A/N: Okay, again sorry for the very long stretch. I hate to leave you guys hanging like that, but my muse totally flew south for the winter. I think she finally decided to come back, I hope...

I promise to get the next chapter out much sooner. I want to get this all done by Jan. 15th, before SPN comes back. Plus I have another story in mind to work on after this one, and I really want to get to it. I just need to get this bad boy finished first.

Again, I thank sendintheclowns for her help. I truly needed it. Without her, I would still be struggling. Thanks Lisa!


The knife gleamed in the waning moonlight. Sam tried to squirm, but he was feeling increasingly weak from the blood loss. His captor felt it only right to let him slowly bleed to death.

"You see, I enjoy this immensely, but I would much more prefer if your brother were here. Two for the price of one is just a much better deal, don't you think?"

Sam groaned, yanking on his chains. If he had been smarter he would have brought his lock picks. Though if he had been smarter, he wouldn't have gotten himself into this in the first place.

"You don't want to know what I think; cause then you might have to kill me."

Laughter emanated from the stranger's throat.

"Oh young man, I plan on doing that anyway, so you might as well speak up now."

Sam swallowed hard. Anything he may have wanted to say had vanished.

"I thought not. Now, I'll be back later child. Don't go anywhere, understand?"

Sam looked at his shackles then up at the figure in front of him. More laughter danced around the room followed by the door opening. Sam heard nothing for a short while. It seemed as if his captor was standing in the darkness simply staring at him, waiting for him to snap.

When Sam finally heard the door crash shut he let go of the breath he didn't realize he had been holding and glanced around the room. He couldn't see anything in the pitch black, but that didn't mean anything. His thoughts started to race again. He had been stuck in that small room too long, bleeding and strapped to the filthy floor. Now was not the time to let his imagination get the better of him.

"Hurry Dean please, I don't think I can hold on much longer…"

XXXX

The ride to the clearing was somehow darker than before. Ignoring the fact that it was nearly four in the morning and the moon was gone; something else was at work here. The trees dipped over the road and almost touched the Impala, begging to rip it right off the road.

Once Dean reached the bridge he couldn't see even an inch in front of him. A fog had rolled in the instant the tires touched the metal structure.

Only driving a mere 5MPH Dean edged his way toward the clearing, surprised by the fact that the car hadn't stalled like she had last time. It had taken him almost fifteen minutes to get that gunk off her filter before he could get back to the motel. She was getting a lot of abuse as of late.

The closer he got to the clearing, the thicker the fog got. It enveloped the entire vehicle and Dean half expected gnarly looking pirates to leap out at him. He chuckled at the thought and felt like humming 'Blow the Man Down' when the fog lifted in one fell swoop.

"What the…?"

Dean squinted his eyes as he slowed the car to a stop at where he assumed the clearing was. Instead there stood a gigantic stone and mortar building that looked to be from the turn of the century. It gave him the creeps.

Exiting the vehicle, his bag in hand, he walked up the drive to the house he knew shouldn't be there. He had a rather good memory for these things, and this was where he ended on his run for Sam. There hadn't been anything here other than a crumbling stone pillar covered in ivy and graffiti. Something was very wrong here.

Stepping up on the porch, Dean eyed the place cautiously. He was sure Sam was inside, but he had to be ready for everything now.

Suddenly the front door swung open causing Dean to step back. He pulled out his gun and gingerly stepped inside.

There was no one in the entryway that could have opened the door and he hadn't hesitated long enough for anyone to get away. Flicking on his flashlight he stepped further in, avoiding a hole in the floor.

"Sammy, are you here?"

His call fell on deaf ears. He called a few more times without much success. Man Sammy, I hope you're okay kid.

XXXX

The male body contained 12 pints of blood. Since Sam had been slowly bleeding like this for a few hours he probably still had plenty of blood left, but any quantity of blood loss was never good. Especially in the conditions he had been subjected to. That made everything that much worse.

Out of nowhere he heard what he thought was his brother's voice calling for him. His heart nearly stopped. Dean had found him and he could finally get out of this hell hole. He shouted Dean's name and waited. Nothing happened. Either Dean hadn't heard him, or he hadn't yelled loud enough.

He tried again and again with the same results. By this time every breath was beginning to be a struggle. His pulse was testing the boundaries, and he was starting to see spots. If he shouted like that once more, he would probably pass out.

He leaned back against the wall, closed his eyes and waited.

XXXX

The living room was in disarray. The minimal amount of furniture there was was covered in layers of dirt and grime, the fireplace was filled with soot and other items Dean would rather not want to mess with. As he neared the hearth, he spotted something that was out of place in the broken down shack.

Lying next to a footprint in the dirt was a melted watch. Dean picked it up and was instantly sick to his stomach. He saw that it belonged to the man whose wife they had visited. Aidan Moriarty had been here as well, and this wasn't a good sign of what was left of him.

Dean shoved the watch into his jacket pocket. It was only right that his wife get that back and that she know what happened to her husband. Dean would want to know had that been Sam. The problem was what had happened?

As he stood, he caught a figure out of the corner of his eyes. He turned to see a small boy standing at the bottom of the stairs.

He seemed to stare through Dean, his eyes sunken. He was pale and smelled of smoke, and his clothes were burned.

"Are you Jacob?"

The boy ignored Dean's inquiry and continued to stare off. When Dean stepped forward, his gun raised, the boy's eyes shifted. Dean caught this, and tried his question again.

"I repeat, are you Jacob?"

The boy merely nodded.

"Where's my brother? Is he okay?"

The boy pointed upwards then took off up the stairs like a bullet. Dean groaned and rushed after him.

XXXX

Dean edged his way down the upstairs hallway, listening intently for someone or something. He hoped he could find Sam, and soon. The sun would be up in a couple hours and Dean wanted to get this over now before even more time passed.

He stopped in front of one door, testing to see if it was locked. It wasn't, so he slowly opened it. He threw a hand to his face as a familiar smell invaded his nostrils: Death and decay. It took all the strength he had to keep back the vomit that was threatening to pass his lips.

Dean stepped further into the room and could hear a soft whimper coming from a far corner of the room.

"Sam?"

The sound stopped and was followed by a loud rattle of chains.

"Dean…is that really you?"

Dean's knees gave and he almost hit the floor. He gripped the doorjamb trying to keep himself steady.

"Yeah Sammy…"

He fumbled for his flashlight and swung it in that direction. His heart immediately sank.

Sam sat in the corner of the room, pale and gaunt, chained to the floor. What hit Dean more than all that was the blood that had marred his shirt. It wasn't just a small amount. It looked as if someone had sliced the poor kid open like a thanksgiving turkey.

"Sam…"

Dean could feel his throat locking. There was his brother sitting on a filth ridden floor bleeding for some unknown reason. Dean completely lost it when Sam started rambling.

"He's here Dean. He's trying to kill me. I think he wants me to go insane or something I don't fucking know. I don't think he even left the room, I keep hearing him sneak around like a goddamned mouse looking for a scrap of food. I'm losing it Dean; I need to get the hell out of here before I slip off the deep end."

Dean rushed to his brother's side and gripped his arms tight. Sam's eyes were wide and staring at nothing. He began to mumble incoherently about the 'man in the room' even though he and Sam were the only people in there.

"Sam, can you hear me? Kiddo, are you okay?"

Sam was shaking his head and yanking at the chains completely ignoring Dean at this point.

"Sam, you have to calm down. Please, just…"

Dean still held Sam's arms tight. He didn't know what to do. He wanted to strike Sam, to knock him back to reality, but in his present condition that might just make things worse.

He pulled back and concentrated on the chains that held Sam in place. They were old, turn of the century old, and didn't seem all that easy to break out of. Dean held his light in his teeth and took out his lock pick. He tested the locks, but his first thoughts had been right. He would have to have the actual key to get these bad boys off.

Letting the chains fall to the floor, Dean watched Sam calm a bit. He looked at Dean this time, really noticing him.

"Dean, get me out of here, please. If he comes back, he said something about hurting us both. We don't have much time."

Sam lifted his shirt, groaning, and Dean gasped. The bloody shirt was one thing, but the cuts were altogether another.

They weren't fresh, that was for sure. They looked several hours old and already infected. The one to Sam's stomach was cherry red and on the edges had started to turn a dark purple, almost black. If he left it too long sepsis could set in and Sam would die. He was already weak Dean could see that much, and it seemed that the blood loss had affected his mind just a bit.

"Christ Sam. How long ago did this all happen?"

Sam shrugged, lowering his shirt. He had lost track of time hours ago.

"I haven't a clue. What time is it now?"

Dean flashed the light at his watch. It was almost four in the morning, but he swore it was much later.

"Nearly quarter to four."

"A.M.?"

Dean nodded.

Sam counted off the hours on his hands and then made a nasty face. He had been laying on that floor for close to seven hours, bleeding to death.

"Dean I…"

Sam stopped mid speech when his eyes shifted toward the door. Dean kept his own trained on Sam. He wasn't sure if Sam had gone off again or not, so he merely waited. When Sam continued to stare he assumed Sam had just blanked out.

"Sam, hey are you okay?"

Sam said nothing when he suddenly yanked at his chains again.

"Dean, he's here. Get out of here, NOW!"

Dean turned around. Standing by the door was Sam's captor. Before Dean could pick up his gun he was knocked backwards beside Sam.

The last thing he heard before everything faded away was a laughter that slipped into his very bones.