The Ring

They should've known better.

They shouldn't have assumed that no one knew about the supernatural.

Well, they knew that some people knew. Hunters. Psychics. Random victims who carried on.

But still, they had believed that most of the world had their heads in the sand. That was the way the system worked.

And when they were younger, it had felt like a game. Like they were in on some big secret and they could laugh and talk about vampires and zombies, and other people would just think they were talking about a book or a movie.

They should've known better.

"They won't do anything to you," Sam murmured. Somehow, that didn't make Dean feel better.

"Sam, we gotta find a way out of here," Dean returned sharply, prowling his own cage and glaring at his brother. "Don't just give up, here."

"They'll let you go, when they're done with me." Sam looked impossibly young, but old and resigned at the same time.

"Not gonna happen, Sam."

"Yeah." Sam rubbed his face, and Dean reached through the bars on impulse to tap Sam's shoulder where he was slumped against the side of his cage.

"Hey. Sammy, you can do this."

He looked so tired. "Do what, win against a bunch of vamps and werewolves? Dean, don't get your hopes up."

"Sam." Dean poked him to emphasize his seriousness. "You're the best hunter in the world—well, second-best," he amended. "If anyone can beat your way out of here, it's you."

Sam bit his lip. "They think I still have powers."

"Yeah." Dean examined his brother closely. "You're sure you don't, right?"

The look Sam gave him was pained and evasive. "Of course I don't!"

Dean shrugged. "It would've come in handy."

Sam deflated, but stiffened as soon as a clanging noise came from the door.

"Dean, I'm not ready, I can't . . ."

"Hey. Sam. Look at me, little brother." Dean swallowed as Sam's wide, fear-filled eyes met his. "I just got you back from Hell. And it'd really suck if I had to call in another favor from the angels. They're jerks as it is. So survive, okay? For me."

Sam's eyes were filled with emotion. "Alright, Dean."

"And don't scratch the wall," Dean added as an afterthought. "Even if the monsters make you think of some . . . things."

His baby brother's gaze was dark and sharp, but he said nothing. Just squared his shoulders as they came to drag him away.

"You got this, Sammy," Dean called impotently, from his cage. Sam gave him a thumbs up, and Dean forced himself to smile. Sam could do this. He could.

The worst part of it was, they had both deliberately let down their guard. They hadn't, not in years, but things were good. Sam had his soul again, and they had just completed a hunt.

Sure, they had heaven's war being waged above their heads, and the Campbells still out there, and Crowley and his deal with the alphas, but still. They were back. And so they both got happily drunk, instead of just one of them, leaving them vulnerable.

All they had wanted was one night to relax. To laugh together, like they hadn't in years.

It figured, that they would get kidnapped by crazy freaks on a night like that.

"Quite the match-up tonight, folks. We've got us here a real vampire. And our newest competition, a part demon human! Place your bets, and let the games begin!"

Sam drew in a couple deep breaths in order to calm himself. Just a vampire. Piece of cake.

He was shoved into—just to complete the cliche of being in a monster fight club—a ring, with ten foot cement walls. Sam glanced around in distaste, before focusing on his opponent. And tried to hide his own trepidation. Vampires had enhanced strength and speed, only this guy didn't look like he needed it. Thankfully, Sam still had a few inches on him, but the vamp was pretty built.

"Begin!"

Sam swore under his breath before beginning to stalk to the left, keeping the wall at his back.

"How'd they get you?" he called to the vamp, trying to buy some time.

The vampire looked surprised to be asked a question. "Uh, they found our nest. Managed to distract them for my wife to get away."

Sam nodded sympathetically. "She okay?"

"I hope so."

There were catcalls and jeers from the crowd at their stalling. From the looks of things, though, the vampire was just slightly distracted. It wouldn't be long before he attacked Sam.

"Know of any ways out?" Sam tried.

The vampire sneered. "No. And if I did, I wouldn't tell you."

Sam shrugged, and then feinted a lunge. The vampire dodged in the direction Sam expected him to, so he lashed out with a roundhouse that hit the jaw of the vampire.

The cheering was distracting, enough that the vampire managed to swing back and catch Sam off-guard, sending them both rolling. He bit into Sam's shoulder, deep, and Sam grunted. He was running out of time.

Sam got a hand on the vampire's throat. Vampires were undead, which meant they didn't have to breathe, but blood still flowed through their bodies. Sam focused on the carotid artery, cutting off blood supply to the brain.

To his relief, the vampire's struggles grew weaker, his teeth unfastening from Sam's arm. He pressed harder, and the vampire slipped into unconsciousness.

Sam stumbled away, back towards the exit.

"Finish him!" Someone roared, and then it was picked up by the crowd, a cheer that wouldn't stop. Sam swallowed, looking around and trying to find a way out.

A machete landed at his feet, thrown by someone who vaguely looked like he was in charge.

"Finish it, freak."

Sam looked in sorrow at the prone vampire. Something at the corner of his vision flickered, like a memory that wanted to impose, but Sam focused.

His quiet, "I'm sorry," wasn't really enough. But when had it ever been?

The first thing they had thought was demons. Crowley must've gotten the drop on them. The lack of reaction to "Christo" had them reconsidering. Maybe the Campbells?

The separate cages had them worried, but they were on to thinking of the Benders. Being kidnapped again by cannibalistic backwoods freaks wasn't too far of an impossibility.

A man had come in. Grinning at them like it was his birthday.

"Well, freak. You look like you'll make it a couple rounds."

The man had only addressed Sam, and completely ignored Dean. Sam's snarl of "what do you want?" garnered no response except for an enigmatic reply that told them their identities were not a secret.

"Cooperate, Sam Winchester. Or your brother dies."

"Hey, Sam. Sam, talk to me." Dean wasn't frantic. He was never frantic. Only now, he was.

"I'm fine, Dean."

"Yeah, fine, that's just red paint on your sleeve," Dean snapped. He reached through the bars, unable to do anything about it. "What'd you fight?"

"Vampire," Sam mumbled. "Got his teeth into me."

"Is it still bleeding?"

"No. They fixed it up." Sam rolled his head slightly to eye Dean. "You okay?"

"I'm not the one who was just forced to fight a vamp," Dean responded. "Let me see your shoulder."

Sam groaned but complied, dragging up his sleeve to show Dean a sloppy row of stitches. Dean growled deep in his throat, but there was nothing he could do.

"You see a way out?" he asked instead.

"No." Sam's eyes began to close. "I'm gonna sleep."

Dean resisted the urge to lash out, and instead let Sam get his rest while he could. They had gotten through everything before. They would get through this, as well.

They had found a weakness. Well, technically not a weakness, but it was pretty stupid of them to leave a roll of wire next to Dean's cage.

It took a while, but Dean finally managed to jimmy his own lock open. His grin of success at Sam made his brother roll his eyes, but hey, at least they could finally get out of the mess.

But as Dean leaned down to get Sam's door, the shock of a taser meant their escape had failed. No way out.

"You got this, Sammy."

Sam offered his brother a weak smile before striding out into the pit again. And stopped, dead still.

It was a kid. They expected him to fight a kid?

"That's right, folks! We've got ourselves here a werewolf against our half-blood demon. Place your bets now, before it's too late."

Sam looked sorrowfully at the kid. "Know of any way out?" he tried.

The boy looked terrified. "N-no. But you have to get away. I think it's full moon, and I can't—"

Sam scanned the walls and the people above the rails, searching for any weakness, but was unable to find any. A cry drew his attention back to the boy, only to find him transforming.

It went quickly. The werewolf—boy—leapt at him, and Sam sidestepped, catching the boy with a fist to the jaw. It kept coming after him, Sam kept avoiding, until finally there was no choice. He snapped the werewolf's neck.

Staring at the body, he felt the flickering at the edge of his vision of a memory that wanted surface. This time, he let it swallow him.

The first time Sam had been lost in memories of Hell, they had both realized what a liability it was. To go down, seizing, and be unable to surface for a long period of time—in their work, it would be suicide to continue hunting.

But it wasn't like Winchesters were logical. So they continued, because it was what they knew to do. It was what they did.

Still, Dean was always on tenterhooks, waiting for Sam to accidentally see something that would remind him of his time soulless, or of the cage. And Sam was always anxious, wanting to know what happened, but unable to do so because of the consequences.

Dean's mouth went dry. They were dragging Sam in. Was he dead? Had he lost?

"What do you think, too damaged to continue? No one said he was an epileptic."

The other man snorted. "No matter what's up with him, they'll fight him 'til the end. If he doesn't wake up, kill the brother."

Dean pressed desperately against the bars. "Hey, please. Put him with me. I can help him. Please."

The men exchanged glances. One of them drew his gun.

"Why not?" He gestured for Dean to back up, and Dean did so, keeping his eyes on Sam.

They tossed his little brother in and Dean darted forward, quickly pressing fingers to his pulse and prying open his eyes. Nothing.

"Wake up, Sam, please," Dean muttered, closing his own eyes. Something in the arena must have triggered the memories, and Dean didn't want to know what it was.

Sam groaned, and Dean was pulled out of his brooding.

"Sammy? Tell me what happened. C'mon, man, look at me."

Sam's murky eyes blinked open and looked so raw and destroyed that Dean had to look away. Sam curled away.

"Sorry, I scratched, I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't've, but the kid and I just couldn't, Dean, I couldn't."

"Easy, Sam, it's okay." Dean pressed a hand into Sam's shoulder, grounding him. "Look, you're okay, right? No more injuries?"

Sam nodded, biting his lip. The next time he spoke, his voice was small. "Dean, we need to get out of here."

"I know," Dean responded helplessly. "I know."

They had tried praying to Castiel almost immediately after their first escape attempt had failed. What else could they do? Castiel was fighting a war, but it wasn't like they had another option.

Castiel hadn't answered.

They had tried just praying in general in the hopes of any angel contacting them, but Sam voiced the thought that prayers probably didn't work that way. And maybe the people in charge of the place had angel protection

In the end, they were planning on counting on the fact that Bobby would realize something was wrong.

Until Dean remembered that he had told Bobby they were going on a hunt where there was no cell reception.

They were so screwed.

The next time they came for Sam, Dean stood in front of him, acting like a mother bear whose cub was threatened.

Sam made a mental note to tell Dean that, once they were out of there.

"You leave him alone," his brother snarled.

The men exchanged glances, one of them grinning slightly. Before either of the Winchester could react, he had thrust his taser against the bars of the cage. Sam dimly registered Dean also falling victim to the debilitating shock, but couldn't think beyond the pain and inability to move.

"Funny, you trying to help your brother. You probably just killed him," he heard one of the men say to Dean. He realized then that he was being dragged out of the cage. Sam just managed to touch Dean's shoulder before he was gone.

"You have a total of five minutes to get yourself together," he was told. Sam tried to focus through his distorted thoughts. All too soon, he was being thrust into the pit.

And it was a wendigo. Of course.

After the first fight, Sam had turned to Dean with a look in his eye that meant business.

"If I die, I want you to know I'm sorry, for everything I did without a soul."

"That wasn't you," Dean had replied stubbornly. "And you're not going to die."

Sam had scooted closer to the side of his cage. "Yeah. But still, I am. And I'm glad you brought me back."

"Sam, shut up already and figure a way out."

Sam had just stared at him, willing him to understand, and Dean had rolled his eyes.

"You giant girl."

Sam's smile had been like sunshine. Dean couldn't even figure out how to smile, with the way things had been going. Though, maybe that was what he had Sam for.

He couldn't lose him now.

To Dean's chagrin, they didn't put Sam back in the cage with him. He was severely regretting trying to stop them from taking Sam, now. And with the way his little brother looked . . .

"Hey, Sammy. How's it going?" he asked lightly.

Sam's one not swollen eye rolled over to look at him, vaguely unfocused. "Beat him. I—I don't like wendigos."

"You did great, kiddo," Dean praised worriedly, looking around for any way to help Sam. "Just . . . rest, okay?"

"Mmm." Sam was already dropping off.

While Sam was unconscious, the man who seemed to be in charge came to stare at him.

"Your brother is turning into a failed investment," he said mildly.

"How's that?" Dean challenged.

"I heard your brother had powers. Powers given by a demon. Funny, he hasn't used them at all."

"Cuz he doesn't have any," Dean responded, fighting to stay calm, "and you should just let us go now."

The man grinned. "Oh, that's never happening." He ignored Dean's snarl and moved away.

"Well, that's not good," Sam mumbled.

"You heard that?"

"Mm hm." Sam levered himself up, looking as exhausted as Dean had ever seen him. "I wonder."

"Wonder what?" Dean prompted.

"If I should."

"Should what?" Dean tried again, fighting exasperation.

"Use the powers."

Dean blinked. "Um, what?"

Sam looked at him wearily. "They've always been there, Dean. I never let them take over. Not even with—" he winced "—Ruby. I just borrowed her power. 'Cuz once I let them go, I can't . . . I won't be the same."

Dean was silent. "If it gets down to it, you survive. Okay?"

"I don't want to be that," Sam said softly.

Dean scrubbed a hand across his face, refusing to look directly at Sam. "I just can't lose you again."

They had both thought that once Azazel was dead, anything related to him would no longer be a problem. It had been Sam who had realized, after Dean had died, that the power was still there, dormant. It just had taken a shock as intense as losing Dean to figure it out.

Even when it might've helped him defeat Lilith, he had never been able to access it fully. It had been simpler, to just take blood from Ruby. He could control it, that way. Stop drinking the blood, stop becoming more demon-like. Because he had known that as soon as he stepped down that road, there was no turning back.

Sam had never told Dean. One more secret between them, but Sam had hated the way Dean had sometimes looked at him, during the business with Azazel. With something like fear in his eyes.

"You're up a against a demon, next."

Sam snapped his head up, eyes widening. "What? How are you containing it?"

"It's in a devil's trap. The entire pit is the devil's trap."

Dean was swearing violently, per usual, but Sam focused on the man.

"And me?"

The man grinned. "Well, personally I feel you're ground meat, but we'll see."

Sam could feel Dean's eyes boring in to him as he struggled to his feet. The wendigo had taken a lot out of him. And to face a demon . . .

"Sam. Do whatever it takes."

Sam pressed his lips together. "We'll see," was his only response, and Dean didn't seem happy about that, but, well, tough.

He was thrust into the ring. The demon's host was a female, who looked a little too close to Ruby for Sam's comfort.

"Sam, Sam, Sam. I've heard about you. I gotta say, it is a pleasure."

Sam ignored the taunt and immediately began an exorcism, only to be thrown across the ring.

"Nuh uh uh." The demon strode forward, flicking a wrist upward and trapping him against the wall. Sam felt something crack in his chest, matching with a flare of pain. Sam writhed helplessly in the pain until the demon finally let him slump against the wall.

"Want to make a deal?" he choked out.

The demon tilted its head, considering.

"I scratch one of those lines, you get free and you get Dean out."

Its eyes flashed black and then it grinned. "Oh, you gotta give me something else, darling."

Sam tried on a smirk. "The knowledge that they'll kill me painfully once you're gone?"

The demon laughed. "Funny, despite the descriptions of you, I like you, Winchester. And I'd really like to get out of here. Deal."

Sam heard the shouts of the dealers as the demon kissed him. Before they rushed in, he knelt, scratching at the paint with his fingernails.

The last thing he saw before the taser hit him was the demon's grin.

It was an unspoken rule, with them, to never make any deals with demons. It had been, as soon as they figured out how their father had died.

Funny, how neither of them ever listened to that rule, to the point that it had to be said, and it was numerous times, both by Dean and Sam in the year leading to Dean's trip to Hell; Sam with upset pleas for Dean to figure out a way to take it back, Dean with ensuring Sam wouldn't make any deals after he was dead.

Even after that, when Sam sold his soul less literally, to Ruby, that the rule was still in place. No deals with demons.

But every single time, they broke the rule.

He was going to kill Sam. After he saved him.

Dean rallied the calvary. In every sense of the word. It turned out that there had been angel-proofing, thus Castiel's absence, though Castiel seemed to fidget a lot when he told Dean that.

No matter.

They burst in, guns blazing, him, Bobby, and Cas.

To find Sam strung up, being ripped up by an adlet. A red haze descended over Dean's vision, and he was pretty sure he killed several humans, but somehow he didn't care.

"Sammy, you idiot," he muttered as he cut Sam down. "You are so getting a beating once you're on your feet again."

One swollen eye cracked open to regard Dean. "Oh. You came."

"Yeah, moron," Dean growled, but Sam was out.

Sometimes, Dean was glad they knew angels. Most of the time, he didn't, but this could be an exception, as Castiel healed Sam.

"Hey, Sammy," he grinned as Sam finally opened his eyes. "Feel like joining the living before I beat you to a pulp?"

Sam flinched. "No, please, don't, not that."

Dean gaped. "What?"

"Not with his face, please." His little brother cringed away, terror in his face and movements. "Anything but that."

"Sammy, you're not in there," Dean interjected, rapidly feeling his self-control slipping away. "Don't scratch the wall. Please."

Sam froze and then unbent from his curled position of fear. "Oh." His face suddenly split in a smile. "We're out."

"Yeah. Cas healed you up."

"Mmm. Good." Sam blinked at him, still sort of out of it.

Dean sighed, "go to sleep, Sam."

Too close. Every single friggin' time. Too close.

They never discussed Sam's time in the cage. Dean claimed it was so that Sam didn't scratch the wall, but really was too much of a coward to know what happened to his brother. Sam . . . well, Sam thought about it too much. It wasn't scratching when the memories were already his due to the seizures.

They both knew, however, that it was only a matter of time before it became too much. Before Sam wouldn't be able to function as he was overwhelmed with memories of torture and darkness.

But what could they do? Nothing. Every single time. Nothing.

"I'm just wondering why."

"Why what?" Dean asked distractedly. Sam watched his brother struggling with the wires in the EMF detector and shook his head fondly.

"Never mind." He pulled off his shirt, all too ready to take a shower.

"No, Sammy, what?"

"Why a fight ring? Why . . . why even do that?"

Dean left his endeavors and tried to look at Sam. Sam could tell it was a struggle for him, though, with the way his eyes kept darting away.

"Some people are just idiots. And jerks," Dean said.

"Uh huh," Sam drawled. "If you don't want to talk about it, just say so."

"Fine, I don't."

"Fine."

They had a minor stare down, which Sam won.

Dean sighed, "look, man, there's nothing to discuss. We just keep an ear to the ground about these 'rings' and break them up whenever they pop up."

"That's not what I asked."

Dean's glance was sharp. "They make these rings because they want money and thrills, Sam. Why do you think people get involved in sports?"

Sam huffed a small laugh, but continued to play with his knife. "I'm sorry I made a deal."

"You better be," Dean muttered.

"I'm not sorry, though."

"You little—"

Sam threw his t-shirt at Dean's head and escaped in to the bathroom. Sam: 1. Dean: 0.

They wouldn't learn until much much later, that Castiel had actually had the ability to get them out. But there had been debate in heaven whether Sam Winchester still had the abilities given to him by Azazel.

Every weapon had to be exploited, in war. That was Castiel's excuse.

But Sam refused to give in to that part of himself, and so he saved himself from becoming another puppet of the angels. They both realized that later, and simultaneously decided not to have a chick-flick moment about it. Even if it did deserve it.

Dean made the executive decision that it deserved pie. Sam concurred.

They both, however, decided never to get drunk simultaneously.

They knew better, now.

A/N: Hey look, it's a non-Unseen fic! Crazy, right? Anyway, this is totally stolen from Angel. BTW, Angel's awesome, and anyone who hasn't watched it, needs to now. Have yet to write fic for it, but that's just laziness on my part, plus I'm not sure what I would write. It's too awesome for fixing ;)