Something was wrong. Sluggishly, Sam's fogged mind tried to concentrate on what that might be, when several things hit him at once like an ambush. He snapped upright. His wrists caught with a sharp chink, the cold circles of the cuffs glittering weirdly in his blurred vision. Sam snapped his head around him, pain almost bouncing his sight back into darkness, questions tearing at him.

What happened? Where was he? Where was Dean?

And where the hell was their unexpected guest, the second werewolf?

For whatever reason, out of whatever ingrained instinct, his eyes found his brother and his focus sharpened. Oh God, Dean. His brother was sitting, his hands tied behind his back, slumped to one side, head hanging, eyes closed. Shadows fell beneath Dean's eyes and his face was white. Blood clotted in his hair and covered one side of his face. He wasn't moving. Sam swallowed panic and nausea, whether from the sight of his brother or the likely concussion, he didn't know. He tugged at the cuffs, the chain snapping hard around the skeletal steel of a busted bed frame.

Sam raised his wide eyes to regard the man before him.