A/N: Okay, here is the next Chapter...Now put down the pitchforks before you put an eye out!! LOL Sorry for the short Chapter here, but that is how it was saved on WordPerfect!! Enjoy just the same!!

Disclaimer: I think you get it by now, right? If not...(rolls eyes) LOL

"13, 14, 15." The doctor finished his seventh set of compressions and had just started to breathe into Samuel Winchester as Dean stepped into the doorway. His brother was limp, and just as pale as he was. He heard one doctor yell something about 'airway obstruction.' Dean slid down the doorjamb, close to breaking at that moment.

The memory of the night he had saved his brother as a baby flashed before his eyes. Cradling him in his arms, so tight he was afraid he would break. Sam had fussed, almost cried, but Dean knew that his brother trusted him to always take care of him, from that day till the end of time. He was Sammy's protector, was entrusted in guiding him through life when their father went on hunts without them, leaving them with baby-sitters because they were too young just yet. Then when they were of age, John Winchester told his eldest son that Sam was important, and to be kept close at all times. Dean just floffed it off as his dad being dad. Now he knew that he was right, and wished he had been a better brother. Then when their father had passed, leaving them to take care of each other, to trust each other all over again, what did he do? He retreated into a shell that no one could break. He pushed Sammy away until he was forced to construct his own fortress. Now here was his baby brother dying before his very eyes, and he was incapable to stop it.

A nurse pushed past him, bringing him back to reality, and he saw the same doctor still working on Sammy. Then he watched as the doctor slammed his fist down in his brother's chest.

"I will not lose this boy, not here not now!" He hit Sam once more, and his chest heaved, and the heart monitor jumped to life. The doctor turned and caught Dean's eyes. Their emotions were identical. It was as if he had felt the loss as much as Dean did. As he left the room, he placed a firm hand on Dean's shoulder.

"When you have been as close to death as I have, you learn to either become best friends with it, or its worst fucking enemy." He gripped Dean's shoulder, then walked out, leaving Dean to wonder what he had just witnessed.

Dean stood next to his brother's bed, watching for a sign that his eyes were going to open. It had been two hours since the code red, and his condition had stabilized. The doctor said that something had cut off the flow of his oxygen, causing respiratory distress and made his heart stop. Dean knew what happened, and he was biding his time. He had eaten a little and kept on his feet the entire two hours. He was feeling better, at least on the outside. On the inside he was dying. His brother was in a partial coma, and the man that put him there was out doing who knows what to who knows how many people. The thought gave Dean another headache.

He touched Sam's arm gently, his skin warm. Sam's face had just as many bandages as Dean's had, but not as small. The longest of his was on the right side of his face. It ran from the top of his forehead and down the top of his lip. Dean felt a sudden pang of guilt, and knew that he shouldn't, but in a way it had been his fault. If he hadn't of picked the asshole up, if he had just come back to the motel with Sammy's goddamned salad . . .

"Don't worry Sammy," He gripped Sam's hand tightly. "I'll make him pay for this. You make bank on that!" Leaving the room, Dean never noticed Sam's hand move.