Luv Ya like I love my pet fish Fluffy!!!!!!
P.S.- I don't have a pet fish!!! =O

I may soon be getting a beta! YAY!!! hope u like it!!!!!

ENJOY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! sorry, not too long..

__________________________HAPPY BIRTHDAY BECCI!!!!!!!!______________________________

"There you are, boy. I've been lookin' for you" David Brechett said, a glint in his eyes as he wiped the blood off his nose. It had a weird angle to it, the hook of his nose slanting slightly to the left, probably broken.

Sam drew in a breath, his oxygen losing him. He looked around frantically, not necessarily for help, he knew the statistics of someone coming to help him were slim, but for a weapon. He saw a sofa, which obviously wouldn't be an option, a painting hanging on the wall, and a lit candle. Sam ran for the candle, conveniently located in the opposite direction of the man, his feet bouncing off the floor. The man dashed after him, his long legs pumping fast in Sam's direction.

"There's no where to run, boy. You can't escape me."

It only made Sam run faster, sprinting full force. It was like a all-or-nothing, hardcore workout with John, except in more enclosed spaces and significantly more life threatening. It urged him forward, until he found himself grasping the waxy part of the candle. The wax was already melting, burning onto his skin, but he didn't feel it, it was just a numbing sensation. That's what adrenaline does to you.

He spun around and, just as he did, the man was on him. He pushed into Sam, which was a curious thing, because the man had been holding a knife, why not use it? Either way, it was a matter to dispute later. He tossed Sam to the floor like a ragdoll, his back knocking onto the cold floor with a small thud, and straddled his legs mercilessly.

Sam gasped, thrashing his arms around endlessly before they were snatched and thrown to his sides, held down by the man's strong hands. His legs were immobile with the man's weight, so Sam moved on drastically to his last resort. He pushed himself off the floor, barely, but enough. His head clashed with the man's, their foreheads bursting in pain as they connected. David gasped, throwing his hands to his face, freeing Sam's. He had been expecting the pain, and it didn't affect him as much. He pushed at the man's statue-like body, as if pushing a goddamn bull. He wouldn't move, goddamn it.

Sam, wondering why he hadn't thought of it sooner, began punching the man, hoping it would throw him off his legs. It did no so thing, as the man recovered quickly and caught one of Sam's fists mid-air. Sam panicked, flailing his other hand at the man, which he caught by his thin wrist. How he had gotten so good, Sam didn't want to know, but he did know one thing: This could be very, very bad.

The man smirked, eyeing Sam's wrist, then the rest of him. "Damn, kid, you're skinny. You abused or somethin'?" Sam squirmed, pushing frantically at the pressure the man was releasing . He wasn't numb anymore, not at all, he hurt like hell.

The man put Sam's two hands in his own and slapped Sam hard, a red handprint faintly visible on his cheek. "Answer me, bitch. You abused?"

Sam whimpered quietly, shaking his head violently. "No." It was a questioning inquiry for Sam, even in this situation, and he'd have to put more thought to it if he survived. What was the official term for abuse? In a sense, the way John Winchester treated him, it could be considered abuse by a numerous set of people.

David Brechett nodded, as if interested in Sam's personal life. It wouldn't be the topic of choice for a normal kidnapper but, Sam had to remember, this wasn't a normal kidnapper.

He eyed Sam carefully. "You love 'em? Your dad and that other kid, your brother?" He asked, threading his fingers through Sam's hair. Sam stiffened, his face growing red, redder than the handprint on his cheek.

"Y-Yes" He breathed out, suddenly feeling inebriated.

The man watched him earnestly, as if hanging on Sam's every word, obsessed. It was frightening on the best of days.

"What do you do for fun, Sam? Hmm? What do you do? Read? Drugs? Sports?" He paused. "Sex?"

Sam shivered, a cold tingle running down his spine all the way down his back. He must have known Sam's name from when they first moved in, John probably using it more than once. But, the real question was, why was this man asking him all these things? It didn't make sense. He had never met him before, aside from walking passed him in the hall, and should mean nothing to this man. Sam shook his head vehemently, working so hard to stay strong.

"Then what do you do, boy?" He asked. Getting no response, he entangled his fingers from Sam's hair and slapped him again, on the other cheek this time, leaving the same imprint.

"Tell me!" he shrieked. Sam whimpered, cowering his head away as far as he could which, in truth, wasn't that far. Sam shut his eyes tight, praying that when he opened them, if he opened them, he'd see Dean, hovering over him like the protective brother he was. He squinted his eyes open, peering warily at the figure in front of him. No change.

"I...I hunt, sir" Sam said cautiously, tediously, wondering if he should go more in depth, wondering why he had called him "sir". The man seemed to accept it, though, and his face softened, slightly.

"Come here."

Sam looked at him confusedly as he motioned him in his direction. They were now sitting right next to each other, how else would he "come here" without sitting in his damn lap.

Fuck.

Sam didn't move from his spot, too stiff to mobilize himself. The man, a little angry but not angry enough to do something about it, hoisted Sam onto his lap and held him as if he were a cute, playful puppy. Sam struggled half-heartedly, but he already knew the end results. He'd twist and turn, get yelled at, then slapped, and the process would repeat itself. \

Sam looked around, no longer looking for a weapon. He was now looking for something to distract him from the man he was literally sitting on, to help him get away, even if but for a moment. He caught something in the top corner of the ceiling, a small black object with an even smaller blinking red light. Sam observed it closely, squinting to concentrate as the man played with his hair. It was a camera, in view of the whole room, recording everything that had happened. Sam gasped loudly.

The man looked up to Sam's line of vision. He smiled proudly as he spotted the camera. "Ah, so you found it. Isn't it exciting? You get to be on TV now, with the whole world watching you." He kissed Sam's hair as his eyes widened to the size of...damn, the size of the whole fucking world. What if Dean saw this, or Dad? What would they think of him?

The camera was attached to the intersection of the ceiling and wall and, at that height, Sam would never reach it, not with his hands alone. Sam panicked. He thrashed forcefully into the man's chest, pushing him away frantically.

"Fuck, boy, chill out. I thought you wanted to be seen." He smiled grimly. "The way you strut around the place, I thought you wanted everyone to see you." The man placed another knife to the nape of Sam's neck. Sam froze instantly, the hairs on his neck standing on end, eyeing the man as he waited for his next move. The man continued, "Your brother may not have seen you. Your dad may not have seen you." He twirled Sam's chocolate-colored hair with his index finger, smelling it. "But I noticed you, boy. I noticed you."

Sam stayed as still as he could as he felt a slimy, wet, and saliva-filled substance press against his neck. The man's tongue. It began to play with Sam's ear, teasing it as it went inside, then worked at the surrounding area, before going back into the owner's mouth. Sam shivered. The man's breath was hot on his neck.

"How old are you, boy?"

Sam paused, wondering if he should use his real age. What difference would it make?

"Twelve."

Brechett nodded gleefully. "Ah, that's a wonderful age, boy."

After a few minutes of silence, he started back up again.

"What's your favorite color?"

Sam, already scared to death, even by miniscule questions such as these, was frantically trying to calculate if it was a trick question in his head. What could his favorite color have to do with anything? Was the man trying to determine something on Sam based on his preferred shirt color? The man slapped the small of his back. "Green" Sam spilled.

The man nodded, then said, "Ahh, that's a beautiful color, Sammy."

Sam stiffened, a look of anger suddenly crossing his features, his hands clenching into fists until he drew blood. There was one person that called him Sammy. One. And this man, David-fucking-Brechett, was not that one. "It's Sam."

David looked at him, puzzled. "What's that?"

Sam turned to face the man. "My name. It's Sam."

The man looked at him, disoriented by his response. He obviously hadn't expected a 12 year old kid to last this long against him. How many kids had this man broken? One? None? Many? The man's surprise quickly turned to fury as he looked at Sam vehemently.

"Your name is whatever I want it to be." He eyed Sam, reading his emotions, maybe. "Understood?"

Sam eyed him as well, doing the same. "Well, unfortunately for you, I have one name, and one name only, and it's Sam."

Sam wanted to smack himself, maybe shove an axe down his throat right then and there. Why did he choose now to be all courageous and brave, the kid saving the damsel in distress- would he be the damsel in distress, saving himself? This man, weidling a quite deadly weapon, was the person Sam was back-talking to. There was something so fucking wrong with that picture he didn't know where to begin.

The man pulled Sam up roughly, briskly and effectively getting him on his feet before dragging him swiftly across the room. Sam's knees were trailing on the hard floor as he grunted, feeling the bruises he knew were soon to come. He could feel his eyes swell with water, but he stopped them there. He wouldn't cry, not now. He didn't even know what was going to happen yet. Maybe he'd let him go.

As Sam passed through all the rooms on his knees, he realized the motel was a lot bigger than he realized. The whole "quality over quantity" didn't really come into affect with this place. A large amount of stuff, but a large amount of shit.

Sam cringed as his left knee ran over a small candle holder on the floor. "Where are you taking me?" he managed to hiss out, clenching his teeth tightly as to not cry out.

The man smiled sinisterly, a glint of something undefinable in his eyes. "You'll see, boy. It's time to demonstrate who's really running this show. "

__________________________

HOPE U ENJOYED IT!!!!!!!!

im kind of excited about this story. its a very hard topic to write about, in the sense that i don't know if i could write anything graphic or perverted. Oh well, im working on it, because i know that some people really seem to enjoy that. Kinda icky, but nonetheless depressing, and also consisting of much limp!Sam. YAY!!
Really appreciate all the people checking this out. I have a new record of how many people have looked at my stories in one day: 2,350 views. I have gotten close to 2,000 several times, but never actually broke it. I want to thank everybody that contributed, and hope to reach ANOTHER new record soon!! love u guys/girls!! --ShhUrDead678

Ok, sorry this chapter isnt very long. We had a double-header today for softball- in BIRMINGHAM! kinda far away. The first game we won by one, the second we lost by one. We did really bad. Anyway, back to my point. Affttteerrrr the game, my big sis had to do something at her job, which lasted maybe 35 min. We got home around 10:15. Not bad, right? Well, then we put my dad into the equation...not so good. You know how parents would say something, then tell you to do the opposite? If u know what im talking about, its the WORST! im only fifteen and there have been a lot of rough patches...ughh..anyway, so here's how it went down. (This is one-sided conversation with my dad and sis, Carmen...very time-consuming for me)
Dad: [Throws Carmen's book to the floor violently] Damnit, Carmen, I'm tired of you acting like this. I want to know exactly why you act like a bitch all the time. Say it!
Carmen: Oh my gosh, Da-
Dad: DAMNIT Carmen, i don't want to hear it! Just shut up! [kisses Carmen a little roughly on the cheek] Good night. [Carmen stalks up the stairs to her room]
and then there i am, being stupid, and putting myself in the middle.
Cristina (me): Holy crap, Dad, you just told her to tell you why she's acting like a bitch then tell her to shut up?!? ----it didnt end well....

ANYWAYYY!!!! that was kinda random, but there was a point to this. And, no, its not to prove that parents are evil. I wanted you to know that, for future reference, i won'T usually have chapters this short. I wanted to get it up today for Becci and wrote it as long as i could...until midnight, of course, thats when i put it up =)

ok, one more thing. I, once again, tried shortening my descriptions. See how that works out for u guys.

this chapter was dedicated to the anonymous reader Becci, whose birthday is today!!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY, girl!! luv ya!!!!
-let me know if anyone elses birthday is comin up soon and ill get them a chapter! just tell me a day or two in advance!
P.S.---Becci, i wanna know what u get, k? hee hee....

SORRY ABOUT THE LENGTH, BECCI AND OTHERS!!!!

TAKE THE POLL, PEEPS!!!!!!!!!!!!!