Dean turned away from the far wall when Sam grunted in pain behind him. His brother had somehow managed to pull himself into a tiny ball at the foot of the stone slab. "It's okay," Dean said a little louder than perhaps he needed too. "You don't need to do that."

Either Sam wasn't listening or he didn't hear Dean, and he rolled onto his side and wrapped his arms around himself. Dean looked at him for a second, unsure whether to climb the window quite yet or not, when Sam moaned again. Even though he was turned away from Dean and in the dark, his body language – tight spine, hugging his knees to tight – spoke volumes about how much pain the kid was in right now.

"Whoa Sammy, you okay there kiddo?" Dean got down on his hands and knees again and got as close to Sam as he could, putting a cautious hand on the younger man's shoulder.

Sam didn't respond, and Dean reached out and braced one hand against the wall so he could look over at Sam's face. He didn't like what he saw. "…Sam?" His little brother flinched, his eyes squeezing shut and shooting open a few times. "Dude, answer me." Dean shook Sam's shoulder slightly, to no response. "Where does it hurt?"

Dean pulled his eyes away from Sam's face long enough to notice the rest of him. His chest was moving slightly in and out, really fast, and he seemed to be unable to breathe. A noise escaped his throat, almost like he was choking on something.

Hurriedly, Dean jumped down from the table and pulled Sam's weight towards him until he was lying out on his back. "Sam, you've got to breathe, okay?" Sam moaned in pain with the motion, but it didn't appear to be under his control at all. He was still moving his chest up and down, trying to force the air into his lungs, but it wasn't working. Dean had his hands out, but he wasn't sure how he could help. Because of Sam's critical condition, he knew that the wrong movement of any kind could kill his brother. A broken bone internally could pierce an organ or a major artery, or his blood could clot, or his lungs could fill with fluid. Sitting him up, moving him, giving him chest compressions; any of these could kill Sam. Or they could save him.

Dean didn't know what to do, and his hands started to shake with panic. "Dude, you've gotta breathe!"

Sam's eyes bored into Dean's, and he could see that his brother was panicking. By now, his chest was heaving too harshly to not get any air, and all the cords in his neck were tightly clenched. He couldn't breathe. Sammy couldn't breathe!

The risk was too great now for Dean to follow reason. Doing CPR could kill Sam right now, but if he didn't do it than Sam was going to die for sure. He quickly found Sam's sternum, then moved an inch or two down and placed his hand – palm up – in that spot. He put the other hand on top of it, closing his hands into a fist and leaning forward so that his arms were rigid. He put a lot more weight into the middle of Sam's chest than he would have dubbed safe in any other circumstances, and tried not to wince as Sam's body curled slightly inward with the harsh impact.

"Dammit Sam, don't you do this to me!" Dean counted the chest compressions in his head, but began loosing count in a few seconds. "Just breathe, I know you can just breathe. Come on Sammy, please. Don't you die on me!"

Sam's eyelids fluttered somewhere in between open and closed, and behind them Dean saw white as Sam's eyes kept rolling back upwards as he bordered unconsciousness. His head would lift off from the table every once in a while from Dean's chest compressions, but it didn't jolt the man into anything. Dean bit his lip between his teeth, stopping to check for breathing. Until now, he hadn't even noticed that there was blood on Sam's lips. "Sam, do you hear me? Sam!?"

No, no, no, no, no….

Despite Dean's efforts, Sam didn't respond. He just lay there bleeding, unmoving. Unresponsive. Dean pulled his hands off of Sam's chest long enough to feel along Sam's neck for a pulse.

There was nothing there.

Dean choked back tears, and a sob escaped his lips. "No Sammy, no, no…"Dean tilted Sam's head back and made a circle with his fist, placing it over Sam's mouth as a crude filter and bringing his own mouth to the open fist and blowing in air. He took another deep breath, forcing that in also. He turned his head to the side, looking for breathing, feeling for hot breath on his face, but there was nothing. "Come on Sammy, please. Come back, Sam." He pulled his hand away from Sam's face, ignoring the blood on his fingers that he had somehow kept out of his own mouth. Quickly, he started going at the chest compressions again, the room around him blurry in a fog of tears and noisy sobs. After a while, he had forgotten his pattern, or how long he had been doing it. He closed his eyes, tears running down his face and clinging to the end of his nose and the underside of his chin, dripping down his neck and onto Sam's chest in a salty, snotty mess. No, no, no, no, no, no…

Suddenly Dean heard a soft choking noise, and almost immediately afterwards Sam started coughing, his eyes shooting open in pain.

"Sam!" Dean put a hand on his brother's shoulder to keep him from sitting up when he tried too. "Jesus Sammy, just breathe. It's okay. It's gonna be okay. Just breathe slowly."

There was a little coughing, some wheezing and a lot of time before Sam's eyes finally met Dean's. "De…" He took a deep breath – which didn't seem to easy or pleasant by any means – and groaned softly. "Ugh…"

"Relax Sammy, just take it easy." Dean leaned foreword, rubbing Sam's shoulder softly. "It's okay, you're okay."

As hard as it was to keep a protective and hopeful expression, Dean forced one on his face and hoped that Sammy would buy it. But deep inside, they both knew that he was lying.

Sam took a minute to get his breathing down, and when he finally spoke his words were airy and soft. "…Dean…"Hazel-green eyes were glued to the ceiling, refusing to meet their genetic twins across the space between them. "…I think …I'm in trouble…"

Dean's first instincts were to tell Sam that he was wrong, that Dean knew what he was doing. That he was going to get Sam out of there okay. But the fact was, that Dean didn't think he could lie to Sam if he couldn't lie to himself. Sam wasn't alright. Dean didn't know how to get his brother out of there. "Yeah Sammy, we are." Hopefully, Sam caught the meaning behind Dean's word change. If Sammy was in trouble, Dean was in trouble. Enough said.

Sam's lip curled in a bit of a smirk and he raised his eyebrows a little bit, making Dean smile. That was a Sammy bitch-face if ever he saw one, and Sam was doing it on purpose. "We?"

Dean nodded. "Mhmm. We. I don't know about you, but I could use a hot shower right now."

Sam laughed softly, but it wasn't long before the motion caused him to gasp in pain, grabbing onto Dean's arm.

"Sorry man, just take it easy." Dean squeezed Sam's arm back, hating how rugged Sam's breathing sounded right now.

Taking a few deep breaths, Sam started coughing and pulled on Dean's sleeve a little bit. Dean tried not to flinch when a little bit of blood landed on the front of his shirt.

"D'n?"

"Yea Sammy," Dean replied softly, leaning forewords a bit so that Sam didn't have to speak up. "What is it?"

"I…uh…"Sam's jaw locked in pain for a second, his eyes squeezed closed. "I t'ink… we should find…who's… outside."

Even though it was a logical hunters' question, Dean froze. Sam was trying to rush the big meeting. Find out who's outside. Someone had locked them in here, and Sam was in a hurry to get the fight over with. He didn't think he had much time left.

"S-Sure Sammy, good idea. I'll go make a scene." Dean hesitated for a minute, relishing the feel of his brother's arm under his hand. What if this was the last chick-flick moment he would have with his brother? What if the enemy outside that door killed them all the second he brought the fight on? What if Sammy didn't even last that long?

It didn't matter, Dean realized. The showdown had to happen eventually, and this was what Sam wanted. They couldn't sit here forever. If Dean didn't at least try and get Sammy out of here, that would be worse than killing Sam himself.

Was it his dying wish?

Stop it Dean! He's not gonna die!

Wiping his face with a coat sleeve, Dean came away with less tears, snot, blood, and sweat than had been there before. Back turned to his little brother – his little dying brother - he strutted over to the door on the far side of the wall and started pounding on the door. And then he started screaming.