Author's Note: Again, sorry for last night, I got real busy, and then I got real tired, and then I got kinda cranky… so, yeah. And if I still haven't replied to your reviews, I'm working on it. I like to thank each of you, cause you don't have to review, but you do anyway. It's great!

Chapter 13: Awakening

The hospital room was deathly silent, every person in it unmoving, whether they were unconscious or not.

Laura looked up at Morgan who knew immediately what she was after. "It's just after one."

She groaned, and turned back to give Sam a shake, knowing it wasn't going to work. She was right. They had tried already to bring Sam back, though the psychic had guessed from the moment Sam had been pulled fully into the dream that it would be no use. She had been right about that obviously.

Suddenly Sam's body jerked, and Morgan jumped, going for his weapon but having enough nerve not to draw it. But besides a small gasp that only Laura heard, the young man didn't wake.

The two left behind shared a look and turned back to the brothers, praying. It was the only thing they could do.

Sam gasped for breath where he had fallen, his chest on fire, heart hammering away. He hadn't lost consciousness, thank God, but he almost wished he had. Taking rocksalt to the chest was incredibly painful, and he knew now why Dean hadn't exactly been in the mood to talk that day over a year ago. Besides his obvious hatred of 'chick-flick moments' that was.

Giving a cough he struggled to sit, before falling back down. Not just from the pain though. No, the double barrels stuck in his face had a little something to do with it.

"You little bitch," Dean spat at him, quivering still with rage. "I knew I shouldn't have trusted you!"

"Why?" Sam demanded.

"You shot me! You tried to kill me!" Dean told him, spitting it. Sam stared him directly in the eyes.

"I was… brain-washed," Sam explained. Then he gave a reckless grin. "Does that mean you believe those flashes are real?"

Dean gaped down at him, before snapping it shut with wonder. Sam could almost see the thoughts whirling in his head.

"It doesn't matter," the demon snarled, coming closer. It had a handgun in it's grip. Giving Sam an evil grin, it spoke to Dean. "He's still evil, Dean. And you still have to kill him."

Still deep in thought, Dean didn't seem to notice that the demon had taken the shogun from him and replaced it with the much more lethal handgun. Sam swallowed, fear beating wildly. He wasn't about to die. He refused to. He refused to let Dean live with it for the rest of his life, however short that was likely to be.

"Dean, I'm not evil," he denied. "I'm your brother. And I'm not sending you those flashes. They're very real, and they're completely yours."

He wasn't sure if Dean had heard him: his brother seemed lost in thought, his eyes narrow with concentration. He had to get him to break through his own brainwash. Before he tried to kill his brother.

"Dean," he said softly, and it pulled the older hunter's attention to him. Dean took a deep breath, so low Sam almost didn't hear it. "Please, all you have to do is remember. Remember… the night Mum died. You carried me from the building. The same when Jessica was killed. You saved my life. You've saved it so many times…"

Dean was frowning, but Sam knew it wasn't a good thing. Dean was struggling to remember those times, but Sam got the feeling it was like clutching at the air. You couldn't catch what you couldn't see, what you couldn't feel. Unless it pushed at you first.

Inspiration struck Sam. He was going about this the wrong way. Dean wasn't a sentimental sap. And when they came close to anything even resembling chick-flick, they had one thing to turn to.

Sam gave a deep grin, and Dean cocked his head in amazement that the man could do so when he was facing death in the form of a gun he had used so many times before.

"Jerk.'

The man who claimed to be his brother smiled up at him and Dean couldn't believe the temerity of him.

"Jerk."

Dean leaned back, taken aback. That was all he had time to feel, before he felt the all too familiar flashes take his mind away…

The apartment was small, and more than likely temporary, but neither stopped Dean from leaning intently over his homework, nor from him wishing he could do exactly as Sammy wanted and go outside and play.

"If I come home with another detention, Dad's going to kill me, Sammy," he informed his pouting eleven-year-old brother. "No go find something to do you little bitch."

There was no spite in his words, but Sam's mouth still opened wide, unable to believe Dean had used a naughty word in front of him, let alone aimed it at him.

"Yeah, well…" The kid looked around, as if the sparsely decorated room would offer inspiration. But it gave him nothing and Sammy turned to the worst insult he could think of.

"Jerk!"

Dean was on his knees, gun lying discarded by his side. Sam was sitting up, eyes wide as his older brother panted on the floor, eyes glazed as his mind forced him to remember. It didn't look pleasant, and he wondered what memories Dean was sifting through.

Standing above them both, the demon-as-Sam held its mouth open in a silent shriek of loss.

The alley was dark, but that hadn't stopped either brother from kicking ass. As the creature disappeared into dust, Dean looked down, smirking as the remains covered Sam where he was sprawled on the floor, the creature having been taking advantage of Sam's ungainliness over his latest growth spurt.

"Saved your ass again, damsel," Dean gloated as he gave his little brother a hand. Sam scowled at him.

"Only after I pulled it off your head, jerk."

"Bitch."

Dean was subconsciously clutching at his head now, obviously not aware of anything but what was going on in his own mind. Sam scrambled to his knees, taking Dean by the shoulders and hoping he had done the right thing. But it would take both of them to kill the demon. He needed Dean free from its manipulations.

At his touch, Dean looked up, and Sam gasped at seeing blood dripping from his brother's nose. His grip tightened.

"Come on Dean," he encouraged.

The motel room was a mess, and had obviously been abandoned for days. Dean felt like he remembered it, but independent thought was lost as he put his hand out, only just becoming aware of the gross smell coming from his own clothes.

"No chick-flick moments."

Sam grinned and half ducked his head. "All right… jerk."

Dean only grinned internally. "Bitch."

Suddenly the demon screamed, and Sam flinched at the high-pitched shriek, never taking his hands from Dean, offering any strength he had and wishing he could really give it to his brother.

"No!" the demon wailed, trembling, shaking, obviously losing strength. Sam turned to Dean, ignoring the curses and cries the demon was screeching now.

"You can do this, Dean!"

They were in the Impala, Dean was driving, Sam was shaking his head. "Jerk."

Dean grinned, and drew out the word, "Bitch."

"Jerk." –

"Bitch." –

Jerk, Bitch, Jerk, Bitch –

Bitch –

"Bitch!" Dean whispered, suddenly coming to. Before him Sam sagged with relief, and the older brother looked up at him with a sheepish grin.

"About time, Dean," the younger man said, his relief taking any spite from the words. But it wasn't like they had time to celebrate.

"NO!"

The demon screamed it, and the hunters scrambled to their feet, turning to face their foe, as one. Sam could hardly believe it, could feel the triumph swelling in his chest. Not that he had time to dwell on it.

The demon loomed over them, reminding each just who's reality it was. The demon seemed to be growing, getting bigger while remaining exactly the same size. The brothers took a step back.

"So we have to kill it?" Dean asked, assuming that was the case, getting right to the job and overlooking his recent brainwashing. Sam nodded, and the demon boomed a laugh.

"Try, then," it suggested, voice deep, far deeper than Sam's own. Then, in a far more sinister tone, eyes narrow with rage, "I dare you."

It didn't give them the opportunity. One flick of its eyes, and both brothers went flying, in opposite directions. Sam hit the wall and bounced to the floor, gasping for breath.

Things had been quiet in the hospital room when suddenly Laura cried out, taking her hand from Sam's shoulder and standing barely moments before the door opened.

Doctor Ellis walked in, stopping as he took in Laura and Morgan. His jaw dropped. "What the hell are you doing here? I said no one else but Sam…"

He trailed off as he saw Sam, most definitely unconscious, head lying on Dean's bed. He seemed to struggle with himself for a moment, before he noticed the bruises.

He turned to Laura and Morgan, who were sharing an anxious glance. "What the hell is going on here?"

"You wouldn't believe us if we told you," Laura told him sternly. Ellis' face went white with anger.

"I'm calling the cops. Real cops," he added with a shrewd glance at Morgan. The cop winced and pulled out his gun.

"I'm really sorry, doc, but I can't let you do that."

Ellis dropped the phone as he saw the gun pointed at him, and when, if possible, even whiter. "Don't be an idiot, Morgan," he warned. Laura shook her head, moving to close the door.

"You'll understand soon, Doctor Ellis," she promised as Morgan moved the doctor from in front of the closed curtains. She hoped she was right.

Sam struggled to his feet, thankful to find Dean imitating him, though the older man was pulling the curved blade Mary had given him from his belt, holding it easily. The demon saw it and gave a pause. Then it grinned, and flung its arm out.

Sam got the idea that they were still way out of their league when Dean crashed into the same bookcase as he himself had earlier.

When Dean didn't get back up, Sam swallowed, knowing this wasn't good. He felt the chills down his spine as his own face turned to meet him, every murderous thought clear in those icy brown eyes that didn't fit in Sam Winchester's face.

"You, I'm going to kill nice and slow."

So, Dean's saved… sort of. Can they get out of the dream though? Dum dum da!

Oh, and ah, tomorrow night is, ah, the last post. I was going to tell you all earlier, but I kept on forgetting. So, conclusion(s) tomorrow night, aka the last two chapters.