This is a short chapter. My brain is still recovering from Chapter 9, so my apologies to those whom it will only take thirty seconds to get through this. I thought you'd want an update sooner than later. Sorry there wasn't a warning for the gore in the last chapter. No gore this chapter.

Thank you for coming back after that. Thanks to reviewers Elliesmeow, cavetrollgrl, tennischik09, lekelly, GotTheShining, Amanda, teal-lover, XxCrash.And.BurnXx, ponyperson, JaggerK, snchills, Alienmom, RedDragen, MacCartney, fairyofmusic, pandora jazz, pinkphoenix1985, and St0pSmackinMe07 for your helpful insights and praise.

Disclaimer: see Chp 1.

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Sam gently, tenderly lifted the limp form of his big brother, taking care to keep from either slamming his head into the alcove's low ceiling or from dragging Dean on the hard ground. It couldn't be helped, though. Sam was simply too tall to fit in the confined area, and opted for running his head painfully along the rough ceiling to prevent any possible further damage to his brother. Slowly, Sam managed to free himself of the prison cell, gingerly cradling Dean's prone body in his arms.

As the brothers emerged, Ellen let out an audible gasp and drew her hand to her mouth. Bobby threw off his flame thrower and rushed forward to help support the weight of Dean. Together, Sam and Bobby lowered him to the ground. Ellen dropped her flame thrower and stripped off her jacket, rolling it up and lifting Dean's head to place it as a pillow.

"My God..." she whispered as she looked at the scars completely covering his body. She reached down and ran her fingers lightly over one, which looked rather deep and would have been extremely painful to obtain, that ran from his left shoulder to below his ribcage on the right side of his chest. Dean winced again, but did not regain consciousness.

Sam knelt beside his brother, a small drop of blood running down his face from a cut he had received from the cell's ceiling. He pulled the flask from his back pocket and unscrewed the metal cap, then he gently put a hand under Dean's neck and tilted his head forward to allow him to drink the water. As he poured a tiny amount of water into Dean's slack mouth, Dean choked and sputtered the water back out, as though it were unwanted.

Bobby shook his head. "He dudn't know what's goin' on, Sam. He probly thinks you're one o' those creatures, tryin'a poison 'im," he said balefully.

Sam nodded sadly, then reached to pull his t-shirt off. "Wet this down, please," he said, handing the shirt to Ellen. She quickly did as he said, pouring water from the tank on the flame thrower into the cloth, then handed it back to Sam. He took the wet cloth and lightly drew it across Dean's forehead, gingerly removing a portion of the grime and dried blood that covered his whole body.

Taking the wet shirt, he draped it over Dean's midsection, to allow him at least some modicum of modesty when he did come to. He had suffered enough, Sam did not want to add embarassment to the list of wrongs that had been heaped upon him.

"Let's get him out of here," Sam said, reaching to lift Dean under his knees and behind his back.

There Sam stood, in the middle of Hell, stripped to his waist, armed with a 1835 Colt and a double edged sword, carrying his naked, unconscious brother, and flanked by the bargain-basement ghostbusters with Holy Water flame throwers. He would have laughed if it hadn't been real, though he was silently grateful that this wasn't some horrible scene from one of those cheesy sci-fi genre Thursday night TV shows that Dean used to watch. He just remembered a conversation they had several years before. Our lives are weird, man...

And so they marched. They exited the dungeon-like cavern and emerged back on the plain of boulders and firepits. It was not difficult to tell what their path was; the demon horde had been kind enough to leave a trail of footprints and debris that clearly indicated the point of their origin.

The demons had come to see them off; frequently they saw the creatures staring at them from the pits or from behind the boulders. Apparently Sedah had been truthful when she said nothing would bother them, for which they were all grateful, but not altogether trusting. Bobby and Ellen were well prepared to deal with any attacker, and the fierceness Sam saw in their eyes told him they had not come this far to fail now, and they were not going to fail Dean, especially after they had seen what he had been through.

Sam did notice that the closer they got to the exit, the fewer scars he was able to make out on Dean's chest. He wondered if it was simply that they would all heal and disappear with time, since obviously they ripped people to shreds frequently here, then put them back together, and there had to be some supernatural healing factor involved in that, or if it was their proximity to the natural world. By the time they crossed the salt lines at the entrance to the tunnel, most of the scars had vanished.

Sam's arms were beginning to feel like jelly after carrying Dean's limp body for so long, and his legs were tired, though there was no way he was going to put him down or stop. He owed it to Dean to get him out of there as quickly as possible, and with as little jostling as absolutely necessary.

Eventually the group passed the tortured soul in the tunnel, still where they had left it, and made it to the gate. Bobby went through the doorway first, pushing the doors wide open and skewering two demons that had been caught in the Key of Solomon.

It was still dark, and a storm had moved in. The sky alight, arching with lightning; the still night air pierced by the sound of rolling thunder. Sam thought it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.

"Dean," Sam said lovingly, laying him on the soft grassy ground. "Dean, you're alive."

Dean lay there with his eyes closed for several minutes, as the three hunters attended to him, washing his body clean of it's stains. Soon, his chest began to rise and fall more quickly, and a slight smile played at the corners of his lips.

He was breathing fresh air. Free air. He could feel it.

Dean's eyes fluttered, then opened only a crack; just enough to orient on his baby brother's worried face. "Sammy?"

"Yeah, Dean. I'm here."

Dean smiled tiredly, blinked a couple of times, and drifted back to sleep; a relaxed, happy grin on his face.

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Author's Note: Want me to keep going?

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