Thanks to those who have reviewed thusfar, and so sorry for the delay on the update. As always, the boys don't belong to me. I wish to heaven they did.

Most people don't understand real darkness. It's one thing to be walking down an unlit street, squinting in the light of the stars. It feels dark, looks dark, even dark enough to be scary, but the eye finds and gathers light from the moon, from the stars, from far off houses, and lets you find your way. It's another thing entirely to be deep underground where light can't go, where darkness has a thickness, a weight. It can steal your breath and twist your mind. If you let it, it can kill you.

Dean had lost track of the time. It seemed like he had been crawling forever, groping along blindly in the darkness, following the shimmering mirage of the dead girl. It seemed like all he could feel were the rocks digging into his knees and palms, and the monster crick that was seizing in his shoulder blade. A few times his heart stopped as he felt, rather than saw, a drop off, god-only-knew how deep, just ahead of him. But he could hear Sam's labored breathing in front of him, which comforted him in a strange way.

But then, once again, he ran face-first into his brother. "Dammit, Sam!" Dean snarled. "Warn a guy, will ya? I'm getting way too well acquainted with your ass."

"I see light." Sam's voice was weak, and he leaned backward, shifting his weight from his knees to his toes.

"Well hustle toward it then, dumbass, what are you waiting for?" Dean bumped his shoulder against the back of Sam's thigh, trying to urge him forward.

"Can't."

"Why the hell not?" Dean craned his neck, trying to find the light for himself.

"I can't fit through there, Dean. Too narrow." The weakness in Sam's voice suddenly sounded a lot more like fear.

"Move," ordered Dean, muscling his way past his brother. He dipped his head, peering up the long, tapering passage. "It's not that narrow, Sam. We can make it." He glanced back, barely able to make out the form of his brother in the dim glow of the far-off light. "I'll go first. Don't follow until I call you, just in case."

Dean angled his shoulders into the tunnel and pushed upward with his feet, squirming his way in. There was just enough room for him to be able to shimmy upward on his stomach, pulling with his arms and pushing with his toes. He scrambled forward, eyes on the light, heart battering away at his ribs. The walls pressed him tightly, grazing his shoulders on either side. When he lifted his head he could feel the ceiling of the tunnel grazing the top of his skull. Anna's body was forced down against his back by the stone. He swallowed down a little surge of panic, instead concentrating on his forward movement.

Inch by inch he moved forward until finally he was able to pull himself into the dim light, rolling out onto a soft bed of moss and dewy ferns. He inhaled with a loud gasp and suddenly realized that he had been holding his breath. The sky was lightening with the glow that comes just before dawn, and he was shocked to realize that they had spent most of the night's hours belowground, crawling blindly along after a spirit-girl. He panted for a second, trying to calm his nerves, then called down the tunnel to Sam. "I'm out Sammy! Come on up!" When he heard no answer, he popped his head back into the passage. "Sammy?"

"I don't think I can, Dean…" Sam's voice was shaky, wavering out of the dark. "I won't fit."

Anger flashed over Dean like a fire, and all the pent-up tension and fear he had been swallowing all night roared back up. There was no way in hell he was squeezing back down that damn spider-hole to drag Sam's ass up into the light, not after spending a whole night on his hands and knees with a dead girl on his back. "Dammit, if I could fit through there, then your gawky ass sure can! Now get your ass in gear and get out here, NOW!" For a long moment there was only silence, but then he heard Sam sigh deeply and start scrambling into the tunnel.

Dean peered into the dark, waiting a bit anxiously. Without his flashlight, he wasn't having much luck seeing anything. But after a few minutes of listening to Sam's grunting breaths, Dean finally saw his brother's white face fade into view. A fine coating of grime covered Sam's cheeks, and a blaze of bright blood was dripping from his chin. Dean reached out and grasped Sam's hands, drawing him out of the tunnel.

"Just like delivering a baby," muttered Dean as he pulled Sam free. Sam lay limp on the moss, eyes closed, just taking deep and gulping breaths. "Sorry to go all Drill Sergeant on you, man."

Without opening his eyes Sam replied softly, "You sounded like Dad."

"Bite your tongue," replied Dean, ducking his head to inspect Sam's wounds. He ran his fingers gently over the back of Sam's skull, wincing as he found a huge goose egg swelling on the crown. "Probably rocking a concussion there, sport." He swiped his hand across Sam's chin, wiping away the worst of the blood there. "You look like hell, by the way."

"You don't look so great yourself." Sam slowly eased himself into a seated position, looking with detached concern at all the blood on Dean's own face. But then he blanched as his mouth started to water wildly. "Think you're right 'bout the concussion though." He rolled to his knees and emptied his stomach onto the forest floor. "Damn," he gasped, running his forearm over his mouth.

"Tasted better the first time around, huh?"

"Sorry, Dean." Sam took a deep and shuddering breath, closing his eyes and leaning back onto his heels. "'Bout freaking out down there. Was stupid."

Dean pushed his lower lip out. "Yeah. But it's okay. You're allowed to freak out every once in a while." He raised one eyebrow. "But if you ever cause me to face plant into your ass again, you're a dead-man." Sam managed a rasping chuckle, and gave Dean a weak punch on the arm.

"Hey Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"I told you so."