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Sam was fading fast.

It was strange. He could actually feel his life withering away . . . like morning fog in the sunlight. Or pie in the same vicinity as Dean.

Sam was well aware that he had been attacked, even if he wasn't sure what by. He had felt a presence nearby—a dangerous presence. And Sam knew it was coming for him.

As soon as he sensed it, his body immediately went into overdrive. Probably out of instinctual panic, the fight or flight urge attempted to force his body into motion. But, being trapped as he was, with no way for all that energy to escape, it only made things worse. He began to overheat and a fever steadily escalated, reaching a dangerous temperature. His heart and lungs strained as they attempted to heave and pound harder in an attempt to pump more blood and oxygen to his overheated brain, but whatever curse Sam was under forced them to remain slow. Too slow.

The result was that Sam began to burn up and suffocate. He began to panic as his life faded even further away and that menacing presence came ever closer.

His chest exploded in pain as a heavy weight suddenly landed on top of him, forcing the air out of his lungs. By now the environment Sam's conscience had created inside his head had vanished, leaving him in complete darkness, which made the experience even more terrifying. Something was on top of him, and that something was going to kill him. But he couldn't move to fight back, and he couldn't even open his eyes to see what it was.

But suddenly the immense weight vanished, and he was able to suck in a painful breath, however shallow. He knew the thing wasn't gone, however. And it might've been his imagination, but he thought he heard voices shouting around him.

It was only a few seconds before the thing was back. This time he could feel it crawling up his legs, over his stomach and back to his chest, once again preventing him from breathing.

Sam tried to summon all the energy he had, tried to raise his arms and shove that son of a bitch right off him and pound it into the ground.

Not even a finger twitched.

Sam wanted to scream in frustration—and then he wanted to cry out in pain when his neck suddenly stung, but of course he couldn't. But the second what he guessed was claws cut into his throat, the weight on top of him vanished, as did the entire malevolent presence.

He wasn't able to wonder what had happened, though. His brain had given up trying to sense the outside world, and Sam sank into wonderful, blissful darkness.

As soon as they were back in the Impala, Dean floored it and they flew back to the hospital. In the passenger seat next to him, Bobby held the wooden bowl with the Sandman's eyes and was using a pestle to grind them into a thick black paste, which was quickly beginning to dry and turn into a glittering powder.

The Impala screeched to a halt in the hospital parking lot, the two hunters leaping out and pelting towards the door. People stared at them as they tore through the hallways, but they hardly noticed.

Dean burst into Sam's room first. Bobby shut the door behind them and flipped the blinds shut as Dean approached Sam.

"What the hell is this?" he demanded, pointing at the bandages on Sam's throat.

"The Sandman attacked while you were gone. But don't worry, the cuts aren't deep."

Dean blinked when he realized it was Jenny that had spoken. "You—?"

She nodded, keeping her focus on Sam as she injected something into his IV line. "Garth told me everything."

Garth waved sheepishly from the foot of the bed. "Sorry. But she saw the Sandman and made me tell her. She took it pretty well, though."

Dean waved him off impatiently. "Whatever, that doesn't matter right now—what was that stuff you just put in his IV?" he asked Jenny.

"Something to help with fever. He's burning up."

Dean looked closer and realized that Sam was dripping with sweat. He placed a tentative hand on Sam's forehead and winced at the intense heat rolling off him.

"Alright, let's finish this," he growled, waving Bobby forward.

"What are you going to do?" Jenny asked, alarmed.

Bobby held up the bowl of Sandman eye powder. "We've gotta put this in Sam's eyes."

Jenny stared at them uncertainly. "And what? Is that supposed to wake him up?"

"According to the lore it will," Bobby shrugged.

Jenny laid a protective hand on Sam's shoulder, and Dean could see she was reluctant to let them do this.

"Look," he said, "we're not going to hurt him, and you should know by now that I would never do anything that could possibly harm Sammy. I just want to get him out of this before he gets any worse." Dean glanced up at the heart monitor. "I can't be the only one to notice that his heart is slowing down."

Jenny chewed her lip. "I just . . . I have no idea what that stuff is, and you just want to put it in his eyes? I don't think—"

"Jenny, we're doing this whether you like it or not," Dean finally snapped. "It's the only way to save him. And I am done waiting. We've wasted too much time already."

Jenny continued to look worried but didn't try to stop them as Dean leaned forward and gently pried Sam's left eye open. Bobby took a pinch of the black powder and sprinkled it onto Sam's eyeball. The powder dissolved immediately, leaving no trace that it had ever been there. They repeated the process on Sam's right eye, and then stepped back to wait.

Sam's eyes felt as though they were on fire. The feeling quickly spread throughout the rest of his body until he was sure he was burning alive.

Just give up, a part of him hissed, Just die already.

But suddenly Dean's voice emanated from above him. "Don't listen to him, Sammy!" he said firmly. "You hang on, you hear me?"

You're a freak, Sam. Nobody wants you around.

"No, don't you dare let go. I need you, you understand me?"

You're a failure and a burden. You'll be doing everyone a favor.

Even though he couldn't open his eyes, Sam could still feel them filling with tears. He didn't know what to do, who to listen to—himself or Dean. Should he let go, or should he hang on?

Dean gripped Sam's hand tightly, staring intently at his little brother's face. It had only been a few minutes, but Dean was already on the verge of panic. What the hell was taking so long? Did it even work at all?

"Did the book say how long the cure would take?" Dean asked desperately.

"No," Bobby replied regretfully.

"C'mon, little brother." Dean leaned down next to Sam's ear. "Sammy," he murmured, "if you can hear me, I need you to come back, okay? Come back to me. Please."

Everyone was silent.

The heart monitor beeped.

And then it flatlined.

"No, Sammy!"

*Evil cackling*

Don't worry, I promise I'll get the next chapter up soon—I already have it half-written! I'll try to get it published by Saturday, but I may not have it up until after next week. We're going on vacation then, and I won't have access to a computer.

COME ON FANFICTION, WHY CAN'T I PUBLISH FROM MY PHONE?!

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