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A/N: I was asked to do a follow up to my little drabble which, really, is one of the best compliments a writer can be given. So thank you! I hope this satisfies.

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It was not common to find a large group of ghouls nested together, but it was not unheard of either. Dean and Sam suspected there were a few scavenging and occasionally hunting live prey together. They had no idea the hell they were about to find themselves in. The first three went down relatively easy.

The "survivors" had a different end result in mind.

The labyrinth of tunnels under the ruined mausoleum was dizzying. Flashlights in hand, the brothers crept quietly along, stalking their prey.

But their prey was also stalking them.

Hearing a noise, Sam spun. "This way!" he hissed and was gone before Dean could stop him. From behind he heard, "Sam! SAM!" but he did not slow, confident his brother would catch up.

Several minutes passed before Sam realized there was no angry yammering in his ear. In fact, he had heard nothing since that first sound had attracted his attention. A heavy sense of unease settled in his gut.

Dean!

Fear gnawing at the base of his spine, he turned and headed back the way he had come. As he turned the corner and spotted Dean's still-lit flashlight on the ground, he heard the first of what would be many agonized howls.

The pained voice was unmistakeably Dean's and it sounded like he was struggling not to scream.

Sam took a moment to try to pinpoint where the sounds were coming from as they echoed and bounced off the shattered walls around him. Picking the most likely direction, he hurried toward where he hoped his brother was currently being used as bait. Adrenaline surged through him like an electrical jolt when silence suddenly descended around him again. He wanted to beat his head against a wall for being so easily duped into separating from his sibling.

Dean would not have gone down without a fight, though, and he realized he had not heard a struggle. That meant there were probably enough of them still alive to have kept him from making too much noise. Not a comforting thought. He pulled out the spray can and lighter, a makeshift flame-thrower which is just as dangerous to the person wielding it. He would do whatever he had to though.

He slowed as he approached the doorway he suspected might lead to where they were. He crept silently and peered around the edge. The room was empty.

Almost empty.

Dean lay unconscious in a heap against the far wall, like he'd been thrown and fell in a tangle of limbs and blood. So much blood. Panic surged through him before he clamped down on it again. He had to think clearly. He had to get Dean out of there. One more quick look around and he hurried to Dean's side, dropping to his knees and feeling for a pulse. Relief at finding one was tempered by the threadiness of the pulse caused by the blood loss. His shirt was in tatters and deep wounds criss-crossed his torso.

They had hurt Dean badly and left him to die as payback for being hunted. They obviously knew nothing about Winchesters. You don't leave them for dead, it just pisses them off.