A/N Here are the final four chapters. Thank you everyone for your reviews. Please let me know what you think of this last bit.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything Supernatural, just stopping by to play.

Rainbows in the Dark

Chapter 4

The sun was going down when Sam left the hospital. He drove back to the motel to gather the things he would need for the hunt. He wanted more of the shells he had loaded, he knew they could hurt the thing even if they didn't kill. After gathering up his bag from the room he stood looking into the trunk of the Impala. He had been through it twice and was frustrated, the one thing he needed to kill the thing he couldn't find. There were silver knives, iron knives, dream catchers, EMF detectors, guns of various kinds, silver bullets, herbs, rock salt--but no copper. Not one single bit of copper. Nothing.

And Sam needed a copper knife. The ancient text said the thing could only be killed with a copper knife. Sam was at a loss to know where to turn for that item. The sense of urgency to have it done, to kill the thing, to save Dean was beginning to effect his judgement--he knew that. He was desperate, afraid and angry. It was the anger that was the worst--it clouded everything. Anger at his father, anger at Dean for letting this happen, anger at himself for letting this happen.

He stopped, and took a breath. You are leaving yourself wide open to this thing, the voice that sounded like his brother said. You need to get your head together.

"Thanks Dean, maybe you should have listened to that advice yourself," he said aloud and then sighed. He was really losing it--now he was talking to his brother who was laying miles from him, near death, tubes sustaining his life as it faded to nothing.

Snap out of it! He told himself sternly. He was beginning to suspect the thing was aware of him--aware of his hunt. His thoughts were getting increasingly morbid as he moved closer to taking action. I have to stay focused, I have to save Dean.

"Dean doesn't want to be saved," a voice said clearly. It sounded familiar, Sam couldn't--didn't--want to recognize it.

A copper knife, I have to find a copper knife, he repeated to himself. Stay focused. He walked to the motel office, hoping the clerk might know if there was a store around. A store that carries copper knives, yep, I'm sure they have those in abundance.

"Hi," he said to the pretty clerk. "I was wondering if you knew where I might find a copper…" Yeah, this will sound weird.

"Salt shaker? Spoon? Letter opener?" She said.

"Letter opener? Yeah, that would work." Sam said.

"I have some over there with the other souvenirs. There is a really cute one with a howling coyote on it."

"Perfect," Sam said picking it up, it was definitely cute, the coyote had a pink kerchief around its neck, just the thing to kill an ancient evil--Dean will love this when I show him.

"He'll never get the chance, he's nearly gone now," the familiar voice said. No--Sam tried to tune the voice out--it can't be.

Sam paid for the letter opener and got in the car. He planned to go out to the first spot they had investigated. He had a hunch that was where the thing would be. Three of the attacks had taken place in that vicinity. As he drove out of town he put one of Dean's tapes in the stereo. The music filled the car, it almost felt like Dean was with him.

"I have to tell you, I am scared shitless," he said talking to his brother, talking to the empty passenger seat. "I have never hunted anything like this alone--hell, I have never really hunted alone. How do you do it? Knowing there is no one to back you up? No one to catch you if you fall? I can't keep this up Dean. I need you here."

He turned onto the dirt road that led out to the mesa. Once he got out there he needed to build a fire, and hopefully he could accomplish that before the thing came for him. He knew it was aware of him, that familiar voice was an indication of that. He pulled off the dirt road and grabbed his weapons and something to get a fire started. He walked away from the car, then turned back and reached in to snag one of Dean's tapes. He put it in his pocket, as a token to remind him why he was here, something to help him focus, he had a feeling he might need it soon, with that familiar voice calling to him.

Sam sighed as he walked away from the car. "When this is over, dude, I am going to kick your ass, then sit you down and make you dump all this shit you are carrying around. I don't care if it is the chick-flick moment of the century, you are going to talk to me. This is never happening again." Sam said to the nothingness around him.

"It's almost over for Dean. He is nearly gone, and in your deepest heart, won't you be glad? So many things he needs to pay for, so many sins to be redeemed. I would be alive if not for him, wouldn't I, Sam?" the familiar voice, Jessica's voice, started again.

"And then Dean," he continued, trying to ignore that voice, her voice, the voice that called to him in his dreams. "Then we are going to make a pact to be open with each other. We can't have the silence between us. We can't. I fill the quiet with words, but they really mean nothing."

"Nothing at all, Dean doesn't hear you. Dean doesn't want to hear," her voice said.

Sam was gathering a few bits of wood to get the fire started. He had to have the fire. The ancient priest was very clear on that, you have to remove the thing's heart and burn it. The heart is the seat of the soul, it has to be destroyed for the thing to die. Sam hoped it was true, that it actually worked like that.

That's one of the nice things about what we hunt, Dean's voice said. There are rules that they have to play by, you just have to make sure you have the right playbook.

"Thanks for the support, this would be easier if you were here to watch my back." Sam said into the night.

"He can't hear you, those words are yours, not his," said the thing with Jessica's voice. "He has left you, he doesn't want to help."

Sam held a lighter, Dean's lighter, to the dry wood. His hand was shaking so badly he could barely keep the flame in place long enough to get the wood burning. The voices were beginning to become overwhelming, Jessica's voice, Dean's voice, his own voice. Too much.

"I don't know how long I can do this, man," he said, talking aloud. Filling the silence with sound. "I don't know. I really wish you were here." He put his hand in his coat pocket, clutching Dean's tape, the edges of the case cutting into his palm.

"Dean's doesn't want to be here, he wants to die," Jessica's voice said.

"Only because you are hurting him," Sam finally answered the thing.

"He deserves to be hurt, don't you think? So many dead because of him. I'm dead because of him, you know that, don't you Sam. If he hadn't taken you away from me, I'd still be with you."

"That's not true," And Sam suddenly knew he believed that, knew that it was true. Had he really been harboring the thought his brother was to blame all this time? The thing must have seen something. Must have seen a secret hurt. "Oh, Dean, I'm sorry. I don't blame you, it would have happened anyway. I'm sorry."

"He can't escape from his fate. He knows he is worthless, he knows he has failed," the thing with Jessica's voice continued.

"Only because you are feeding him half truths," Sam said.

"That's not true. Didn't your research teach you anything? I just help people realize what is in their heart, and help them leave it behind."

Oh, Dean, I'm sorry. "You bring up all their pain so you can have a nice snack," Sam said.

"Now, is that fair?" And suddenly Jessica was before him, her hair moving in the soft night breeze.

Sam gripped the cassette tape even harder. He felt the case break in his hand. She's not real, she's not real, she's not real, he repeated to himself. She was walking towards him, slowly, gently with that swaying walk he had like to watch--particularly from behind. (I knew you had it in you Sammy, said Dean's voice with an audible smirk.) As she got closer Sam could smell the thing it actually was. The sick-sweet smell of death, of decay. Dean's death, his soul's decay.

"You were the one in Dean's dreams--he thought you were our father."

"Yes. I choose the one who had the strongest voice. He was the person that could influence him the most. Well, that's not quite true, you have more influence, but you were physically with him, so it would have been hard to do."

"Me? I doubt that. Dean and Dad have a bond. Dean does what Dad says, he always has," Sam heard the bitterness in his voice, the pain, the long-standing hurt. No, no, no, I have to stay focused for Dean.

"If you had been a little more focused on Dean you could have saved him. You could have stopped me, your voice would have overpowered mine," the thing said in Jessica's voice.

It was true, he knew it, his fault. Dean was dying and it was his fault, not their father's, not this thing before him, only Sam. Sam's fault.

SAM! Snap out of it, dude. It's fucking with your mind.

"Thanks Dean," He whispered into the dark. He looked at the thing that was now Jessica. He took a deep breath, focusing on the stench, something to remind him this was not Jess.

"I could be, though. We could have time together," she said stepping closer. "When I am finished with Dean--and I nearly am--we could be together. We could spend time, have the chance to say good-bye."

I never said good-bye, did I? Oh, Jess, I'm sorry. My fault. I loved you. My fault.

Sam stopped and took another deep breath, the smell of the thing filling his lungs. This was beginning to sound like Dean's dream, the litany he recited every night like some kind of prayer of failure. No, Sam shook himself out of it. I can't help Dean if I let the thing do this to me.

"Maybe you are stronger than Dean," the thing said. "He couldn't resist me, but then maybe you have fewer sins? Dean has been such a feast, so many faults, so many wounds, each one a pleasure to explore, but it is almost over now. Not much left at all. Sadly, I won't have the pleasure of the final meal, but the taste of his blood was enough."

She was right in front of him, the stench of the thing blending with Sam's memories of Jessica's perfume. She reached out a hand and laid it gently on his cheek. "Then we can be together, Sam. We can spend some time reliving your life, visiting the past. You might not be as tasty as your brother, but I am sure we can make do."

No. "NO!" Sam shouted, he started to bring up the shotgun, to try and wound it again before it could attack him, attack Dean, again.

"Naughty Sam," it said, dragging Jessica's hand down his face. He felt the skin tear, felt the warmth of blood on his cheek. He pulled the trigger.

Jessica fell, the wound in her chest, open, gaping, bleeding freely. Sam pulled the copper letter opener out of his pocket. "You can't do it, Sam. You can't hurt me, and it doesn't matter anyway. He's dead. He just died. They tried valiantly, but he's dead now, so why not just stay with me?"

Dean! No! His mind screamed his brother's name as he drove the knife into Jessica's body. She was screaming, he tried not to hear as he pulled her heart, beating, from her chest.

"You can't do it Sam, we could still be together. Dean is dead, so what does it matter? Be here with me, I will give you peace. He died in agony, every second pain, you didn't stop that, but your death could be different." Jessica's voice continued in his head.

Sam hesitated. He wanted to be with her, bury himself in her, let her take his pain away.

He threw the heart into the fire. "How could I be with you? You killed Dean. Nothing can help that, nothing" He looked over at her, the body slowly became the thing it actually was then faded into flame, the light flaring in the dark night until there was nothing.

Sam stumbled back to the Impala. He threw the knife into the well on the passenger side of the seat. As he got into the car he saw his cell phone on the seat. Three missed calls. He picked it up with unsteady hands and hit retrieve on his voice mail. Three calls, three messages.

The first took his breath from his body. "This is Dr. Saunders, we have just had to resuscitate your brother, you should return to the hospital, I think we are going to lose him." Sam erased the message.

The second message came on, "This is Dr. Saunder's. I'm sorry. We couldn't bring him back the second time. He died at 11:27 p.m. I am so sorry, please call to make arrangements." The phone dropped from his hand. The third message was playing, there were words, the voice sounded like the doctor again, but Sam only heard sound, nothing that made sense. His brain was numb, his body screamed in pain. Tears were trapped behind his eyes, his chest hurt, but the tears didn't come. He put the car in gear and drove towards town, and still the tears wouldn't come. There was nothing.