Here ya'll go! Enjoy! :) And I've got standardized tests this week and need some cheer, so make sure you review, too. ;) Lol, thanks ya'll!

Chapter 5

Sam coughed again, tightened his arm around his chest and winced, and probably thought Dean didn't notice. He did.

"So uhm…why didn't we try this before?" his little brother asked.

Dean shrugged from his own side of the stairs. Both of them had taken a side, just waiting, staying out of sight of the door. Leah was up there, moving the heavy cabinet away from the door again. She was coming.

"Because it's stupid, and it was too risky before. Okay, it's still too risky, but we don't have a lot of choice anymore. And just for review: I'm doing most of the work here. You're the distraction who is going to try his best not to get hurt; understand me?"

"Yeah…"

At least he was standing up, anyway. Dean hadn't been sure he could until a few moments ago.

"Boys? Don't be shy," Leah called from above. "It's time to play."

Neither of them said anything. It would let her know who was on which side, and right now her ignorance was to their advantage.

She sighed unhappily. "I'm not in the mood for games, Dean. Get up here now, or I'll come down there and take Sam myself."

Dean saw his brother glare in her direction, saw his jaw working, but thanked whatever was out there that he didn't move.

They heard the first step creak when Leah still received no answer. "Fine," she said coldly. "If you want to play it this way, I'm coming down. Just remember what I said about assumptions."

Sam looked at him quizzically, but Dean just shrugged. He listened, though. He wasn't planning to underestimate her again.

Leah descended carefully, but before the gun he was sure she held out came into view, a dark blur leaped past his eyes and then Leah was three feet from the stairwell, spinning to find them in her sights.

He had not seen that one coming. The plan had been for Sam to move first catch her attention, and for Dean to grab her from behind—with some possible hand-to-hand combat involved before he finally had her down, considering how good she was.

Dean reacted quickly, lunging forward to get under the gun before she could aim. He managed to knock it from her grip and into Sam's flailing arms that finally caught hold if it, but in the close quarters Leah's foot shot up into Sam's chest before Dean could tackle her.

Sam grunted out a surprised cry of pain and dropped immediately, sending the gun skittering across the floor to land beneath the feet of the other two. Leah went for it, and Dean slammed an elbow up into her face. Payback, he thought smugly.

"Ah!" Leah's head went up and back, but her knee caught him in the gut. Dean staggered back, but by the time he'd recovered mere seconds later, Leah had the pistol. He reached for it, and barely managed to deflect the shot—but not enough. He felt the bullet scrape through flesh as it shot over his left shoulder. Same damn shoulder, he thought, even as he shouted.

There was no answering cry of alarm from Sam, and as he dropped to his knees worried eyes swept in his brother's direction. Sam was still on his back, and from here Dean couldn't tell if he was breathing.

"Sam—!"

The worry cost him his chance to try to get back up and take her by surprise. Almost before he had the name out Leah was behind him, one arm around his throat and the other holding the barrel of the gun to him temple. His cry ended in a gargle of protest.

Leah was hardly breathing hard. "Come on, Dean, play nice."

The bullet hadn't gone in this time, but the shoulder still hurt just as much, and he was already lightheaded. He couldn't fight her when she tightened the arm around his throat, cutting off his air. His good arm came up, scrabbling at hers, but soon everything was gray.

Just before he was sure he was going to pass out, Leah loosened her grip and jerked him to his feet and pulled him back toward the stairs. He had only enough energy to make his legs cooperate enough to follow where she was dragging, and he had no choice but to do it. If he didn't, the pull on his neck would stop his air again, and he really would pass out.

His shoulder throbbed, and his head spun, and he struggled to keep up enough to keep himself conscious, but suddenly—now that he had enough air to remember—all that mattered was his brother.

"W-wait! Sam—" he gasped. "Is he—"

"He's breathing," Leah snapped. She dragged him backward up the stairs, arm still around his neck to keep him with her, and pulled him back into the same room as before. In the middle of the floor she let go of him and let him fall.

Dean landed on his knees, rubbing his neck. He glanced warily at the table. "Fine, bitch. Let's get this over with."

For a moment she studied him in amusement, and if he could have stopped the spinning long enough to jump up right then and knock her on her ass, he would have.

"No," she said finally. "I'm rather pissed off with the two of you right now. Deal's off."

"What…?" he coughed.

She reached into a pocket of her jacket, and snagged his left wrist with her other hand. Twisting that arm sent waves of pain up through his freshly wounded shoulder, hazing out the world for a moment. Dean felt himself pulled a few stumbling steps over as he shouted, and then something cold snapped around the wrist she held, and she let go.

Dean slumped, landing against a wall that was suddenly beside him. He tried to pull the abused limb close to his body, but found he couldn't. His eyes opened immediately, and he saw the handcuffs now holding his left wrist to a pipe in the corner that ran ceiling-to-floor.

He scowled at them. "Those new?"

"No, but I only have the one pair, so they were useless before."

It wasn't until then that Dean realized what she'd meant a moment ago. His eyes ran from the table across the room, out the door toward the basement, and then back to Leah in horror. "No."

She shrugged and turned on her heal. Dean pulled at the handcuffs, but the pipe was strong and pulling hurt his shoulder. "Come on; I'm the one that attacked you!"

"Yes you are." She glanced back once to smirk at him, and he could see in her eyes that the decision had already been made. Then she was out of sight, already at the basement door.

The anger came first. Dean pulled and tugged and jerked, ignoring the pain and his own cries that came with it while he tried, straining against the bond as he called after her. "Damnit, get back here! You can't do that! You'll kill him; do you hear me?!"

Faintly, from downstairs, he heard Sam groan loudly as he was startled awake, heard his protested moans as Leah dragged him up the stairs.

"Let him go! Don't you dare bring him in here; I'll kill you! I'll kill you!" Dean shouted, before Leah even had Sam in the door. He was barely conscious, staggering at her side, pulling back weakly in a hopeless attempt at escaping.

"You do this, and he'll die!"

"Maybe so—but not if I can help it."

"Why risk it in the first place?!"

She dragged Sam to the table and shoved him back against it, catching one of his wrists in the chains before he could slide down. He started pulling on that, then, but his eyes weren't even open. His only protests were inarticulate grunts. In moments she had Sam secured.

The handcuffs and the pipe weren't giving way at all, and the anger was slowly giving way to panic. "Leah, damnit, listen to me! Don't do this!" He forced his voice to hold the anger, but he was sure the plea held an edge of weakness that he hated.

Leah left Sam on the table and turned to him with raised eyebrows. "Are you actually calling me by my name?" She smirked. "And are you begging?"

Dean glared fiercely. "I'll beg if it'll keep you the hell away from my brother!"

For a just a moment—a brief moment—she seemed to falter at the fire in his eyes. Maybe she was human in there somewhere…but in the end it wasn't helping now. She recovered quickly, and snarled right back.

"I'm sorry, Dean, but it won't. Hurting you isn't the way to punish you." She pick up a plastic bucket that already waited on the floor nearby, and tossed its contents into Sam's face. "Rise and shine, Sammy!" she called, almost cheerfully.

Dean afforded her another glare for using the nickname reserved for his use, before focusing on his brother. Sam coughed and choked and sputtered for a moment, before he was fully awake and trying to orient himself.

"Sam?"

Confused eyes focused on him from across the small room. "Dean?" The confusion slowly dissolved into horror as he realized where he was….and that Dean was there too. "Dean—!" he gasped. The second call of his name was all fear and incredulity and dismay, and Dean's throat tightened.

"Sam, hang on. It'll be okay." He turned cold eyes on a smiling Leah. "Get. Him. Down."

"That's not on the table," she snapped.

"Then what is?" he replied, just to know what he was dealing with, he told himself. But…could he really stop her? Fiercely he pulled once more at the handcuffs, and the pain in his shoulder flared again. This time he really felt it, and a cry he couldn't stop tore from his lips and dropped him to his knees.

"Dean!" That one was weaker, and it was worry. He didn't need that right now; he needed to get Sam out of here. His free hand clamped over the wound, and he glowered up at Leah again.

Leah sauntered closer, careful to stay just out of striking distance. Over her shoulder he could see Sam pulling feebly but determinedly at the chains. Her voice dropped just low enough that Sam wouldn't be able to hear.

"Well there isn't much you can do, but if you gave me your word you'd help me convince your brother to use his powers for me…I might not leave him up there as long."

His eyes strayed back to Sam now, who realized she was speaking to his brother. Tired eyes wavered, but he was shaking his head slowly. Whatever it is, don't…

Dean spit in her direction. "Go to hell, bitch."

Leah shrugged and wandered back to Sam's side, plucking the clamps from the floor—the ones that were wired into more than one battery. Sam was pulling away again already, but getting nowhere…and though he grunted, whimpered in protest, he said nothing. Somehow that hurt more than if he were screaming for her not to do it.

Dean was frozen dumbstruck with horror as she attached the first clamp, but once she had taken the first step toward the other side the spell was broken.

"No!" His shoulder hurt too much for him to bring himself to tug at the handcuffs again, but that wouldn't help him anyway. Still he pushed himself back to his feet, shouting. Sam wouldn't look at him. Leah wouldn't stop looking at him, smirking all the while. "Don't!"

Dean's heart split in two when Sam's resolve waned, just before the second clamp came down to complete the circuit. He sobbed Dean's name, and his eyes snapped around to catch his brother's for no more than a split second.

Then Leah had fastened the clamp in place, and Sam's eyes clamped suddenly shut as his face twisted in agony and his back arched away from the table.

"NO!" Dean screamed. It only took seconds to really understand why Sam was having problems with his lungs already. He remembered from that morning that it was hard enough to breathe when there was only one battery…remembered that even after a short time up here he'd been left achy and out of breath, just for a little while.

Now he could see Sam trying to breathe, and could see that he couldn't, no matter how hard he tried. His body twisted and jerked and against the table, and quickly his lips were turning blue.

"Stop it; stop it, he can't breathe!"

"I know," Leah answered calmly. She pulled the clamp off and Sam slumped, gasping, though the sound was more moan than air. It took him several seconds to drag in a breath, and his face curled in fresh pain when he did.

But somehow he still managed to speak.

"N-no," he gasped. "Don't…make Dean…stay…"

Dean had to fight around the lump in his throat to croak anything out, and he knew his eyes weren't dry. "Sam?" There were already tears on Sam's face when he turned his eyes to his brother, and Dean's heart almost stopped cold at what he saw there.

No. Oh god, no. Sam didn't expect to survive this.

He didn't want Dean to see him die.

Suddenly he didn't care if Leah heard him, or if she even understood what she was hearing. "Sammy, no—" he choked. "You're gonna be fine. It'll be fine. You'll be fine, you hear me?"

But Sam looked away again, turning his eyes to the ceiling and refusing to look at Leah, either. "Please," he pleaded weakly, tightly. "Please, just…just get Dean…out of here."

"Sam!"

"I can't do that; I'm afraid it would defeat the purpose of this exercise," Leah replied coolly.

Sam's eyelids slipped shut, and more tears leaked from beneath them. "Please…" he begged.

Her answer was to replace the clamp.

Sam screamed that time. It was short lived, but it hurt—hurt worse this time because he saw it. Dean saw his brother's muscles tighten and spasm, saw his head jerk back, and saw the tears that came with the helpless cry of distress. The scream died into a feeble sob that shook his chest and his useless lungs that wouldn't work for him with the current freezing them.

Dean felt the first of the tears on his own face, and reached up blindly to scratch them away as his jaw locked. "No…" he seethed. "No, no, no!"

Leah stopped it again, and again it took Sam agonizing seconds to breathe again. His chest shuddered with the effort. After Leah paused the third time, the halting, stop-and-start motion of his breathing never stopped, no matter how long she waited between.

Eventually Dean's knees gave out from under him and he dropped abruptly back against the wall and sank to his knees, hand covering his wound again. He couldn't shout anymore; his throat was raw, and it wasn't helping. "No," he repeated over and over, more quietly. "No, no, god, Sam…Sam…" he moaned.

If he'd been possessed of all his senses he would have stopped—wouldn't have given Leah the satisfaction. But his fractured consciousness wouldn't let him sit and do nothing while Sam was tortured. He would do something, no matter how weak. He would keep protesting even if she kept going and he lost his voice, but he wouldn't do nothing. He lose his sanity and his brother altogether, if he did nothing.

Still there was that nagging voice in the back of his mind, John Winchester's voice, telling him more than once since childhood to watch out for Sam—to protect him. More than once his own conscience whispered the painful truth to add to it.

Helpless.

Dean didn't pull out of that stupor until everything went silent. His eyes had not been closed, but they hadn't been seeing. They snapped into focus then, and realized that Leah had stopped—and that Sam wasn't moving. He wasn't breathing.

"No…" He struggled back to his feet and mustered another shout even as Leah went to revive him. "Sam!" It wasn't until then that he realized his face was damp, but he made no move to bother with that now. Not now.

It took too long, but finally Sam sucked in a shallow breath and his chest was moving again—still jarringly, but it was moving.

And Leah, damn her, went for the clamp again.

"Are you insane?!" he hissed, as near to hysterics as he would ever allow himself to become. "Just leave him alone!"

She didn't come back with one of her snappy replies. She only clicked the clamp into place one more time, and watched as Sam's breath caught in his chest and his body stiffened. His brow furrowed some too, but that was all that happened now. He had long since lost any remains of real consciousness. Dean only flinched, too exhausted to do anything more. His own eyes clinched shut in agony at his brother's pain, at his own helplessness.

But behind his eyelids he could still see Sam jerking and screaming, even though he wasn't now, and somewhere Dean found a reserve of anger that propelled him away from the wall and to the short length of the handcuffs, pulling again, lunging toward Leah in fury even though he knew he wouldn't reach her.

"Just leave him the hell alone, damnit!" he screamed.

Leah turned quickly and actually stepped back in surprise. Then she glowered and pulled the clamps off. Sam's body collapsed limply against the table again, and Leah circled back around to pull the first clamp off and drop them both to the floor again.

"He wouldn't last much longer, anyway," she answered haughtily. "And there's no point in killing him just yet, no matter how stubborn he is."

Dean wasn't looking at her. He was staring at his brother. "Shut up! He's not breathing!" The panic was back. What if she couldn't revive him this time? What if they'd lost him after all?

Leah's eyes rolled, but she went to work on him again. Dean didn't realize he'd been holding his breath into Sam finally pulled in air, and a rush of it burst from his own lungs. Leah waited a moment, making sure he kept breathing on his own, and then swiftly turned and headed for the door.

"Where are you going? You have to get him down!"

"Do it yourself," she spat back. She pulled something from her pocket and tossed it at his feet. He heard the metallic ping and realized it was the key to the handcuffs.

Dean went for it immediately, but his eyes lost it and he wasted precious seconds finding where it had skittered to. By then the door was closed, and he could hear Leah outside pushing the heavy cabinet out from where it rested by the basement door. He was sure she meant to put it in front of this door, to keep them in here for now—but he had to get to door before then. If he could do that, he could get through even if it was locked—he had to—and he could take her down.

He finally found the key and snatched it up, cursing his clumsy hands as he fumbled with it unintentionally. Until now he hadn't truly grasped the fact that he was trembling. Be it from anger or fear or exhaustion or a combination, it didn't matter. It was slowing him down now, as his hands shook while he tried to get the handcuffs open. The sounds outside were too close. He didn't have anymore time!

Finally the key slipped in and the cuff snapped open, freeing his hand. Dean lurched toward the door, slamming into it with his good shoulder. When that did no good he backed up and kicked. He felt one side of the door giving way, and realized Leah only had half of the cabinet in front of the door. He still had a chance.

With a furious cry Dean braced himself and kicked at the door again, and again. The wood of the half that gave cracked—audibly, anyway—and he heard the lock and latch creaking, but then the cabinet was all the way in place and his next kick did nothing. He rebounded back from the door, breathing hard. He stood staring at it for a long moment, glaring…until he remembered his brother.

"Sam." Drying his face quickly, he spun and rushed back to the table. Sam was still out cold, breathing barely deep enough for his chest to move at all. His damp shirt stuck to his chest as his hair clung to his forehead and neck, and his skin—much too pale now to offer Dean any consolation at all—was still covered in a bright sheen of sweat.

Dean kicked the loose chain loops from around his ankles, and gently went to working the metal cuff ends of the other chains from around his brother's wrists. It was hard to do without scraping the raw skin any worse, and he grimaced after he'd seen only the first one.

By then Sam was slipping down the incline, and Dean leaned into him to keep him up while he worked the other cuff off. Then he leaned back again and let Sam slide into his arms. "Easy, easy, come on…" he mumbled, though he wasn't sure who he talking to.

Dean fell back a couple of steps on purpose, to pull him over the stakes that held the table in place, and then he lowered both Sam and himself slowly to their knees. He had to hold on tight to keep him upright, and Sam's head lolled limply over his shoulder. The wound there ached, but it was dull now. It was only a surface injury, after all…and that didn't matter now, anyway.

Dean swallowed hard and buried his face in his brother's damp neck. "Sammy…"

He could feel Sam's chest rise and fall against his, still pausing when it shouldn't, still never rising enough. Please…please…he has to be okay…

He wanted to wake Sam up, make sure he was all right…but that part of him battled with the part that wanted to let him stay unconscious as long as he could—away from any pain.

Movement against his ear spared him the choice. A soft moan told him Sam was awake, and large clumsy hands came up to grip his shoulders from behind in a weak attempt at returning the embrace Dean had on him.

"Still…here…" Sam breathed after a moment.

Dean felt his eyes grow moist again, and held Sam close to keep him from pulling back and seeing it. He breathed an inward sigh of relief. "Yeah. Yeah you are, and you're not goin' anywhere, either."

For a long moment there was silence, and then Sam let go. He shifted, trying to sit up on his own, but it brought a gasp of pain that dropped him limp into Dean's arms again, grimacing.

"Sammy, what is it?"

An arm came up around his chest. "Definitely…something cracked…now."

"But she didn't…" He trailed off, making a face. She wouldn't have had too. He was jerking around enough on his own, and the ribs were already bruised…weak…and maybe something had already cracked some.

Sam had twisted to the side when he slipped down again, and now he was only against Dean's good shoulder, leaning into it heavily. "Dean…" he began quietly. "If she does that again…"

"I know," he snapped, more harshly than he'd meant to. He felt rather than saw Sam wince, and he sighed. "I know…" They fell into silence again, and he had nothing to listen to but his brother's ragged, inconsistent breaths.

"Sam, seriously, are you getting enough air?" he asked finally.

"Barely," Sam admitted weakly.

Dean swore, and forgot that his brother could see his other shoulder now. By the time he looked at his again, Sam was scowling at the blood soaking his sleeve just around the wound.

"What happened?"

"It's just a scratch."

"She shot you?"

He could see Sam getting angry, and he pressed a hand on his brother's chest to steady him. "Hey, she shot you too and you got it worse. Chill out, dude."

Sam tried to sit up, breath coming more harshly, but with the hand on his chest Dean pushed him back against his shoulder. "Hey, I said take it easy. You suffocate and go dying on me, and I swear I will kick your ghost ass."

He smiled just a little at that, and Dean took what he could get willingly. The momentary levity kept him from dwelling on the fact that he was realizing just how fragile Sam was now. A wrong move, if anything upset him…he could stop breathing. How was he supposed to get him out of here like that? Still he came back to the center of the problem: Leah. There was no way around it now; he would have to take her out first, so he could get Sam out of here as carefully as possible.

They probably wouldn't be able to avoid the hospital now, either.

Sam's smile disappeared as he doubled over, coughing, and somehow had the energy to cry out when that hurt him.

"Sam! God…" Dean pulled him up again, and eyed the wall. "Come on…over there." He stood up slowly, and dragged Sam backwards like he had down the stairs. He thanked something that this time it was a flat surface that didn't hurt him so much, and that the room was small.

It didn't take long to get him propped up in the corner, and the walls were a lot sturdier than Dean himself at the moment. Sam let his head drop back against the painted drywall. "You sure your arm is okay?"

"Yeah. It's fine. You just get some rest, okay?"

Sam just snorted and pulled his arms around his chest again.

Dean settled himself against the wall beside him. "Hey, at least try."

He closed his eyes reluctantly, but in moments he was sound asleep. Dean knew he would probably need to keep an eye on him, but for now…

He got up and wandered back to the table, kicking at the stakes. He was sure he'd noticed something, getting Sam down…

There. A couple of them were loose. Dean bent down and pushed at the stake on one end, wiggling it back and forth until it popped out of its hole. There wasn't a whole lot he could do with this, usually, except throw it at a ghost, but maybe now it could serve a different purpose.

Dean walked up beside the table to the window, examining the piece of plywood there and the nails that secured it over the window frame. He searched around the edge, looking for a place where the wood didn't quite meet the frame. He found one soon; it wasn't a perfect job, not meant to be watertight against weather. It was only supposed to keep them from breaking the window and getting out.

He supposed Leah hadn't expected them to get that creative.

"Sorry to disappoint," he muttered irritably. He shoved the tip of the stake in the gap and used his good arm and as much of the other as he could to start levering at the plywood, fueling his work with his anger. To his satisfaction, it didn't take long for the nails to begin to slip back up through the thin, slick wood of the painted window frame. It wasn't something he could have done with his hands, and it would still take some time to get the plywood off…but this could work.

Dean was going to do his job if it was the last thing he ever did—and with no ghosts here, his only job right now was to take care of Sam.

That meant getting him out of here—soon.