A/N: Thanks for all of the reviews! I apologize that I'm not as quick to update as many other authors; my schedule is often quite hectic. I love any and all feedback though. My main concern is keeping the characters realistic, so if you find that I'm straying from what Sam and Dean are really like, please let me know.
Warnings: Same as before - T for language and a tad of violence; will be M in the future. Spoilers up until (and including) "Dream a Little Dream of Me."
Sam Winchester had flicked through the channels of the television set more times than he could count. It was beyond 11 p.m. and most of the stations hosted either infomercials, soft-core porn or shows as old as the television set itself.
Giving up, he sighed and glanced once more at the red numbers on the clock beside his bed. They seemed to be going by quickly. But like watching a pot boil, it was the hotel room door that was taking too long.
Sam was gravely anticipating his brother's return. Dean had said he was only going to the store at the corner of the block, and yet it had been over an hour since he'd gone.
The ever-cautious instincts of a hunter were setting in, and Sam regretted not sending Dean's cell phone with him. At the time it would have appeared ludicrous, but in hindsight it would have been the natural, smart thing to do...
Sam regretted a lot of things lately.
For one, he regretted, like so many other times in his life, that he and his brother hadn't lived normal lives.
It really all came back to that in the end- if they had lived a regular life, like the one that most other twenty-somethings knew, he wouldn't be worrying about what was taking Dean so long. He wouldn't be automatically thinking about grabbing the sawed-off from beside the bed just to go outside and look for him.
He wouldn't be fretting that Dean's last year had been cut suddenly short by some bloody demon on this warm night in Wisconsin.
That was it. What he regretted the most was not having more time to spend with the only living person in the world that he really cared about.
Sam shook the morbid thoughts out of his head and sighed. He got up from the bed, pacing around for a little bit. His eyes went to the window. His feet followed. He pushed away at the curtains, for once second-thinking the decision to always keep the window closed tight.
Maybe he would have heard something otherwise.
Despite himself, Sam let out a little bit of a laugh. He was assuming that something had happened to Dean. Worrying, once more. And if Dean found out, Sam was sure he would be relentlessly hounded for it.
He wasn't giving his older brother enough credit. He could have just as easily slipped over to the bar for a beer or a whiskey, which was not unlike him at all.
Especially these days... Dean's impending doom had sent Sam's older brother reeling on the occasional self-destructive stints that involved lots of booze, questionable women and good, hard practice at pretending not to care. Luckily for Sam, he mostly saved these moments for their down time.
Unluckily, however, that this thought didn't make Sam any less worried.
He sighed, coming to a decision. Jacket and shoes on. Gun left behind. And cell phone, definitely coming.
The silence was throbbing throughout the stone room and the cold wall against Dean's back held no recluse. The breeze throughout the place held a bit more force, suggesting that a door was open somewhere. The hunter's eyes fell past the woman that stood before him, for the first time noticing the light that fell onto the floor from beyond the shadows. There was some sort of hallway, a hidden door off to the side.
Trembling from the stress on his upper body, Dean was still half-shocked by the time he found it in himself to answer the female in his presence. "Who the hell are you?" He asked, his voice still gruff with disuse.
"Now Dean, that's not a very nice attitude to show your host."
She would have been about the same height as he, had he been standing. Perhaps a few years older. She wore a black trench coat, black leather pants and a red tank. Her glossy black hair reflected the light filtering through the doorway, giving an almost halo-like appearance. Her dark blue eyes glinted in a metallic sort of way and she was obviously more amused by his predicament than he.
Dean's fear dissipated from the surface as fast as he could manage, replacing it with a smirk. "Sorry, it's just that my dates normally ask for my number first before taking me home. Or at least a drink."
The woman clucked noises of disapproval as she knelt her slender frame down to meet his gaze straight on. "Always the charmer, aren't you Dean?"
"That's what they tell me." He grinned, mischief giving his eyes a bit more life.
"That's what I like about you, Dean... your sense of humor," the woman said. She reached a hand out and stroked the side of his face, much to Dean's surprise and chagrin. He jerked his head away, not able to hide the look of disgust that easily replaced his cocky mask.
"Well that, among other things," she continued, a cherry-red grin of enjoyment at his reaction.
Dean turned his head back to meet her gaze, eyes no longer smiling. "How do you know who I am?" He growled.
The woman smiled. "I know lots about you, Dean Winchester. But don't worry, we'll have plenty enough time to get more acquainted."
The fact that she had used his full name was not lost on Dean. "How about you start by telling me who the hell you are?" He asked, repeating the earlier question.
A pause. She sized him up with her navy eyes, and he couldn't read her expression. She stood up, pushing her hands on the knees of her leather pants to do so. Stretched herself to her full height, and looked down at him like that. "My name is Myah, Dean." She said.
"Well, Myah," His eyes couldn't help but follow her movements, which were almost mesmerizing. "Now that we've gotten to know each other a little bit better, how about you let me out of these?" He rattled the chains and smiled sweetly, white teeth a stark contrast against the shadows on his face. The movement jarred is sore limbs, prodding momentary flames of pain as he bit back a grimace.
Myah let out a tinkling laugh, one that reminded him eerily of a child and an insane person all at the same time. She didn't answer; just stood there and watched him for a couple minutes with her piercing gaze. His eyes flared; he was really beginning to lose patience with this chick.
Patience was never his strong suit.
Suddenly she spun on the heels of her boots and left the room altogether.
Confused and annoyed, Dean was left only with his thoughts once more.
It was obvious that she was avoiding letting him in on the secret as to why he was held captive. It's not like Dean wasn't used to being on someone's naughty list - maybe that's why Santa rarely visited he and Sam, he pondered with inner, erratic amusement - but at least he could usually venture a guess as to why.
As far as he knew, he had never met this girl before in his life.
A demon, maybe? Dean knew that he had pissed off enough of those in his lifetime, and there was no real way to tell if she was one of them while being chained up like this.
Unless...
The raven-haired captor sauntered back into the room, her hands as empty as when she had left. Apparently she hadn't gone to get anything.
She strode up to him, that gratingly cocky grin still plastered on her red lips.
"Christo," Dean said suddenly, eyes narrowed in anticipation.
A flash of confusion graced Myah's face for a few short seconds before she started to laugh at him once more.
Dean scowled.
"He's not my favorite person in the world, Dean," Myah chuckled, "but I'm definitely not one of your buddies from Hell... not the Hell you know anyway." She paused and smiled, allowing her words to soak into her helpless captive.
Dean didn't miss a beat. "So you've been following me around for my charming good looks and dazzling smile?" He flashed a trademark grin once more. He had dropped the ball and it had bounced back into her court. Back to Plan A - they always hated it when he took his seemingly dire situation lightly.
Pretend he didn't care. Tick off the bad dudes. Take them by surprise.
In fact, this sort of facade helped him through a lot more situations than just dealing with enemies...
"You know Dean," Myah began to prowl around him slowly. He hated that she kept calling him by his name. "I've been following you a lot longer than you think. I've had my eye on you for quite some time..."
Sick of the conversation but not willing to let it show, Dean licked his dry lips before responding. "You know lady, that's kind of creepy. Seriously. A phone call works wonders."
She stopped her movements and frowned down at him. "That devil-may-care attitude of yours is not going to help you this time Dean."
It's getting to her, he thought. Good.
He was beginning to lose all feeling in his fingers, pin-pricks and all. He knew he had to get the blood flowing again. "Well, now that you've put me in my place, how about you let me out to stretch for a bit?"
There was a flash of white that Dean later registered as the pale skin of her hand. A sharp pain inflamed the side of his face, and his head whipped to the side with force. Momentarily stunned, the hunter slowly brought his eyes back to center, ignoring the pain in his cheek and body. A small smile crept onto his face despite himself.
She was getting sick of him.
"You have no idea what you're dealing with, Dean," She said with a voice almost cold enough to shake Dean's resolve. He fought to keep his grin. "You're going to want to start showing me some respect, if you know what's good for you."
Dean swallowed. "You seem to know enough about what's good for me for the both of us. How about I leave those kinds of details to you?"
"Stop being a smart ass." She warned, voice low.
"Let me out."
"You know I'm not about to do that."
"Do I?" Dean asked, frustration leaking into his voice. He was shivering, and it was beginning to affect his speech. "You still haven't told me why I'm here."
"Do you really want to know, Dean? Are you actually ready to know who I really am?" She paced around him again, and it was her turn to smile.
The cold room echoed with the weight of the question. Dean knew something bad was coming. But he didn't care.
"Tell me, you bitch," he replied.