Hey – this is just a quick heads up to anyone who has already read this piece.

When I first posted it I was totally new to fan fiction and now that I'm a little more familiar with this site, I'm thinking it should have been broken down into chapters. There are also some flashbacks, and I'm hoping the breakdown will help section those out from the rest of the story.

So, over the next few days I'll be reposting it in chapters and making some minor revisions along the way. Sorry to anyone who thought a new chapter was being added. : (

"Dean!" Sam shouts to his Brother as he lies on the table, his arms and legs strapped down. Straining, he lifts his head as much as possible and twists to get a look around. The room is the size of an average living room. The walls, ceiling and floor all concrete, filthy and crumbling at the corners and down the walls. It's slowly falling in on itself, the way cement clumps apart after years of moisture getting in when the ground surrounds it. There's nothing. Nothing helpful, nothing that explains the situation, nothing except the table he's strapped to. Resembling a cool stainless steal counter top, it contrasts the basement, clean and smooth, with a warped shine to it. As he jerks and thrashes to break free, the table doesn't budge. It's noticeable weight twisting his thoughts to only imagine what is concealed on it's underside. Feelings of unease rise, as he accepts that this table was designed to bind a person helpless, and was designed well. His thoughts push into the realization that the table has some secondary purpose. "I don't wanna know what I'm strapped here for," Sam says under his breath.

"Dean! Wake up!" Dean is across the room, his arms stretched above his head and handcuffed together over a pipe. The pipe runs roughly a foot below, and parallel to the ceiling, its ends penetrating opposite walls of the room. No wider than four inches, it's solid and discolored, with small flakes of rust crusting its surface. It holds him suspended almost completely off the ground, his feet only scraping the floor. He's been hit hard in the face. He has a bruise matted with blood just above his left eye, and the blood dripping from his lip looks like it would hurt if he were awake to feel it. "Dean, wake up! You're dripping blood all over you're Black Sabbath t-shirt." Nothing. Sam had woken ten minutes ago, with no memory of how he got here. Other than inspecting their surroundings, and yelling at his Brother, he had accomplished little to rectify their situation. He lets out a deep breath of failure and drops his head back onto the table. Then he hears it. Dean groans.

Sam shoots up, straining against the straps. "Dean! Dean I need you to wake up. Now Dean!" Dean's head rolls back and his eyes open just a little. As Dean focuses through the tiny slits, he starts to wake, and register the shit situation they're in. He groans again. Sam assumes it's because he can finally feel the hit to his mouth, and hanging from the ceiling probably isn't too comfortable either.

"Where the Hell are we?" Dean spits out both words and blood, remembering little about how he got here.

"I'm not sure, the basement," Sam says. "Basically, I know what you see."

"Well right now, I can't see much." Dean shakes his head, squinting. "I'm not even wearing my Black Sabbath shirt." He sighs. "How much trouble are we in?"

"I'm seriously strapped down here. I can't move much to get to anything, hence my yelling your name for the past ten minutes."

"Right." Dean looks up and tries to drag the cuffs across the pipe, searching for a weak spot. Again, nothing. "Not looking good here either."

"Great." Sam sighs as Dean drops out of consciousness, his head falls briefly to his chest, then pops up again. "Are you okay?" Sam asks concerned.

"Yeah," Dean insists, "my eye site's just a little blurry." Tightening his vision, he tries to focus on his Brother. He lets out a long breath. "There," he says with triumph, "I can almost see you!"

"That's helpful. That should get us out of here in no time."

"Actually, now that I can see you, you don't look so good."


"No." Dean smirks. "You look pretty screwed."

"Yeah well, I'm glad you finally woke up so you could tell me that."