But Sam's only response was for his eyes to slide closed and his body to go limp. Dean momentarily panicked, checking the younger hunter's pulse and releasing his own held breath only when he felt the thump under his fingers. He prayed that Michael Myers would stay away long enough for them to take care of Freddy. They deserved that much, at least.

Then again, when had fate ever dealt them a fair hand?

----------------------

Sam sat straight up, more than aware that since his body was no longer in a lot of pain, he must be dreaming. And he was fairly lucid, so he knew Freddy Krueger must already be attacking him. He found himself in a forest exactly like the one his body was currently resting in.

"Didn't take you long, did it?" he said aloud, looking around for some sign of the murdering Freddy. Instead, he heard a familiar giggle, and turned around in horror, eyes immediately going to his murdered girlfriend, Jessica. She looked radiant, healthy, and strong. And she was smiling.

"It's been a while, Sam," she said, taking a step forward. "I've missed you."

"Freddy, if this is your idea of a nightmare, sign me up," the hunter commented as a grin creased his face. He took a few steps toward her, reaching out a hand. She returned the gesture; but before she could touch him, a man appeared behind her, wrapping one arm around her forehead and drawing a sharp knife across her throat. Blood splattered and Sam's mouth dropped open in shock. Then he was angry.

"You can't manipulate me like that," he announced. "I know what you're doing. And Dean is going to wake me up soon, so we'll be able to kill you for good."

"Many have tried," the man who had so recently slit Jessica's throat said, his voice low an raspy. "But all have failed." Sam's eyes were drawn to his hideously deformed face and the sharp knives attached to each finger.

"I forgot you're one of those horror characters that actually speaks," Sam grumbled back. "Well, if you can manipulate me, I can manipulate you." He thought carefully, imagining a shotgun behind the closest tree, and then grinned when his hand closed around it. He pumped the barrel once, aimed, and fired. The bullet, which hit Freddy right between the eyes, didn't even cause his head to jerk.

"Wake up!" Sam shouted at himself.

"You can't," the nightmare killer retorted. "Your brother can try to wake you up, but you aren't leaving here until I allow you to."

"You'd better let me out, then," the hunter snapped. "Because I may not be able to kill you, but I can make you miserable."

"Your threats are pathetic."

Before he could answer, the world became blurry and then cleared again. The young Winchester found himself on the ground, shotgun still in hand, and suddenly heard another voice that he recognised. Logically, he knew it wasn't really Dean, but his heart argued, especially when dream-Dean said, "Sammy? You gotta help me, man. I need help."

"I know this is a dream," Sam reiterated for Freddy's sake. Where had he gone, anyway? It seemed he had disappeared when Dean showed up.

"It's not a dream. I woke you up from the dream and I tried to kill Freddy but he got me bad, Sam." It was then that Sam noticed his brother's hand covering a wound on his stomach. Blood flowed out and over his skin like a fountain. Nobody should be able to lose that much blood and still be standing. And then Dean dropped to his knees.

"Help me, Sam!" the elder hunter mumbled, blood leaking out from the side of his mouth. "I can't – hold – on."

Dean collapsed bonelessly to the ground, and all of Sam's senses were in chaos. He wanted – no, needed – to go to his brother and make it better, but yet he knew it wasn't real. Freddy Krueger would certainly get him if he allowed his guard to go down, even for a second. Dean's body twitched a few times, then went deathly still.

"It's a dream!" Sam shouted as his body went forward involuntarily, kneeling next to his brother and feeling for a pulse. "It's a dream, it's a dream, it's a dream. . ."

Dean's eyes fluttered once, coming open to slits. "You could have saved me, Sammy."

"No," came the whispered reply. "It's just a dream."

"It's not," his brother answered. "I woke you up . . ." He trailed off, going completely limp.

There was no steady throb of a heartbeat under Sam's fingers. In fact, Dean's skin was icy. The low temperature seemed to seep into Sam's skin, making his own heart feel colder. Really, was it a dream? Had Dean woken him up? Had he been too out of it to notice? Had he really just let his brother die?

Yet another voice startled Sam, but he refused to look away from his brother's bloody body. Instead, the words that were spoken chilled him even more.

"You know," Bobby Singer said from nearby, "Dean always said he only had one job – to protect you. I wish he could have counted on you to watch his back, too."

"It's a dream," Sam repeated as unbidden tears slipped out of his eyes.

"It's not a dream, Sam. It's real. Are you ever going to face reality? You are completely helpless."

"I'm not helpless."

"Then why are you still sitting here doing nothing? Your brother would have at least tried to avenge you by now. But you're sitting here like a coward."

"Bobby, please," the younger hunter said. "I know it's a dream."

"You're not worthy of being a Winchester," Bobby growled.

----------------------

Dean frantically tore Sam's already tattered shirt into pieces and used them to put pressure on the newest wound that these stupid horror movie characters had inflicted. It was a shallow cut and wouldn't even need stitches, but it would make the poor kid even more sore than he already was.

He wondered how long he needed to let Sam stay unconscious. He couldn't wake his brother up unless he was being attacked so they could draw Freddy Krueger out, but he also couldn't wait so long that Freddy somehow managed to hurt Sam. A few minutes later, when Sam twitched and moaned, Dean figured that even if it was just a bad dream, he needed his brother to wake up.

"Sam," he called, one hand gently shaking the younger Winchester's shoulder. "Sam, wake up."

He received no answer. Worried now, he shook harder and called out a little louder. But still, there was nothing. Then he heard another twig snap, remembered Michael Myers, and freaked out.

"SAM!" he shouted. "WAKE UP!"

The woods fell into an eerie silence around him, except for the occasional footstep as Myers got closer.

----------------------

"I am a bad brother," Sam acknowledged, shaking his head and finally tearing his eyes away from Dean's dead body.

"And you're a coward," Bobby added.

"Yeah, you said that already."

"And the whole geek-boy thing? Dean only calls you that because he wants you to feel special. But he was doing research just fine before you came back."

"Wait a minute," Sam said, looking at where Bobby stood casually leaning against a tree. "How did you know to come here?"

"Dean called me, asking for help. Said his useless little brother couldn't figure out how to kill a couple of stupid murdering ghosts."

"No, he didn't. He told me you'd laugh at us." He took a step forward, tilting his head to one side as his logic took over once more. "But you wouldn't do that. None of this is real. I have to give you points, Freddy. You nearly got me."

Bobby grinned, then morphed into the deformed killer. "I try."

"Why are you attacking the things I love, instead of me? Normally you kill the person whose dream you're in so you can absorb their life force."

"You've done your homework, I see. Well, it won't save you. I still intend to kill you."

"No doubt."

Sam looked around himself, carefully watching his foe to make sure no sudden movements were made in his direction. "Come on, Dean," he whispered. "Do something that will wake me up for sure." He tapped his fingers on the shotgun he was still holding until an idea occurred to him. "Pain – pain wakes people up. Dean said stabbing yourself in your dreams makes you wake up."

"Whatever happens to you here happens to you there when I'm around," Freddy warned with a smirk.

"I know, you idiot. When I want your input, I'll ask for it." Boy, that was uncharacteristic. Maybe he was going through Dean-withdrawals. He thought for a few more seconds. "Dean needs to cause me pain there, so it will draw me out."

Freddy laughed.

----------------------

"Sammy, you have to wake up right now," Dean hissed. Nothing happened. "I'm serious, Sam – I can't hold off Myers and kill Freddy at the same time. I don't even have a good weapon. I need you to get up here and help me."

Another footstep sounded, this time way too close. The elder Winchester whirled around in surprise, noticing Michael Myers right above him with the knife raised. "Why can't you people ever come up in front of someone?" he grumbled, using his good leg to swipe Myers's feet out from under him. "And how did you get your knife back?"

Obviously, there was no answer. Dean was almost frantic now. He couldn't carry his brother away and had no weapon. All he knew was that he couldn't let anything hurt Sam while he was unconscious.

----------------------

"Your brother isn't going to help you," Freddy announced.

"I swear you didn't used to make commentaries during everyone else's nightmares," Sam groused. "Why can't you shut up during mine?"

"There's something special about you, Winchester."

"So I've heard. It's not news. Shut up and let me think."

"You know I can kill you here."

Sam shrugged, the useless shotgun still pointed at his foe. "Yeah, yeah. I've heard that one a million times and I'm still alive."

"Your gun won't stop me."

"I noticed."

Abruptly, Freddy sprang forward, arms outstretched in a vicious attack. His knife-like fingers barely missed slicing Sam's head off. And then his momentum carried him directly into the hunter, taking them both to the ground. His claws grazed Sam's thigh and drew blood. Sam groaned and then kicked out, throwing the killer away from him long enough to prepare himself for the next attack.

----------------------

While Michael Myers was getting up, Dean heard a soft groan and looked at his brother just in time to see blood appear on his leg. "Sam!" he yelled. "You've got to wake up now!" He managed to crawl to his feet, hanging miserably onto a tree and looking frantically for a weapon. Finding nothing, he resorted to kicking his brother in the leg, harder than he probably should have, but he didn't care at that point because he'd been trying to wake Sam up for so long. Dean didn't have the energy to spare on checking Sam's reactions anymore. Instead, he reached down for a tree branch to use like a bat. It was better than nothing.

The abusive boot had jolted the younger Winchester awake. His eyes snapped open and he reluctantly realised that all he had in his hand was Freddy's fedora. He'd forgotten that he was supposed to physically drag the nightmare killer out of his dream. He'd have to go back.

For now, though, Dean desperately needed help. Sam ignored the pain in his torso and leg and crawled quickly to where he had left the salt, gasoline, and matches. Naturally, it wouldn't kill Michael, but it might distract him long enough for them to get away. A grunt of pain from his brother caused him to hurry, running toward the fight with his remaining energy. He heaved the salt at Myers without rhyme or reason, then squirted all of the leftover gasoline on him.

"Dean, move!" he barked out, lighting a match, throwing it, and dropping to the ground with his arms covering his head. He could only hope his brother had gotten out of the way. He stayed in his position for a few moments, until everything was silent except someone panting several feet away.

"Dean?" he asked, looking up and gratefully seeing his brother, out of breath and in pain, crouched next to the tree where Sam had dropped Freddy's hat. Michael Myers was not in sight.

"You could have warned me," Dean grumbled.

"Why do you think I told you to move?"

"The beauty of a warning, Sammy," the elder hunter snarled, "is that you say it before you do something and not while you do something so whoever you're warning can get away."

"I gave you a second or two."

Dean rolled his eyes and tried to get up, failing miserably. Sam crawled over, and the two examined each other. "I need to put bandages all over you," Dean announced at the same time that his brother said, "Your leg is bleeding!"

They stopped, snorted a laugh in spite of the situation, and helped each other get up.

"What happened to your leg?" Sam asked as they stumbled together toward the car.

"I was trying out a new dance move while you were unconscious," Dean growled, ignoring the stab wound that now plagued his formerly good leg. "What do you think happened to it?"

"Sorry I asked," the younger Winchester hissed back.

After what seemed like an eternity, they reached the edge of the forest, noticing both the Impala and the green van that Michael Myers had stolen. Without an extra word, they went to Dean's car. Sam pulled the gun from the glove compartment, stood straight, and shot two of the tires on the van out.

"You think that will stop him?" Dean asked.

"Nope," came the reply as Sam roughly dropped into the passenger seat. "But all I really want to do is slow him down until we know how to take care of him."

----------------------

NOTE: Yeah. I know – stupid place to end a chapter. But if I hadn't ended it here, it could have taken another week for me to finish it. I'm trying really hard to update every four days, but I'm not sure that will work this time. Anyway, keep reading!