Sam looked down at his brother again and Dean vehemently shook his head. You're not going anywhere, little bother, he thought. Stay on that bed.

The door was all the way open now, and Dean hadn't moved a muscle. From his current position, Sam couldn't see the doorway, but the look on his brother's face kept him from twisting around to get a better view. He swallowed nervously. He had been bait before, and he had definitely been attacked before, but this was ridiculous. Something was about to get him, he was lying here, wide awake, in perfect control of his facilities, and he was going to just let it walk right up to him. Every hunter alarm in his body was going off like crazy, and it was all he could do to not react.

Dean, however, looked completely relaxed. The only thing that betrayed him was the wild look in his eyes and the tightening hand on his gun. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He could see the demon at the door and he was fighting his instincts to not attack just yet, too.

The demon apparently hadn't noticed that either man was awake and entered the room without slowing down at the salted door. "Samuel," it cooed evilly, "I'm here for you."

"Go to hell," Dean screamed just as the hand was reaching for his brother. He shot the demon, which instantly turned its flashing eyes on the elder Winchester, hissing. Then it dived at Dean, and the room exploded into action.

Sam leaped off the bed, grabbing his own gun and heading for Dean. Dean had shot twice more, with no results, and then jumped out of the way at the last possible second. The demon flew past him, but recovered and attacked again, managing to grab him by the jacket and toss him carelessly into the far wall. Sam called out his brother's name, shooting at the demon and realising only too late that his quick actions had put him into the corner away from the door. Dean wasn't moving, the gun wasn't working, and now he had nowhere to run.

His cold fingers dropped the gun and he backed up until he hit the wall. The demon grinned as it approached him. "Little Samuel," it said, "Do not run from me."

"Does it look like I'm running?" Sam snapped. Great – he was acting more like his brother by making a stupid comment that would provoke an already angry creature. Good idea, Sam. Good idea.

Without answering, the demon finally reached its target and stretched out its fingers. Instantly, Sam felt a sinking exhaustion creep into him and he collapsed to the ground, eyes focused on the thing that was about to suck his life out. A cold pain spread throughout his chest and his eyes closed involuntarily. He tried to keep them open, but they had become too heavy. In fact, everything was too heavy. Even his lungs felt too heavy. He felt his body completely relax, in spite of how hard he was trying to fight. He wasn't supposed to just sit down and die! He was a Winchester!

Dean came to with a start, sitting straight up and glancing around the room. It took his brain processing the demon standing over his unmoving brother to spur him into action.

"Get off him!" he shouted, coming to his feet and pointing the gun. He couldn't fire for fear the bullet would go through and hit Sam.

The demon didn't respond in any way. Sam's face was a bluish color already, and he was shivering unconsciously. The hand that covered his heart was turning a regular healthy pink, and what concerned Dean most was the increasing red that came from underneath the hand. Dean ran up and knocked the demon away, shooting everything he had at the ugly dead man. The man's eyes flashed, but he disappeared out the door seconds later. Dean dropped the gun and stumbled to his brother.

"Sammy," he said, stumbling over the name that usually came so easily. "Sammy, please be alive." His hand, shaking from fear, reached for Sam's neck to look for a pulse. Sam's skin was extremely cold to the touch, but, much to Dean's relief, there was a small thump underneath his fingers. It was irregular and weak, but it was there. He pulled away, finally allowing himself to release a breath he didn't realise he had been holding. Sam's breathing seemed painful and shallow, as if the very act of doing it was a feat in and of itself.

"Sammy, wake up," he said, trying to coax his brother back to consciousness like he had the night before. "Come on, Sam. Wake up."

Unlike the previous night, he received no response for his efforts. After a few minutes of failed attempts to rouse Sam, Dean realised he needed to get medical help. He dragged Sam to the bed, where he wrapped Sam in the blankets and only then felt he could leave his brother long enough to get the first aid kit. He hadn't yet looked under Sam's shirt, but knew there was blood there and that it would be an ugly wound. He ran all the way to the kit and all the way back, not wanting to leave Sam alone and unprotected any longer than was necessary.

By the time he got back, Sam's breathing had eased a little and the bluish tinge to his skin was starting to go away. Dean sighed in relief, pulling back the blankets to expose Sam's chest. He cut his brother's shirt open, not willing to try fixing the wound by pulling it up. Indeed, there were black and blue bruises all over, just like they had been the previous night. Unfortunately, this time, they were accompanied by a bloody hand print, positioned exactly over Sam's heart. It was almost like someone had cut the hand print out. The wound didn't seem too deep, but it was large enough – and still seeping blood – that Dean worried about it. He poured holy water on it, wincing at the agonised groan that came from deep in Sam's throat as the water burned the wound. He paused, hoping the pain would wake Sam, but when, after a few moments, Sam quieted down again, he continued his first aid. He began dabbing antiseptic all over the hand print, trying to hold Sam still when the younger Winchester started to squirm around from the pain.

"Sam," he said, giving up his efforts until his brother either woke up or stopped moving. "Sammy, wake up!"

A hitched breath and fluttering eyelids told Dean that Sam was fighting his way back to consciousness. "Sammy," he continued, his voice sweetening. "Sammy, open those ugly eyes up for me!"

"Kill me," Sam ground out, his voice hoarse and raspy.

"That would be too easy, my friend. Open your eyes."

Sam finally managed to get his unfocused eyes open halfway. He couldn't see his brother because everything was blurry, but he trusted his instincts that the voice he had just heard belonged to Dean.

"Sam? You with me?" Dean asked.

Sam tried to concentrate on the voice, but it was hard to pinpoint exactly where it was coming from. "Sort . . . of," he croaked out.

"Good enough for me right now," Dean answered. "I'm off to your left, by the way." Sam's head turned slightly, but from the look in his glassy eyes, Sam still couldn't focus.

"I'm cleaning up your wound," Dean went on. "This is probably going to hurt a bit."

Sam started to open his mouth when Dean started rubbing more antiseptic into his chest, and whatever he was going to say faded into a pained whimper. He bit his lip and his eyes slid shut again, but he forced himself to hold still until Dean finished. A few minutes later, the deed was done and Sam relaxed, sweating and exhausted.

"Open up the eyes again, Sammy," Dean insisted. "I can't have you passing out on me when I need to see if you're okay."

"Go . . . to . . . hell," Sam groaned miserably.

Dean grinned in spite of the situation. "Come on, Sammy, I just have to check up on you. You'd do the same to me."

"Jerk," the younger Winchester griped as his eyes fluttered open with another gargantuan effort.

"Can you see me yet?" Dean asked hopefully.

"Yeah," Sam answered. "Three . . . of you."

"At least you can see me now."

"Can I . . . sleep now?"

"Sure," Dean said, a hand on his brother's right shoulder for support. "You get some rest. I'll make sure that thing doesn't get you again."

Sam's body relaxed into a slumber almost immediately, and Dean got to his feet to rub a hand over his eyes. He picked up his cell phone and dialed.

"Hello?" a sleepy voice answered on the fourth ring.

"Jo," he said quickly. "We're going to have to cancel our breakfast appointment."

"Why?" she asked, coming awake slowly.

"Sam's had a bit of an . . . attack," he ventured. He had pondered lying to her or misleading her or any number of things, but decided in the end that it would help him more if he just told her the truth.

"What?" she asked, suddenly sounding completely awake.

"That demon came and tried to suck his heart out of him," Dean said. "It nearly got him, too. He's asleep on the bed here."

"Is he okay?"

"No, Jo, he's not. My little brother just got attacked and is bleeding and you want to know if he's okay?" Dean snapped.

"Sorry," Jo said, realising her mistake. "Do you want help?"

"Actually," Dean said, after a short consideration, "I wouldn't mind it."

"Okay – tell me where you are, and I'll be there as soon as I can."

After hanging up, Dean sank into his chair again and his fingers curled reflexively around the gun he had picked up once more. His adrenaline was going away. He tried to stay awake to watch over Sam, but his eyes grew heavy. The thing wouldn't attack twice in one night, would it? It might, was his last thought as he succumbed to his total exhaustion.

He didn't hear the door open for the second time that night.