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"I don't get it!" Dean slammed his fist down on the bedside table. "Why would he do it? Why would he even think about doing something like that!"

Missouri laid her hand on Sam's forehead, shaking her head. "His dreams are - are broadcasting ... I've never heard of anything like this before."

"What can you tell? Is he asleep and dreaming, or unconscious? Is he having a vision?" John reached out as if to touch Sam's hand, but pulled back.

Dean shot their father a glare. "You can touch him, Dad. It's not catching, or I would have had it months ago." He sat down beside his brother and stroked the straggling locks of brown hair away from Sammy's eyes. "You need a haircut like yesterday, Samantha."

In his unconscious state, Sam turned his head so that his cheek rested against his brother's hand. A desperate whimper parted his lips.

Dean squeezed his eyes closed and whispered, "We'll fix this. Whatever it is you're seeing, remember I'm here and I'm going to fix this."

Samuel Winchester would have given anything to wake up from this nightmare. Would have given anything, done anything to open his eyes and see that the images in his mind were not real. He had watched as a terrifying demon ripped his father's heart from his chest and devoured it. He had watched as Dean threw himself into the fight despite his injuries, determined to kill the creature that had taken his father away from him. He saw Dean crumble to the ground, his ribs crushed by the demon's razor sharp claws. Panic assailed Sam's mind as the horrifying monster licked Dean's blood from its claws and turned toward him.

"Samuel Winchester, you belong to us now."

"No!" Sam clutched the gun his father had given him at the tender age of six in desperation.
As the demon advanced, Sam shrank away from the terrifying sight, shaking hands gripped the gun, aiming it at the demon.

The creature laughed. "Now, Sammy. That's not going to hurt me. Shooting won't make a bit of difference."

For a moment, Sam felt despair. There was no stopping this thing, no denying it what it was determined to acquire. Unless ...

Sam steadied his shaking hands and turned the gun on himself, pressing the cold barrel under his jaw. His fingers felt like lead as they fumbled around the trigger. He knew better than to aim for the side of his head. A clean shot up through neck would be most likely to inflict lethal damage. And, if Sam was what the demon wanted, and Sam was dead, his father and brother's deaths would be avenged. The demon would be denied.

As his hand trembled on the trigger, he gazed past the demon to the still forms of his father and brother. I should have done this years ago. I should have pulled the trigger when I was fourteen. If I'd only done this sooner, Dad and Dean would still be alive. I was a selfish bastard. The sight of the bloodied, battered corpses that had once been his father and brother was enough to give Sam the strength he needed. Tears spilled down his cheeks as he firmly and deliberately squeezed the trigger.

"No! No, God no!"

Sam lurched to a sitting position, gasping for breath, his scream still seeming to echo in the air.

Dean was at his brother's side, strong arms wrapped around the younger man, holding him tightly against his chest. Gently, he rocked Sam back and forth, whispering words of comfort. He hadn't held Sammy this way since he was very small, and under normal circumstances it would have been embarrassing, but these were hardly normal circumstances.

"Shh, shh. It's okay, Sammy. I'm here and you're awake. Whatever you were dreaming, it's over, okay?"

John and Missouri watched, both with tears in their eyes, as Dean comforted his distraught brother.

"What happened, Sammy? What did you see? Was it a vision?"

Sam shook his head.

"Not a vision? A nightmare, then?"

Sam nodded, taking deep breaths in order to force himself to calm down.Instead of calming him down, however, he began to hyperventilate.

John sprang into action, racing into the kitchen and returning with a small paper bag. "Breathe, son. Breathe into the bag."

Sam was shaking so badly that he couldn't hold onto the bag, and his father had to hold it in place for him. After what felt like an eternity of listening as Sam gasped and shuddered, trying to bring his breathing under control, they were relieved when his chest rose and fell peacefully.

"Dean?"

Sam turned to his brother, his brown eyes wide and frightened.

"What is it, Sammy? What did you see?"

"The demon. It - it killed Dad, and - and you, and it was coming after me. I should have done it before. Should have - done it. You both died because I didn't do it. I - " He stopped, the memory of the nightmare too vivid.

Dean helped Sam sit up so Missouri could retrieve, fluff, and replace his pillows. "Didn't do what, Sammy? What didn't you do in the dream?"

"Shoot myself. If I'd been able to do it then ... if I die, the demon will leave you alone."