Hey, everyone! Okay. So some of you might've read Without (just posted the last chapter yesterday), and this is the oneshot I was talking about. yay.

I rated this T for language! YES! (I mean...fYI...)

And...Um... I don't own Supernatural! But I DO wish they would put some more flashbacks to their cute, cuddly, yet angsty days. That'd be nice. Angst in general is nice too...

There aren't any spoilers, as far as I know. There is one TEENY mention of the shtriga, but nothing that spoilery. This can take place just about anywhere in the season, but probably more towards the end.

Also, I wrote this at 5 in the morning, after watching 6 episodes of Supernatural... so... I was really acting strange, but then when i rewrote it, it sounded better, so here it is!

Before Dean knew what was happening, he was thrown into a small closet by an unseen force. The door slammed in his face, and he heard the grating noise of something heavy being dragged in front of it, blocking his way out. No matter how hard Dean tried, he couldn't push the door open again.

"Dean!" Sam called from the other side. "Hold on, I'll get you out of there!"

"No," Dean protested. "Kill it first!"

Outside, Sam nodded in agreement. "Okay, I'll be back!" And he ran off, rock salt-loaded shotgun in hand. The spirit that they had been hunting had seemingly disappeared… They were in the spirit's—his name was Dale Ivan—old house. Sam and Dean had figured out that Dale's body was there rather than buried, so all that was left to do was to salt and burn the bones. Only complication, they ran into their old pal Dale. Sam shook his head as he ran—he just wanted to get this done and over with. It had been a long day.

After Sam left, Dean looked around the closet. Maybe there was some sort of light hiding among the old jackets. But there was nothing. The closet was full of black, and it must have been the smallest closet Dean had ever seen…

His eyes darted around the closet, still not seeing anything but darkness and beginning to feel trapped. He hated feeling trapped… He hated it with his entire being, just being stuck in a small, dark place with no way out and no hope for rescue.


"Please let me out!"

Dean winced to himself, laying the palms of his hands on the cool door of the closet. "I can't lose it this time… I have to keep it together," he muttered under his breath. He tried not to remember, but he could feel beads of sweat developing on his brow. God, Sam, what's taking you so long?

He looked around. Still black. Still alone. Still quiet.

"Daddy, please help me!"

Dean let out a choppy breath, taking a hand off the door to rub his face furiously. He had thought that this would never resurface. He would forget it.

He could never forget it.

"Daddy, please! I'm scared of the dark! Daddy!"



It was years ago, only a week or two after Mary died. John was at a loss, he had no idea what to do. All he did was sit in his daze, and Dean could never reach him. He had to take care of baby Sammy all by himself because John would never respond when Dean would ask for help. After Mary had died, it seemed like all Sam did was cry. Dean had tried everything, but still Sam would cry. The only time his little brother would stop was when he had worn himself out, or if John would snap out of it and cradle his youngest in his arms with tears streaming down his own face.

John would take Sam up and whisper comforting words. He would walk past Dean and back downstairs, sometimes feeding Sam, or sometimes just sitting there, holding the baby.

Four-year-old Dean was confused. Had he somehow turned invisible? Why was it that every time John snapped out of his trance, he would never seem to see or hear him? His daddy had never ignored him before…

"Why does he see you, Sammy?" Dean asked his younger brother late that night. He shoved his little arm through the crib bars and let Sam hold onto his pointer finger. "Why does he see you, and not me?"

Sam only gurgled in response.

"Did I do something bad?" Dean asked, a fear growing in the pit of his stomach. "Does Daddy not…not love me anymore?"

Before he could ponder on the answers to his questions, Dean heard the door open. It was John, Dean knew it. His father had gone out an hour ago, and Dean had been afraid to go to sleep before he came home. He needed to protect Sammy in case another fire came…

Dean rushed up to his father. "Daddy?" he asked warily, his nose wrinkling when he realized, his daddy smelt weird. It was a smell that Dean would later recognize as alcohol.

"What are you still doing up, Dean?" John grumbled, rubbing his eyes.

"I-I-I… You can see me?" Dean asked, bewildered. After all this time, he had really begun to believe that maybe he was invisible.

John wearily looked down at his eldest and frowned. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Daddy…I thought—but I thought… You never looked at me, Daddy, I thought…"

"Stop stuttering, Dean!"

Dean's eyes widened. His daddy never raised his voice to him before… Tears began to pool in his eyes when he saw what seemed to be fire dancing in his father's. Before he knew what he was doing, Dean ran up to his father and hugged him tightly. "Daddy…Daddy, I'm scared…"

John picked Dean off him and glared. "Dean, there will be no crying! I already get enough of that from your brother!"

Dean's heart beat wildly, fear of his father suddenly sprouting forth. He tried to stop crying, he really did, but tears began to spill down his face, betraying him.

John grabbed Dean by the shoulders, hard. "Don't cry!"

"D-D-Daddy… I'm s-s-s-sorry…," he sniffled. "I'm s-sorry!"

"Be quiet!"

"I-I c-can't… I c-can't stop… I'm scared…"

John let out a long, angry sigh that almost sounded like a growl. "I can't deal with this!" He grabbed Dean's wrist and dragged him down the hall.

Dean stumbled and tried to match his father's quick pace. John stopped in front of the closet, opened the door, and led Dean inside before finally letting go of his wrist.


"Stay here until you're ready to stop being such a baby," John said, slamming the door and sliding the lock into place. Dean heard his father's retreating footsteps as he walked back down the hall.

Dean looked around fearfully, finding no light source. All around him was darkness, darkness and himself, and the strong sense of being trapped. It was then Dean realized that he hated that feeling. He hated the dark, small closet. He hated feeling so alone.

Panicked, he began to bang on the door with his fists, new tears falling down his face.

"Daddy! Please let me out! Daddy, please help me! Daddy, please! I'm scared of the dark! Daddy!" Dean screamed. Then he fell silent, hoping to hear John coming to save him. He needed his daddy to come back and let him out. He needed his daddy to hug him and say that he was sorry, and most of all, he needed to hear his daddy say, I love you, Dean.

But no sound came. Daddy wasn't coming for him.

Daddy didn't care.

"DADDY!" Dean yelled at the top of his lungs one last time before falling to the hard floor. He felt so tired from crying and yelling. He couldn't do it anymore.

He sniffled and tried to stop crying again. "Daddy…," he whispered. "Daddy, I don't ever wanna be alone… Please come back, Daddy…"

The only noise he heard was his own loud breathing. He felt too tired to do anything anymore. He was scared out of his mind, but all he could do was stay perfectly still, just laying there. Over the next few hours, all he did was stare at the darkness, afraid to close his eyes. Sometimes he would break down and cry again, whispering pleas that no one would ever hear.

Eventually, he fell asleep. All night long he had nightmares of being completely alone, lost in the small closet for the rest of his life.

When he awoke the next morning, he sat there for another few hours, tracing designs he couldn't see on the hard, cold floor. Even though he had gotten some sleep, he still felt tired and sick. He didn't know if it was really morning time, because all he could see was the dark. How he hated the dark. He hated the things he feared. He hated feeling afraid. Most of all, he hated feeling alone.

But finally, the door opened. The light poured in, and Dean had to close his eyes against the harshness of the sun. When his eyes adjusted, he saw his father. Dean instantly shot up, fear once again enveloping him.

"Dean…," John began quietly, rubbing his forehead. "Son, I'm—"

Dean didn't let him finish. He bolted out of the closet and ran as far away from it as he could. He ran to Sammy, who was still sleeping in his crib. And again, he squeezed his arm between the bars, this time rubbing Sam's stomach.

"I don't ever wanna be alone again," Dean whispered to his brother, letting himself be reassured by Sam's presence. "And I'm never gonna let you feel alone either, Sammy. Never ever."

Dean was brought back to reality after that. He simply couldn't remember anything after that morning. It was like when the shtriga had almost killed Sam—John never talked about it, and he never asked.

Dean slammed a fist into the door. That was almost twenty-three fucking years ago! I'm better than that crying four-year-old!

But still his breath seemed to catch in his throat, and his heart beat like it did on that night. He liked this closet just as much as he had like the last one. He really couldn't stand the things. Good-for-nothing crap-shacks…, Dean thought bitterly.

He then sighed, the emotions from all those years ago coming back like some demon that just wouldn't give up. He rubbed his face. If there was something he hated more than feeling trapped like this, it was feeling alone.

He was jerked from his thoughts when he heard the scraping noise of whatever was in front of the closet. Someone was moving it.

The closet door opened, and Sam peered inside. "Dean?"

Dean let out a breath in relief and stepped out, spying a large bookcase pushed to one side. So that's what was so damn heavy…

"Did you take care of it?" Dean asked, looking around.

Sam nodded with an accomplished smile. "Yeah. One body, salted and fried, just like you ordered." The smile began to fade from his face as he cocked his head to one side, giving Dean a strange look. For some reason his brother looked slightly paler, and he swore that he saw beads of sweat on Dean's brow.

"What?" Dean demanded irritably, not liking Sam's look.

"Are you okay, man? You look a little—"

Dean tossed Sam a glance over his shoulder. "Dude, I was in a friggin' closet. What's the worst that coulda happened?"


pleeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaase tell me what you think! Coming tomorrow: Escape (another fan fiction that takes place after Devil's Trap)