Sam came round as he was being dragged up some stairs by his ankles. The back of his head banged painfully against every single step, but he was still unable to move properly, or even slur out a cry of pain. He must have passed out again as the next thing he knew he was lying on a different floor, looking up at a different ceiling. One that was spinning and it was all Sam could do just to breathe. Nausea engulfed him and at that moment he wanted nothing more than to throw his entire guts up to make the cold sickness go away. Queasy dizziness overwhelmed his entire being, including his terrible worry for Dean or Cas. Somewhere inside him a voice was warning that if he did puke whilst unable to move, he could likely suffocate. He gripped onto the floorboards with his fingers, nails vainly digging for purchase in the smooth wood.

Haversham didn't wait for him to properly come-to before piling on the bad news. In fact, Sam realised he'd been monologue-ing the whole way up the stairs. He concentrated on focusing on the words as a way to lead him out of his woozy disconnect.

"I'm sure you'll agree it's beauty personified. Elegant, even. Thank you Simon, Bruce, you can let go of Dean now, I'm sure he'll be a good boy once he hears what I have to say next." Sam heard the unmistakable thud of a body falling next to him, felt the floorboards rattle.

"Anyway, we tried so many things but it turns out that XO's fastest growth is accelerated by movement. In case you can't extrapolate what that means Dean I'll spell it out for you...if you lay absolutely perfectly still and do nothing more strenuous than a bit of light breathing, you - could - extend the rest of your life to around six hours. After that...well...she'll grow spikes big enough to rip your intestines into chunks of dog food before tearing her way out of your bowels."

"Oh fuck you!" Dean's outraged voice filled the room. "I don't need six hours to murder your psychotic British ass!"

In spite of their terrible predicament, knowing his brother was right next to him put some of Sam's nausea to rest. He found himself able to breathe a bit more freely.

"That's six hours if you don't move at all. Which I don't think your capable of. In fact, I know you won't be able to rest here for long." He emitted a reedy little chuckle. "I made a phone call earlier, requesting some of my very fine defence specialists do a bit of heroic rescuing. I'd say you have around an hour before those delightful brothers Bill and Gavin Robinson get here. They don't even want the money back that you stole from them, can you believe? All they want is to spend some quality time with you before you expire."

"Perfect." Sam heard Dean hawk up a mound of spit, then land it wetly on the floor beside Haversham. "I get to waste those idiots straight after I've kicked your ass!"

"Now Dean, even I don't think you're as stupid as you pretend to be. You ought to realise that if you walk, talk or even think about fighting your way out of here, it will take no more than half an hour before XO grows large enough to disembowel you."

"Challenge accepted." Dean threatened.

There was no response from Haversham other than a scornful tutting noise. Sam heard him and his two guys leave, then close the door behind him. Then lock it.

Dean's worried face immediately loomed over Sam's. The cuts, scrapes and red bruising made Dean look exactly like he'd been on the losing end of a fight. He supposed his face didn't look any different. "Sam can you talk? You ok?"

"I'm gonna puke." When he spoke, he realised his lip had been cut open for the second time in two days. And more than one tooth felt loose. Great.

"Ok you can talk. Can you move?"

"Don't know. Got concussion or something..."

Sam felt Dean's arms underneath him, dragging him against a wall so he could sit upright. For a moment, the room rotated around him like a washing machine drum on full power, before setting down to a milder rinse and spin. When he could finally see clearly he saw they were in an ultra-modern minimalist bedroom, all cream linen and no clutter.

"Where's Cas?"

"Don't know, they didn't bring him up with us."

Sam couldn't do anything other than frustratedly watch as Dean tried the locked windows, then ran around the bedroom trying to find something to pick the door lock. Dean was about to dig through the contents of a small but neatly ordered, open-plan closet when he rubbed a hand on his chest as if he had a bad case of heartburn.

"Stop moving! Dean - you heard what he said! He put...he put those little fuckers inside us." Sam could feel the bile, and the horror, rising again. "If you keep moving it's gonna grow faster!"

"What am I supposed to do? Just sit on my ass and wait for that no-mark Bill to come kill us? No thanks."

Sam tried to get up to help, but fell back down again on his numb legs. "What the fuck did they get me with?"

"Some kind of taser thing. Sam...we don't have time to find something to jimmy the lock. Who the hell has a bedroom this empty, fucking weirdos! I've got to try and break the door down, it looks pretty basic."

"What? No!" Blood flew from his broken mouth. "That could kill you in minutes!"

"I don't have a choice! I have to get you and Cas out of here and if this is the only way then so be it." He didn't wait for Sam to object again, just hurled himself at the door. It rattled encouragingly, so Dean tried again and again. The hinges definitely seemed to be getting wobblier. Dean was lining up for another big one when he abruptly dropped to the floor instead, clutching his chest and writhing in agony.

"DEAN!" Sam frantically forced himself to move toward his brother, dragging his half-dead legs behind him. "Please, keep still!" He lay his body on top of Dean's, using his weight to stop him thrashing around. He stayed like that, worry eating away at him like acid, until eventually Dean stopped choking and lay still.

"Um Sammy? You can get off me now, I'm fine."

Sam swallowed away a semi-sob before rolling off.

They lay side by side, breathing too fast and counting down the minutes until either Bill or little fucker made an appearance. Forced to lie still he became aware of every single kick and punch that Simon and Bruce had given him. But worse, way worse than the physical pain, was the mental stress. Knowing exactly what was growing inside them kept bringing Sam out in cold, shuddering sweats.

Dean was also travelling down the same dark path. "Sam...if I conniption out again I need you to let me be. Save your energy and hold out as long as you can…"

"Dean...man…"

"Don't say it Sammy." Dean could barely talk, but managed to push the words out. "I'm sorry. About everything. I thought I was doing the right thing but I was wrong. You have to believe mom loved you...really truly she did…"

Sam turned to look at his brother and recoiled in horror. Dean's eyes had rolled back inside his head and he had begun to puke blood. And something was moving on his chest.

"Shit! Fuck!" Sam pulled up Dean's tee in time to see a raised, stubbly mound the size of a grape, wriggling underneath the skin of his brother's rib cage. "FUCK!" Sam was in terror. He banged and slapped at his own legs to get them to crawl over to a wall mounted mirror not even a foot away. He braced himself, and swung an elbow to shatter it. Pieces of glass fell in large shards and he had no way of avoiding them as they landed on his arm. He ignored the pain from the cuts…and ohmygod from deep inside his own chest...and crawled back over to Dean with a piece of the mirror cutting sharply into his fingers.

He carefully watched little fucker's movements, making absolutely sure the moment was right, before gently slicing into Dean's chest just below his ribs. "Man I am so fucking sorry…" Desperately trying to avoid damaging his brother's liver or any other essential organs, he pushed a finger and thumb inside the laceration and pulled out the sharp metallic object. It continued to wriggle and grow in his hand, even as he kept the other one pressed tightly against Dean's bleeding wound.

It was growing sharper and quicker and Sam panicked. He threw it as hard as he could at the window. It bounced against the toughened glass and landed on the varnished floorboards. It twitched once, twice then began to scramble and scratch back towards them.

Sam was consumed with anger and fear. Praying that his legs would hold, he got to his feet just in time to stomp the ever-loving crap out of the vicious, evil thing. He expected it to shatter, but instead it cracked in half, its insides squishing out like buggy goo.

With trembling blood-slicked fingers, he used the shard of mirror to cut up the not-cream-anymore bed sheeting to wrap around Dean's torso. He packed it tight as he could, before putting him into the recovery position. He kept two fingers on his brother's wrist, counting the weak but steady beats. Please Dean please wake up.