A/N: passes out sparkly objects to everyone who reviewed So, I'm pretty happy with the way this is coming. I'm happy that I got a kick arse model of a '67 Impala, which was my dream car before the show, and I WILL own one day, amongst others. I'm painting it black, just so you know. ;) And since my DVD recorded erased my ENTIRE tape of Supernatural? I'm sad. And I'm betting Sam and Dean aren't gonna benefit from this. Review! ;)

---

Consciousness came to him slowly, an intermittent recovery of senses that began with hearing.

He could hear the blood pounding in his ears, the soft sounds of his own breathing, and a steady dripping noise that he swore would drive him insane if he had to listen to it much longer. Scent came next, offering him a musty odor and nothing more.

From what he could feel from his slumped over position, something hard behind his back. Slowly, he tensed himself, sitting upright, feeling the aches in his body letting themselves been known. His entire body was sore and lethargic, his eyes fighting him as he strove to open them. He settled for keeping them closed and letting his senses wake up first.

Arms, legs, everything intact and aching, but movement limited.

Further exploration revealed he was able to move his arms and legs, but the biting pain around his wrists and ankles told him he was tied up tight, his arms pulled awkwardly behind him.

The last thing he remembered was hitting the bed far too fast, all his wits slipping away as the black seeped in.

He had been drugged.

Sam opened his eyes, his heartbeat suddenly picking up as he told himself not to panic.

His eyes searched wildly, recognizing bare rock walls and a soft dirt floor. A furnace to his right and a washer and dryer set on cinder blocks and plywood in the corner.

The basement.

Shit, shit, shit...

It didn't take him long to figure out he was tied to one of the wooden supports that dotted the unfinished basement.

Great, now all he needed to do was figure out why.

A groan from his right caught his attention and he twisted his head to see his brother, bound too at the ankles and wrists by dirty lengths of rope. He was unconscious still, tied to a pillar about ten feet from his brother, chin tucked into his chest, bleeding from his mouth.

"Dean!" he cried, but all that came out was a hoarse cry.

He hadn't known he was thirsty until then.

Swallowing, he tried again. "Dean!"

A little louder, it was enough to provoke another groan.

"Dean," he called again, keeping his voice low, which wasn't that difficult.

A mumble.

"Dammit," Sam turned his head, eyes on the wooden staircase that led to the first floor.

There were a few bare light bulbs hanging from the ceiling here and there to give light, and Sam swiveled his body as much as he could, making sure they were alone. Comforted only slightly by that fact, he returned his gaze to his brother.

"Dean," he hissed. "Come on, wake up!"

"Five more minutes," his brother rasped.

Sam laughed even though it wasn't funny, grateful his brother was alive and feeling good enough to joke.

Dean's head raised an inch, then ducked back down.

"Wh-...fuck," he swallowed hard, eyes still closed tightly. "What happened?"

Sam hesitated, watching his brother meet resistance as he tried to move, knowing he would be assessing the situation even as groggy as he was.

"I don't know," Sam whispered.

"Drugged," Dean muttered.

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "I guess -"

"She woke me up," Dean interrupted, his voice gaining a bit of strength.

"What? Betty?" Sam jumped on the new information.

"The banshee," Dean said, head still hanging limply. "I saw her."

Sam bit back a curse. That meant...

"I was in the hallway," Dean continued slowly. "I saw...something. I fell. I couldn't stay awake. If I had been able to fight it..."

"Dean," Sam stopped him. "There's plenty of time to blame yourself when we get out of here."

"Plenty of time for you to tell me not to," Dean said, almost smiling.

He brought up his head and opened his eyes, wincing against the light.

"Polite kidnappers," he mumbled. "They didn't leave us in the dark."

"Do you think it was them?" Sam asked softly, trying not to let his disappointment show.

A thud at the top of the stairs caught their attention.

"Looks like them Duke boys are in trouble," Dean intoned.

Sam didn't bother looking at his brother.

"Guess we'll find out," he whispered, watching the boots as they appeared and began their descent, giving way to -

"Earl," Dean greeted dryly.

"I see you're awake," the miner said pleasantly.

"Let us go," Sam said, watching him approach.

"Tsk," Earl clucked. "I know you don't think that's actually going to work."

Sam didn't know which was more terrifying, the old man standing in front of them as they were tied in his basement, or the fact that a day ago, this man was a friendly father-figure type who he'd immediately taken a liking to.

"Fuck. You."

The words had come from Dean, his voice sounding strong and venomous.

Earl's eyes went cold.

"Not quite," he said, walking in between the two brothers and disappearing behind them

Sam caught his brother's eye, seeing the anger there, and knowing his own reflected fear.

Behind them, there was a metallic clanging that made him jump.

Unnerved at the inability to see what Earl was up to, Sam found himself pulling at the rope, straining his shoulders, but knowing it wouldn't give.

Trying to ignore the noise behind them, Sam caught Dean's eye again, searching for any sign that his brother might have to give. He was trusting him to communicate somehow what he planned to do.

---

Dean had nothing.

The moment his brother's eyes met his, he knew he was looking for guidance.

He had nothing, dammit, nothing.

No ideas, no plans, no clue what that damn banging was behind them.

He was piecing it together in his mind, fitting the puzzle together.

It was a perfect cover, really.

Who would suspect an elderly couple, especially the friendliest goddamn couple on the world, a sickly sweet couple with kind eyes and warm smiles, to be into something so sadistic.

He still had no idea what that something was, but he had a general idea.

It was clever, really. A bed and breakfast, so quiet and quaint, attracting couples who wanted to get away for some peace and quiet. And get away they would.

Once there, taken by Earl and Betty's act, they wouldn't suspect a thing.

And when the police came looking for that missing couple, when Earl and Betty Davis, who everyone knew and liked, told them they had packed up and moved on earlier that day, they would believe them without question, and move on down the line.

He had lead his brother into this, and he had no idea how to get him out.

The banshee had warned them of death, not Earl and Betty's, but their own, and damned if Dean would let that happen.

Warned them, but not in time, not in any way they could have used.

Now, look at where they were, locked up in a basement, tied to the walls, the sick bastard doing god knows what behind them.

He would not let his brother become a date on a cross.

No way.

He had to do something.

Anything.

---

Sam watched the gears turning in his brother's head as he took in the room and then took to staring straight ahead, eyes slightly narrowed, mouth drawn tight. He was thinking.

He would get them out of this, Dean would.

Sam swallowed hard, fear threatening to take him over.

He knew he had to calm down. He had to stop thinking about what had happened, about what could happen, would happen, might happen if they didn't do something.

They needed a plan.

His mind was blank.

What could they do when they didn't know their captor's plan of action?

Even if they could get out of their bonds, what would they do then? Run, he guessed. Get to the car and get out. Take it from there if they could make it that far.

They needed a way to get free. The two of them could overtake him no problem, Sam reasoned. He had a few inches and at least thirty pounds on Sam, maybe more, but with him and Dean both, trained fighters who had done just that to stay alive before, he didn't stand a chance.

He knew Dean would have come to the same conclusion.

The moment would present itself, and when it did, they would take it.

"Now," Earl's voice said from behind them. "Let's get started."

He appeared in front of them holding a large knife.

Sam gulped.

---

Who would he choose first?

That was the only thought on Dean's mind when he saw the knife; would it be him or Sam? He swallowed, watching Sam frantically looking around the room for anything that could help their situation.

Help wasn't coming.

Dean snorted, catching Earl's attention. When he looked up, he saw Earl's blue eyes were cold, no sign of their previous warmth.

He met his gaze, challenged it with steely hazel eyes.

"We have a volunteer."

"No!" Sam cried.

"Sam," Dean said calmly, his gaze still locked on Earl's. "Shut up."

Sam pleaded with his brother, his eyes shining.

Dean smirked.