Here you go! Things have been busy, so this did take almost a week, but it shouldn't ever take any longer than that...Anyway, thanks so much for the reviews; I hope you'll all continue to let me know what you think; it helps so much! And don't be afraid of contructive responses, too. I want to get better! So anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter. have a great weekend. :)

Chapter 3

The shot brought Dean away from the wall, calling his brother's name. He was halfway up the stairs before he remembered that he couldn't get through the door.

"Sam!"

He pounded on the wooden door as a grunt and a heavy thud ended the scuffling coming from the other side.

"SAM!"

"He's alive, Dean. I'm just afraid he can't answer you right now," Leah's voice answered after a moment.

"What hell did you do to him!"

She laughed humorlessly. "It's just a leg; he'll be fine. Don't have a heart attack. If it makes you feel any better, I'll even patch it up for him."

Dean snarled and tried ramming his shoulder into the door again, but it didn't work any better than last time. "I'll kill you, you bitch!"

"So you've said," she answered drily. "Now if you'll excuse me…"

"No! You leave him the hell alone!"

There was no answer this time, and he threw himself into the door again. Dean tried again, and again, and again…and he couldn't stop slamming into the door any more than he could turn off the blind rage.

Finally he slipped, and ended up on his rear at the base of the stairs. He scrambled back up and pounded on the door with his fists for another moment before his mind finally registered the fact that it was all useless. Dean sank onto the top step then, and felt his shoulders shake with a sob that he wouldn't let himself release aloud.

By now he could hear nothing from the other side of the door he was leaning on. He had no idea if Sam was in the next room again, or if Leah had taken him somewhere else this time. He didn't know where his brother was or what Leah was doing to him.

It took him a moment to realize that he couldn't even be sure if she had lied or not; he couldn't even be certain if she would bring Sam back alive.

The sob came back, clenching in Dean's throat and twisting his face into a grimace.

He had failed again.

"I'm sorry, Sammy," he swallowed.

A sudden flash of pain dragged Sam back from the darkness. Light burned in his eyes when they shot open in shock, and he heard himself shout. The pain echoed in his stomach, and he doubled over, realizing that he was on his side on a cold tile floor. His ankles were bund, and his hands were tied behind his back.

The pain was a result of Leah's foot in his gut—which she smashed into him again as soon as his eyes opened.

Sam grunted and coughed, scowling at the sharp ache in his chest when he did. It took longer to catch his breath than he thought it should, and when he had he glared pointedly up at Leah.

"You shot me!"

"You turned on me."

He grimaced as he finally registered the lingering pain from his leg, and glanced down. He was more than a little surprised to see the left leg of his jeans rolled up neatly, and a bandage around the wound.

"The bullet is out, too. It wasn't anything serious, really. You're not in any danger from that, anyway."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he snorted.

Leah smiled, but still it never reached her eyes. "It means that my patience is selective. Agree to help me, and I will wait as long as I need to for you to strength your abilities enough for me to make use of them—but I won't be so patient in waiting for that agreement." She hooked one of his arms and dragged him up onto his knees. With his wrists and ankles tied, he had no way to hold onto anything, and there was no resistance from the smooth floor.

Tile.

It was tile, he remembered. That was when Sam grasped the fact that they were in a bathroom—a decently-sized, cream-tiled bathroom—and saw the plugged bathtub already full of water. He tried to pull back then, but the knees of his jeans slipped on the tile, and he groaned when it jarred the leg wound.

"You're crazy!" he accused.

But that was all he got out before Leah pushed his upper body over the edge, shoved his head under the water, and held it there.

Sam knew not to scream. It would do him no good, and only cost him his air. Instead he struggled, jerking backward against her arms, but he wasn't strong enough anymore. His jeans found no purchase on the floor, and when he tried to use that to slip out from under her, Leah brought a knee down on his calves to keep him in place. The pressure on his wounded leg almost sent him back to unconsciousness right there.

Leah pulled him up quickly, and Sam gulped in air. "Wh-what are you doing!" he gasped, blinking water out of his eyes.

She didn't answer the question directly. "I could kill you, you know. It wouldn't break my heart. Don't think I won't do it. There will always be another way, another chance for me to come out on top. I'm really not a patient woman, when it comes to some things. Keep me waiting too long to give in, and I just won't bother with you any further. You'll be dead like Gordon wants you."

"I'm not doing anything for a self-serving bitch," he snapped, struggling.

"Suit yourself."

She pushed him under again, and Sam fought again. It still did no good. Leah kept her knee on his legs, and soon the pain and lack of oxygen sapped away any energy he had left. He tugged back weakly, but it was more to show her that he wasn't giving up, than anything else. He focused on conserving what little air he had left, but it didn't last much longer. His chest hurt much more than he thought it should have, and his heart pounded loudly in his ears as if it were complaining.

The need for air became desperate, and when he opened his eyes and realized his vision was fading, Sam panicked.

Dean. Bobby. Killing the damn demon. God, he couldn't just die!

His mouth opened under the water, not releasing even the smallest bubble of air. He was out of time. No! he thought he screamed it—or wanted too. He felt his vocal chords vibrating, but everything else was fading. He couldn't hear the water in his ears, or Leah above him shouting questions he wouldn't have been able to understand anyway.

Then suddenly there was light, and air, and sharp pain at the back of his head where Leah pulled him up by his hair that was quickly forgotten for the pain in his chest when he could finally breathe. Sam couldn't help but groan when he let out the breath he'd taken, and he heard Leah give some sort of knowing snort.

"Care for another dip?" she asked near his ear.

"Not…really…" he gasped.

"Sorry."

Then he was under again.

Sam gasped awake coughing and sputtering, spitting water.

"No…"

He'd moaned the plea before he realized that he wasn't on his knees anymore. There was no tile floor beneath him, but he was still cold.

The rest came back slowly. He remembered going under again, and again, and again…he'd lost consciousness more than once. She made sure he woke up when he lost it, and his ribs hurt to prove it. He wasn't sure, but it seemed as if maybe Leah had revived him once or twice, too.

Sam sighed away from the thought and tried to catch his breath, but his throat felt like sandpaper, small and constricted. His chest still ached, and it wasn't any wonder after the oxygen deprivation—not that he knew how long Leah had been at it.

His eyes were still closed. He was too exhausted for even the water to his face to make them open against his will. He didn't want to open them. He was afraid of what would happen if he did.

Because Dean wouldn't be splashing water in his face.

"Hi, Sam."

The voice was near his ear again, and a shallow breath caught in his throat. "What…do you want?" he grated out.

"You know what I want first," Leah purred. "Tell me you'll be a good boy and do what I say; then this can all stop."

"Not…happening."

"You know your brother is still down there, unharmed. I could change that."

Sam opened his eyes now, and turned his head on the table enough to glower at her. "Leave Dean out…of this."

"Agree, and I will. I'll even let him go. I've told you this."

Sam groaned again, purely out of frustration. He was going around in circles with the woman. Leah waited a few more long seconds, but when he didn't look at her again and he said nothing, she huffed.

"Fine. We'll try another approach." He heard her picking up the clamps, and couldn't help but tug discretely at the chains. She snapped one of the clamps on, and circled around him with the other. "I'll apologize ahead of time; this will probably be worse, since you still happen to be rather wet. But I suppose that's the point."

He tried to clear his throat, but it didn't help much. Still, he managed to get through a sentence without pausing for a breath. "How is that a different approach?"

Leah smirked. "I'm not asking you for anything anymore." She leaned closer. "I want you to make me stop."

"What?"

"I've heard about others of your kind. Silly little visions aren't the only thing you all can do. Like I've said, I know you could do more if you tried—so make me stop."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean!"

She shrugged and leaned back again. "I'm sure I don't know: telekinesis, mind-control me…I'm sure you'll come up with something eventually."

"I can't do anything like that…" But, of course, that was a bit of a lie. There was the once, more than a year ago, when he'd moved something with his mind. Then, though, he'd been afraid that Dean was about to die. He'd seen the vision, and he had to stop it. He hadn't been able to move anything since, and Dean was really the only one who knew.

But maybe she was right; maybe he could, if he was pushed far enough.

But he would rather not be pushed that far.

Sam swallowed hard. "It doesn't matter…Even if it turned out that I could do more, I wouldn't use it for you."

"But in the end, Sam, I still have Dean. I don't think you want him dead."

He couldn't argue with that, but he knew he couldn't help her. But what if it came to that? Do what she wanted or let his brother die?

He couldn't let anything happen to Dean, either.

"No…"

But Sam wasn't sure just what he was protesting against this time, and it didn't matter anyway.

Leah attached the other clamp.

Dean paced the basement a while, and then he tried staying still. He tried sitting, and he tried being on his feet. Nothing helped ease the tension in his neck and shoulders, and nothing helped him catch even the slightest sound from above. For a good two hours or more he heard nothing.

He tried not to think about what that could mean. They could just be elsewhere in the house, too far for him to hear, but it could also mean that he had heard something wrong before, that Leah had lied, that Sam might be—

But he wouldn't let his thoughts stray there.

Dean was too relieved for words when there was finally sound. He didn't know where they were coming from, but it sounded as if Leah were bringing Sam back. He was at the foot of the stairs when the sounds moved past the door and into the room she had brought Sam into both times before.

She wasn't done yet?
He stayed frozen at the foot of the steps, dreading what had to come next. Sam must have been unconscious; Dean heard him wake up. He heard the muffled voices that argued for a moment or so, and it wasn't enough.

Then the screaming started.

"No! Nonononono, leave him alone!" Dean pounded up the stairs, tripped again, landed hard on his knees halfway up. He didn't get up this time; it wouldn't do anyone any good for him to get to the door at the top. He couldn't get through it. Leah wouldn't listen to him…And suddenly the reality of it all was a crushing weight on his shoulders. He couldn't have gotten up if he wanted to.

Sam's screams cut into his ears like knives, ripping and tearing from his mind to his heart. He didn't know how his brother could even be making those noises; the sounds were choked and sporadic, as if he couldn't get the air to do but couldn't help doing it anyway. It sounded as if the screams themselves hurt him.

Dean didn't know how long it went on, how often it paused, or when it finally stopped. He only knew that when the sudden silence pulled him out of the haze, he was bent over on the stairs, forehead in his hands. His face was damp, and his throat hurt, and he couldn't think straight. Dean snagged the stair rail to pull himself to his feet and scrubbed at his face to dry it as he staggered up to the door. Whatever piece of furniture blocked the other side was finally being moved again.

"Sam?" he asked irrationally, once the scraping stopped. There was no way Sam was conscious…

"Back away from the door, Dean."

Of course. Leah.

"I don't think so, bitch."

"Do you want your brother back or not?"

He glared through the wood. "Listen, I won't try anything if you'll just open the damn door and give him to me. Let me bring him back down myself."

There was a long pause from the other side. "Fine."

The lock clicked, the door opened, and then Sam's tall frame was shoved backwards through the door at him. His brother's shoulder landed in Dean's chest, knocking the wind out of him, and he stumbled, going to his knees with Sam and locking his arms around him from behind to keep them both from tumbling back down the stairs.

In seconds the door had been shut and locked again, but Dean ignored the scraping on the other side to focus on his brother. "Sam…? God, Sammy…"

Sam was all but soaked at least from the waist up, giving him too much of an idea of where Leah had dragged him off to first.

Dean felt his fury building as he took stock of Sam's injuries. His wrists were bruised and rope-burned, from that and whatever she had been using to restrain him when she…electrocuted him. Dean caught sight of the bandages around the bullet wound in Sam's left leg, and with that jeans leg rolled up he also noticed the similar rope marks around his ankle. He assumed the other ankle looked the same, though they weren't as bad as his wrists. Sam's shirt hadn't landed flat, and from under the hiked-up edge he saw the beginnings of bruises on his stomach. Dean pulled the shirt up for a moment before straightening it out for him, and saw that the bruises spread all the way up to Sam's chest. They were still light, but the fact that they were there in the first place was enough to fuel the anger.

With Sam's back and shoulder against his chest, Dean could feel his brother breathing, feel his heart beating—feel him alive. It was enough to keep him from cracking, but it didn't help that he could also feel that it was all…off. Sam's heartbeat was still steady, but…it was weak, he thought, and his breathing was much worse. It was shallow, shaky.

But if he was alive he could recover, right? Sam had said he would recover. He'd said it was only after effects. He'd said it should take a lot longer for there to be permanent damage—and Sam usually knew what he was talking about.

Yes. Sam had to be right. He had to be fine. Dean remained motionless for several more long minutes, just holding his brother, not caring that Sam's wet hair was in his face. His throat still ached and his eyes still stung, and silently he repeated to himself over and over the fact that Sam was here, that he wasn't with Leah. He was alive. He would be okay. He had to be okay.

He wasn't expecting Sam to wake up so soon, but then again he was a tough kid. After a few more minutes he stirred weakly in Dean's grip, moaning softly. "Ah…god…"

"Sam?"

His eyes flickered open after a moment, and he reacted immediately. He bucked back against the grip around him, nearly sending Dean down the stairs. He tightened his grip around the weak struggle, shouting near his brother's ear.

"Sam, take it easy! Take it easy! It's me!"

Sam went limp against his shoulder, and it seemed whatever strength he'd had when he woke was already gone. "Dean?" he croaked weakly. It was nearly a sob.

"Yeah…it's just me."

"Thank god…" he coughed.

"You okay?"

Sam grimaced and wrapped trembling arms around his chest. "Stupid question."

Both of them fell silent for a long moment.

"How long was I…?"

"You were gone about three hours or so," Dean gulped. "I couldn't hear anything most of time. I…I was afraid she'd lied or something." He didn't have to spell out what he meant by that. Sam understood, and his head ducked.

"I'm sorry."

"Not your fault."

Sam's breathing had improved a little being awake, but it wasn't enough to drop the problem off Dean's radar. "Hey, man, you gettin' enough air?"

"Enough," he agreed quietly. "I'll be fine, I'm…sure it'll pass."

"Yeah…"

More silence again. More damned awkward silence.

"Dean?"

"What?"

"Are we staying on the stairs?"

His eyebrows went up. "Oh. No, we're not staying here—unless you want to. Or we could just wait. It might not be too pleasant getting down there."

Sam smirked a little, his eyes closed again now. "Yeah, I kind of figured, but we can't stay up here."

"Yeah, I guess not." Dean sighed a stood up slowly, holding Sam's upper body up off the steps with a grip under his arms. His brother groaned when he made the shift to his feet, but he didn't protest, and Sam brought up his left knee to keep his bandaged wound from bumping the stairs.

"I guess we just take this slow…?"

Sam nodded in agreement. "Yeah, just…slow."

"Okay." Dean stepped back and down carefully, making sure to go only one step at a time, and pulled Sam with him. He was as gentle as he could be, dragging him down stairs, but there was just no avoiding the fact that it hurt him.

"Easy, Sammy. Almost there." Sam was gasping by the time they got to the bottom, and it wasn't only his arms shaking anymore. "Uhm, you wanna go over by the wall, or—"

"No. Just stop," he grated out.

Dean nodded wordlessly and lowered him to the ground beside the base of the stairs. He was no doctor, and he didn't know if the shivering was shock or if Sam was just cold and wet, but he knew he had to warm him up. He went in search of Sam's jacket, which lay abandoned across the room, and by the time he came back Sam had curled onto his side and gripped his arms around his chest again.

He was still shivering.

Dean settled Sam's jacket over him, and then pulled his own off and folded it up. He meant to pick Sam's head up for him to put it under there, but as soon as his hand brushed his brother's hair Sam jerked his head up on his own—as if to offer some semblance of reassurance that he wasn't completely helpless.

"Okay…" Dean settled the jacket on the floor, and Sam dropped his head onto it, muttering a tired thank you. Dean slid to the floor and sat beside his brother, back against the wall of the stairwell. At first he tried to stay quiet, let Sam rest…but the labored breathing still bothered him.

He cleared his throat to bring attention to himself. "So, uh…you think you got any broken ribs in there or anything?"

Sam squinted up at him. "What?"

"I saw the bruises, Sam."

He blinked. "Oh…" his head curled down again. "No, it's not that bad. I don't think anything's broken."

"They could still be cracked; to be brutally honest, man, you sound like crap. Well you look it too, but that's not the point."

Sam actually chuckled a little at that—another check on the good-sign tally for today, until he stopped and moaned. "Ah, don't make me laugh, you jerk."

Dean opened his mouth to respond, but then he smirked. "Dude, I'm not calling you a bitch lookin like that."

"Thanks so much," he answered, rolling his eyes.

"And back to the subject…"

Sam huffed out a small breath. "Dean, I don't know if anything's cracked, or if it's just what she did. I just know it hurts to breathe, okay?"

Dean winced. "Ouch." Or that was all he said on the outside, anyway. Inside, he was on the verge of panic. That was bad, wasn't it?

He reached out and clapped a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Just hang in there. We'll be out of here before you know it."

The words of so many before him who had been wrong.

Dean could only hope that he was telling the truth.