Disclaimer: The only thing I own are the ridiculous situations in which I've placed these boys.

Author's Note: Posting the initial chapter now as a tester. Let me know if this story warrants continuation (or not).

o()o()o()o(O)o()o()o()o

Dean.

Chained.

Alone.

Sam lets out a prolonged moan, hands clutching the head that's threatening to split open and leak brain matter all over his pillow, eyes scrunched tightly in a futile attempt to keep the early morning sunshine from adding further insult to his already overly sensitive brain.

He takes a couple of slow, deep breaths, feeling somewhat victorious when he's able to keep last night's fajitas in their proper place, the churning in his gut warring with the cold film of sweat slicking his skin for the title of "second worst side effect" of his visions. The first, of course, being the headaches.

It doesn't take too much longer until Sam feels like he's merely suffering the effects of having had a few too many the night before and less like his head's about to explode, allowing him to work himself upright to slump against the headboard of his bed, hand snaking out to grab the small notebook he's taken to keeping on the little bedside stand for just such an occasion.

He jots down a few quick descriptors, trying to capture the images and feelings before they completely disappear, the hastily scribbled words causing little more than frustration as he takes in the entirety of his paltry list.

Abandoned warehouse.

Human-like creature.

Loss.

Danger.

Dean.

Chained.

Alone.

And while it may not give him much to go on, his list pokes at his still tender brain, telling him that the little voice that's been whispering in his ear (and sounds an awful lot like his obnoxious older brother, come to think of it) might actually know what's it's talking about.

Telling him that Dean's in trouble.

That something's not right.

That he's alone.

And that Sam needs to find him.

o()o()o()o(O)o()o()o()o

So, Sam does what Sam does best. Research. Lots of it.

He puts together a chart with the scant information he's amassed, cross-referencing it with his brother's last known locations (which is relatively easy once he's hacked into his brother's cell phone and checked in with a couple of the hunters he still keeps in contact with on rare occasion), and comes up with a short list of possible locations where Dean might be. A few additional fake inquiries tell him that Dean's already come and gone from several of the locations, leaving a trail of grateful although nonpaying customers in his wake.

He calls Dean's phone for the millionth time, uttering a string of curses when he gets voice mail yet again, the blunt message of his brother telling him to "Talk to me" doing nothing to ease the gnawing of his insides that could very well turn into an ulcer soon if Sam's not careful.

And so, he decides that there's not much left to do but to physically go do something.

Like find Dean.

He gives his boss and coworkers some flimsy excuse about having an emergency in the family (it could very well be the truth, Sam rationalizes), surprising them all since they didn't even know he had any living relatives.

He's been working as a floor manager for a local tech store since Jess' death a little over a year ago, his mind not having been up to the task of finishing out his classes at the time, the drive to complete college having gotten up and left sometime over the subsequent months.

His mind also hadn't been up to the task of filling Dean and his dad in on his life over the past couple of years either, for that matter, a thought that almost makes him reconsider his actions, figuring that Dean will probably rip him a new one when he hears the depths of Sam's pent up secrets.

Like the fact that he had been going to ask Jess to marry him. And the fact that he'd begun having those damned visions several months before her death. Not to mention the fact that he'd actually seen her burning on the ceiling before it happened. And that once that horrific vision had finally stopped, he'd started seeing Dean chained up somewhere, something "off" just enough about his brother's image to leave him feeling unsettled, yet not able to see enough to figure out what's not quite right. Besides the fact that he's chained up alone somewhere, that is.

Sam leaves his roommate a hastily scribbled note, not figuring he owes the near-stranger much else; he'd been living with Jess at the time of the fire and just couldn't handle moving in with any of his well-meaning friends, needing time and space to process what had happened and what his future held, not to mention the weirdness of the visions, and had found his current living situation through a friend of a friend of a friend.

He packs a couple of T shirts and an extra pair of jeans, his practically having grown up on the road holding him in good stead when it comes to traveling lightly, and before he can second-guess himself, he's hopped the bus to the car rental agency, high tailing it to the place a couple hours north of his current location in sunny California where he thinks he'll find Dean.

He's not quite sure yet if he hopes he's right or wrong.

o()o()o()o(O)o()o()o()o

Sam slowly makes his way into the abandoned building that best matches his visions, hairs standing at attention on the back of his neck, heart racing in anticipation of what he may find (or not). He's equal parts dismayed and comforted to find that his body remembers all too well how to do this – both the hunting portion of job and, he hopes, the saving portion. He may have been out of the game for a while, but with their upbringing, it's a lot like riding a bicycle. Except the bicycle could kill you.

And he finds that he's more than a little disappointed at how easy it is to take down the creature that is his brother's captor. Nothing more than a brief scuffle with the human-appearing thing that just can't keep its mouth shut about capturing The Dean Winchester. Of course, the amount of rage filling Sam's body might have had something to do with just how quickly the creature was dispatched of.

Chest heaving with a mixture of adrenaline and emotion, he sets off down the otherwise empty hall, his brother's name echoing against the walls as he tries to locate the target of his rescue mission.

"Sam?" comes a faint reply, the tone equal parts "what the hell are you doing here" and "thank God the cavalry's arrived".

The brothers engage in an impromptu version of Marco Polo, using each other's names as homing beacons, Sam following Dean's voice until he finally sees his brother across the large open room of the warehouse, seated on the concrete floor, chained to one of the sizable pillars that's holding up the ceiling.

"Dean!" Sam cries, hustling over to where his brother sits, head tipped back against the pillar, expressions of chagrin and relief warring on his face.

"Hey Sammy, long time no see," says Dean, giving his brother a wry smile.

Sam's Bitch Face emerges, equal parts annoyance at his brother's use of his childhood name and the nonchalance his brother seems to have for his own well-being. "It's Sam," he says shortly, pulling the lock pick set out of his pocket.

He makes quick work of freeing Dean's right arm, then scoots himself around to free his brother's other arm. And stops dead in his tracks, breath catching in his chest, eyes wide at the sight in front of him. Because it turns out he doesn't need to free Dean's left arm.

He doesn't have one.

Instead, the left sleeve of Dean's flannel overshirt is tucked into itself, ending well above where his brother's elbow should be.

Sam practically chokes, his questions all getting lodged together in his throat in an effort to make themselves known, none of them actually making it out into the chilly air of the musty warehouse.

"It's okay Sam," Dean says quietly, correctly reading the shock on his brother's face. "I'm okay. Just lost about 10 pounds since you last saw me," he says, voice thick with his own emotion, moving the stump of his left arm enough for Sam to know where his weight loss came from.

He holds out his right hand in a gesture that brings Sam back to himself, providing the necessary counter-balance for Dean to hoist himself to his feet, stretching and groaning as he works the kinks out of his back, shaking out his right arm and flexing his wrist in relief at having the cuff removed.

"What?" Sam croaks, "How?" unable to form any additional words.

"Let's get out of here, okay?" Dean says, nodding towards the door. "Look," says Dean, letting out a weary sigh. "I promise I'll fill you in. Just not here, alright?"

Sam gives a weak nod, trailing after his older brother like a lost puppy as Dean leads him back out into daylight.

And towards a reality he's not sure he's ready to face.

To Be Continued… (if you say so)