Disclaimer: Everything belongs to their respective owners, Eric Kripke, the CW, WB.

A/N: Someone requested that I not leave them like I did in Chowless. I agreed. This was written at about 4:00 in the morning. I'll ask you to be gentle, because I read it the next day and it's a little slow, but surprisingly this is actually one of my favourites for how it was written. I've given you the drabble, Chowless, that I wrote for those who didn't read it. I hope you all enjoy!

Chowless

"Dean, I'm hungry."

That's an understatement, Dean thought. "I know, little brother." Dean began crawling his way through the darkness toward Sam's voice. They'd been kidnapped approximately three days ago. That wasn't the worst part.

Sam's stomach growled.

The worst part was the fact that they hadn't been given food or water the entire time they were there. Dean knew the human body could only last three or four days without water in the least. That time was drawing near. He could feel it.

"Dean..."

"Shh," Dean comforted, finally reaching Sam. He too was ravenous. But Sam's comfort came before his own complaining.

Finally, Freedom

"Sam. Sammy! Hey, I need you to hold on for me. Can you do that? Sammy?" Dean's heart breaks. His brother's body lays limp in his arms, head rolling from side to side. "Sammy, come on, don't do this to me." A single tear drop. "I swore I'd get you out of here, and I will Sammy. Just hold on."

Finally, the touch he wanted, needed, to feel. A small pat on his arm. That's all he needed. Even through the dark, Dean can imagine the faint smile on his brother's face. For a Sasquatch, he was pretty cute, after all. "Just hold on."

"I'll hold on as lo-" Wheezing. Getting hard to talk. Dean chokes back a sob. "-as long as you need me to." The sentence ended faintly, barely audible even in the dead silence that was their prison.

Dean swallows thickly with the little saliva left in his mouth. He nods to the veil of nothing, but he knew Sam could sense it. Using what precious little strength he had left, Dean hefts his brother up and gently leans him against the stone wall.

Stone. Meant basement. A basement where no one would hear the calls of two captives with little voice left.

"Sam," Dean whispers hoarsely, quietly. "Stay awake. Just hold on."

Stretching weak limps, Dean shuffles blindly back to where he'd been working before his senses had spiked.

It was the instinct he'd trusted through his life. The one that told him when his brother wasn't quite right. He'd been interrupted when that instinct went off and he found Sam unconscious on the floor.

Dean's hand hit a wall hard. He isn't fazed, just gets back to work. His sight was useless. His hearing only stretched as far as Sam. All he had was touch. Delicate fingers work over the lock he'd memorized a hundred times over. This time, something was different though. It protruded out a little bit. More than it had only two hours earlier. Dean didn't really know what to do with it, but he wouldn't stop, even if that meant only re-memorizing the lock one hundred times over again.

His fingers stop, tap lightly on the wooden frame near the rusted handle. It rattles very slightly. "Dean?"

"It's okay Sammy. Just hold on."

"I'm holding." Voice way too faint, ghostly.

Jesus. The door rattles once more. Not by him though. Still as stone, Dean waits with baited breath on his knees. Nothing. He begins to shiver, his weak breaths increased. Once more, his fingers twitch over familiar wood. Then, an anomaly. A hole, one that wasn't there last time he checked, about halfway up the door in the middle. He leans in, knowing still that sight was useless. But that was instinct.

Short breaths hit the door, bouncing back to his face. The hole is tiny, only the size of a nickel. Dean's finger tickles the edges before slowly slipping inside, anticipating with every second something would happen.

"Dean?"

"Uh," Dean gasps, startled. He should have known even his disoriented brother would be able to sense a change in his breathing. He pulls his finger out of the small hole just as it begins to get stuck, but he gets what he needs from it. "Hold on. I'll get you out of here."

"Ussss," Sam slurs back.

Dean smiles faintly to the door. "Us."

Finding the hole once more, Dean puts his finger back in, and, as his finger begins to jam too far, he feels the sharp edge of the other side. One thick door, one whole finger length. Very old house. Dean presses his cheek to the cold wood, attempting to peer through, but it is as dark as their stone cell.

But it told him something. The ones who took them were watching, checking on them. Goosebumps rise on Dean's arms and he feels the overwhelming urge to go back to his brother and hold him tightly. But that wouldn't help him, them.

This hole also told them the captors came to the door. They hadn't once seen their captors, having been left alone the entire three days or so.

Fingers rolling back to the door's lock, Dean feels the small crack behind it. Very small fingers could fit behind it and might pull it out. Damn Winchester genes.

Another rattle. Crap. He wasn't doing that. It meant that these guys were there right then. Not that Dean knew how they were seeing. They should be just as blind as he was. But still, they were there. Dean holds back a growl. His body stiffens and his skinny knees quake. Flash. Light? Was there light? Another flash. But it wasn't coming from anywhere near where the hole was. Great. Dean knew starvation. It wasn't pleasant. One of the worse symptoms, hallucinations.

Dean blinks, biting back the urge to scream. Another rattle, louder. As cold as he was, Dean begins to sweat.

"Dean?" Voice getting even weaker.

"Shhhh, Sammy. Hold still." His brother really was fighting. Dean had expected Sam to fall asleep again, especially because the last thing he'd eaten was a stupid garden green salad. His mouth waters.

Focus! No movement, no sound. After quick breaths, Dean ventures his fingers forth, searching out the hole. But it wasn't there. Nothing on the ragged wood. Whatever crack was left from it was hidden in the contours of the rest of the door. But the lock was still off. He just needed to pry it loose.

Yeah, an old door like this... that'll be a piece of cake! Dean's mind fumbles. He just needed something, anything, to pry this lock open. All their possessions had been taken, but a thin T-shirt and pair of jeans each, his ring and his necklace. His necklace! Flash. Another hallucination. His mind gets excited; he begins to tremble. Weakly, he slips his most prized possession over his head. Dean hangs it loosely from his fingers, letting it sway in front of his eyes. He didn't need to see to know exactly what it looked like.

Grabbing the emblem, Dean presses it softly to his lips before feeling his way back to the lock and slipping it in the crack between the door and the lock. At first nothing. Dean was too afraid to press too hard, fearing it would break or scratch. It was from his brother, after all.

His brother. Sam was softly wheezing behind him, telling him immediately that he'd fallen asleep again. "Hold on little brother." Dean works more fervently.

First, he slips the emblem all the way around the rectangle lock, creating a small open space on all sides. Then, using the necklace as a lever, he begins to pry. At first it didn't budge... stupid old lock. Then, fractionally the large metal lock scrapes against wood and loosens. His finger could almost fit, but not enough. Dean pries, making his way around the lock. Finally reaching the halfway point, the lock slips twice fractionally. He could fit a whole finger comfortably now. In his excitement, Dean's hands loosen and the necklace clatters to the stone floor.

Dean freezes. No movement save one. Sam stirred. "De-" Coughing. No.

"Hold on, Sammy. Please hold on." Dean snaps his left hand forward, looking for the necklace. Instead his hand crashes awfully with the floor. Dean yelps, clutching his hand to his chest. Flash. Dean blinks back the sudden sparks of imaginary light. Calm down. Dean self checks. Hand throbbing: check. Heart racing: check. Breathing weak and ragged: check. He was just peachy.

Dean couldn't even his breathing right now if he tried. He was about two steps from death, Sam even closer. Dean's eyes flutter closed for half a moment. He so badly wanted to lay down on the cold stone and cool his fever, to stop and let everything take hold. Sam's ragged breathing broke through his darkness. His eyes grudgingly open. No. Keep going, if for none other reason then Sammy can keep going.

Deep breath, a few coughs, and Dean tries again. His hand quivers down, fingers meeting cold floor, then exploration. Like a tiger in the woods, Dean's fingers hunt his quarry. Finally, flesh meets string. He's got it.

The second half of the lock only takes half as long. Necklace back around his head, Dean's fingers ache as they pull. Fingers used as levers is twice as painful with knuckles scraping wood. But finally, with resounding force that came from a reserve Dean didn't know he possessed, the lock came free... with a just as resounding echo. Again, frozen.

Moments pass. Dean doesn't move, knees failing him.

"Ugh." Sam's unmistakable grunt. Dean shook to the core. His brother in pain. He, they, needed out.

But Dean had a good feeling, one he hadn't felt since first arriving here. Gently placing the metal slab on the floor, Dean touches the door. This time, the whole thing rattles with no effort at all. Finger tips pushing lightly, the door moves, then as he releases, the door follows his fingers.

A smile touches his lips.

His movements weren't as stealthy as they once were. His feet slap down and he staggers. But it got him across the room.

Hands meeting wall, Dean slides down and moves to the right where he knows with certainty was where Sam was. He didn't need to guess and his fingers ghost over Sam's face. One word came to mind: death.

Fear clenches his heart. His left fist tightens weakly. "Sammy? Sam, wake up. We're getting out." Nothing, no movement, no ragged breaths. "Sam?" Dean's voice was lower than a whisper. He almost breathes the words. "No, not now. Not yet. Come on. Sammy?" Dean's fingers found neck, and, though nerves weakened, he felt a pulse. Sigh. "Sam. Wake up." Coma? Sam couldn't be in a coma yet. Dean'd lost track of time, but he knew it wasn't impossible.

"Uh." Sweet music to his ears.

"Sammy, come on. We're getting out."

Dean hears Sam try to swallow and failing. His voice was less of a voice, almost sounding like a hollow echo. "Like you promised?"

"Like a promised. Come on little brother."

Dean, still no sight, senses Sam's hand lift in the air. Dean finds it with ease and squeezes. With a little effort, Dean pulls his brother off the floor. Sam was no help. But Dean finds, with sickening horror, that his muscular brother weighs almost nothing.

But being on his feet, Dean feels Sam shift his body and feel more alive. "Come on Sammy."

Sam shifts his weight a little more onto Dean's tired shoulders. Dean didn't flinch away. He'd carried that privilege of being Sam's older brother all his life. Why would he flinch away now?

One step forward. Two steps. Three. Four. They were soon moving at an even, albeit slow pace. Hunger taking its toll. Dean grasps the door, suddenly fearing it was all a trick and it wouldn't open. But it swings just as easily inward and soon they step off of stone floor and onto... stone stairs. Dean stubs his bare toe immediately. It doesn't faze him.

Like zombies, they trek the mountain of stair, hoping every second that the next stair will be their last. It was still dark and didn't notice when the stairs really did end and they stumble. Sam's body shivers from the sudden movement of air that's created. Dean clutches all the harder, desperately urging Sam to keep going.

The stairs had ended, but so had the whole corridor. They were met with wall. Sam clings to Dean's right side. Dean, letting go of Sam's thin Tee, feels around him. Wall in front of him, wall to his left. Twisting Sam around slowly, careful not to throw them back down the stairs, Dean finally reaches to his right. Nothing. Air. Shuffling with feet only, Dean once again meets his toe with stone stair. Another trek up. It was getting harder to go on, little air met their lungs now before it was expelled again. Muscles ached worse then ever. Heads were light, stomachs hurt, mouths ran dry. Still they move, or rather Dean moves them both.

But before they'd gone 5 steps up the second set, they're met with a flash of light worse than any before, this time not fading back to black. Sam flinches hard enough to pull Dean backward. Reaching instinctively forward, Dean grabs the stone wall to his left, fingertips gripping hotly to the indents of stone. Sam's legs gave then. Dean, having no choice but to let him go down, guided Sam as best as he could onto the stairway before grabbing at the wall and falling 1 step down and stopping.

The light burned after so much dark. Finally, half a relief. A figure steps into the middle of the light, casting a dark silhouette. Dean's mind flutters. Heaven. The light. They were dead. So bright. Castiel come to take them away. But the touch from the figure was anything but blissful.

"You!" The figure spat, and reality crashes in for Dean. No angel, only man. A hand was clutching his right forearm and none too gently.

Dean's instincts then flare. His left fist shoots out, leaving the safety of the wall. But his whole body shifts to account for moving mass. Apparently he hadn't lost as much strength as he thought, for that blow to the face sent the silhouette reeling backward, fighting not to fall also. Suddenly the light made sense. Dean's heart rate speeds up even more. Dean knew that light. It was sun.

Freedom so close, tempers flare harshly. "You son of a bitch!" Hunger forgotten, Dean flings himself like a monkey onto his flailing assailant and captor. Strength returns as his mind brings him pictures of what his dying brother looked like in that dark basement. Dean feels his right knee pinning this man's right hand to the stone. Weakly, the man's other hand attempts to scratch Dean off of him. But with ferocity that would have scared even Sam were he aware enough, Dean pounds this man's face in. Hands splatter with liquid, which only fuels him.

Accidentally slashing his fist forward, Dean hit his enemy's right ear, catching his ring on the man's earring and yanking. The man yelps harder, head jerking forward. Still pounding, just as the man's head was raised, Dean's left fist crashes point blank into the man's nose. The man's head flew back, firmly hitting the edge of a stair and his movements ceased.

Dean didn't. His mind was too boggled to notice a lack of opposition. Fist after crashing fist. Then, Dean misses. His previously sore left hand slams into the stair instead of flesh. Finally his mind settles. Though anger still rages, a noise pulls through his throbbing mind. "Ugh." A small grunt.

"Sam. Sammy?" Dean turns. Hands slick, he grabs his brother's head. Sam. Have to get Sam out. "Come on. Come on Sammy."

Dean didn't give his enemy a second thought as he hauls Sam's fragile body up the remaining 7 steps. Precious strength was waning. Adrenaline no longer pumps. He just wanted out. He needed to get Sam out.

The sun burning, rays flitting through windows all around. Dean fumbles about. Once in a while, he'd run into something. But, with one hand constantly on a wall, Dean manipulates him and his brother further through this house.

Then, another silhouette appears. Dean stops dead. Sam's limp body lurches forward with inertia. Dean, with little energy left to move, uses it to speak threateningly. "Stay back. I'm getting my brother out of here, and if you try to stop me a swear to God-"

"Swear to Him all you want, but if you keep yelling at me, I might just turn back around and leave you here, you idjit." That voice. The voice of safety, recognizable even through a growing haze of numbness.

"Bobby?"

"What'd'you think I'd want your deaths on my conscience? Though, if you ever go missin' again, you won't find me standin' here."

Dean almost laughs. That was the most beautiful sarcasm Dean'd ever heard. Or the back of his mind hoped it was sarcasm. The front though floods with relief as the last of his energy drains and he falls, dragging Sam's body with him.

Sam woke with less of a start and more of a grumble, having only fallen asleep within the last couple seconds. "De-"

Dean, crouching on his knees once more, grabs his brother's greasy hair with his free left hand. With the sudden release of energy came a rush of emotion. Dean leans forward so his head tentatively rests on Sam's shoulder and he cries. Sobs racked his weakened body, no strength left to stop. Finally seeing Sam's sweet body under him, Dean whispers, "I did it Sam. I got you out."

"Usss," Sam sighed.

Dean really did laugh this time, weakly, starvation momentarily forgotten. "Yea, us. Us little brother." Dean's body crashes as Bobby's arms wrapped around them both. They were safe. Finally safe.

End

A/N: So, this is what came out of my sleep deprived mind. Not too bad, right? Thanks for reading thus far. Make sure you all review now!