"Sammy?" Dean's voice sounded extremely loud in the dark room, and it bounced back to him off the four walls, which he assumed where close by. "S-Sammy?!"
Nothing. Sam just lay there, unmoving. He never even twitched.

"Sam! Sam, wake up dammit!"

A soft groan emitted from across from Dean, so soft that it almost escaped recognition.

Sam! Dean's heart finally started beating again at the sound, a sure sign that his brother was at least alive. " 'atta boy Sammy, come on. Wake up for me."

The groan faded into a single word. "…ean?"

"Yeah Sammy, it's me." Dean sighed with relief, wishing badly that he were free to move closer to the cot. "How do you feel, man?"

There was a long pause, and Dean heard his brother's shallow breathing for the first time since he woke up. "Hurts…"

Dean ground his teeth together anxiously. Crap. He had almost forgotten about Sam and his suspected internal bleeding. Now this was really, really bad. "Where does it hurt, Sammy?" Dean pulled at the wrist restraints. They were not only tied together it seemed, but tied down to the back of the chair somehow. His fingers scraped on the ropes uselessly, trying to find some way to pull them free, but whoever had tied them had done a good job.

"Chest…"Sam took another shallow breath, his voice barely a whisper. "…stomach…"

"It's okay Sammy, I'm going to get us out of here. Alright?"

Again, there was no answer. Dean was really starting to get freaked out by this.

"Alright?" He asked again, more forcefully. "Sammy?"

" 'm here…" Sam mumbled, his voice heavy and pain-ridden.

Suddenly, Dean remembered something. "Sammy, I've got a knife in my boot. If I get my foot close enough do you think you could get it out for me?"

There was another pause, and then a sigh. "…no…"
Dean shuffled his feet until the chair was only a foot away from the cot. "Come on Sammy, I'll make it easy for you. I'm right here, man. My foot is right over here."

Sam made a sound that was a combination between pain and annoyance. "Cant…"

And why not?

As if he could hear Dean's thoughts, Sam shook his arms a little bit and Dean could hear a small clinking sound. Suddenly, he understood. Sam was handcuffed to the table. Frick… "Alright Sammy," Dean tried to make his voice as calm as he could as he wracked his brains for any way to get out of this mess. "Alright…"He looked around the room, trying to see through the darkness to anything that could help them. Judging by the way his voice echoed back to him off the walls, the room was no bigger than the average jail cell. And there was nothing to cut himself loose with. Suddenly an idea came to his head, but he did really not like the sound of it. Truthfully he was dead against it, but there was really no other option. His poor shoulder…

Dean braced his feet against the floor, tipping the chair as far to the side as it would go before throwing back to the other side. He shook it for a few seconds before it tipped sideways and slightly backwards, and it slammed into the floor on its edge right before it landed on it's side. Teeth clenched together, he managed to silence the scream he had wanted to release as pain from his dislocated shoulder flared down his spine and into his neck. Of course, he had been lucky enough for the chair to land on his right and not crush the injured left shoulder, but it still hurt.

Of course, he hadn't been silent enough. "…Dean?!" Sam's voice was about as loud as it could probably get it right now, and Dean could hear the worry in it loud and clear.

He took another deep breath through his nose, trying to calm himself down. Worrying Sam was not going to help right now. " 'm fine, Sammy," Dean managed to answer roughly, resting his head sideways against the cold floor underneath it. He just needed a minute. Just a minute… "I'm just getting free…"

There was a long pause, in which Sam seemed to be listening for Dean to continue. "…okay…" He eventually mumbled a quiet reply, and after that he was silent. Dean figured that he had rested long enough. It was time to check up on Sam… That silence was not reassuring.

He slouched down in the chair as far as he could, stretching his foot underneath the chair until it touched his hands. Clumsy with no sense of coordination in this position, Dean fumbled with the hem of his pant leg until he finally managed to uncover the ankle of his boot. Okay, step one. He searched blindly around his ankle until he found the sheath of the little knife and pulled it free, glad to let his foot go and stretch it out in front of him again. Step two… He turned the knife upside-down, careful not to cut himself as he sliced through the bondage. Painstaking efforts aside, that was a little too easy.

Dean was about to nurse those thoughts again when he suddenly remembered that he wasn't alone. He tugged his arms free from under and around the chair and his own weight, untangling his legs long enough to pull himself to a stand. The sudden movement upward sent the blood rushing out of his shoulder, and the pain came with it as he subconsciously let loose a moan of discomfort.

" 'ean…?" Sam's handcuff's clinked in the dark, and Dean cursed himself internally for being so noisy. "Wha's wrong?"

"I'm okay," Dean repeated, more to reassure Sam than to actually tell him the truth. "Just dislocated my shoulder, that's all."

Sam's tiny sigh was easy audible in the quiet room. "Crap…"

You can say that twice. Dean nodded in response, although he would be surprised if Sam could see it. "I'll live… I'm going to find a ledge or something to pop it back in, then I'll be right back. Okay?"

"…Okay…"

Wow, this one-sentence answer thing was getting really old, really fast. And it was kind of freaking Dean out. Was Sam having trouble talking, or was he just tired? What if his lungs were filling with fluid or he had a punctured lung or something…? Hurriedly, Dean reached out his right hand and swung randomly walking forewords until he hit the wall, then he traveled the distance of the whole room in about twenty or thirty seconds. He had come to a doorway, but the whole thing was made out of some thick wood and was completely solid. There wasn't even a doorknob on the inside. The whole room – outside of the door - was smooth, cold, and made of stone bricks from the feel of it. He knew that the floor was the same way. Okay then, so no ledges… He felt his way back to Sam, and in the somewhat visible outline of the table that he was laying on. He reached out a hand to touch it. It wasn't a cot, which he had expected. It wasn't even a bed, like in a hospital or a jail. It was like some giant, rectangle stone slab. How the hell did it get it here? It was the like the freaking thing just evaporated out of thin air into the room. Even though that explanation seemed almost believable, Dean figured that it had been made at the same time as the room, probably built right into the wall for this very reason. And what reason is that? Dean's hand followed the pointy edge of the slab until it came to a little round half-circle melted into the stone. It was on top of the table, although it was close to the edge. Okay then… His fingers moved upwards until they came to another, larger link of metal threaded through the loop, and then they followed up this chain until he came in contact with the handcuff around Sam's wrist.

Probably not expecting this unexpected touch, Sam's hand pulled away quickly. "Whoa," Dean couldn't help being surprised, not expecting to find this either. "Sorry man, It's just me." He tried to force a laugh, but his throat was suddenly unexpectedly dry. The loop hadn't been forced to the table, but built right into it. There was a handcuff attached right to it, and Dean was sure there was another loop and cuff on the other side. It was like the stone slab was built with them already intact. Like it was built for this very purpose.

So the room was built to host the stone slab, which was built to host the loop, which was built to host the handcuffs…

Holy shit.

The force of the thought hit Dean like a brick wall, and he actually found himself loosing his balance from the half-crouch by the table and landing on his but. Of course, that jarred is shoulder, which in turn made him cry out in pain, which caused Sam to pull at his restrains.

"Dean?!"

"…Still okay…"Dean raised his good arm in the air in hopes that Sam could see it, and then used it to shove him to a stand. "Just checking the floor for … you know… trap doors and stuff."

There was another pause. A long one. Of course, Sam was probably trying to come up with some way to call out Dean on his bluff. Dean could already picture the "how to make fun of Dean in two words or less" game show going on in his head, but instead Sam just sighed. "…kay…"

Kay? Kay?! Dean's mouth dropped so low that he wouldn't have been surprised if he had started drooling. That was all Sam had to say? KAY?! Now if anything that Dean hadn't seen yet in this room hadn't made him freak out yet, this definitely took the cake. Sammy was out of it if he couldn't see past that lie in two seconds.

Dean heard a small shuffling sound, and he wondered how comfortable that stupid stone slab really was. "…Dean?'

"Yeah Sammy?"

"You can't get your shoulder back in…"Deep breath. " Can you?"

If Dean hadn't been caught by the absurdity of the question he would have stopped to think that Sam had actually managed seven words in one breath. But since he wasn't on that train of thought, it never occurred to him. Instead he was wondering why his brother would ask. "No Sam," He admitted half-heartedly. "It's not really working out too well here…"

Sam sighed again. "…helped you…"

"What?"

"I always helped you… before…"

When Dean finally understood what Sam was getting at, he couldn't help smiling. Sam was concerned about him. Impractical as that was right now, it was still nice to know. "Yeah Sammy, you always helped me with this before. But I can find a way. Don't worry about it."

Somehow Dean's eyes must have adjusted again without him noticing, because now he could make out Sam's facial expression. There were a lot of things that Dean could have read into it, the more obvious emotions of those being exhaustion, confusion and pain, but there was also concern in there too. And he could tell that Sam was definitely going to worry about it.

"I'm okay Sam…"Dean repeated again, stopping the argument before it began. There was no point getting Sam worked up just so that he could hurt himself even more than he already was. Considering their situation, Sam's own strength and immunity was more important than anything Dean could do for him. So he had to take use of that. "Dude, I'm going over here to find something that can get you free so I can bust us out of here." He went to walk away – even though "away" was about five steps in the opposite direction – but at Sam's voice he stopped.

"…you can't…"

Stupid, stubborn little brothers. Wasn't it an unwritten rule that the oldest was always right? "Yes I can, Sammy." Dean gave his brother the most reassuring look he could create in two seconds, although from this distance he couldn't really tell if he was looking at Sam or the wall… or if Sam even saw the look. "I'm going to get us out of here and then we are going to spend a good month in Mexico or someplace equally hot with nude beaches… and as long as we are on separate beaches then we will be fine."

Sam didn't laugh at the joke, or even do anything to show that he had heard it. Dean sobered immediately.

"Can't…"Sam still wouldn't let it go, and Dean sighed. "…can't hold my weight like that…. You can't…"

Of course, little brother had to be such a nerd and think of that even before Dean could. Sam was right. No, Dean couldn't carry his 6'4, 200 pound little brother out of this room and into ­who-knows-where outside it. Not when moving Sam the wrong way could kill him, or balancing the wrong weight on Dean's shoulder could make him go unconscious. Dragging Sam wasn't even an option… and that was too slow anyhow. Heck, carrying his brother's weight on a good day would have been amazing enough, let alone this. Sam was right… if Dean was going to get them out of here, he needed his shoulder fixed first.

"I'm working on a theory, Sammy." Dean dismissed the idea completely, hopping that Sam wouldn't continue with his train of thought. But knowing Sammy that wouldn't be the case.

He heard Sam take a few deep breaths – shaky and slow ones at that, but Dean could hear the difference – as if he was preparing himself for something. "H…help me up. I can do it…"

"Are you mental?!" Before he could help himself, Dean found himself shouting at the request. "How the hell are you supposed to do it?"

Sam didn't seem shaken by his outburst. In fact, he seemed prepared for it. Typical Sammy. "…just…just picklock the cuffs… and I'll pop it back in. I can do this."

Dean wanted to shout again. Dean really really wanted to tell Sam that he was an idiot and that Dean was more likely to let a giant penguin in a tux pop his shoulder back in… but Sam had a point. He hated the thought, but Sam really did have a point. It was like some stupid, sadistic puzzle. Sam was hurting, So Dean had to get him out. For Dean to get Sam out, he had to get his shoulder fixed. For Dean to get his shoulder fixed, he had to let Sam do it. For Sam to do it, he would have to sit up. If Sam sat up, it would hurt him. If Sam was hurting, then Dean would have to get him out…

Dammit!

He sighed, running his free hand over his face. If the pain in his shoulder would just die down for a second, then maybe he would have some room to think. Just a second! That was all he wanted. Maybe Sam was right…

No he's not, not he's not!

But I have to get him out…

Dean took a few hesitant steps towards Sam, then when he came to the edge of the block he leaned against it to kneel down – without falling this time – and pull out a paperclip from his boot. When he stood up again he sighed before grabbing one of Sam's wrists. Sam didn't even flinch at the touch, probably prepared for Dean to make this decision on his own, and didn't say anything until Dean was done picking the locks on both wrists free.

Carefully, Dean leaned over his brother while trying to figure out how to best get him into a sitting position with one arm when a hand fisted in his shirt. The other one followed, and in return Dean grabbed about as much of Sam's jacket as he could in one fist and pulled. Even though Sam was heavy, he wasn't deadweight. Dean could tell that he was trying. And once the younger Winchester was into a sitting position he practically collapsed against Dean's arm with the effort. The little moan of pain didn't go unnoticed either, although Dean had a feeling that Sam had tried to stifle it on his behalf.

"Alright Sammy," Dean patted Sam's arm gently, waiting until his breathing quieted. "How are we going to do this?"

"Turn around…"

Dean sat on the edge of the stone block, turning his back to Sam and wincing as one hand was rested on his left shoulder and the other slightly above it. Not only did he not think that Sam could do this right now, but he didn't think that he would be able to continue to hold Sam's weight on his shoulder for much longer. In truth, Sam would probably just jolt it in the other direction and fall in the meantime, causing them both pain. Wonderful… But even though there was harm in trying, they still had to do it anyways.

"…trust me, Dean…" Sam's voice was quiet, but there was a but of humor to it. Dean frowned, surprised. Sometimes, he wondered if mind reading really was one of Sam's freaky mind-powers and he just didn't admit it. Cause seriously, Sam always seemed to know…

"Count of three?" Dean's voice was shaky, and he cursed himself for being scared. Dude, you've taken worse than this before. Be a man.

He could almost sense Sam nodding behind him. "…one…"

Crack!

Suddenly there was a surprising amount of force on his shoulder, and he cried out as it popped back into place. Sam's hand had tightened on his shoulder, but it hadn't left. Even though he had managed to do that for Dean, he now seemed to be resting against Dean's back. He resisted the urge to jump up and roll his shoulder around in the socket a few times, deciding that first he had to get Sam laying back down. The poor kid was exhausted.

"Common, Sammy." Dean gripped Sam's hand on his shoulder, turning around and grasping the other arm too. "Let's get you back into nap-time mode."

Sam didn't comment – yet again – on the joke, although Dean heard Sam snort softly under his breath. The second he was laying down again his whole body seemed to sink into the stone from fatigue, and any sign of laughter was gone from his face, replaced with agony. Taking this opportunity to quickly roll his arm back into use, Dean's eyes never left his brother. This was not good. This was so not good…

Once Sam seemed to catch his breath again, his eyes reflected some unknown light source as they moved to Dean. "…told'ya…"

Dean hesitated, confused. "Told me what, Sam?"

"To trust me…"

It was hard to keep the smile from Dean's face, even though there were tears in his eyes. "Yeah man, of course I trust you. I'd trust you with my life."

Sam nodded softly, his eyes on the ceiling. "M-Me too…"

Dean's smile faded as he realized just what that statement meant, considering that right now Sam was trusting Dean with his life.

Dean only hoped that he was as trustworthy as Sam was.