kept you entertained. One time, you could've sworn that you were seeing a person approaching your cage, but after another blink they were gone.

For the most part, the demons left you alone. They didn't seem to care that you were there - what they cared about was the fact that they were keeping you from Crowley and the angels.

For how long they intended to keep you, you weren't sure.

Until the war was over? The prospect of being in the dark, cold, empty cave for that long terrified you.

At first, you'd been constantly crying. It probably wasn't the most resourceful way to spend your time (Sam and Dean would've figured out to get out of here after the first hour, you thought ruefully), but you weren't ashamed, since no one could see you or hear you.

The constant fear that had been keeping your adrenaline high was wearing off once you started getting hungry, and that was a plus. Being this thirsty and hungry at least kept the fear at bay because you were so preoccupied.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn't notice that the pinprick of light had gone dark. You were disappointed; there was so little to do that the highlight of your day was watching the pinprick go from white to black.

What was this? You were beginning to forget. The fifth night, that's right. Into the sixth day. Almost a week with nothing but the water on the walls and a few handfuls of oatmeal.


The seventh day, you woke up especially cold.

Did it snow overnight?

No, it couldn't have. The last bit of logic remaining in your mind told you that if it had snowed, then the water on the walls would be frozen and not dripping still.

Then why is it so cold?

You shivered, feeling your face and wiping sweat off of it. That couldn't be a good sign.

"Happy Sunday," the demon said suddenly, outside of your cage. You leaped backwards against the back wall, hugging yourself tightly and willing the man to go away.

"Tori says you should get a bonus for Sundays," the man said.

You weren't sure who Tori was, but whoever she was, you thanked her rigorously in your mind when through the bars was a crinkle sound. The man vanished, leaving you to the pitch black silence.

You crept over to where the sound had been and almost knocked over a cup. It was a small paper cup, you realized, and after tasting it you realized it was water.

A full two gulps of water later and it was gone, but it felt like the most water you'd drank in years. Next to the paper cup was a lone, limp piece of bread.

Save it or eat it all? You contemplated, and feeling impulsive you shoved the entire thing down.

After having gone a week with nothing but a few handfuls of oatmeal, it was almost too much food; you felt sick after eating it and fought to keep it down.

Intense nausea set in shortly after. Your throat felt like it was on fire, and the headache you'd had at the beginning from the head wound returned. The cave felt like it had dropped another ten degrees, and you stayed in a curled, shivering mess. Your jacket was soaked with the moisture of the cave and your own sweat, and you didn't doubt that you looked like a mess. One pull at your hair with your fingers and you stopped, feeling defeated. If you got out of here, it would take hours to brush it out.


You'd been keeping track of the days but it wasn't until the end of the fourteenth day that it struck you you'd been there for two weeks.

The images you'd been seeing because of the dark had become more vivid, and a couple of times you'd responded to them, thinking they were real.

"Sam!" you called listlessly when the pinprick went dark again, signifying that it would become the fifteenth day. "Sam, I'm here. Anytime you want to come save me."

There was no answer, and it scared you for a moment when you realized you had half-been expecting to get a response.

"Dean?" you tried. "Dean, I'm still here. Still in this cave. Nothing but a few bites of oatmeal and bread. I… could - I could use… use one of your burg… burgers." Your words were slurring.

So hungry.

"Hungry?" said the demon suddenly. He was standing in front of you. You blinked in confusion; he never came at night - only in the mornings.

One glance at the ceiling, though, told you it was morning.

That's weird. I don't remember sleeping.

Sleep was rare, with the hard rock floor and all. You snorted suddenly at what it must look like, and what it would look like if daylight could make it into the dark - you, curled up on a rock without a pillow. The image struck you as funny.

"Bread day," the man said, and your heart leapt as the bread was thrown in along with the paper cup of water. It was gone within seconds; you tore into it wildly and downed the water so fast that a precious droplet fell out.

"It's a bit funny," said a woman's voice suddenly, and you looked up, surprised. It was only ever the man that came down here. You assumed the woman was Tori. The man had mentioned her once before. "Your friends are looking for you."

Joy ran through your heart. "Really?" you said eagerly, before reminding yourself, these are the bad guys. You're supposed to ignore them. But they were gracious enough to give you bread and water on Sundays… maybe, if you got them to like you, they'd set you free.

The logic made sense.

"Where are they?" you asked, forcing yourself to get closer to the bars of the cage and the demons. "Are they coming?"

"In your dreams, kid. We took you from Montana," the man said. "You're in Hell."

"Jay!" the woman, Tori, reprimanded.

"She can't connect with anyone," Jay assured her. "Don't worry."

"Hell?!" you said, panicking. "What?!"

"Because it's far and remote," Tori said simply. "Sam and Dean won't find you. We're at the headquarters of our group. The one that opposes Crowley."

"But I still see night and day," you said, fighting for any reason to think you wouldn't be in… Hell. "And it's not hot. There isn't… fire. And screaming."

Tori laughed. "Us demons have places in Hell, you know. It's not all one big place of torture. You're thinking of the east side of Hell."

"I'm still alive, so I can't be in Hell," you said, with a bit more confidence. Tori and Jay chuckled to themselves, almost as if sharing an inside joke.

"You can be alive in Hell, kid," Tori said.

"They won't come, will they? Sam and Dean?" you said with defeat. Again, you kicked yourself mentally.

Don't ever fraternize with the enemy, Sam's voice rang in your mind. You weren't sure if Sam had ever even said that.

"Do you think they'll come?" Tori asked, her voice edged with what sounded like curiosity. Maybe she did care. Maybe she'd let you go.

"Will you let me go?" you asked in a quiet voice, forgetting the question. "Please… I haven't done anything."

"Sorry, kid. No can do," Jay said. "You're lucky we haven't hurt you."

Tori's laughter sounded again, and it made you tremble; why, you weren't sure. "Jay, come on. Wouldn't it be fun? Put a bullet in her foot."

There was silence as Jay considered. "Left or right foot?" he decided, cocking the gun. You flew back to the opposite side of the cage immediately, shaking.

"No...n-no," you begged. "No!"

"Right foot it is, then," Tori said. "And… bang!"

You cried out, clutching your feet, but there was no pain. Slowly, you opened your eyes - it didn't do much, considering it was pitch black - and realized that he hadn't shot you.

Jay's laughter filled the cage. "Watch yourself, I might shoot you another day."

The sound of their footsteps faded away, and you curled up in relief, feeling both of your feet to make sure that they hadn't been shot without you noticing.


Three weeks. That can't be right.

Unless I counted wrong.

You recounted.

No, three weeks. Seven days, three times. That's three weeks.

Your stomach felt hollow. The fever that had plagued you the week before had faded, thankfully, but now the hallucinations were so great that you rarely got to see the blackness of the cave. When you did, it was a relief from the often violent images that frequently danced around you menacingly.

"Tori?" you asked cautiously when you heard the light footsteps coming. It wasn't scary anymore when you heard them come down - every three days, right at morning, like clockwork.

The routine was comforting and you appreciated Tori and Jay's punctuality.

"Oatmeal," Tori said tonelessly, putting a bowl in under the bars of the cage. Every so often they'd throw the oatmeal at you, laughing, so it was always a pleasure to receive it in a bowl.

"Thank you," you said, grateful for both the civil delivery of the oatmeal and the delivery of it in the first place, right on schedule.


"I know why they never came for me," you said softly to Tori when she was giving you your oatmeal one day. You'd almost lost track of the time, but you were fairly sure it had been a ten months.

"Why?" Tori asked. Jay rarely responded to you, but Tori did. You sought her out; she was the only bit of warmth in this hellhole of a place.

"I'm a tool to them," you explained. "They needed me for the war. They lost me when we went on that hunt. But I'm not a sister to them."

"If you were their sister, do you think they would have come for you?" Tori asked.

You nodded vigorously. "Yeah. Sam and Dean told me how they've saved each other countless times. Sold their souls and everything." You snorted, suddenly, remembering how you had begun to think of them as older brothers.

"You're a child to them," Tori agreed. "A useless sixteen year old girl who happens to be able to help them in the war. They don't actually care about you."

You leaned back against the rocky wall of the cave. You'd long gotten used to the bruises on your back and bottom from no cushions. You'd also gotten quite acute hearing, having not been able to see anything since ten months ago.

"Tori? Why didn't they like me?" you asked. You liked Tori - she had never once followed through on her threats to hurt and even kill you. She wouldn't hurt you, it seemed. And she'd never missed a bowl of oatmeal - every three days, about thirty-seven minutes after the pinprick of light showed up in the ceiling.

"You don't mean anything to them," Tori said bluntly. "You never did."

You sighed. "I wish I meant something to them. I mean, I still dream of them rescuing me. I want them to help me. I want to see them come up to me with concern."

"In your dreams," Tori said, and left.

Several more days went.

It was the ten-and-a-half month anniversary of living with Tori and Jay in the cave when the routine changed.

It was terrifying. Jay was supposed to come down and throw the oatmeal at you, like he always did. But he didn't come.

You waited anxiously, listening for any sign that Tori or Jay would come and give you food. There wasn't much you could do - you'd lost all energy to move months ago and now just sat limply on the floor - but you tipped your head, listening for any sound.

Then, there was white, blinding pain. You clutched at your eyes, falling backwards into the corner.

"Y/N!"

You would've assumed this was a hallucination, but it actually hurt your eyes. Not to mention your hallucinations never had audio.

"Go away!" you said shakily, pressing your hands tightly against your eyes to protect from the blinding white. It suddenly blasted at you directly, and you shrunk away from it, pressing your hands tighter over your closed eyes.

"Get the flashlight out of her eyes, idiot!" said a voice. It took a moment for you to place it, because the voice was not Tori's or Jay's.

It was Sam's.

"Wait!" you cried out as Sam quickly unlocked the cage door. It swung open, and your stomach dropped. That had never happened before. The routine was gone.

"Can you walk?" Dean asked, his tone insistent.

"I…" you began, too tired to do much else. Already this was too much for one day; you'd used the last of your energy shying away from the white light. Sam bent down and scooped you up bridal style.

"We killed the woman and and man, but there could be more," Dean said, hurrying alongside as Sam carried you out of the cage.

"But…" you said, your voice trailing off as you craned your head to look back at where you knew the cage was. It was comfort, and you were leaving the comfort. It was familiarity, it was where you knew when exactly food would come.

Suddenly Dean's words clicked in your mind and you squirmed violently, trying to free yourself. Sam let out a surprised sound and you almost felt yourself drop free before he tightened his grip.

"You killed them?" you rasped. You hadn't talked this much or loudly in months and it ripped at your throat. "Tori too?!"

"Yeah, ganked 'em," Dean said as Sam continued to carry you down the path.

You let yourself be carried, feeling slightly shocked. Tori was dead.

"No," you whispered, feeling broken.

Without warning, there was an explosion of pain in your eyes. You clapped a hand to them, squeezing them tightly shut.

But then your battle with exhaustion won over, and the white light that was penetrating your retinas turned to black.


"We should bring her to a hospital."

"We can't bring her to a hospital. They'll ask too many questions about why she's been nearly starved to death-"

"Exactly, she needs medical help, Dean. Look at her - she's lost at least twenty to thirty pounds, she's nearly dead-"

"We'll take care of her."

You blinked your eyes open slowly.

It was an ugly motel room, but at the same time the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen. The shapes, the outlines of objects, the colors. It all came in at a rush and you closed your eyes, overwhelmed. The bed was soft and warm; so very different from the cold rock you'd gotten accustomed to.

"Sam? Dean?" you croaked, your voice cracked.

"Hey," Sam said, coming over and sitting at the edge of the bed. "How you doing?"

You pulled the blankets up around you tightly. "Ten and a half months," you whispered. "Why didn't you come for me?"

Deep down, you knew why. Tori had explained it to you. You were expendable, and certainly not a part of their family.

"We did come," Dean said, his voice stony. "We came after two and a half days. It took us a bit longer to get Cas to help us, since you were downstairs."

You shook your head. "No, it was… ten and a half months." You were feeling bewildered now, wondering if you were dreaming.

"Time goes differently in Hell," Sam said gently. "It's only been two and a half days."

"What happened? What'd those sons of bitches do to you?" Dean asked, standing up sharply.

"Dean, maybe not yet," Sam began, but you cut him off.

"It's fine," you said, lowering your eyes. "They treated me nicely. They didn't even hurt me."

"Nicely? They had you in a pitch black, cold cage for nearly a year," Dean said angrily. "Did they even feed you at all?"

You nodded emphatically. "They never missed a meal. Every three days, thirty-seven minutes after dawn, they'd bring me oatmeal and water."

Sam and Dean exchanged a knowing look, and it irritated you.

"What the hell?" Dean said quietly to Sam. "What's with the 'it's okay' attitude?"

"Stockholm syndrome?" Sam said under his voice, shrugging. You threw the blankets off, heated.

"I can hear you," you said, sitting up. "And I'm leaving now. I'm done. Tori told me. You guys… aren't my family. And I'm not yours. It's not fair for me to be living with you."

Dean stood as well. "You're not going anywhere."

You looked at him angrily. "Try me." You threw your feet over the edge of the bed and stood. Sam looked like he wanted to lean over and help you, but one look at him and he didn't move.

"They're just going to find you again, Y/N," Sam said. "We can keep you safe."

"Yeah, but-" You struggled for words. "But… it's just that… I'm a - I mean, I'm…"
"Yeah? Spit it out," Dean said, his voice a bit less angry.

"Look. I know that you guys are really close, and I don't want to come between you. I just think that it would be better if I'm on my own." You shifted uncomfortably. "We all know that I'm only staying with you because I'm helpful for this war."

Sam's forehead creased. "Y/N, that might have been true when we first met you. But now, you're part of the family. And to be honest, I didn't really realize that until that demon took you. You're like a little sister to me."

You lifted your eyes to meet his. "Really?"

"We were both worried," Dean cut in. "You're not just a weapon, Y/N. We care about you, and personally it's pretty cool having a girl around."

You wiped your eyes quickly. "Thanks, guys."

"Here. Drink some water," Dean said, handing you a bottle with a straw on it. You accepted it gratefully and took a sip.

"You should eat, too," Sam said, and in true Winchester cooking style he grabbed a granola bar from the counter.

You shook your head. "I'm not hungry," you said, which was perfectly true.

"Yeah, but if you didn't notice, you're starving to death," Dean said, shoving it into your hands. "At least eat half."

You obliged reluctantly and chewed the granola bar with disdain. "Happy?" you asked once barely half was gone.

"Not really," Dean snorted. "Stay in bed, get some rest. I'm going to go out and make a food run. Stay with her, Sam."

Sam nodded. You wanted to stay up and talk, but the warmth of the bed was making you so tired that you could hardly keep your eyes open.


You woke up to the sound of Sam swearing. You opened your eyes curiously; Sam didn't swear so vividly very often.

"What is it?" you asked, dazed, pushing yourself onto your elbows. Immediately, the cold of the motel room hit you, and you exhaled to see your breath in the air.

"Just our luck," Sam said, cursing again. "There's a ghost in here. And Dean's not back. All of the guns are in the trunk."

"Crap. Is there any salt at all?" you asked.

Sam held up a nearly empty container. "We used almost all of this up salting the doors and windows," he said. "I've already called Dean and he's on his way back. Should be here in ten."

The cupboards of the kitchenette suddenly slammed open and closed, making you flinch. Sam stood next to you, holding the small amount of salt like a weapon. You climbed out of bed and stood next to him.

"You okay?" Sam asked, giving you a once over.

"Yeah," you said, even though your legs felt like they were burning. Pins and needles ran up and down them, and you knew that running wouldn't be an option. The muscles shook in protest and it annoyed you, how weak your legs felt, so you opted to ignore it.

"Duck!" Sam yelled suddenly as several plates came flying out of the cupboards and at your heads. You probably wouldn't have made it down in time but Sam pushed you down with him. The plates flew over your heads and shattered against the wall.

"Is there any iron?" you asked, shouting above the volume of the cupboards, which were opening and closing at rapid fire.

"It's all in the trunk," Sam responded, and you both ducked your heads as another plate flew at you.

The sudden image of a man, wearing bloody pajamas, flickered in front of you. His teeth were bloody and there was a massive bruise on the side of his head. Even worse, his neck was severed slightly so that his head hung at an angle.

"You killed my friend," he whispered, and with a surge of force the table suddenly lifted up and flew at you and Sam.