Dean walked down the left handed passageway, filled with an uneasy feeling.
"Damn it, Cas… what am I supposed you do when I need you?" He sighed stopping at the door in front of him. He opened it without hesitation. There was nothing besides a large mirror standing on a table in the middle of the room. A single candle in front of it. As the door opened the candle lit and Dean's reflection became visible in the polished metal.
"Oh, I do not like this…" he muttered to himself, he turned to leave but found the door shut and locked behind him. "I really don't like this."
He had no choice but to head onward and stand before the mirror. He looked at his own image, the candle distorting it so it looked like there were two of him constantly joining and separating. There was movement behind him. Dean turned quickly, a gun packed with rock salt out leading the way, but nothing was there. He paused to take a deep breath and calm his thudding heart before turning back to the mirror. A woman was standing right behind him. He swore and turned, as he did he suddenly found himself in a completely different place. Eyeing around, he saw that he was back at the two doors from before.
"Farewell, Sammy." Cried the Narrator. As Sammy lay helplessly before his demise.
Dean spun around, looking for the source of the voice. It sounded like an English woman. He would have found the voice soothing if it didn't feel like it was coming from inside his head.
What exactly did the Narrator think he was going to accomplish?
"Where are you?" Dean gripped his sawn off tightly, scanning the area.
In your head, Dean. And might I say it is quite a mess in here, dear, dear, dear. You really should organise your thoughts alphabetically or something similar. May I suggest the Dewey Decimal System?
"Get the hell out!"
Calm down, Dean. I am simply trying to help. Now, where was I? Ah yes. When Dean came to a set of two doors, he took the door on his right.
Dean frowned for a moment, looking at the door Sam had led them down. "Screw that." He walked purposefully through the door on his left. There was a moment of darkness and suddenly he was facing the two doors again. "What the-"
I don't think you quite understand, Dean took the door on his right.
Reluctantly, Dean did as the voice asked. He wandered down the corridor, slowly getting closer and closer to the door at the far end.
When every path you can walk has been created for you long in advance, death becomes meaningless, making life the same.
"What are you babbling about?" He asked bitterly, not liking the idea of being controlled.
Do you see that Sammy was already dead from the moment he began?
"What?" that familiar sense of trepidation returned with a vengeance.
Will you look at those two? How they wish to destroy one and other! How they wish to control one and other! How they both wish to be free…
Dean broke into a sprint, reaching the door quickly. His hand gripped the handle, and turned.
Sam entered the room slowly, looking around. There was nothing in the room but a single candelabra hanging from the ceiling in the middle of the room, the tiny flames flickering and casting down shifting and shapeless shadows. He stepped further in, frowning at the nothingness.
"I assumed there would be something in here… this is kind of a let-down if you ask me." Sam smirked slightly. His smile vanished when he heard the door shut and lock behind him. He swallowed, getting ready for anything.
As Sammy was thrown from wall to wall, and ceiling to floor, he reflected that his life had been of no consequence what so ever.
Sam's brow deepened. "I'm not being-" his sentence was cut off as an invisible force suddenly shoved him against the wall, knocking all the air out of him. He was then thrown in a different direction, his back cracking against the cold stone. He gasped in pain as he felt something go wrong with his shoulder.
Sammy cannot see the bigger picture, he doesn't know the real story. Trapped forever in his narrow vision of what this world means.
Sam was hurled part way towards the ceiling before slammed into the ground face first. He felt like a rag doll been given to an unhappy child.
Perhaps his death is of no great loss, like plucking the eye balls from a blind man. So he accepted this violent end to his brief and shallow life.
He lay on the ground, his entire body in pain and unable to move. He stared at the candelabra above him, it swung back and forth as if caught in a gentle breeze. He found it oddly relaxing after this stressful turn of events.
Farewell, Sammy.
The light source came lose and began to hurtle towards his head, he knew the weight of it would crush his head and kill him instantly. He was vaguely relived. It was over. No more demons, no more angels, no more God and no more messes. But he thought about Dean, how he would be alone again. He didn't want to leave him, but he had no choice. He was partly aware that the door had just burst open and someone had rushed into the room, but everything just faded to black.
Dean kicked the door open and rushed inside. A ring of candles was falling towards a bleeding and unconscious Sam.
"NO!"
It froze. The flames still strangely dancing in their stands, but the heavy metal was suspended in the middle of the air. Dean felt funny, like something was being pulled out of him. He fell to his knees as a female ghost stepped out of his body. She wore what looked like a long Victorian dress with a low neckline and lace around all the edges. She had a black choker on with a dark blue gem encrusted in it. Her hair was long and loose, flowing around her shoulders and face. Another male spirit rose out of Sam and stood before her. He wore a suit that matched her outfits colouring. His dark mid length hair had been pulled back into a ponytail that was tied with a long black ribbon. Dean seemed to recognise them now they stood close, but he couldn't place names to the faces. The pair looked at each other for the longest time, a silent conversation passing between them. The man nodded slowly, agreeing to some unspoken question. The rather beautiful woman lifted her hand and moved it to the side, the candelabra following it and landing to the side of Sam's head, missing him. She glanced back at Dean and then they both vanished. Dean didn't exactly understand what had just happened, but he wasn't going to question it. All he knew is he wanted to get the hell out of dodge, and ask Bobby about a symbol that stopped ghost possession, which is what he assumed this had been. He was wrong.
Dean looked down at his knocked out brother and swore.
"Aw, not again…" He grumbled to himself and picked him up. "When you wake up, we are seriously going to talk about putting you on a diet." Dean carried him back to the Impala and drove them both in the direction of a hospital.
I wonder if he found it. If what he wanted was to be the leading man in his own story, well perhaps he's gotten it… down in, where ever he is right now. I wonder if he's happy with his choice… and if he's learned the heavy cost that comes with it. He'll understand soon what I was trying to tell him. He needs me. Someone who will wrap everything up at the end, to make sense out of the chaos and the fear and confusion. That's who I am. That is what I mean to this world. Oh yes, yes I'll be back, there's no other way. Once this ends, once it all comes to a close, then I'll be back. The end will be here soon. Very soon… I can wait.