A/N- Ok, so I would really appreciate feedback on this chapter because it's a bit… weird, and I'm not sure if it works. I'd like to thank all my reviewers again; you guys totally rock!

Chapter 4

Sam waited silently for the doctor to continue, his heart pounding in his chest. The doctor took a breath before continuing.

"Dean suffered from a serious wound. You say he doesn't know how he received this?" Sam shook his head in response.

"Yes well, it's definitely not a normal wound. The amount of bleeding was immense- you were lucky Dean made it here when he did, otherwise…" the doctor didn't finish the sentence.

"But is he alright now?" Sam pressed, afraid of the news. The doctor sighed.

"We managed to give him a few blood transfusions, which replaced the blood he had lost previously, but he is still extremely weak, and he also developed a fever. He's made it through the hard part, but that doesn't mean he's out of the deep end yet." The doctor looked grave, but Sam couldn't stop grinning. Dean was alright. He wasn't dead, and that meant that Sam could save him.

"He will have to stay here for at least a week, and even after that, he will need bed rest and quiet. That means no hunting," he said sternly. Sam nodded, but he knew there was no way Dean would agree. Getting him to stay here for a week was going to be a big enough challenge.

"Can we see him?" Bobby asked. The doctor nodded, but added:

"He's still asleep, but you can stay by his bedside until he wakes up." The two men followed the doctor down various corridors until they arrived at a room labelled '10'. The doctor pushed open the door, revealing a small room, with a few chairs, and a bed. A bed Dean was currently lying motionless on, hooked up to a number of machines. Sam swallowed a he took a step into the room. No matter how many times Dean landed in hospital, it never got any easier. Bobby, sensing the struggle, placed a hand on Sam's shoulder and guided him into the room, reassuring Sam that he wasn't alone.

The two walked slowly to Dean's bedside, afraid to disturb the quiet, rather cold feeling of the room. Dean lay on the bed, various tubes inserted into his body to help him survive. Tears filled Sam's eyes as he gazed down at his brother, realising just how close he had come to losing him. Bobby took a seat on a chair to the left of Dean, leaving the one on the right for Sam. Sam sat down, never taking his eyes of Dean's still form. Dean was still pale, but he was also sweating, a product of the fever. Sam gently laid a cooling hand on Dean's brow, and Dean relaxed into the touch, leaning in to Sam's hand. As he watched over Dean, Sam couldn't believe how small his older brother looked, lying in bed. His freckles only added to the innocent look. Sam vowed at that moment that he would figure out what the hell had happened to Dean and destroy those that had hurt his brother.

The hours passed slowly. Sam and Bobby would get up at various times, whether it be to go to the bathroom, get some refreshments, or in Sam's case to just pace. It was during one of these pacing sessions that Bobby finally broke the silence.

"Boy, would you just sit down; you're making my head ache." Sam continued pacing, ignoring Bobby.

"Sam. Sam!"

Sam whirled around, his eyes flaring.

"No, Bobby, I won't sit down. Dean still hasn't woken up, and even if he did, we still won't know what did this to him. Whatever's out there, it isn't dead yet, and it could come after Dean anytime. So forgive me for not being able to relax yet." Bobby just stared at Sam, expression unreadable. Sam returned the glare for about half a second before tears filled his eyes and he flopped down into his chair, hand reaching for Dean's.

"I'm sorry Bobby, I'm just…"

"Turning slightly manic?" Bobby offered. Sam merely responded with an abashed look. Bobby sighed.

"Sam, you have to believe that Dean can pull through this."

"I do believe in Dean, Bobby. I believe in Dean more than I believe in anyone in the whole world. God, I trust him with my life, with… with everything! He's raised me and protected me ever since I was a kid. I've seen him make it through impossible situations facing impossible odds! But right now… you didn't see him, Bobby. I was so… so close to losing him this time Bobby…" Sam stopped talking, not wanting to think of an alternative situation where Dean hadn't made it in time.

Before Bobby could say anything, a movement from Dean's bed caught Sam and Bobby's attention.

"Dean?"

Dean began to move his head from side to side, his face formed into a frown. A slight whimper escaped his lips as his movements became more pronounced. Sam leapt up from his chair, still holding Dean's hand in his own, and hovered over Dean, anxious.

"Dean? Dean, if you can hear me… wake up. You need to wake up man, you're killing me here." There was no reply, but another whimper escaped Dean's lips.

"Dean! Bobby, what do we do?" Sam turned to look at Bobby, but there was no one there.

"Bobby? What the- Bobby?" Another whimper from Dean drew Sam's attention back to his brother.

"Dean. Dean, you need to wake up. Please Dean, open your eyes. Please… for me." It was a low blow, but it worked; Dean seemed to relax at the sound of Sam's voice, if only slightly, and then his eyes slowly opened, gazing up at Sam. His mouth opened as he tried to take in a large breath and started choking on the breathing tube.

"Dean!"

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Dean was trapped in some kind of funky town. There was no-one around, only empty streets. Dean turned around in a full circle slowly, getting an idea of his surroundings. All around him were houses, their doors all open and blowing slightly in the wind. The sun wasn't visible behind all the cloud cover, and Dean shivered slightly in his t-shirt and flannel shirt. A sudden noise made him turn around, and to his surprise his father was standing in front of him.

"Dad?"

"Dean." John wore no smile of greeting; instead he looked quite irate and disappointed. "I can't believe you, Dean."

"Dad? What-"

"All the chances you've had… and you still haven't killed Sam." Dean's eyes widened dramatically at the statement.

"Dad, you said that I'd only have to kill Sammy if there was no way to save him." John closed his eyes and bowed his head.

"Then you should know this- there is no way to save him." John slowly raised his head, revealing a pair of yellow eyes. Before Dean could do anything, he was thrown into the wall of a nearby house and pinned. John- no, it wasn't him anymore- advanced slowly, a sick smile on his face.

"Oh, where have I seen this before? Hm, let me think..."

"Quoting the Lion King now, are we? Scary…" Dean spat out.

"Ah, the MO all over again… really, it's getting kind of old, Dean."

"Yeah, well, you're not real are you?" The demon raised an eyebrow.

"And why would you say that?"

"Because Dad's dead." Dean spat out, the words causing his heart to ache, even after all this time. "Dad's dead, which means this isn't real. You're not real." The demon looked thoughtful.

"That's quite a good point…. Maybe I should go change?" And in front of Dean's eyes, his father became Bobby. Bobby stared at him coldly, his eyes yellow. "Is this better?"

Dean shook his head. "You're still not real." The demon laughed a cold laugh that bit into Dean's chest.

"It doesn't matter, does it? This is your mind, Dean. All sorts of things can happen." The demon began to change form again, face and body twisting grotesquely until all that was left standing in front of Dean was… Sam.

Dean swallowed.

"Dean." The demon looked at Dean, his voice a perfect imitation of Sam's. Or was it the demon? The eyes… they weren't yellow. Dean's mind started to blur slightly, facts and thoughts and dreams all becoming one.

"Dean. God, it's so good to finally be able to speak my mind." Sam's usual kind, sometimes exasperated expression was twisted into one of hate. Dean had a flashback to the asylum, when Sam had shot him. He cringed at the sound of Sam's voice, which drilled into his head.

"You can't imagine how much I detest you, Dean."

"This isn't you, Sam."

"Isn't it?"

"No. It's not. You're just some weird twisted creation from my mind."

"No Dean. This is me. This is me as I truly am. The Sam you won't be able to save. The Sam who turns against you. This is what I will become Dean. This is my destiny."

"No," Dean said, but his voice was uncertain.

"Yes. It's true. And you know what else, Dean?" Sam's voice was silky and dangerous, his eyes narrowed. "I truly hate you. All you've done for me… it's not enough. You call yourself and older brother, but you're not. What kind of older brother would leave their younger brother in the grip of a Shtriga? What kind of older brother doesn't protect their younger brother from the monsters under the bed?" Sam's voice became louder, drilling into Dean's head.

"No… those were accidents. I never meant… you weren't meant to get hurt!" Dean cried out. Sam started to double in his eyes, then triple until there were hundreds of Sam's all around him, all shouting the same thing.

"You're a terrible brother."

"No…. no…" Dean gasped, falling to his knees, clasping his hands over his ears. He kneeled there, shaking; terrified to open his eyes until he heard Sam again, but this was a different Sam.

"Dean? Dean, if you can hear me… wake up. You need to wake up man, you're killing me here…" Dean's head was spinning; he was awake and Sam hated him. So why was Sam telling him to wake up? Unless… unless this wasn't real. Dean could feel a stabbing pain building in his mind, and he let out a whimper, hand's still clasped over his ears.

"Dean. Dean, you need to wake up. Please Dean, open your eyes. Please… for me." There it was again. Sam's voice. It was drawing Dean in, pulling him closer to the brink of unconsciousness… or reality. Dean couldn't tell anymore. He felt the tug again, something pulling him towards Sam, and he made his decision. Sam was calling him, and although he didn't know where he would be going to, he had faith in Sam. Dean let himself go, and felt himself follow Sam's voice, which beckoned slowly. He felt a rush against his body, like he was passing through something invisible, and then he was suddenly lying on some soft surface, like a bed. It was then that Dean realised he couldn't breathe. His eyes flicked open, and gazed straight up at another pair of eyes that were directly above his own. Sammy.

Dean struggled to open his mouth, to try and get in some oxygen, but the tube stuck into his throat prevented him from doing so. Dean began coughing, choking, trying to breathe, but he couldn't. He could distinctly hear Sam shouting his name, and then a pair of restraining hands- Sam's- pressing down on his shoulders, forcing him not to move, to roll around. Dean could feel his mind begin to go hazy at the lack of oxygen, but then he heard something that made him fight to stay alive. Just one word, but it was filled with enough emotion to make a demon cry. One word filled with anguish, pleading.

"Dean!"