73. I Can't
She was sobbing as she clawed her way out of the dream. There was no way of telling how long she'd been trapped in the Sandman's realm, no telling how long she'd be fighting her way out before he'd come to rescue her. Never mind wondering how he'd known to come. That was Danny, the hero every second that he breathed. Her hero, and Sam gasped as she breathed in and turned to the warm body lying next to her.
How he'd known…
She shook her head and reached an arm over to touch his shoulder. "Danny?" Oh, how she hated the waver in her voice. But the waver was there, and it muted itself as her hand shook where it lay on his still form.
"Danny? Wake up, Danny." The waver was becoming a tremor, and her hand was shaking as she forced her body upright.
She knew she couldn't have been asleep for very long. There was no sense of hunger or soreness that she associated with moving after too long in the same position. She was still warm, too, meaning that it hadn't been very long at all because Sam never slept with any type of covering if she could help it. She always kicked it off before too long.
"Danny." Frantic now as he didn't respond in the least. No fluttering of eyes, no movement at all beneath his lashes and lids. Just a pale, slack face as he lay next to her.
But Danny... Now he wasn't warm. He'd been warmer just a few seconds ago when she first touched him. And Sam knew that she hadn't seen him take a breath. Her heart froze in her chest, her breath caught in her throat until a moment later she felt his chest rise beneath her hand. But the fear didn't leave, because Danny wasn't waking up, and that single breath had been far to labored for him not to still be in trouble.
She bit her lip and pulled at his arm. "Danny. Danny, please, wake up!" Nothing but silence until it was shattered by a faint murmur from her dresser.
"He's not going to wake up."
Her head swiveled in surprise, and the sudden stab of fear and panic made her choke out a laugh. "Danny? What are you…"
"I came to check on you before I went home," he said again softly as her eyes flew back to the still Danny next to her on the bed.
"But you—He…"
"I'm just the half of him that's already dead."
"Already…" She stared at him for a moment, his hazmat a shadow in the dark, the symbol burning at her as if to etch itself into her brain more than it already was. Then she turned back to Danny, her Danny, and she counted to ten, watching. And to ten again. And again, and again and again.
"He's not breathing," she whispered hoarsely, and stared frantically at Danny on her dresser. "He's not breathing. Help him breathe, please, help him breathe."
The ghost only stared back, eyes a dull green. "I can't. I don't remember how."