AN: Pointless, unbetaed, low on plot, hurt/comfort, one shot written because I got stuck on my other story (Sam and Cas are misbehaving...can you believe it?). Rated K plus for mild language and implied violence. Mostly from Dean's POV because he insisted.I own nothing except the errors. Those are all mine, so back off.

Dean opened his eyes and saw absolutely nothing. Either he was blind, or he was in darkness so profound that he couldn't make out a single speck of light. He blinked a few times and evaluated the evidence of his other senses. Then he kind of wished he hadn't. He was lying on his right side with one arm under his head and the other wrapped around his torso. The air was heavy with dust and though he couldn't see, he could sense that he was in a small, enclosed space. His head ached, there was something sticky on the side of his face, and he couldn't remember how he'd gotten here. But worst of all was the feeling of a crushing weight across his stomach and the fact that he couldn't feel anything below his waist.

There was a sound, too. He had a feeling that it was the sound that had woken him.

"Dean?" Yes, there it was. Sam. It was soft enough that he couldn't tell what direction exactly the voice came from. "Dean?" There was a cough. Come to think of it, the voice wasn't just faint. It was weak.

"Sammy?"

"Dean!" As faint as the response was, Dean could hear the relief in it. "You okay, Dean?"

Dean bent his left elbow and rubbed at the sticky spot on his face. He winced as his fingers found a lump just inside his hairline. "Peachy. You?" He extended his arm straight out in front of his face and touched something soft at the very extension of his reach. He reached his arm up over his head and quickly encountered what felt like a wall of dirt, maybe six inches above him. He traced it up but couldn't find a ceiling. There was more dirt just behind him. Reaching down, he hit something hard at his waist. He couldn't feel the top of it, but it felt more like stone or wood than dirt. None of this exploration helped him remember what happened.

There was another cough. "Yeah, pretty much as good as can be expected. I can't believe we didn't get crushed! I don't suppose you can, uh, crawl out of here?"

"Um. No, sorry. Remind me what happened?" And tell me what's wrong, he added silently.

Sam sighed and regretted it. He held his breath for a second and barely fended off a cough. The coughing was incredibly painful, and pushed him to the edge of unconsciousness. "We chased that ghoul that looked like the er, really large old lady, remember? Behind that old barn?"

"Oh, yeah." Dean recalled. "It was totally a trap. There were a whole buttload of ghouls back there."

"Yeah."

The fight had been epic, even for Winchesters. With so many opponents, it had quickly devolved from a gun fight to a knife fight to beating the ghouls to death with whatever they could find. "There had to be how many of those fuglies?" Dean asked, remembering fondly. "Like a dozen?"

"At least."

"Well, when I tell the story next, I'm saying 20. Did I see you bashing one's brains in with a 2 by 4?" Dean snickered.

"And then a rock." Sam snickered faintly.

Dean would have shaken his head, but every time he moved dirt or dust trickled down. "I found a pretty handy rock too, after I lost the crowbar."

"Yeah, you did."

"They must have had tunnels under that field, huh?"

"Seems like, Dean." Sam sounded resigned. There was silence for a few minutes.

As they talked, Dean had been trying to really hear what was happening with Sam's voice. Was he scared? In pain? He sounded…resigned. He must be trapped too, and whatever was across Dean's body was between them, he thought. But was the barrier the only reason Sam sounded so faint? Dean couldn't tell. "I'm really glad you didn't take off your boots and use those," came Sam's voice.

"What? Why?" Dean considered the non sequitur then tried to move his feet, but as far as he could tell, nothing happened.

"Well, my head's on one of your feet. At least, it smells bad enough to be your foot." A beat. "God, I hope it's not a ghoul's foot. Or maybe that would be better. As far as I know, they're all dead and unlikely to kick me in the face. Less likely than you, anyway."

That wasn't going to happen, but Dean wasn't about to tell Sam that he couldn't feel or move anything below his waist. It was a shame, though, he thought irreverently. Some of his best assets were below the waist. "You good, though, Sammy?

"Yup. Just very, very stuck." Sam coughed again. His face was trapped turned to the side under something so close he couldn't move his head. As he'd said, the side of his face that was down was on a foot, and there was dirt so close to the end of his nose that he inhaled some with every breath. His arms were trapped next to his sides, useless. He could wiggle his fingers in the dirt or kick his feet up in the air, for all the good that did him, but his shoulders were as trapped as his head. Each cough kicked off pain in his chest that he didn't care to think about too hard.

"Too bad it'll be so hard to count how many of those ghouls we ganked," remarked Dean. "That story would get us free beers for a while with any hunters we run into, doncha think?"

"Hmmm."

"Sammy? How bad you really hurt?"

"Not hurt. Just don't have a lot of space, so I can't take any deep breaths. Dirt right in front of my face, you know?" There was a pause, and Dean realized that Sam had been pausing just like that the whole time they'd been talking. He winced at the thought of having so little space. It's not like he was on a feather bed himself, but he had plenty of space and air.

"Can you dig away any of the dirt from around your face?"

"No, my hands are trapped. Can't get 'em out at all." And I'm losing feeling in them – and pretty much everything else as I'm not getting enough air, he thought. But that wasn't very helpful, so he didn't add it. He coughed, hard, and black spots danced in front of his face as pain flared through his chest. Kind of wish I'd lose feeling in my chest…except that would probably mean something was really wrong, so maybe not.

"Sam? Can you hear me, Sam?" Dean's voice had taken on a tone that was both insistent but gentle, and Sam realized he must have asked before too.

"Yeah. Coughing just sucks. Hey, Dean, tell me the truth about how you're doing."

"You first," Dean answered immediately. He was so relieved when Sam started talking again he'd been pretty much forgetting his own ever-increasing pain.

"There's…a lot of pressure on my chest. Not pain, just pressure. I just need to stop coughing. And you?" Sam's voice was still soft, but determined.

"My legs are trapped and hurt. It's fine though." It so wasn't fine. And Sam wasn't fine either. And they were trapped and so screwed. But he could do his big brother duty and distract Sam. "Hey, remember that crazy wishing well town? With the bipolar teddy bear and Tiny Todd the Barbarian?"

A barely-there laugh. "Didn't Todd kick your ass?"

"Yeah, yeah. How about that kid whose wish was to turn invisible so he could watch women shower?" Even though Sam couldn't see him, he rolled his eyes. "Honestly, that was probably the best wish of any of them." Sam didn't answer, which Dean kind of hated. "Sam? Hey, Sam, if there weren't any strings attached, what would you wish for?"

"Um. I'd wish we'd waited for Cas to get here before we went in."

Dean chuckled, though humor was the last thing he was feeling right now. "We did think it was only one ghoul. But you know, Cas is coming. I should, um, pray and tell him that he should drive that pimp-mobile a little faster."

"I prayed already, before you woke up. You were out for a while. Freaked me out."

"Hmmm. Got a bump on my head. So I just took a little nap." No response. "Hey, Sam, are you napping now? Sam? Not cool, dude. You need to answer. Sammy! Answer me now or I'll kick your ass!"

"Can try. Be nice or I'll…bite your ankle."

Dean actually laughed. "As annoying as your voice is, you better keep talking. Since I can't see you, I need to know you're doing alright there, Sammy boy."

"Running…out of air here…sorry." Sam's voice was dropping to not much more than a whisper.

"Sam, don't you – "

"Shut up…no more chance. Dean…thank you…all of it. When…gone…don't give up, Dean."

"Don't YOU give you, Sam! Don't you dare! SAMMY!" Dean bucked against the impossible weight holding him down and pain shot up all the way up to his shoulders. Black spots invaded his sight and a yelling groan burst from him. He couldn't move. He heaved and pain swallowed him, though his mind was screaming that he had to stay awake and get Sam out.

Dean must not have been out too long, because dirt was still sifting down when pain pushed him back to awareness. "Sam?" he called, but his voice was weak because of all the dirt he was inhaling and he coughed before he could try again. Come to think of it, dirt was still falling. "Crap. Crap!" Was it falling in on him?

But no, he could actually, finally see light up above him. Then, "Dean?"

"Cas? Is that you?" Dean coughed again, then twisted his head to look up despite how the motion ratched up the pain. There was a definite hole above him, now, and hands pushing more dirt aside, then a face. "Oh Cas. Crap. I am so glad to see you."

Cas nodded to him solemnly. "One moment, Dean. Try not to move. You are still pinned. Part of a, um, barn fell on you."

"Cas, get Sam. He's by my feet, and he's hurt bad."

Cas shoved something large off the top of the hole, and sunlight flooded in. Sunlight? They'd been down there longer than he'd thought. Then his friend was standing next to his head.

"Hold on, Dean." Cas placed both hands under the heavy, square beam that Dean could now see. Well, crap, thought Dean when he saw the size of it. It was probably eighteen inches a side, and if its full weight had truly fallen on them, they would have been Winchester soup. Only the fact that it was on an angle, half out of the tunnel, had saved their lives. Cas lifted the beam, and Dean's world disappeared.

WINCHESTER * WINCHESTER

There was a murmur of voices, but he couldn't quite make them out yet. He knew that the sound of them meant safety, and that was what made him realize who he was talking.

"—doesn't wake up soon?"

"He will wake, just as you did. There is no need for a human hospital."

"Actually, I think he's coming around. Dean? Dean, can you hear me?"

Dean finally managed to pry his reluctant eyelids open. A face slowly coalesced. It was Sam, and he was smiling. "Sam," Dean coughed and tried again. "Sammy, you're okay!"

"Yeah, so are you, Dean. We pulled another Winchester Special and survived something that should have killed us. When the tunnel collapsed, the corner of the barn fell in with us, and the corner beam pinned us both. If it had fallen a little farther…and then Cas flew in and saved the day."

"I did not fly. I drove my car. Then I had to find you in the fallen tunnel." Cas' brow furrowed. "You should have waited for me to face so many ghouls."

"The ghouls weren't the problem," argued Dean, letting Sam pull him to a seated position. They were in a hotel room, but it was nicer than what they were used to. "So, Cas, I remember you digging me out then moving that beam. Then what?"

"You were both badly injured, so I healed you, then carried you to the car. Then I procured a nearby hotel room and brought you both in to recover. Sam woke up four minutes and eleven seconds before you did."

Dean winced a little at the thought of Cas carrying them around and hoped nobody had seen that. "Thanks, man. You did save the day." He stood and tested his limbs. Nothing hurt, not his legs or his head or anything. "Sam's really fine?"

"Of course. As are you. You had a concussion, along with a broken spine and crushed pelvis. Sam was not breathing, though I am not sure if that was because of the collapsed lung, the internal bleeding, or simply suffocation. It is because of the severity of your injuries that you both were unconscious for several hours." Cas gave the recitation emotionlessly, not revealing just how horrified he'd been at the sight of the broken bodies he'd found.

"Thank you again, Cas. Seriously," said Sam. He stood and hugged Cas, then clapped Dean on the shoulder in the I'm glad you're okay, man. Dean gave the other two men each a hearty slap on the back rather than echo the sentiment, hoping the angel knew how grateful he was. He remembered all too well the terror he'd felt when Sam had stopped talking. The description of their injuries would make him sick if he thought about it too long.

"Hey, Cas, you take care of the ghoul bodies?"

"Yes, I burned them, then filled in the tunnel." Cas had dumped the brothers in the back seat of his car before hurriedly taking care of the bodies. When he came back, they had tipped over so Dean was pillowed on Sam's chest. The memory made Cas smile, but he didn't tell them about it because he valued his life.

"How many ghouls were there, Cas?" asked Dean, and Sam rolled his eyes.

"I counted fourteen."

Dean crowed. "Fourteen! We are total badasses, Sam! Cas, you should have seen it. We are totally getting free beers the next time we run into other hunters. Speaking of, I could go for a burger and a brew. This joint have a restaurant in it?"

"Beer, cheap food, and hunting. You ever think about anything else, Dean?"

Dean smirked at his brother, so damn grateful to have a brother alive to bitch at him. "No, sometimes I think about magic fingers or porn. I am a regular Renaissance man, Sammy."

Sam threw the hotel pen at Dean's head. "Cas, I don't really know what you put up with us."

Dean caught the pen and threw it at Cas, who simply watched it bounce off his chest. "It's because we taught him about beer, cheap food, hunting, magic fingers and porn. Duh."

Sam couldn't help but smile. "Dean, you're an idiot."