A/N: This is REALLY short, but I didn't want to leave you guys with that cliffie for too long. I wanted to write more but I spent all day working with eleven hyperactive emotionally disturbed children, and I am SPENT. Whew, those guys can run you ragged! So rather than wait until tomorrow, I'm posting this now. Enjoy. :)

Dean gasped, an icy dread surging through his veins. He fumbled hastily for his brother's wrist, searching for a pulse. Nothing. Sam's wrist flopped lifelessly in his grip.

"Fuck, Sam, don't you do this!" He shouted, hauling Sam bodily out of the car and onto the flat ground. His body felt heavy and empty at the same time – dead. No!

Grabbing Sam's face in both his hands, he tilted his brother's head back and pinched his nose shut. He took a deep breath, sealed Sam's open mouth with his own, and blew until he saw Sam's chest rise. He did it again, then locked his elbows and put one hand over the other on the notch below his brother's sternum. He pressed down hard, compressing Sam's chest. One, two, three, four, five… he counted to fifteen, then paused and felt for a pulse.

Sam's heart was still, his chest unmoving.

"Goddamn it Sam, come on!"

Breathe, breathe, compressions. Check for a pulse. Nothing. Dean's insides clenched with blind, animalistic terror and he sobbed.

"Come on, Sam, Please! Don't you fucking do this to me!"

He gave two more breaths, and was moving his hands into position to do more compressions when Sam jerked and made a chocking, gasping noise in his throat. His hands lifted weakly from his sides, like he was trying to reach his head, before thudding feebly to the ground again. He coughed, breathing a little deeper.

"Oh thank God," Dean cried, pulling his brother into a sitting position and leaning Sam's forehead against his shoulder. He had to fight the urge to squeeze Sam, instead fisting one hand in the back of his tee shirt and cradling the back of Sam's head with the other. He took an unsteady breath, momentarily afraid that he was going to weep with relief.

Sam continued to pull in deep, ragged breaths, leaning weakly into Dean.

"Sam, are you alright? Talk to me, little brother…"

"What- what happened?"

"You had some sort of reaction when I burned off the first rune. You went into convulsions, and then you weren't breathing…" Dean trailed off, pulling his brother a little closer. He didn't want to tell Sam that he had been dead. He wasn't sure he could even say the words. But Sam seemed to pick up on what he hadn't said.

"I guess we're not trying that again, are we?" He said wryly, pulling back a little and sitting up. This close up, he looked awful – as if Dean hadn't actually managed to revive him, as if he were a corpse.

Dean shuddered.

"No. Definitely not."

Sam suddenly seemed to realize where he was and he jumped, then relaxed slightly.

"Maybe it worked," he said hesitantly. "I'm not having any visions."

"That's good – maybe destroying one of the runes will be enough to break the spell entirely."

Sam looked at him, unmasked hope in his eyes.

"Come on, Sammy, let's get you off the ground."

Dean hauled Sam to his feet and eased him back into the car. His kept his face calm, but inside he was praying to anyone that would listen –

Please let this be over.

Please don't take my brother.

A/N: Could it be that easy? Oh, but I'm eeeee-vil, remember? More soon, I promise… And thanks to everyone for the incredible reviews. You guys kick so much ass!