"Shit!" exclaimed Dean, his hands wrapping around the device and his legs already in motion for the end of the hallway and he shouted over his shoulder, "Sam, come on, it's down at the opposite end of the freakin' hall."
Sam took off after Dean and both were soon breathing heavily as they rushed to reach the room before the Sandman slaughtered his next victim. Dean reached the door first and rammed it with his shoulder to bust the lock, ignoring the spasm of pain that this effort caused. Sam skidded to a halt to the left of Dean and both took stock of the sight before them. In a bed lay a woman with slightly graying hair. There were laugh lines and frown lines on her face, showing that she'd lived, loved and lost. She had once been hooked up to a monitor for all sorts of vitals to be observed by the doctors, but now the machines were shut off. The woman was still asleep but not with any type of good dreams, that was obvious as her face was contorted with pain and fear. Unknown to her, and her doctors now that the monitors were off, a wraith-like creature sat atop of the woman's chest. The being seemed to whip up a frenzy in the sleeping woman, making her scream in terror, writhing on the bed. Her breathing became more labored and in shorter rasps for air.
The Winchester's surveyed the scene quickly and drew out their weapons of choice, which they never traveled without. Sam clutched a knife blessed in holy water, it's sharp straight blade already aimed for the wraith's core, where in a human the heart would be. Dean wasted no time in pulled out the demon-killing Colt, which they had finally been able to retrieve after much tracking, and another pistol loaded with rock salt, the spirit repellent of choice in firearms. Cool resolve swept throughout the room as the Winchester's made their move on the Sandman creature. The tall black-cloaked figure turned to face its assailants. A clawed hand protruded from the cloak and under the hood no visible face could be seen.
Dean fired round after round of the Colt's bullets at the creature, forcing it to tumble off the woman. Sam came to her aid, checking to see if she was still breathing. Meanwhile, Dean's actions did nothing to slow the wraith down. It recovered quickly and advanced toward Dean and clutched him around the neck, shoving him hard against the wall. Dean gasped for air, trying to angle the rock-salt gun in a manner that would hit the creature but unable to move his arm. Lack of oxygen began to make Dean more desperate and his eyes were glazing over.
"Dean!" roared Sam as he rushed over with the knife to help his older brother, rage evident on his face.
"Little help, Sammy," choked out Dean, who couldn't keep the growing fear and panic out of his weakening voice. His hands groped at the creatures hands for release, for a breath of air. Blood began to flow around his neck as the creature dug in.
Sam came around the back and, reaching around, plunged the knife into the creature's hooded face, and it reeled backwards, howling in pain. However, it was still able to pin Sam underneath its body. Sam winced as the wind was knocked out of him. He felt himself losing consciousness and was already beginning to see mind-numbing nightmares of death and destruction. Icicles of fear wrapped around his heart and made his mind go blank, seeing only the nightmare the creature was forcing upon him.
Dean slid down the wall, still trying to catch his breath but determined to come to Sam's aid. His face was grim, mouth set in a determined line as he forced himself off the wall and charged at the creature, firing the pistol filled with rock salt. His resolve didn't wavier; the need to protect Sam was strong. Two shots told him all he needed to know.
"This bastard isn't fully corporeal, Sam," Dean wore a triumphant grin on his face as the Sandman wraith disappeared in a whirl of translucent white vapor.
Sam grabbed at his chest and attempted to stand up with Dean's help. The pain from his chest was evident on his face but Sam quickly gathered his wits and reached down to pick up his knife off the floor from where it had fallen. As he straightened back up his eyes widened in shock as the Sandman rematerialized behind Dean. Before Sam could so much as utter a cry the wraith-like being had twisted Dean around, slammed him to the floor, and sat on his chest. It was Dean's turn to feel the nightmarish grip of the creature. The hooded dark figure sent a breath of white mist at Dean's face and Sam moved quickly as Dean suddenly stopped moving. The cloaked creature didn't move off of Dean, try as Sam might to pummel it with the knife, but he couldn't reach the salt gun because it was between the creature and his brother.
Dean wasn't moving at all, except for his eyes, which bulged as he tried to force himself to move. Sam sobbed as his efforts continued to produce no change in the situation.
"Evil son of a bitch! I will not go down like this, I will fight!" thought Dean, unable to voice any cries of anger, frustration, or fear. Trapped. Paralyzed from the Sandman creature on him that was crushing the life and breath from his very lungs.
"Dean, you can fight it," cried a distraught Sam. He made a last desperate attempt at the gun, using his full weight and a knife to the creature's face to dislodge it from Dean's chest.
The creature gave way ever so slightly and Sam made his move, landing on Dean and grabbing the gun, firing the last round into the creature. Once again it disappeared in a cloud of white haze as the rock salt hit its chest. Over on the bed, the woman began to stir, opening her eyes. She gave an involuntary gasp at the rather battered men in front of her who were struggling to stand up.
"Ma'am, we've got everything under control," wheezed Dean, who attempted to smile but ended it in a grimace of pain. He grabbed his gun from Sam, "Nice shootin' Tex."
She grabbed the bed sheet and pulled it up to her chin, shaking slightly from fear and exhaustion.
"Dean, I don't think it's gon…," began Sam, who stopped talking midsentence as the creature appeared behind her. Sam moved to pull the woman down off the bed while Dean quickly reloaded and leveled the gun at the creature, who was distracted by Sam's movement and the removal of the woman from its grasp. Dean moved in and fired off several more salt rounds.
Bang. Bang. Bang. One after another they pounded into the wraith, wisps of it flying in all directions. Dean charged ahead at the being, uncontrolled fury plainly visible on his face. Sam was dragging the woman off the hospital bed and they fell in a heap on the floor, Sam looking up to see if Dean was ok. The wraith was still hovering over the bed, definitely the worse for wear. It was more transparent than ever before and no longer made a move to attack anyone in the room. Standing less than two feet away Dean fired the final salt round. It struck the transparent creature square in the chest and shards of red light came through the opening. The Sandman gave a final shriek, the wail piercing the air and breaking the glass of the mirror in the corner over the sink. It flickered a few times, like an old movie projector skipping, and then exploded. Smoke from the gun drifted from the barrel and left the room in a slight haze.
"And that is how you get 'er done, Sammy. The Sandman will no longer bop children and insomniacs on the head with his bag of sand and then dig their eyes out with a spoon," quipped Dean.
"Sure, Dean, whatever you say," sighed Sam, helping the badly shaken woman back to her bed. He went on to assure the woman that everything was fine, that she'd just had a horrible nightmare, they were new night-staffers. The story went on for a while, but in the end he had her convinced.
"Good job, hell, you almost have me convinced that we're nice little helpers here at the clinic," mocked a now relieved Dean as they walked out of the sleep clinic.
"I don't know, Dean, it all seems a little too easy, killing a god has never been easy."
"You call that easy? I recall it had you in its ninja death grip."
"Say what you want, but I'm not so sure we're done here. Why'd it never attack our eyes?"
"Well, do what you want, I'm getting a beer and celebrating; maybe it had enough eyes for the month or only eats blue ones," Dean bickered back at Sam, ready to kick back, "I think we've earned some time off, head to a nice hotel with a couple of blondes…"
Sam settled into the Impala's comfortable seat and let Dean plan and scheme the night away, leaning his head back while reviewing the night's events, how amazingly easy his brother bounced back from a difficult hunt, and how the Sandman they had just gotten rid of didn't seem to fit the profile.
To be continued...
