Dean woke to a pounding head, the sounds of someone retching, and the rattle of chains. "Sam?" he muttered instinctively and tried to move, learning very quickly what a bad idea that was. Waiting until the hammer and the anvil song playing in his skull receded slightly, he finally cautiously opened his eyes. Encouraged that the pain stayed manageable, he glanced around trying to discern where he was, and where the hell his brother was. His first glance revealed bare gray cinder block walls, and he traced them around three unbroken sides, finding the fourth wall open but made up of bars. A cell, just great he thought, at the last minute remembering that rolling his eyes would probably be a very bad idea. Gazing past the bars he found he could see across a hallway into an identical cell. Sam was leaning against the back wall of said cell, eyes closed and looking pale, and sporting what appeared to be some kind of collar around his neck.

Dean sat up slowly, becoming aware as he did so that he too was the not-so-proud owner of his own collar. Feeling the foreign object, he discovered it to be padlocked and attached to a chain which in turn was attached to a ring embedded in the back wall of his prison. Searching his pockets, he was dismayed to realize he'd been stripped of his outer layers and footwear, along with anything else on his person that might have been helpful to pick a lock or defend himself. Perfect he snarked to himself, we are so screwed.

Scooting forward, he found the chain allowed him to almost reach the wall of bars before he was brought up short. Looking over at Sam again, he saw he was now watching him steadily.

"Sam?" he questioned, putting a wealth of communication into that one word.

"I hate you so much." Sam responded dryly. Then in response to Dean's unspoken question he answered succinctly, "Chloroform." Dean winced, knowing how groggy and nauseous that could make someone. It also explained how they had managed to take his very capable brother down.

"Lucky." he grumped back, rubbing gently at the spot on his head where the guy with an iron fist had knocked him out. "Any idea where we are? Or what they want?"

"No." Sam put his arms on his raised knees and dropped his head down to rest on them. Dean rose to his feet and explored the cell, but there was nothing to find. Smooth walls, no way to reach the only way in or out. Not good. He felt a tinge of remorse for pulling Sam into this mess, but still was confident they would find their way out. "I already checked," Sam confirmed without him asking, raising his head again to glare at his brother, "nothing useful over here either. Is this when I say 'I told you so'?"

"Shut up."

"That's what I thought."

–SPN–SPN–SPN–SPN–SPN–

48 Hours Earlier

It seemed like hours before anyone came to check on them, although it was impossible to know since their watches had been confiscated along with their other belongings. Movies and TV shows always made being captured seem miserable, but what they didn't show was the mind-numbing tedium in between the moments of action and terror. Dean was beyond ready for something to happen by the time Mustache Man and Skinny Redhead arrived. They stood outside their cells, staring at the brothers as if at a zoo exhibit.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer." goaded Dean finally, after the silence stretched on.

"Shut up Dean." snapped Sam, irritated. They had decided it made the most sense to keep up the charade that they were fighting and see where it led. Sam was up and pulling the chain to its limit aggressively, glowering across the space and finding it remarkably easy to pretend to be angry, since this mess really was all thanks to his stubborn brother.

"Go to hell Sam."

"Boys, boys. You'll get your chance to have a rematch. But not just yet. Let's work up to it, shall we?" laughed Mustache Man.

"What the hell are you talking about?" growled Dean.

"I'm ready now." Sam retorted. "Let me at him!"

"I can see that." Redhead replied. "Let's go work some of that aggression out, shall we? Turn around, hands behind your back."

"Why would I do that?" Sam snarked back.

"Because you'll meet my taser otherwise." Sam exchanged a quick uneasy glance with Dean, then reluctantly turned around and put his hands behind his back. Redhead unlocked the cell and entered, quickly zip tying his hands before unlocking the chain from the collar. Grabbing his bicep, he turned and maneuvered him out of the cell and down the hallway.

"Where are you taking him?" questioned Dean, trying to keep his rising anxiety out of his voice.

"Patience, boy. You'll get your turn." Mustache Man replied cryptically, banging on the bars and then disappearing after the others.

Several hours later Dean was a hot mess, his imagination having a field day in the ongoing silence. He'd seen some pretty gnarly things in his short life, and all of them reared their ugly heads in gory technicolor to taunt him as possible scenarios his brother might be enduring. Enduring thanks to HIS idiotic decision to chase this case blindly. He was about to start yelling for someone to give him some answers when finally - finally - another man he hadn't seen before arrived with Sam in tow. Pushing him roughly into his cell he kicked him behind his knees, forcing him to kneel. He reattached the chain to the collar, then cut through the zip ties and exited the cell, all without saying a word.

Dean watched worriedly as Sam slowly crawled over and slumped against the side wall. "Sam?" he questioned softly, needing answers. Sam's profile screamed exhaustion and pain, a hand wrapped around his ribs suggesting bruising at the very least. Sweat and some dotting that looked very much like blood stained his t-shirt. His head was down, hair covering his face, so Dean couldn't read him fully, which was completely unacceptable. He needed to know what damage there was, so he knew what retribution he needed to dole out. The lack of response grated, and he was about to demand answers when Sam finally raised his head, tipping it back against the wall with a sigh and looking over fully at him. Dean stared back in shock, taking in the split lip and bruising scattered across his visage. What the hell?

"Turns out I was right, Dean." Sam finally said without heat, a thread of underlying exhaustion and pain clear in his voice, "Go figure. No supernatural happening here. It's just humans."

"What…what exactly…"

"Congratulations brother. We are the newest members of an underground fight club." Dean sat back, flabbergasted. Why that scenario had never occurred to him, he didn't know. It was obvious now that Sam had said it, all the clues slotting neatly into place.

"I take it you fought and won your match?" he asked confidently after a minute of processing.

"Yeah, but the organizers weren't too happy with me."

"Why is that?" Dean asked, pride warring with worry.

"I wouldn't finish him off."

Dean stared at his brother in consternation. "You mean kill him?"

"Or maim him, yeah." Sam sighed, clearly agitated, "I knocked him out and then refused to keep fighting. They tased me, and then they finished the job."

"He's dead?" The broken look he received from across the way answered his question.

"We've got to get out of here." he said suddenly.

"It gets worse, Dean." Sam said softly.

"Worse?"

"They figured out somewhere along the way that we're brothers. Our match is the star attraction for the big weekend purse. Winchester vs Winchester." They stared at each other in dismay, realizing if they were not able to escape before then they would be forced to fight each other for real - and that one of them was supposed to kill the other to claim victory.