So here is chapter 2, thank you so much for the reviews…you have no idea how much they cheered me up considering the fact that I was sobbing before hand, in the bathroom with my phone to keep me company…ugh! At least I had wifi! And you actually dragged a smile out of me, so yeah, thanks for making my day slightly more bearable!

Here is chapter 2, you get more Dean whump here and I hope you enjoy me being mean to him, my friends ;)

Chapter 2

Dean had lost track of how long he had been trapped. His entire body was aching all over and he felt awful. He had tried his best to wrap his jeans around his cut leg but had no material left for his shoulder, which was still oozing blood. Judging by the intense throbbing Dean was certain that the wound on his leg was infected, god knows what he had cut it on, but he couldn't see a thing in the pitch darkness and he didn't have anything to clean the wound with anyway. He was beginning to feel dizzy as well and he was certain that it was getting harder and harder to breath.

A few hours later Dean began to call out again, he had been trapped in the box for seven hours and was getting increasingly terrified. His breaths were coming in harsh pants and he was shaking all over. He needed to get out; he needed to know if his Sammy and Dad were alright.

"Let me out! Please!" Dean's voice came out as little more than a croak; he had yelled himself completely hoarse.

"Please…Dad? Sammy?" Dean curled up a little tighter and rested his chin on his knees, feeling a rising sense of panic. It had been hours now, why hadn't his dad found him and got him out yet? Surely John would have woken up by now? John would have come and found Dean if he could, wouldn't he? That only left the option of John still being unconscious. Either way things were not looking good for Dean.

Dean felt a lump rise in his throat and desperately tried to fight the rising panic, but it wasn't working, he was choking, suffocating. He couldn't breathe, he was certain that the walls were closing in on him. He couldn't move.

"DAD!" Dean called out as loud as he could, punching the wall in front of him before the first few tears slipped down his face. Soon he was sobbing uncontrollably and Dean couldn't hold it back any more, he was terrified. Dean had no idea what was wrong with Sam and his Dad, whether they were even awake yet, whether they were dead, whether they were looking for him.

After another five hours Dean felt sick and was beginning to tremble violently, and not because it was cold in the wardrobe, which is what Dean now assumed he was trapped in. His thoughts were becoming irrational and he just couldn't stop crying. Despite the cold Dean was sweating profusely and he felt nauseous. His head was spinning rapidly and it felt as if someone was trading on his temples. After a few minutes of desperately trying to keep down the contents of his stomach, it gave another huge roll and this time Dean vomited all over himself, unable to aim anywhere else due to the cramped conditions.

Dean groaned as his stomach cramped, doubling up and rubbing at his abdomen as he tried to control his rapid breathing. It was no use.

Dean began to hyperventilate, tears streaming down his face as he found himself throwing up again. Now he really couldn't breathe. With one last whimper Dean fainted, hoping with all his might that his family were alright and would find him soon.

John stirred with a groan, his head was pounding and there was something wrapped around it, blocking his vision. What the hell? He quickly moved the material from his eyes and realised that it was Dean's T-shirt, but Dean was nowhere to be seen.

"Dean? DEAN? Where are you buddy?" John stumbled to his feet and took a look around the room, seeing his youngest son lying limp on the floor underneath a bookcase. It didn't take much to put two and two together, but this didn't explain where Dean was.

"Hey, Sammy, you with me my boy?" John made his way slowly over to his unconscious son and wiped the sweat from his forehead, sighing in relief when a pair of hazel eyes blinked up at him.

"Dad?"

"I'm here son, how are you feeling, can you see me ok?"

"L-leg."

"I know son, did you hit your head?"

"I-don't think so. Ahh, it hurrrts!" Sam began to sob and reached out to scrabble at John's leather jacket when he felt his father stand up.

"S'okay. I'm not going anywhere, just gonna get this off your leg. Here, drink this." John pulled his hipflask from his pocket and handed it to his youngest son, who gulped down the whiskey as fast as he could, waiting for numbness to sink in. John knew that alcohol was the last thing you should give to an injured person, let alone a child but it was the only thing he had. Alcohol was the one medication you could always rely on, and therefore the one that you could always find in a hunter's bag or pocket.

"Where's Dean? I want Dean." John wanted to cry, but instead he put on a stoic mask and turned his attention to the job in hand. Years as a hunter had conditioned him for situations like this, he knew he had to be brave for his sons and that he couldn't show weakness. He was the predator, not the prey.

"I don't know yet." John saw the look of panic on his sons face and realised that it reflected his own feelings, the what ifs that he was battling. It wasn't like Dean to leave his family if they were hurt, John was sure that something had happened to his eldest son, but there was nothing he could do about it at that instant. Right now Sam was his priority.

"Sam, I need you to bite down hard on this." John balled up Dean's t-shirt and placed the part which was not covered in blood into Sam's lips. Sam gagged a little but followed the order, looking up at his father with bloodshot eyes.

"Ok, I'm gonna lift this in three, two…" John never waited until he got to one, instead grabbing the bookcase and hauling it up with all of his might, managing to shift it a couple of feet to his right before dropping it to the floor beside Sam, who was screaming at the top of his lungs.

"Ok, ok son, it's over now." John knelt down beside Sam and felt sick, his son's leg was covered in deep bruises in varying shades of purple, blue and black and it was obvious that his tibia was broken in at least one place.

"I want Dean!"

"I know, I'll find him in a minute. I'm sure he's doing fine. Let me just strap your leg up and get you into the Impala. The last thing we want is you to have another run in with that poltergeist." Sam whimpered but could not voice his complaints anymore; it hurt too much for anything comprehensible to come out of his mouth, only whimpers, gasps and grunts were tumbling past his lips.

John stood and made his way over to the hateful bookcase, quickly unscrewing the bolts keeping the shelves together with his bare hands, at least it was old and not made very well. Soon he was carrying a plank of wood about the size of Sam's leg.

"I'm going to lift your leg up and slide this under it; I need you to relax for me. Don't try and move, I need to keep it straight, ok." Sam merely grunted and waited for the pain, which certainly did not disappoint. Within seconds Sam had passed out, not even coming around when John strapped his leg onto the board with some old tablecloths he found in the dining room, or when his father scooped him up and laid him down in the back of the Impala.

Dean came round to the sound of screaming from downstairs and felt sick to his stomach. He would recognise that cry anywhere. Sammy was in trouble, Sammy needed him and there was nothing he could do about it. With a moan of frustration Dean attempted to kick at the door but blinding pain flashed through his leg and he slumped back in frustration. Things couldn't get worse than this. Dean's one job was to look after his brother yet he couldn't. He was failing and there was nothing he could no about it but wait.

Dad, you have to find me! Please let me out of here.

Dean curled himself up further and wrapped his arms around his head and ears, desperately trying to block out the sounds of his screaming brother. It didn't work and Dean's breathing began to hitch as he attempted to calm down. The sense of fear was overpowering and despite all of his efforts to breathe properly and to not panic, it just wasn't happening.

I'm a hunter, you can do this Dean, Dad will get you out in a minute…just a minute. There is plenty of air in here…for now. Breathe…Oh god I can't breathe! There's not enough air, I'm going to die…LET ME OUT!

Dean felt sick, his stomach was cramping again but there was nothing left in his stomach to throw up, so he ended up dry heaving, clutching at his torso when he felt his lungs tighten and constrict, pain shooting through his chest. Dean felt as if he was about to choke and let out a tiny whimper when once again he tried to move and once again he was unable to uncurl due to his confined conditions.

With another sob Dean began counting his breaths in and out in an attempt to remain focussed, but it wasn't working. If anything this just highlighted how long he was being confined for, reminding him that soon he would run out of air and that he couldn't get out. He opened his mouth wide and began panting; wishing for some water or anything liquid that would ease his dry mouth, but there was nothing. The stench of stale vomit clouded Dean's senses as exhaustion waved over him, causing Dean to fall into an uneasy sleep.

The sound of his brother's screams echoed through his nightmares.

Well, considering I spend so much of my time on here I think you can safely assume that I have no life and barely any proper friends, reviews are my main contact with the outside world and they mean a lot, so you guys know what to do! They make me so happy! *crawls back into hermit shell and pulls laptop in after me!

If you have any plot requests, story one-shot requests or challenges let me know :) x