"NOOOO…SAMMY!" cried Dean as he watched more blood flow from his baby brother. He squirmed against the demon's invisible force, but it was no use. He was going to watch his brother die. Much like Sam had to watch him die. He couldn't bear it. Tears built up and fell down his cheeks in a steady rhythm. "NOOOO…PLEASE."

The demon laughed again tilting the blade downward pointing it at Sam's heart. He was ready to finish the youngest Winchester off for good. He smiled again before lifting his hand and plunging it down.

CRASH

The outer window burst inward in a hailstorm fury and a dark figure flew in colliding with the demon, knocking him over Sam's bed. A long, ebony curtain flowed in the room blocking the figure from view. Dean heard a loud grunt and a "sonuvabitch". The figure finally came into the light and was revealed to be Bobby.

Bobby threw the curtain away and stalked up to Rufus, who stumbled to his feet. He slid the glock back on his shotgun and pulled the trigger, the rock salt hitting the being square in the chest. Rufus's body flew back, slamming into the jade green wall and slid down into a heap on the floor. Bobby approached him fast and kicked his jaw upward.

Dean suddenly felt the force hugging him to the wall dissipate and he slumped to the floor. He immediately jumped up and ran over to his brother. He grabbed a hold of the swiveling tube and brought the end down on the cut end, applying the same procedure with the second cord.

Blood gushed over his hands and sprinkled over his face. He glanced behind him at the wailing machine and saw Sam's BP was steadily dropping into the low fifties. He didn't need to be a cardiac surgeon to understand what that meant. He stole his gaze away, fearing it might break his psyche.

More blood pooled around Sam's neck and Dean let out a heartbreaking cry. He couldn't handle the tubes and the slit throat all at the same time. Needing to think of something quick, he lowered his shoulder down and pressed it down over the bleeding wound. Please somebody quick. I don't know how much longer he can hold like this. The numbers on the machine kept declining rapidly until Sam's vitals read zero.

Bobby continued to kick the struggling vessel in the face or anywhere the demon would leave open. The shotgun lay on the floor after the old man discarded it from concluding it was empty and useless. Amidst his constant ass kicking, he threw his flask of holy water over the creature. Horrible shrieks issued from the man's throat as steam billowed off the sizzling flesh. "Soak it up, you demonic piece of shit." He kicked him again in the gut.

"Get up," he ordered dangerously throwing the empty canister to the side. He picked up the gasping man and lifted his leg, forcing the demon to hunch over. The demon let out a laugh peering up at the old man. He suddenly threw a punch, hitting its mark in Bobby's jaw. Bobby quickly recovered and saw the demon start to lift his hand to use its power.

"Ah hell no!" Bobby hollered picking up the chair next to his leg and smashing it over the man's head. The demon stumbled backwards, losing it's concentration on conjuring it's power.

"You want to pick on a helpless boy. Fine. But remember…he's…got…family!" Bobby snarled plowing his fist into the man's jaw. "And I'm like a fucking hurricane."

The man's black eyes shown with fear as the old hunter threw another punch across his face. Bobby wouldn't allow him the chance of gaining the upper hand; he was too pissed off for that. He hooked one hand under the demon's arm, and the other grappling the back of the man's pants. "You think the Winchester's were bad, you ain't met me yet," Bobby half-shouted. He twirled the demonic vessel in a circle then lifted him out of the broken window. The man shouted and squirmed all the way down.

Panting from the adrenaline rushing through his system, he turned a concerned gaze towards Sam's still body and then to the door. "GET IN HERE," he bellowed to the doctors standing stock still outside the door. They jerked upwards from fright and hustled about like chickens with their heads cut off, gathering whatever equipment and medicine within an arm's reach.

Bobby came over to Dean and helped him hold the tubes in place.

Dean sniffled. He turned his blood-shot eyes on Bobby, pleading, searching for a sign of hope. His lip quivered and he whispered, "He's g-gone Bobby. He's g-gone."

"Don't say that Dean. HURRY UP!" He screeched angrily.

Dean couldn't control his emotions and he lowered his head onto Sam's shoulder. "He's gone. S-sammy's dead. Sammy's dead. O-oh God."

"How is he?"

"Not good."

"He's…"

"In shock. He has barely slept and hasn't eaten in days since his brother first came in and since the incident, his body went into overdrive and he crashed. He's slightly catatonic now, completely unresponsive to stimuli. He hasn't moved in the last sixteen hours."

"What about the uncle?"

"Still vigilant as ever. He's keeping an eye on him right now. He's just as shocked as the brother, and he keeps barking orders every time someone else other than me and another nurse comes into the room. I don't blame him. This should never have happened."

"And the assailant?"

"We don't know. He disappeared. He was nowhere to be found, which I find really odd. He took a drop out of four-story window, and there was no body. So please look into that. He might have friends out there."

"Did you manage to save the patient?"

"Barely. We were able to sustain the blood flow. No oxygen was cut off, but he is on life support."

"What do you do suggest from this point on?"

"I don't know. I'm going to go speak with the uncle right now and decide a course of action with the brothers from there. But I guess, increase security. Whoever wanted that boy dead, they might try again and I don't think the brother or their uncle can handle it a second time. Make sure that happens."

"We'll be right on that."

"Thank you Officer Gibbons," Dr. Stevens shook the officer's beefy hand and proceeded down the hallway back towards the room he dreaded all evening.

Without intent on knocking, he strolled right in the room to see the nurse Caylee kneeling beside a figure curled up in the far corner of the room. The uncle stood over Sam's bed holding onto the boy's hand. He came over to the corner and knelt beside Caylee, taking out his penlight and shining it into the brother's mossy-green eyes. The pupils showed a slow reaction in dilation and he continued to stare absent-mindedly in front of him. His brother's blood was still splattered over his face and covered mostly his hands and white tee shirt.

The nurse Caylee gave the doctor a concerned glance. Dr. Stevens was astonished that she had hung around after what she endured. She had a bandage on the side of her head and several scrapes and scratches on the side of her face evident from bursting through the door and slamming into the corridor wall. But she seemed careless of her injuries and intent on caring for the patient at hand. He was amazed at her tenacity. She gave him another glance and he stood up, crossing over to the bed stand. He opened the drawer and pulled out a pressure cuff. He came back over and took the boy's blood pressure.

Seeing the numbers on the gauge, he was little concerned plus a little relieved. The most important aspect was that he was alive, still struggling to keep his sanity, whatever he had left. "Okay Caylee, I think I know what to do, but we need him cleaned up, okay?"

Caylee nodded and pulled Dean's arm out of his hold. His arm went limp in her hands and she gazed at the doctor for help. It was asinine if he thought she could manage to drag his heavy figure all the way to the bathroom on the opposite side of the room. Dr. Stevens nodded in understanding and pulled on his other arm, and both lifted him, with great difficulty, to his feet.

Bobby came over and aided in the arduous task of carrying Dean to the bathroom. The limp body made no motive nor any inclination of moving. Bobby held firmly onto his legs, whispering, "Come on Dean, snap out of it."

Caylee's face turned crimson from the strain of heaving his heavy body. Dr. Stevens kept calling out "almost there", encouraging her to keep moving. Eventually, they made it to the small room, sitting him on the protruding ledge made for people with disabilities overtop a rectangular tub. Caylee motioned to them that she could take it from there, and the two men left, closing the door softly.

Caylee crossed over to the seat and retrieved a white cloth stationed inside a cabinet underneath the sink. In there, consisted of other washcloths, bandages, and an extra supply of over-the-counter ointment. She soaked the cloth under hot water and walked back over to Dean and began wiping the blood spurts off his face. He didn't flinch, when she rubbed the cloth harshly in one area to remove the sticky dots, and it somewhat bothered her. Her heart went out for the man recognizing the forlorn despondency he now exhibited. She figured there had to be more to his behavior.

"Sam's your only family left, isn't he?" she asked softly, not really expecting him to answer, but never giving up hope either.

When he continued to act oblivious, she let out a heavy sigh, gently bringing the cloth over his brow.