A/N: Thank you kindly to the people that reviewed, especially my friend Mrs. Winchester. I hope you both (and more) like this next chapter, I know I had a lot of fun writing it! So, please read and review!

His head was cold and wet now. Had Sam been sweating? He didn't remember. But, now he was awake, and that thing was probably somewhere near by. Had it had accomplices working with it? That seemed most likely, because it couldn't touch Sam without seriously injuring – or killing – him. What did the spirit want from him?

He sat up slowly, still sore from being knocked unconscious and tossed in there like a rag doll. "Dean," he called for his brother, his voice scratchy and dry, "Dean!"

There was only silence to answer his calls, which meant one of three things. Either Dean wasn't there – which he really hoped for, Dean was dead – which was impossible in his mind, or Dean was unconscious still. But Sam really did hope for the first one, because then perhaps he had a chance to get out of there, to continue the fight against all things supernatural, and even the thing that was holding him there.

A woman circled around the back of the old wool-covered couch before taking a seat beside Dean, who had his head in his hands now. She could tell that the older man had been holding back tears on the whole hour-long drive over to her home, and she put a hand on his head, rubbing his hair gently. It wasn't time to break down, but she knew the real relationship between Dean and Sam. How Dean felt, even if Sam didn't really know the truth about it all.

"Tell me," she said slowly as he raised his head off his hands to pick up the bag that was on the coffee table, "where he is."

Dean shook her hand off his head as he pulled the dad's journal and the laptop out of the bag, pulling up the lid of the computer so it'd turn itself on again and show what they had learned about the spirit that was after his brother – that had his brother. Poor Sammy. Why couldn't it have been Dean?

The woman looked over the screen, pushing her brown hair out of her face and behind her ear with one hand while tracing the rim of the laptop with her other. She closed her eyes when she had read a particularly interesting part of the research before turning back to the concerned brother on the couch. He wasn't acting like a hunter, but a brother, and that was something he needed to snap out of if they were going to get Sammy back alive.

"Have you called …," she left it hanging, knowing he'd know what she meant.

Dean only nodded and opened the journal to show what little clippings it held on the matter – which wasn't much. It had just been an impulse thing where the brothers had found an interesting article and wanted to go after it. They did that often, looking over random papers in some far off diner, before leaving the small town and hunting the thing down.

The woman cocked her head, "Say something, Deano."

"Lizzy, I don't know what to do," he finally met her eyes for a brief moment before looking back down at the papers in the journal.

Elizabeth Tucker had been a 'friend of the family' for a while now. Dean and his father, John, had met her on a job several years ago, and decided to keep in touch with her, because she was such a huge help to them. Dean didn't even know if she had spoken to John lately, but that wasn't what they were there to discuss. No, there were bigger fish to fry.

She nodded, knowing what he meant. Dean was completely lost without Sam, and she knew it, "Just take me with you, and we'll figure it out together."

As if the sheer cold of the room wasn't enough, the whole place started to get really warm. Ok, not warm, scolding hot. Sam shifted his position slightly, glad that the floor beneath him was just packed dirt and wouldn't burn him. He almost started to pant, the sweat pouring off of him, and his body achingly confused. How had it been so cold, and now so warm? Who was this spirit and where was he?

It was still dark, the only possible light coming from a far off doorway that he couldn't really see past the bars of his cage. All he could do was hope beyond hope that Dean was out there somewhere, getting help, saving his ass. It seemed that's something they did a lot, saving each other as well as other people's lives. Perhaps that was the basic-ness of their job. Not only did they not get paid, but they also had to save other people all the time. Which really wasn't a bad thing, in fact, it made you feel all good inside. But getting paid for it would be better.

The far off door swung open wide, letting it a flood of light and little sparks of electricity from somewhere. A shadowy figure limped into the room, carrying a plate of food. It set the plate down directly outside Sam's cage and disappeared through the bright doorway. Sam took a minute to blink and try to see again in the sudden darkness, but he had to reach for the food through the hot bars, just guessing where it was. As his arm brushed against the metal bar, it suddenly turned ice cold again, and Sam yelped from the freezing burn.