Hey guys! I am so sorry for the delay, I got so caught up in school that I just kept neglecting to sit down and write. I'll try to do better.

Also, I know absolutely jack shit about coma patients except from what I've read on Google, and I can't find much of anything that's actually helpful from there. So please excuse my lack of knowledge and the errors that are most likely in that department. I'm trying my best to be realistic with what little I do know!

A loud knock sounded at the door and Dean jerked his head up from the table. He rubbed his eyes. Fuck, did I fall asleep?

He didn't have a chance to chew himself out before someone banged on the door again. Dean grabbed his gun and approached the door cautiously. Keeping his gun arm hidden behind it, he pulled the door open a crack. He blinked in surprise.

"Bobby?"

"Ya gonna let me in?" the old man smirked.

Dean quickly checked him with holy water and silver and whatnot before letting him in. "What are you doing here?" Dean asked.

"Why wouldn't I be here?" Bobby said incredulously as he stepped over the threshold. "One of my boys is in the hospital; I'm not just gonna sit on my ass and twiddle my thumbs!"

My boys. Dean's heart swelled at that, but he didn't comment on it. "Did you find anything?" he asked instead.

"Yep." Bobby dropped his bag on the floor and turned to Dean with his arms crossed. "I think we're dealin' with the Sandman."

Dean stared at him, eyebrows raised. "The Sandman," he deadpanned. "Like, 'Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream'?"

Bobby turned and began rummaging around in his bag. "There's several variations on the Sandman legend. Some say he's a good guy that brings sleep to children." He produced an old, battered book and paged through it. "Others say he's a monster that lulls his victims to sleep and then eats them."

"You're kidding."

"Here." Bobby held the book out. Dean took it and ran his eyes over the yellowed page.

"The Sandman, a member of the Fae, feeds on the flesh of man," Dean read aloud. "He lulls his victims to sleep with the strange chant of 'Tik Tok'. Once asleep, the unfortunate victim is consumed." Dean shuddered. "Jesus." Sam was almost eaten.

"That would explain the bite mark," Bobby said, "and it might be why Sam can't wake up. But what's botherin' me is, why's Sam still alive? I ain't complainin', but why didn't the thing finish the job?"

Dean looked up from the book in thought. "I went back to the scene of the crime," he said, "and there was this black stuff dripped all over the pavement. The manager said he heard a couple of gunshots, and this kid I talked to said he saw the thing run off like it was injured."

"You think Sam shot it?"

"Must have. Probably scared it off." Dean smiled proudly. " 'Atta boy, Sammy," he added quietly. He sat down on the edge of the bed. "Okay, so we know what it is. How do we kill it?"

Bobby sighed. "That's what I'm not sure about. Part of the problem is that, once it's healed, it'll probably go after Sam again."

A look of horror came over Dean's face and he flew up from the bed. "Well then we need to get back to the hospital and protect him! He's—"

"Hey boy, keep your shit together!" Bobby barked. "I already called Garth and he's on his way, he'll stay at the hospital with Sam. He'll be here in a couple of days."

Dean looked doubtful. "Garth? Are you sure?"

"Hey, he may be quirky—"

"That guy's looking quirky in the rearview mirror—"

"But he's a damn good hunter, and he won't let anything happen to your brother."

Dean finally sighed. "Fine. But until he gets here, I'm taking some of this stuff and I'm gonna do my research at the hospital."

Over the next several hours, Bobby stayed at the motel while Dean sat next to Sam's bed with the laptop on his knees. Jenny hadn't come in yet, which meant that Dean didn't have to try hiding what he was doing. There was a notebook and several sticky notes on the bed next to Sam's leg that was full of Dean's untidy scrawl, and the nurses that came by periodically gave him curious looks but never said anything.

Finally Dean grabbed the notebook and ran his eyes over the page to review his notes. Grabbing his phone, he called Bobby who answered almost immediately.

"I think we need to summon it," Dean said as soon as the old hunter picked up.

"You know how?"

"Yeah, it looks relatively easy, with a little luck. We're gonna need a couple of things . . ."

Dean refused to leave Sam unprotected, so he and Bobby took to rotating in shifts. The hospital staff gave them hell, of course, because "When visiting hours are over, you have to leave!" But the two hunters gave them hell right back, refusing to move their asses. This created several heated discussions and security was called twice.

Thank god for Jenny.

The entire hospital trusted the old nurse and always did what she said, even though she technically wasn't in charge (but Dean guessed she deserved it after working there for forty plus years). Jenny told everyone to give it a rest and let Sam's only two family members—and his friend, once Garth arrived—stay with him as long as they wanted.

Dean wished they could go ahead and do the summoning ritual, but they had to wait for a full moon, which wouldn't come for another week.

"Great," he muttered darkly. He reached out and squeezed Sam's arm. He hated the fact that Sam was being forced to stay trapped in whatever spell or curse this was for another whole week. Dean could only hope that Sam was simply unconscious, and not trapped in some horrible nightmare.

"No!"

Sam had crumpled to his knees and was hugging himself, rocking back and forth as hot tears streamed down his cheeks. "No no no," he moaned, "Please, please just stop!"

At some point, the darkness, the mysterious eyes, and Sam's paralysis had left him. He didn't know how long ago that happened. Years, maybe? Centuries?

But Sam would've given anything to have that back, because it was bliss compared to this.

Dean stood before him, covered in blood. His hands were suspended above him in invisible manacles, his toes barely brushing the ground. He had been stripped down to his boxers, and bruises, cuts, and burns littered every bit of exposed skin.

Dean looked up at Sam, his glassy eyes filled with hurt. "Why won't you help me, Sam?" he croaked.

But Sam couldn't help him. Every time he tried to approach his brother, an invisible barrier held him back. He'd spent an eternity pounding on the barrier, screaming every threat and curse he could think of at whatever creature it was that was hurting Dean. Because he never saw it. Injuries would simply appear on Dean's body—cuts dragging themselves open down his torso, burns sizzling into his flesh, bones snapping of their own accord.

Finally Sam's strength had worn out and he collapsed, sobbing and begging for it to stop.

"Sam," his brother cried, over and over. "Help me!"

"Dean," Sam choked, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" He pressed his hands against the barrier. "Please, just stop hurting him! Take me instead!"

But there was no answer. There never was.

"Why do you hate me, Sam?"

Sam's heart stopped at the broken voice. He looked up.

"What?" he gasped.

Tears were streaming from Dean's eyes. "You won't help me. You hate me. Why do you hate me?"

"No!" Sam shouted, struggling back to his feet. "No, Dean, I don't hate you!" he cried out desperately. "You know that! You're my brother and I'd die for you!"

But Dean didn't seem to hear him. He simply closed his eyes and began whispering, "You hate me. You hate me. You hate me."

Even though his throat was torn and raw, Sam began pounding on the barrier and screaming all over again. Screaming for the thing to let Dean go, and screaming for Dean to understand that he didn't hate him.

But suddenly Dean looked up, directly at Sam. His eyes were no longer glazed and filled pain. No, instead they were sharp and filled with contempt. "Fine," he hissed. "I hate you too."

And suddenly the barrier was gone, Dean was no longer suspended off the ground, and Sam had no time to react before his brother was lunging towards him.

"Nuh—"

Dean's head snapped up. "Sam?" he gasped.

Sam's body had suddenly jerked, what sounded like part of a word escaping his lips.

Dean tossed the notebook out of his lap and stood to bend over his brother. He smoothed Sam's hair back and cupped his cheek. "Sammy?" he murmured. He looked over his shoulder and shouted for a nurse before turning back to Sam. "Come on buddy, come back to me, you can do it . . . please, just open your eyes . . ."

"What is it?" Jenny's urgent voice came from behind him as she rushed into the room.

"He jerked once and tried to say something—"

Jenny bent over Sam and placed a hand on his arm. "Sam? Honey, can you hear me? Can you try moving again for us?"

But Sam lay still once again.

"Come on, Sammy," Dean moaned, tears prickling behind his eyes. "Don't tease me like this. Please, just wake up."

They waited a long time, but Sam didn't move again. Dean sank back into his chair and held his head in his hands.

Jenny came to stand next to him and rubbed his back soothingly. "It'll be okay, sweetie," she told him softly. "I've seen this kind of thing happen before with other patients. I know it's frustrating, but there's still hope."

Dean groaned and pushed one hand up to grip his own hair. "I just wish I knew if he's in pain. I wish I could help him."

"I know," Jenny said quietly.

"It's just always been my job to take care of him." Dean's voice cracked slightly. "I raised him, you know."

The old nurse's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Really? What about your parents?"

Dean reached out to take Sam's hand. "Our mom died when Sammy was a baby, and our dad—well, we moved around a lot for his job. He would leave for a lot of long business trips and it would just be me and Sam."

Jenny sat down in the chair next to Dean, listening in rapt silence. The older Winchester was watching his little brother with a glazed, nostalgic expression, and Jenny knew he was seeing Sam as he was when he was a small child.

"It was always my job to take care of him. Dad didn't even have to tell me, I just knew." The corners of his mouth quirked up in a smile. "You know, I probably learned about a hundred different ways to make mac and cheese. And once I made him fish sticks and told him yogurt was tartar sauce."

Jenny laughed. "That sounds awful!"

"Hey, he was six, he didn't care." Dean gently rubbed Sam's arm. "I always promised to take care of him. I told him that as long I'm around, nothing bad is gonna happen to him." His mouth twisted in bitter self loathing. "And look where he is now."

Jenny's heart ached and tears threatened to fill her eyes. "Hey, it's not your fa—"

"Don't," Dean interrupted harshly. "Just don't."

Jenny's mouth hung open as if to say something, but she only sighed regretfully and squeezed his shoulder.

Dean shut his eyes and bowed his head, tightly gripping Sam's arm.

"I'd die for him," he whispered.

And right then, Jenny knew he absolutely meant it.

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