Chapter Two:

"Quiet, they'll hear us," whispered a voice in the pitch black darkness, a boy, his bare feet stuck out from underneath a bed. Softly, he called again. "Come here," But his next command was said low and cruel, "Don't you understand they'll hear us?"

Sam approached with caution, he knew the voice, only it sounded so much younger then it did now but Sam was still 6'3" and as far as he was concerned he was still very much twenty-two years old. "Dean?" Whoa, that was not Sam's voice at all. He sounded like a child hardly the man he was today.

"Sammy, please be quiet," pleaded Dean, and his skinny legs retract out of Sam's sight. "Come here. I have something for you."

Ooh, a surprise. Sammy loved surprises. In an instant, he's down on all fours, naked knees sliding across the smooth cold wooden floor. He was scared. It was so dark but Dean will keep him safe. Crawling into the dark, he couldn't see a thing. "What is it, Dean?" He was excited, looking around, trying hard make out Dean and waiting for his eyes to adjust to his surroundings; they don't.

"You'll love it," He sounded so gentle but at the same time he seemed grim as well as if he was sad. Sam doesn't notice, only understood that Dean had something for him so he smiled brightly though he's sure his brother couldn't see him and he still couldn't see Dean either. But he hears him, heavy pants of breath, hot on Sam's face. He doesn't like how it feels on his skin. Scooting back, he asked, "Is it green?" Sammy loves the color green.

"Yeah, Sam," He choked back a sob, as his eleven-year-old hands wrap around his baby brother's neck, beginning to contrict tightly, "...it's green"

A sickening thud entered the canal of Sam's ear and it took him about a half a millisecond to process it, roll out of bed, and pounce into Hunter-Mode. Standing still, he held his breath as he listened intensely. Nothing. Swallowing hard, Sam huffed out the air he'd been holding in, his heart pounding. "Well, that was the weirdest fucking dream I've ever had..." He shifted, ready to slide back into bed when something caught his eye or more like didn't.

The chair in which Dean had been lounging in no more then ten minutes before was now empty and a quick glance to the twin bed next to his clarified that his brother wasn't there either.

Something wasn't right.

Long legs take him to the seeping light underneath the bathroom door where he busted in, without knocking and without asking. Brown orbs dilate at the sight before him, followed by a sharp intake of air -- something of a gasp but not nearly as dramatic.

Dean lay sprawled out, unmoving on the mucked up linoleum-tiled floor, looking dreadfully pale and Sam wondered if it just seemed that way because of the bad lighting from above.
He had landed oddly on his back, head cocked limply to the left, his right hipbone stuck out and his leg was bent; right knee aimed at to the others left thigh in such a way it had Sam's heart clenching -- it reminded him of Jess.

"Dean!" He shouted, maneuvering into a leap-like stride to where Dean was currently unconscious and ending in a crouch.

Taking his brother's clammy face into his calloused hands, Sam called his name again. When he retracted no physical or verbal response, he nuzzled two fingers into his brother's neck and after a few year-like seconds, he clearly feels the throb of a pulse under his middle finger and yet again he's cupping the sides of Dean's head.

"Dean..." He called, misleadingly calm. "Can you hear me?"

He waited for something -- anything to escape his brother's throat or his eyes to suddenly flutter open, where he would tell Sam to 'get the fuck away from him' because Sam's face was ridiculously close to Dean's at the moment.

And Sam was downright scared when Dean didn't give him any of those or even a flinch as Sam's fingers began to pat at his cheeks. "Dean, open your eyes." A demand.

Sam's bottom lip rolled beneath his front teeth with confusion, panic, patience, and eagerness all balled up in one childhood habit and even though he felt the undeniable evidence of life mere seconds before, he dropped his ear down to Dean's mouth, frowning at the wheezy noise coming from parted lips that he hadn't noticed before now, the choking breath that reminded him of something important, labored breathing that sounded like a lot-- Oh shit!

And Sam on his feet now, hauling ass out the bathroom, through the bedroom and exiting the doorframe with a hop. He sprinted across the parking lot where Dean's precious Chevy was still residing under the large rotted Elm and he thanks everything that's holy when he found the Impala's doors were actually unlocked. Immediately, he went for the dash, fingering the glove compartment like a fucking mad man until the damn thing finally popped open and everything and I mean everything within it spilled out.

Why did it have to be so fucking dark out? He couldn't see a damn thing! His eyes were taking much too long to adjust to the night but when they finally did, he almost immediately spotted the off-white, nearly three inch plastic case...

-- an inhaler.

As he snatcheed it up into his palm, he instantly noted the abnormal weightlessness to it and did a double take in the moonlight. The canister was missing.

"Fuck!"

The inhaler is placed between his teeth as hands plunge back into the pile, eyes flickering and processing every single item he came across. It felt like hours and he hadn't noticed he was holding a lungful of air until the glint of the metal canister finally surfaced and he let the breath out in something of a sob as he slid the canister into the actuator. He scrabbled to his feet, dashing back to the only room with it's door still wide open and if it hadn't been for his knee connecting harshly with the corner of the 67's door, he would have forgotten to close that as well.

Dean was exactly how he left him only this time when Sam checked his brother's vitals he was alarmed by the quick yet small gasps of breath Dean was taking in, as if he was being strangled and failing the battle.

"No, no, no." A breath, "Dean! Wake up, Dean!"

He shaked him at the shoulders, stopping when Dean's eyes slightly twitch beneath closed lids, and moments later they crack open, powering Sam to take Dean from under his arms, lifting and lugging him toward the left corner where the bathtub and wall came together, propping him up into something of a sitting position.

"Stay with me, man," ordered Sam, while giving the inhaler a shake or four. Sam moved closer, popping the cap and lifting Dean's chin, trying to manually squeeze and wrap Dean's bluish lips around the mouthpiece when Dean's jaw gaped open unresponsively, his eyes frighteningly glazed over.

"Damnit, come on!" Sam was furious now or at least that's what he wanted to be -- it's so much easier being mad then absolutely terrified, "Please."

Even in his haze, Dean found strength from his baby brother's plea and weakly but securely covered the receiving end with his mouth and when he thinks he heard Sam counting down to three, he inhaled at just the right time, letting the cool medication travel down his throat.

Coughing and blinking furiously, Dean could have swore, he just saw his mother's face but when things slightly clear, he only found Sam in front of him. Eyes fluttered and roll to the back of his head and he began to slump, not going far because Sam was holding onto him, hugging, heaving him back up the wall.

Breathless, Sam continued to coach, "One more, Dean. Just one more and you can rest, okay?"

Dean's eyes open into slits and once again the inhaler was shoved to his mouth but this time he protested feverishly, cheeks flushing from struggling to take a single breath of air, his back arching.

"Stop," Sam orders as he presses Dean firmly against the wall when he started to thrash deliriously. "Dean!" He gasped when a knee shot up to connect with his gut.

God, he's turning purple, he's giving up, he's fucking going to die.

Sam Winchester's swaggering, know-it-all of an asshole brother was suffocating before his eyes.

Dean can't die like this. Dean can't die.