Author's Note: So, last chapter, and this'll probably be my last AN for False Beckoning. I hoped you enjoyed reading it as much as I loved writing it, and thank you sooooo much to every single person who reviewed, you have no idea how awesome they are… unless you write yourself, then I expect you know just how awesome they are.

Chapter 14: Demon's Death

Sam backed up until he was at the wall as the demon approached him. For a moment the complete insanity of the situation threatened to overwhelm him with giggles – he was about to be murdered by himself. But he subdued them and waited for the demon's attack

He didn't have to wait long. The demon practically flew at him, and Sam ducked, relieved he had when the demon's fist went through the wall.

He spun away, making sure he was facing the demon at all times. He needed a weapon or something. Because he sure as hell wasn't going to defeat this demon with his fists.

Not that he wasn't going to try.

The demon came at him again, swinging wildly with its fists. Sam ducked them both, before standing up and driving his own fist into the demon's gut. It didn't do anything, and the demon used Sam's shock to his advantage, shoving an uppercut so hard up under Sam's chin that shards of light blinded him as he flew through the air.

To his relief he landed on the bed and the only bit that hurt about that was rolling off it to land on the floor. Still dazed he struggled to his feet, aided once more by the demon as it grabbed his shirt and dragged him to a stand.

It was only so it could punch him again, but this time Sam was ready. Knowing he couldn't block it, knowing he lacked the strength, he stumbled to the side, shaking his head to finally clear his vision.

Suddenly he tripped, as he walked backwards, and fell, landing awkwardly on the arm that was injured in the real world. He gave a wince, and looked to see what had caused his fall. And then cursed the damn shotgun that he would have been grateful for a moment ago.

The demon stood over him, utter bemusement clear on its face. "You have no idea the reception I'll receive for ridding the world of the Winchester brothers," it gloated over him.

Sam snarled and got to his feet, holding his arm gingerly. "Careful. You haven't killed us yet."

It waved its hand. "Details." It grinned. "Besides, you're the one I really want to kill."

Sam's jaw dropped. "What? Why?"

"Because you can get into my dreams." It raised an eyebrow at him. "Do you know the frustration you've caused me? I mean, you almost distracted me while I was taking that girl, with your sudden appearance in the dream – I couldn't believe it when she saw you. I suppose I should be grateful you were only halfway in and couldn't actually do anything."

It shook his head, and then glanced back at where Dean was still lying unconscious on the floor. "And then, of course, there's all your interference in Dean's dreams. Making him remember all those things. Actually popping in for a chat, while he was in hospital."

"Showing up here," Sam added, and then paused when the demon shook his head.

"No, I wanted you here. I mean, sure, I was angry after my botched attempt on dragging you here, dosing you with my own special medicine, that would distract you enough to get you in, to keep you alive long enough to suck every ounce of life I could… but you and your brother really are good at screwing up my plans. So I took Dean, and the more I thought about it though, the more I realized how perfect it was."

Sam saw immediately. "You wanted Dean to try and kill me," he breathed, looking at Dean's prone form. The demon nodded.

"I knew you'd come after him, especially after you realized that you could. Like I said, you Winchesters have this need to save people, it's rather predictable. But I knew there was no way you weren't coming. I just had to convince Dean you were evil, let him kill you… I would have been killing two birds with one stone. Or two Winchesters, as it were. You would have been dead, you and your damn annoying psychic powers, and Dean wouldn't have been far behind once I released him and he realized what he had done. Now that would have been fun to watch."

"So the others, can they enter dreams as well?"

The demon snorted. "A bigger bunch of closed-minded fools I've never met," it announced in a demon's usual haughty tone when talking about humans. "But they were tasty. Strong willed. Not as strong as you or your brother, but that'll make your death all the sweeter."

To its obvious surprise, Sam grinned up at it. "Like I said, we're not dead yet."

The demon's grin deepened until it was quite evil. "Like I said, details."

And it lashed out, punching so hard that Sam went spinning, sprawling on the ground. The demon picked up the shotgun and laid it at Sam's forehead where he lay on the ground. Refusing to be cowed, Sam stared up at it, unafraid to stare death in the eyes. He knew at this range – no range at all – even the rocksalt would kill him.

The shot never came. Sam waited with bated breath, but suddenly the demon's eyes widened, and it stood up straight, spinning. It caught Sam by surprise. It certainly caught Dean unawares where he had been coming up behind it.

It used Dean's surprise against the older hunter, arm snaking out to grab Dean by the throat. Sam tried to attack, but it barely twisted its head and the younger man flew into the wall, falling to the floor.

Dean went to slash with the knife, but the demon merely grinned, catching his hand and holding with the ease of a man over a kitten. Dean's mouth thinned in indignation, then pain as the demon twisted his caught hand and he was forced to drop the knife. Sam was still lying on the floor, unmoving. Dean hoped this latest brush with a wall hadn't done anything to his baby brother.

And then he wasn't hoping anything as the demon's grip on his throat tightened, and he clutched at the fist, even as it drew him closer.

"So I have to kill you first, do I?" it asked in a deadly whisper. Like his brother before him, Dean refused to be cowed by the icy steel in those all too familiar eyes, but couldn't respond for lack of air. "That's okay. It's not like it matters. It's not your dream anyway. It never was. It was always mine."

And then the demon brought him even closer, and Dean couldn't help it. His mouth opened, and something shifted inside of him. The demon's mouth opened at the same time, and Dean's struggles ceased for a moment as that black cavern of a mouth came forward to swallow him up.

In the room, Ellis was staring with mild fear at Morgan, as the cop kept half an eye on him, when suddenly the doctor gasped.

Laura, who had been checking on Sam, looked up and stumbled back against the wall, hand flying to her mouth to cover a scream. Morgan was the last to see it, turning and dropping his gun as he watched it.

It being the black cloud suddenly coming into existence above Dean, spinning wildly as it grew, as it spread.

"What the hell is that?" Ellis demanded, but no one answered him, clinging to the wall as the shadow consumed the light in the room. The sudden darkness finally forced a small squeak out of Laura, a strange noise from the older woman. And then they all saw the silver light. It illuminated Dean's face, impassive as the light drifted from between his closed lips and the ventilator shut down. Sam's head was still in darkness, but they all knew he didn't move as a crooning melody took the room and the demon began sucking the life from the older brother.

A soft, wordless, soul-wrenching song was what woke Sam from unconsciousness. He lifted his pounding head, all too aware of the fire on his chest, the ache in his arm, the bruises, ribs that were probably fractured. But as he opened his eyes and groaned, all that paled into insignificance.

Because the demon was holding Dean by the throat, and his older brother was lolling helplessly in its grip, mouth wide open, the life being sucked from him as Sam lay there and watched.

But the knife glinted promisingly where Dean had dropped it, and Sam had had enough of this bitch of a demon.

Dean wasn't really sure what was happening. He barely remembered the demon sending him into this dream, but the song that filled his ears and mind with thoughts of not resisting was all too familiar.

It was beautiful and terrible all at once, drifting through the white fog that was all he could see. A white fog that was slowly dimming. He knew it was only dimming because his life was. He was dying, and he wasn't even trying to fight.

Suddenly the song changed, cutting off before starting, like a CD skipping. And then it stopped altogether, not fading away, but snapping to a close with such suddenness that Dean felt himself falling to his feet, doubling over, coughing, before the fog had had a chance to dissipate.

When it had, he gave a savage grin. The demon, Sam's features blurring as blood dripped from its mouth, was still in front of him, hands by its side, eyes glazing over as the life left them.

And behind the demon stood Sam, the real Sam, face grim, one arm around his double's shoulder, a small wince on his face as he wrenched the curved blade upwards. Dean watched its movement – it had gone all the way through the demon's torso – with a slight frown at Sam's spiteful need for revenge, but didn't say anything. The demon deserved everything it got.

Slowly, oh so slowly, the demon-as-Sam faded, leaving behind an empty spot and blood coating Sam's hand. Dean shared a victorious grin with his little brother before something snapped at him and he yelled as he fell through nothing. He barely felt the landing.

The shriek as the demon curled in on itself made the lights in the room flicker, though Laura was certain no one outside the room could hear that horrible noise. They all ducked and covered their ears, but the demon only continued curling in on itself, shrieking as it died, really died. And then it was gone.

The sudden silence seemed wrong and heavy, and the three stood up, Ellis a lot slower than the two used to similar supernatural events. He was still in the dark, though only metaphorically as the dim light in the corner flickered back on.

Laura and Morgan looked at each other, sharing weighted, guarded looks. Ellis looked between the two, then took the opportunity to dive for the gun on the floor.

A sudden gagging noise interrupted him, and he stood back up to see what phenomenon was occurring now. He had no idea how right he was.

"Dean!" Morgan called out with relief; Ellis could only watch, stunned, as his comatose patient continued choking on the tube stuck down his throat. That was, until Laura whacked him on the back of the head.

"Doc, your patient needs some help," she reminded him, and, shaking a little, Ellis moved forward, doing as he was told. Five minutes later Dean could breathe properly and was shaking his little brother's still unconscious body.

"Hey, Sam, time to come back," the patient said gently, before looking up at Laura, panic starting to show. Ellis was watching the exchange with something close to a nervous breakdown, with no clue as to what was happening.

"What's wrong with him?" Dean asked Laura, who shrugged, biting her lip. Dean's frown deepened and he leaned forward, far too healthy and aware, Ellis thought, for a person who had been so close to death. "Hey, Sammy, nappy time's over."

Still nothing. Ellis was beginning to worry himself now, though it didn't show over the worry he already held for his and his companion's insanity. Dean frowned, before obviously thinking of something and grinned. He leaned close to Sam's ear.

"Hey, bitch."

The result was almost comical. Sam's head snapped up and he blinked sleepily, looking around at his audience.

"Did it work?"

Ellis frowned as Laura smiled. "Actually, Sam, it did," she told him as he began working his injured shoulder. Her relief was palpable. Sam looked around to Dean and grinned with the same relief. Ellis felt a surge of frustration.

"Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?"

And now the complementary ending with all it's explanatory glory.