He was ranting a bit. Badly ranting. At least in a proper rant he could finish the trail of thoughts running through his mind. Now Sam was so desperate and frustrated and, honestly, kind of paranoid that he didn't even think that it was important to try. And what was up with Faith? Why was she being so relatively cool about all of this when he was over there steadily slipping his way onto the one-way track to panic city? He had told himself to stay calm. Now he was beginning to act like a hysterical person.
"Nothing," he said instantly, popping off the buttons. His plaid shirt dropped onto the floor and Sam was finally down to his t-shirt. It clung to his skin, him having sweated quite a bit under all of the heavy layers that he had been wearing. "It was nothing. I was just..." He rubbed at his face and moved at the door again. "We have to get out. I'm not dying in here and neither are you."
It was pointless, what he was doing. Trying to get the door to budge when he was having more and more trouble standing upright himself. But Sam did not care. Faith was hurt, they were losing air, and if he didn't find a way to save her...
"Gotta get out," he grunted, shakily pushing at the door again.