You awaken slowly. You become aware of your surroundings one hazy detail at a time.

Darkness. Cold. Damp.

Silence.

Concrete.

Someone whispering your name urgently.

The familiar scent of blood. Pain.

Oh - pain.

An involuntary groan escapes your lips. The echo of the sound chases away the fog of unconsciousness. You open your eyes, then blink repeatedly when nothing but blackness fills your vision.

Where the hell are you? The last thing you remember...

You frown.

What is the last thing you remember?

The store.

Ah, okay. You were shopping with Sam. You remember Dean opting out of the trip, saying that he refused to have any part in helping Sam bring 'more of that new-age health-nut vegan crap' into the bunker.

You made it through the checkout line. You were on your way out to the car...

And then...?

Your eyes widen, despite the absence of light, as flashes of the memory return to you.

Demons. A swarm of the bastards. They attacked you both right out in the open, in broad daylight, in the middle of the parking lot. You remember fighting against them, you and Sam each managed to drop a few. But then, there had been a crowbar...

You wince as the throbbing in your head intensifies, seemingly in response to the memory of being used for demonic batting practice.

And now you're here...in the dark...

Your breathing quickens as your heart races, a heavy dose of adrenaline flooding your system in response to your current predicament.

But your fear is temporarily put on hold when you finally register Sam's repeated panicked whispers of your name.

"I'm here, Sam," you answer weakly, relieved beyond measure to hear his voice.

"Oh, thank God," he sighs in equally immense relief. "You hurt?" He asks worriedly.

Coming from his direction, you hear the troubling sound of chains dragging across the frigid concrete floor. They have him bound - shackled, most likely. It's the only reason he has not been able to come check on you.

At that realization, you start to push yourself up to a sitting position. You only get part-way through the automatic response of, "No, I'm fine," before an unexpected and horribly intense pain in your left shoulder steals your powers of speech. You somehow manage to suppress a scream, taking a moment to calm yourself before forcing out, "I'm okay."

Sam gives a weak, disbelieving chuckle. "You know, you're a terrible liar."

You laugh in response and try to calm your breathing. "How 'bout you? You hurt?"

"Fine. They rung my chimes pretty good, but it's nothing serious." You can hear him shifting around somewhere off in the darkness, likely testing how much slack he has on his chains now that he knows approximately where you are.

You take comfort in his presence and the sound of his voice. With a heavy sigh, you close your eyes and try to summon enough courage to move again.

"You chained up, too?" He asks before adding worriedly, "And, uh...naked?"

Your eyes snap open and brow furrows. Huh. Maybe that's why you're freezing your ass off. Well, that plus the fact that it's cold enough to see your breath - if, you know, you could actually see anything.

"Samuel Winchester!" You gasp in a scandalized (but admittedly weak) tone, though the smirk is plain in your voice. "We get kidnapped and you decide to pass the time by pulling a full-Monty over there?"

"Not by choice, I assure you," he laughs.

You snort in reply. "Let me get back to you," you offer in response to his original questions.

Slowly and carefully, avoiding putting any weight on your shoulder this time, you roll over onto your back. You move your legs and arms experimentally, but find your movements unhindered. You move your right hand down the length of your body, scowling when you find yourself decidedly bare-assed naked.

"No and yes," you answer. "Not chained, but yeah, definitely rocking my birthday suit." You frown and add, "Hey, what kind of sexist shit is that? How come you're enough of a threat to need chaining up, but I'm not?"

Sam chuckles and you can almost hear him shaking his head at you. "I think this is one time when you should embrace sexism." After a moment, he says quietly, "I've uh...been praying to Cas since I woke up, but they must have this place warded. He can't hear us."

You deflate disappointedly. The situation just became even more dire.

Clearing his throat, Sam asks, "So... Miss 'I'm-Fine'... You wanna tell me what we're really dealing with?"

You huff in annoyance - not at Sam, but at the fact that you really are injured.

"My head's pretty banged up," you grumble reluctantly. "And... I'm pretty sure my shoulder's dislocated."

"Shit." Sam breathes. "You think you can make it over here?"

"In my aforementioned birthday suit? Wow... This is gonna get weird," you joke.

You are only trying cover the true cause for your apprehension, though, because you know that once you do make it over there, Sam is going to reset your shoulder. You have never had it done, personally, but you've seen Sam reset Dean's shoulder in the past and holy shit does it NOT look like fun. Anything that can make Dean cry out like that in pain is officially off of your bucket list.

"And Dean's gonna bust on us about this little adventure in nudism forever," Sam adds with a smile plain in his voice. He knows damned well how nervous you are. "But we have to get out of here alive for him to be able to do it, so hurry up and bring your snarky, bare ass over here."

You crack up at that, groaning slightly when your laughter jostles your injured shoulder.

Grudgingly, you begin the slow, shaky process of getting onto your feet. You aren't exactly thrilled with this situation. Were there any light, the scarlet of your face would make your embarrassment evident.

It's not like Sam hasn't seen you naked before. Hell, he once carried, bathed, and clothed you while you were nude and in shock. But you're fully awake this time around. And you're both fully freaking naked. And it is all kinds of freezing in this - wherever the hell this place is (it feels like a damned meat locker) - which means, if you can't find a way out soon, the two of you are going to be huddled together trying to keep warm. And you both know it. And the likelihood of that eventuality is sitting in the room between you like a giant, awkwardly-naked elephant.

And oh, is Dean going to have a field day when he hears about this.

You stand up straight and groan when a wave of serious dizziness and nausea hits unexpectedly.

Sam calls your name worriedly and you hear the chains rattle before coming to an abrupt stop. You know he's trying to reach you, but he does not have nearly enough slack.

"I'm good... I'm good..." you gasp as you try to stay upright, but your voice is shaken and weak even to your own ears.

"What's wrong?" Sam demands and you can almost picture him. (Well, aside from the being naked part, because - despite him seeing you in all your glory in the past - you're wholly unacquainted with his Sasquatch-sized bare-ass). You know he's currently stretched as close as he can get, testing his bonds with renewed urgency and staring unblinkingly in your direction in vain.

Winchesters do not take kindly to one of their own being in distress when they can't do anything to help.

"Just...nauseous. And it feels like I'm on a damned Tilt-a-Whirl," you answer as the room continues spinning.

Sam grunts worriedly in response. "Probably the head wound," he mutters and gives another frustrated, furious, (and unfortunately, useless) tug on his chains.

"Yeah. It could be that," you answer noncommittally. Because it could also be linked to that bold, life-altering, panic-inducing POSITIVE result you got on a test yesterday.

You groan again just thinking about it.

You had planned to take it easy - to put yourself on the bench from hunting and fall back from any action until you could verify the result. There had been 6 freaking pregnancy tests in your grocery bag when those bastard demons jumped you.

And did the demons even stop to consider the level of stealth it took to keep those tests hidden from ol' eagle-eyes-Sam? To purchase them in the back of the store, at the pharmacy, and have them hidden inside a paper bag? To smirk and waggle your eyebrows in a Dean-esque fashion when Sam cast a curious look at said bag - effectively making him think it was lube or something equally TMI and grossing him out so that he wouldn't ask any questions?

Answer: NO, they did not. Those inconsiderate, sulfer-stinking SOBs couldn't have picked a worse time to beam you in the skull with a crowbar.

You take a small measure of comfort from the fact that none of your injuries are anywhere near your stomach. But this dizziness and nausea? There's a pretty good chance it's not just from the head injury. Hell, those symptoms were part of the reason you took a test in the first place.

The problem is, you haven't said anything to Dean yet, so you can't tell Sam - right? I mean, you're not even sure whether you really are knocked up. People get false positives sometimes. Right?

And it would only make Sam even more fearful on your behalf. His level of protectiveness would raise from concerned-brother-in-law to Code-Red-Worried-Winchester-Alpha-Male-DEFCON-1 in about two seconds flat.

"Try to get over here to me," Sam urges in barely-concealed panic, effectively snapping you out of your thoughts. "I can't do anything to help you if you pass out over there. And if they come back...?" He trails off, his voice conveying his rapidly increasing level of anxiety. "Just...be careful, but hurry up...keep following the sound of my voice."

You smirk and focus on the surprisingly difficult task of putting one foot in front of the other. "You're not gonna sing, are you?"

"If it'll get you over here faster? I might," he jokes nervously. "But...how about I just talk about how we ended up here? I remember the parking lot. Can't believe these demons jumped us out in broad daylight like that... And so many of them in one place? Not good. Something's up." You swear you can feel his eyes narrowing in on you through the darkness as he says through gritted teeth, "I saw you go down. What'd they use?"

"Crowbar," you manage bitterly while shuffling steadily closer to him.

You can almost hear Sam simultaneously wince and glower furiously. He chooses not to voice his plans for retribution.

"They took me out a minute after you. I think I got a baseball bat, though."

"Lucky," you joke. "How's your head? You bleeding?"

"No. Got a good-sized lump, but I'm not concussed," he answers distractedly. His mind is too busy focusing on your approach and the reason for the demons' attack. He continues as if you never interrupted. "Means they didn't want us dead...yet. I mean, they could have just stabbed us and been done with it. I'm not sure what the point of this is. Why lock us up, take our clothes, and just leave us?"

"Bargaining chips?" You suggest.

"Maybe. Which means they're going to try and use us as leverage over Dean," he says, but abruptly stops talking the instant you're within reach.

You sag into his grasp as he guides you down onto the floor beside him. You try not to be too freaked out when you rest your head on his bare chest. With a sigh, you resign yourself to the unavoidable all-kinds-of-awkward you're about to share with your brother-in-law.

"If that's their plan, they're seriously overestimating Dean's ability to be rational when one of us is in danger...let alone both at the same time," you breathe weakly.

Sam only grunts in agreement. He's fully engrossed in the task of checking your injuries. With careful touches, Sam searches your scalp for the location of the crowbar-collision. You hiss when he finds it. He mutters a quiet, 'Sorry,' but doesn't let it deter him from thoroughly checking the wound.

"Feels like it was bleeding pretty heavily before," he notes.

You have to agree with him there. You can feel the dried blood caked in your hair and down the side of your face.

"It's not bleeding anymore, so at least there's that," he offers.

"Yay," you answer unenthusiastically.

"I don't think it's fractured..." he comments while carefully probing your skull.

You scowl and grumble, "Feels like the damned thing's fractured. Gonna find that demon and shove that crowbar so far up its ass, it'll-"

You immediately stop talking when Sam's fingertips brush your shoulder. You flinch and recoil - half from pain, half from fear of what's to come.

"I'm sorry," he insists sincerely. "But I've gotta check it, okay?"

You're glad there isn't any light in that moment, because your bottom lip is sticking out and your eyes are welling up with tears. You just keep hearing Dean - strong, stoic, 'I act like my ribs aren't broken' Dean - growling and crying out in anguish through gritted teeth when his shoulder was being forced back into its socket. You can still recall the unnatural sound of the joint being reset.

That horrible squishy-crunch-pop...

"Ugghhh... Give me a minute or I'm gonna puke," you whine.

Sam rubs your back soothingly and rests his cheek on the top of your head. Naked or not, you're immensely grateful for the comfort. You sigh and lean into the contact, trying to summon your courage.

"This is gonna suck, isn't it?" You whimper pitifully.

You can feel Sam smiling sympathetically against your hair. "Afraid so. But you'll have a great story to tell Dean when we get outta here. We'll tell him you took it like a champ - that you didn't even bat an eyelash. You can tell him you don't see what all the fuss was about last time he had it done."

You laugh at that. "Guess we're gonna need something to bust on him about, considering how bad he's gonna torment us for our naked cuddling."

"True. This is pretty awkward," Sam chuckles.

You smile and nod. "Yeah, but it's helping."

After another few moments, you finally sit up and whisper weakly, "Okay. Do what you gotta do."

Sam is as gentle as possible as he gauges the state of your shoulder by touch alone. He exhales slowly and you know what that means. It's definitely dislocated.

You run through what you've seen the brothers do in the past. You know that Sam will tell you that he's going to count to 3, but he won't. He'll get to maybe 1 and catch you off guard.

This is really, really going to suck.

"Do you need me to move, or-?" You start to ask, but you don't get any further with your question.

Without warning, without giving you the slightest chance to tense up in preparation, Sam uses his vastly superior body mass and giant mitts to maneuver the joint back into position (against its will, mind you).

That dreaded squishy-crunch-pop is infinitely more nauseating when it's your own shoulder making the sound.

The last thing you hear before passing out is your own agonized shriek.

A/N: So, what do you think? Hate it? Love it? Want some more of it? ;-) Was Sam in character? Could you imagine everything clearly? Wondering what Dean's reaction is going to be? (Ooohhh those demons gonna get it!) Looking forward to the next chapter? Let me know! Feedback from you helps me update faster!