Dean rushed down the bunker stairs and, with a muttered curse, knelt next to his bleeding and unconscious brother.
Beyond a quick glance, he paid no attention to the woman lying beside Sam. From the unnatural angle of her neck, she was clearly dead.
A flash of frothy white and his mother was there, feeling for a pulse at Sam's throat.
"Cas?" Dean looked around frantically. "Cas!"
There was no answering flutter of wings, no angelic intercession. No rescue.
Cursing, Dean scooped Sam up off the floor and staggered toward the couch. Mary followed, anxious eyes on Sam's waxen face.