OH MY GOSH. The fact that I got ANY response to this at all had me literally giddy with excitement! Thank you so much for the follows, favs, and REVIEW (YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE). I am pretty proud of this next chapter, even though I churned it out obscenely fast!

*I^I*

Previously:"Talkto me," he demanded, trying to keep his impatience out of his voice and failing a little.

"It- it's the poison," she fumbled, snapping out of it, and turning large eyes to Sam. "It's all been drained out of the spines. All of them. It's-"

"In Dean," Sam finished bleakly, and suddenly felt like he was reeling back, the gravity of the situation slamming into him like a wave of nausea, making his head spin. He dropped to his knees again, sitting back on his heels, and just stared at Dean helplessly. "What," he began, and then had to stop for fear his voice would crack. After a moment he tried again. "What the hell do we do?"

"Well," Mandy said slowly, treading carefully as though she sensed Sam's internal breakdown. "We work fast, get the quills out, and…" She looked at Dean's face again, taking in his youth, obvious vitality, and somehow the inherent knowledge that the gangly, long-haired man next to her was the most important thing to him in the whole world. "And we wait for the poison to work its way out of his system," she finished firmly. "It almost always does, and though it won't be pleasant by a long shot, something tells me your brother has enough in him to kick this in the ass. Despite his current state as a ragdoll," she added.

"A damn heavy ragdoll," Sam muttered, self-consciously dragging his forearm across his slightly reddened eyes.

"A pretty cute ragdoll," Mandy countered, and gave him a quick grin before turning back to Dean.

Once they settled into a routine, they worked in relative silence. Mandy was blessedly skilled with her small pliers, neatly clipping off the end of each quill before carefully pulling it from Dean's skin and depositing both in a shallow dish she had brought in. Sam found himself moving slowly, methodically, as he followed her movements with a small cloth soaked in hot water and rubbing alcohol to clear away blood and to sterilize each tiny mar. His vision had remained clear so far, though he wasn't pushing his luck, and he wondered if that was why Dean had succumbed so easily to unconsciousness. He himself was fighting the strong urge to just close his eyes and sleep for as long as was possible. Later, he knew, he would have to do extensive research. Find out just what they were up against with this poison, and what the chances were of- He stopped himself there, refusing to think of any possible outcome besides Dean springing back from this like he normally did. It took a lot to take him out, Sam knew this from experience, and even when he was down for the count it was never long before he was bitching profusely about everything from wanting 'real' food, to having to take another piss.

As Sam watched Mandy's hands work diligently and carefully, he realized that he couldn't remember the last time someone other than him or Dean had offered such care to them. He eyed her dubiously for a moment, reminding himself that the holy water had had absolutely no effect. Still…

"You can stop looking at me like that." Mandy's low voice startled him a little, and he blinked to find her casting him a mildly amused glance. "I'm really honestly just helping. I promise I have no ulterior motives."

"Not even like getting in his pants?" Sam blurted out with a smirk, nodding his head towards Dean.

She let out a surprised hoot of laughter, and Sam belatedly realized exactly what he'd just said.

"Oh, god, no," he stammered, his face flushing. "I didn't mean-"

"Good grief, Sam," she told him, still chuckling a little. "I promise the thought never even occurred to me."

Sam didn't speak for a long moment, and then finally flashed an embarrassed grin, his dimples making a swift appearance. "Sorry," he said simply. "Most women we meet are helpful in a whole different manner… Not that Dean minds," he added under his breath.

Mandy just let out another soft laugh, and returned to the task at hand. "I hear you," she said a little distractedly, setting the pliers aside for a moment and gently shifting Dean's arm out of her way. "I've dealt with much of the same in my time, believe me."

"Overly helpful women?" Sam asked with a slight chuckle.

"Men," she clarified, still smiling. "Definitely men."

For a few minutes the only sound was the gentle clipping of the pliers, and though Mandy's mind was crawling with questions, she suspected that Sam's cagey nature wasn't going to change much any time soon. She half turned to him, intending to start at least some sort of small talk, but the words faded in her throat when she saw him.

He was doing an admirable job at appearing unruffled, but he had closed his eyes and it didn't escape her notice that he had casually reached out and looped several long fingers under Dean's belt, gripping the leather so tightly that his knuckles showed white through the coating of dried blood.

"Sam?" She said softly, and when he didn't answer she tentatively reached out and laid a hand on his broad, bowed shoulder. Instinct caused him to flinch away from her touch, and he let out a small, sort of strangled gasp that she immediately recognized as a sign that he was struggling to breathe.

"Sam!" She tried again more forcefully, and it seemed to startle him into awareness.

"'M'fine," he murmured, his voice constricted. "Just… can't see very well…"

She watched him squeeze his eyes even tighter and almost subconsciously shift closer to his brother, and realization hit her like a sack of rocks.

"It got you too, didn't it?" She snapped, suddenly furious that he hadn't told her. "Is your vision gone? You feel like crap? Insides thinkin' they wanna make an appearance? Come here, now, and let me see how many you've got in your own hide." She applied pressure to his shoulder, trying to at least get him to turn her way, but he wrenched away and his eyes flew open, only to slam shut again against the darkness that was obviously still there.

"No, dammit!" He rasped. "Dean first."

"No," she countered firmly. "You won't be able to help him worth a damn if you're like this, and if he starts having another fit the effort you'll have to put out to hold him will only drain every last bit of the poison into you, if it hasn't already." She watched him lean closer to Dean, set his mouth in a hard line, and she tried a softer tactic. "Let me help you, Sam," she said, voice low and steady. "And then we can both help Dean, and the two of you can sleep this off for a freaking week if you have to."

He didn't move or respond, but she saw a slight tremor move through him, and she decided to take it as a good sign. Reaching up, she pried his stiff fingers off of Dean's belt, choosing not to dwell on how it felt when the back of her hand brushed the soft, fevered skin just under Dean's navel. She spread her palm out on Sam's chest, her other hand coming to rest between his shoulder blades, and firmly maneuvered him so he was sitting on the floor, his knees sticking up at awkward angles.

"I need you to take your shirt off," she told him, and then started to unbutton it. "At least the outer one, and if you lay back you'll be able to breathe better." He let her help him out of his flannel shirt, his eyes still tightly shut and his breath coming in ragged gasps, before collapsing back on the floor, his broad chest rapidly expanding and contracting under the clinging material of his t-shirt as he struggled to pull in enough air.

"Try to keep calm, Sam," she told him quietly as she knelt next to his head and started looking him over. He allowed her to comb his sweaty hair back from the sides of his face and neck with her fingers, and just as she located the small grouping of quills in his hairline, his chest constricted unbearably, completely cutting of his air supply.

Mandy yanked his clutching hands away from his throat, and pressed both heels of her hands hard on the center of his chest. She compressed once, and then left them there, pushing hard enough to leave a bruise. "Breathe, dammit!" She almost shouted, compressing again. "If it's this bad for you, do you really think you're brother's any better off?"

It was a cruel thing to say and she knew it, but she was at a loss and it seemed to have the desired effect. Reflex lurched Sam up off the floor, throwing her back a little, and she watched with wide eyes as he finally drew in a long, ragged breath, letting it out in a bout of choking, explosive coughing between his knees. She let him breathe and blink for a few moments, his vision presumably back, and then grabbed the pliers and knelt behind him, pressing her hip and side against his back for support.

"Just let me get these out…" she told him as she carefully swept his hair to one side, exposing the half dozen quills in the back of his neck. Sticky, half-dried blood coated the area and some of his hair, and she soon realized it was because several of the quills had pierced completely through the skin, their barbed ends visible as well. A tiny measure of relief coursed through her as she told Sam, putting special emphasis on the fact that only half of the quills had managed to inject him with their poison. She made short work of them, and quickly wiped the area down with the alcohol soaked cloth, resolving to make Sam make use of her shower later.

"Where else?" She asked over the sound of his still slightly strained breathing. He leaned heavily back against her and pulled the hem of his t-shirt up, exposing his right side and the dozen or so quills clustered in the well-muscled area just above the waistband of his jeans. She leaned into him, putting her chin over his shoulder, again noticing how absurdly tall he was, and reaching her arms around either side of him to reach the area. As she clipped the end of each quill, she could feel his elevated body temperature leaching through his sweat-soaked shirt, and when his ragged breath ruffled her bangs a little, she caught the faintly mingled scents of peppermint and coffee.

"It'll be okay, Sam," she found herself saying softly. "I promise I'll do everything I can."

His breath caught in his throat a little, and after a moment he spoke, one word rasping out, strangely riddled with emotion. "Why?"

She let the hem of his shirt fall back down, and helped him sit up and turn to face her. She suspected his hazel eyes were dangerously close to spilling over, so she simply gripped his shoulder tightly for a moment and then turned back to Dean. "Because that's what I do," she told him. "I help people."

Dean was still, his breath shallow and light, and his face was pale, making delicate shadows grow under his eyes. He seemed stable when Mandy continued her care, and she pushed down the idea that it was because he had slipped into a coma. There had been something in Sam's eyes- buried not quite deep enough beneath the rich hazel to hide from her- that broke her heart into pieces for him. Having dealt with hunters for as long as she could remember, and being fully submerged in the life herself, she recognized that somehow empty look of loss, grief, and desperation all rolled into one. This boy, she thought, and then almost laughed at herself, considering he had to be at least her age, maybe older. This boy has lost too much for anything to happen to ass… Dean now. And she promised herself that Dean would be alright.

Five minutes later, she had halfway convinced herself that he would be, just in time to look up and realize, with a stomach-dropping jolt, that his mouth had a distinctly blue tinge to it.

Oh my god, he's not breathing. A strange numbness seized her hands and she dropped the pliers. They landed in the bowl of spent quills with a resounding clang and Sam was instantly by her side, his breath still coming in short gasps, and his hair starting to drip sweat into his eyes as he placed two of his long, trembling fingers under Dean's jawline.

"Pulse?" Mandy choked out, unable to drag her eyes away from those pale, full lips. "He's not breathing."

"No pulse. CPR, now," Sam rasped, surging to his feet and rounding the foot of the bed. "I'll do compressions, you breathe for him."

She was frozen, hundreds of memories of situations just like this that had ended in a nightmare crowding her mind, making it seize up. Sam, on the other hand, had been jolted with a newfound energy that was only brought on by his older brother being in danger. He could tear down stone walls; commit unimaginable horrors, if it only meant that Dean was okay. And he would, every day if he had to. "Mandy, now!" He barked harshly, linking his hands and settling them over Dean's blood-streaked chest. "I can't breathe right now, or I would do it myself!"

The desperation laced through his ravaged voice cut straight to her heart, and she obeyed, tilting Dean's head back and sealing her mouth over his.

She breathed once, twice, for him. Sat back and watched Sam lock his muscle-corded arms and compress.

She breathed for him again, hearing Sam struggle to draw his own breath in. More compressions. More breathing.

Dean tasted like salt, cinnamon toothpaste, and Jack Daniels.

Still nothing. Sam's breath came in strangled gasps now, his arms trembling as his emotions spilled over.

Mandy could feel a cold, aching tremble start low in her stomach as she breathed for Dean again. And again.

She could hear Sam crying, not caring as he slammed Dean's chest over and over in a desperate attempt to force life back into him, and she knew she was crying as well, though her face was too numb to feel the tears that tracked down it.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

*I^I*

Ah! So sorry for the cliff-hanger! I could have made it longer, but have to run. Until next time! :)