Other People Stop Looking

A/N: I have been wanting to post this for ages! Unfortunately, my computer decided to have a hissy fit and delete Microsoft Word, leaving me pretty much screwed. *kicks computer* The upside is that I have finished the story so updates will be made as soon as I find time to type them up. :)

Reviews are love.

~Menthol Pixie


Sam couldn't remember how long he'd been in this place, but it had been long enough for the shackles to bite into his skin, drawing blood; long enough for him to feel the creeping hints of defeat.

If he had been aware enough, Sam would have noted that he was still in the cage he had woken up in that first day – how long ago was that? A week? Month? Year? - small enough that if he'd had the strength, or the will, to move, he wouldn't have had room to stand, although it was wide enough to fit another two or three people. The cage was in the corner of an empty room. The one lone window was draped with thick curtains that, even in the daytime, let in very little light.

Sam hated the dark.

It wasn't a big room, with a door on the far side. It held no purpose other than his captivity and that of those before him. He wondered how many there had been.

Sam didn't see the room, with its cold blankness and metaphorical ghosts. He didn't see the bars or the chains, or the one thing he wanted to see (Dean, where are you?). No, Sam saw lots of things, lots of places, lots of people, and it always ended the same; ended with dull vacant eyes and a searing headache that never went away.

There was no respite between the visions, not until whatever he was being dosed with wore off and left him gasping and sobbing in the darkness.