Thanks so much for all of the amazing reviews! I'm so glad that you all enjoy my story and I hope that I can continue keeping it up! This chapter should be a bit suspenseful.

A voice somewhere far away from the dreaded blanket of black called to him, a familiar voice filled with a love Dean never thought he'd live to feel again. He followed it, chased it, fought back the darkness with an unmasked need for it; an unbearable need for Sam.

Dean's eyes stayed close, denying him the ability of sight. He struggled to rise from the ground, still blinded by a shroud of darkness that forced his eyes to remain shut. He wanted to stay down, to rest, to breathe, to fade, but he swore he heard Sam's voice calling out to him. He couldn't deny his brother, no matter how much it hurt, he couldn't ignore Sammy's pleading voice laced with grief, concern, and comfort.

"Dean?"

Sam's voice broke the wall separating Dean from reality and the darkness, pulling him to the surface, holding tight and not letting go. His eyes fluttered, taking in light and a spinning world of doubles before forcing themselves shut against Dean's will. He raised his head, expecting the lurch he felt in his stomach, but not the hand that settled gently on his chest to keep him down. He winced before he could stop himself, ribs screaming, his many wounds waking up from their sleepy states to torture him with renewed pain, and the hand was gone. His heart skipped a beat; the walls were mending themselves, ripping Dean away as fast as he'd come. Why was it gone?

"Dean?" Sam was louder, firmer. It shook all the same.

Dean managed to control his eyelids, forcing them open, forcing the world to stop spinning. His brother's face swam in front of his own, spots dancing in his vision of Sam. He would have sung if his quaking lungs would have allowed it. His brother was alive, crouching above him, trying to smile.

"Hey, Sammy," he smiled a soft smile, barely managing to keep it plastered on his face, too relieved to notice how hard it was to even grin. His voice was low and gruff, almost too quiet to hear, but Sam's own smile grew a little, never reaching his unbearably saddened eyes.

Dean pressed his palms down and began lifting himself to sitting position against the wall with his right side before Sam could reach out to stop him. He swatted Sam's hand away, gritting his teeth in anguish behind his pursed lips, not wanting Sam to know how badly it hurt to move. He rested his head against the wall, letting his eyes close as he collected himself, breathing heavily, each gasp of air bitterly stinging his lungs. He stayed silent for a while, eating up seconds he didn't realize had passed before his head lolled back to his chest.

"Dean," Sam's hands were on him before he could slip away, pulling Dean's head up as gently as he could, "Dean, you gotta stay awake." It wasn't a request, it was an order.

Dean's deep green eyes opened again, traveling to Sam's. He nodded, fighting back the black edges in his vision. He raised his right hand, unable to make much use of his left, to Sam's face the same way he held Dean's. Blood caked Sam's face, still leaking from a gash above his brow, his lip was split and he leaned heavily on his left leg, treating his right gingerly. Dean noticed Sam's foot barely grazing the ground. He looked back to Sam's eyes, anger rising in his voice, worry overpowering him, "What did they do?"

"It's just a sprain," Sam frowned, obviously upset that Dean was worrying about his minor injuries over the countless that plagued Dean.

The sudden realization of what Sam's being there meant threatened to send the world spiraling out of control in Dean's eyes as he felt his heart rate pick up, panic gripping his insides. Dean was already using Sam as a prop to lift himself to his feet, staggering with his weight, "Sam," He grunted, not allowing him to protest Dean trying to stand in his current state and continued, letting his voice rise, "she's going to kill you."

Sam didn't argue, just put an arm around Dean's waist to keep him from falling as his knees buckled and Sam supported him more than Dean liked. He tried to stand on his own before realizing the uselessness of such a move and leaned heavily against his brother.

"Who's going to kill me?"

"Meg, she —" Dean looked incredulously at Sam. "You didn't know she was here?" His head hurt like hell, and this wasn't helping. "She didn't even -- but she should have, she said she'd --" He glared at Sam's quizzical expression, laced with his own anger. "We really gotta go." If she hadn't gone after him yet it meant she was keeping her word that he would have to watch. He clenched his jaw; the only thing he would be watching was the road and this place shrinking in the rearview mirror. He was getting his brother out of there.

"Meg is here?" Sam's expression darkened. He held Dean with a firm grip as they started towards the door, Dean barely managing, hating himself for it, and Sam ignoring the throbbing in his leg to keep himself from limping. Dean looked at his brother's face with sympathy and a deeper hatred for Meg. Sam still had the pain in his eyes from what Meg had done with his hands while possessing him.

"Yeah," he nodded, unable to find anything else to say.

Sam released Dean, making sure he could stand on his own with the help of the wall as they rounded a corner, Sam in front, gun in hand, ready to fire. Dean watched his brother's eyes skim the dingy hallway with the precision only a hunter could possess before reaching out to Dean, never taking his eyes off the space ahead. Dean shoved off the wall, pushing Sam's arm away, able to walk on his own with his adrenaline peaked. Sam's heavy eyes darted to Dean's before looking back to what he faced. They didn't have time to argue over what Dean should and shouldn't be doing.

They crept along in silence, Dean taking everything in for the first time, having only seen the rooms he had woken in, and Sam knowing which entrances to take, weaving through rooms that seemed illogically placed. Neither brother said a word for fear of being discovered as Sam poked his head through another opening and motioned for Dean to follow. They moved slower than Dean wanted, but steadily. Stairs proved to be a problem for the elder Winchester, but with the unasked for assistance of Sam they managed. Sam warned him of the first floor being nothing but storage, a massive room filled with crates of god knew what. The exposure of a single enclosure was the thing to worry about; less opportunity to hide if occasion called for it and Dean was sure it would. They moved cautiously from the narrow stairwell room, winding in and out of isles made by crates and other objects covered by dusting sheets without a sound.

The disturbing silence was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of metal scraping against wood, probably one of the crates.

"How exactly did you say you managed to get past these guys again?" Dean whispered, stepping in front of Sam, instinctively falling into protective mode.

Sam immediately grabbed him by his uninjured shoulder, using Dean's weakness to pull him back, briefly glaring at his stupidity before turning back to the direction the noise had come from. "Later," he hissed, seeing Dean's obvious offense to having been pulled aside so easily.

Before either brother could prepare, they were forced from their feet and propelled through the air to the far side of the room. Dean slammed into the concrete wall with a dull thud just as Sam connected to his immediate left. He slid down, gasping for air that wouldn't come, blinded by the pain that sent shock waves through his body. Sam coughed, winded but otherwise fine. He shook his head before pulling himself up to limp to Dean who had yet to recover from the pain that engulfed him. He put a hand to Dean's and pressed his brother's hand to the wounded shoulder, open and draining blood. Crimson leaked between Dean's fingers as Sam pressed his brother's palm to the sticky hole. Dean's vision swallowed his brother's face with black from the stab he felt as Sam pressed against his hand, forcing it over the wound. Beneath the voice screaming for him to stop in his mind he knew he would bleed out if it continued to spill blood. Sam would be damned if Dean made it this long just to die a few feet away from freedom. He removed his palm, pleased to see Dean's hand remaining, his eyes shut and jaw clenched, but his hand pressed firmly to the wound.

Footsteps pulled Sam away. He searched anxiously for a weapon, his gun lost during his recent flight through the air. His hand finally fell upon a sturdy metal rod jutting from a crack between crates. He tugged, desperate for a weapon to ward against the evil coming their way. It broke free, revealing a pointed edge and allowing him to reposition himself closer to Dean. He stood between his brother and the wall of crates, eyeing the end, anticipating the demon.

Dean's eyes burned, determined to stay tightly closed as if it would take away a portion of the pain shuddering through his body. Dean's concern for Sam however, was stronger than his own needs. He glared angrily up at Sam hovering over him, back turned, legs firm and ready. He sported a rod as a weapon. Dean wanted to kick his knees out at the sight and scream for him to get his ass away. Instead he groaned; his head was too dizzy to voice a coherent word to his brother. He focused on keeping his eyes open, willing himself to gather his strength to help Sam.

"Hey, Sammy," a voice called out from around the corner, just out of sight. It was low, casual; deadly. "I've been wanting a chance to catch up on old times."

Dean almost growled in response to his brother's name, rage flowing through his throbbing veins. The only thing keeping him from knocking himself out by pushing his body past its limits was Sam's voice snapping back.

"It's Sam."

Dean glowered behind his brother, agreeing with his statement, proud that Sam had made it. He tried rolling his shoulders against the searing pain, wanting, needing his body to move. It struggled under the command of Dean's motivated conscious but complied. The pain however, gave no mercy and began ravaging Dean's every fiber, forcing the whimper of a moan to pass his lips. Sam flinched at the sound of Dean's suffering but he remained focused on the form that had finally made its way into his sights.

A woman walked casually out of the shadows cast by the towering crates with a bone chilling smile and colorless, black eyes. Sam didn't hesitate, afraid of losing his chance if he waited for her to exert herself. He charged, swiping the metal at incalculable speed. She reacted, barely staggering out of his reach before having it connect with the back of her head, forcing her hand to release her own knife that was quickly kicked away, hidden by crates. Sam twisted, avoiding her eyes for fear of what they would do once settled, and swung his weapon a third time, this time taking her knees.

Dean was halfway to his feet, screaming the moves for Sam to make in his head, unfazed by the fact that Sam's body consented to his brother's unvoiced commands. They had similar instincts and the Winchester's knew it; it had saved their lives on innumerable occasions. Dean's vision threatened to fade. He cursed himself, clinging closely to the wall, willing his eyes to stay focused just a while longer. He returned his attention back to his brother and straightened himself, ready to enter the struggle.

Sam growled, as he finished using his strength to take the seemingly average woman he knew to be demon possessed to the ground. She collapsed, landing harshly on her knees in such a way Sam was certain an average human would scream; one of her kneecaps had obviously cracked with the impact of the cement. He raised the rod, ready to strike again.

"My turn," she raised her head to face Sam, a grin spread wide across her face.

Before Sam could react to the change in events he was stuck hard in the jaw by a right hook that sent him sprawling, momentarily suspended in air by the unnatural force of the blow. He landed in a heap of discarded objects, painfully prodded by the sharp corners of some of them in his already bruising back. He coughed, the breath knocked from his lungs.

"Sammy!" Dean's voice broke through the fog that seemed to scatter his brother's brain; a warning.

Sam responded to Dean's command. He rolled, narrowly escaping a wooden box twice his size that had been hurled towards him, bent on taking out the youngest Winchester. He rolled, frantic to regain his balance before Meg made a second move. He raised his eyes just in time to see the sole of the shoe that connected with his chest, pushing him back against the wall before he had a chance to counter. The metallic shaft clanged as it hit the ground, Sam's hand having lost its grip. Meg bent to grab it, ready to return the makeshift weapon to its owner in a different way than it had gone when something connected with her back. She was sent tumbling to her side before she had the chance to inflict further harm to the hunter in front of her. Dean rolled to his feet, fighting the unbearable forces in his body to stay awake, to keep on his feet, and to protect his brother. His shoulder screamed, having just hit the floor when he had rushed the demon. His legs buckled against his will, sending him down to his knees several feet from his brother. Sam was already standing, trying to calculate a plan and keep himself rooted between Dean, who was obviously hurt too badly to continue his previous attack, and Meg.

Before he could move, Dean felt himself being lifted to the wall and slammed painfully against the concrete once again, questioning how many times he could continue to take the familiar abuse. He tried to gasp, having heard the whooshing sound of air leaving his lungs, but could only struggle to keep his eyes open. Sam turned, tearing his eyes from his attacker to meet his brother's with concern etched deep in his gaze. Dean fought against the invisible bonds crushing him to the wall, gaping like a fish in an attempt to tell his brother to turn around. Sam's eyes recognized Dean's and received the message. He turned to face Meg, the connection with his brother having only lasted a second at the most, too late to prevent her final blow.

"NO!"

Sam heard the gut wrenching sound of flesh being penetrated with a sickening squish as it dug deeper into its new sheath before he felt it. He staggered back, unable to keep his chest from heaving, the raspy gasps from shaking through his teeth, or the tears that leaked from his wandering eyes inside. The sound was repeated as the rusted weapon was yanked heatedly from his stomach, forcing a hollow moan to escape his lips. He blanched, looking questioningly from Meg who had already begun to triple in his eyesight, her pearly teeth taunting him, to the rod in her hand that was stained with a sticky substance Sam knew to be his own, to the new hole in his abdomen, just below his right ribs and the blood that guzzled from the entry wound. He attempted to pull himself away from Meg to his brother somewhere behind him, but his feet could only stumble, his body no longer his. His vision swam, his eyes desperately searching for Dean, before he buckled under his own weight and sank to his knees.

"SAMMY!" Dean's voice echoed through the warehouse, full of emotion and unwavering love for his brother as he watched Sam slip silently to his side.

Try not to hate me too much, I already hate myself enough for writing this!
I'm aiming to have chapter eight up by Sunday night or Monday morning, so be ready!