A/N: I am astounded. I managed to write a whole chapter in one day (which is something I rarely succeed in doing 'cause I've got pretty much the same attention span of a two-year-old), and what's more the day after the last update! Go me! LOL

As always, thanks so very, very much to my reviewers. I really hope you will enjoy this chapter.

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PART 7

The phone kept ringing for a bit, Sam staring at it dumbfounded for a few moments. He didn't recognize the number on the caller ID. It was a landline, the number of an actual house. No pay phones or unknown cells.

He finally managed to snap out of his stupor and brought the phone to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Sam? That you?"

The voice that spoke wasn't the one he had both hoped and expected to hear, and he closed his eyes for a moment, swallowing a sudden surge of burning disappointment. He should have known this wasn't his father.

But the voice was still a familiar one, and he found himself comforted by it.

"Caleb?"

"Yeah, it's me," the other hunter replied. "How's Dean?"

"He… uh…" Sam exhaled slowly. "He's not good."

"So I've heard."

Sam frowned. "What do you mea-" Realization hit him. Hard. Bringing unadulterated anger with it. "Dad contacted you, didn't he? It was Dad who asked you to call us, wasn't it? Did he also give you any words of encouragement to pass on, by any chance? Maybe a goodbye message I can give to my brother who won't hear it anyway because he's in a fucking coma and he just won't wake up?"

Sam was idly aware of how frantically incoherent he was sounding in his almost-shouted rambling, the words tumbling furiously out of his lips as if a dam had just burst open. He didn't care.

"Whoa," Caleb said, and Sam could almost see the man holding up his hands in a placating gesture. "Chill out, Sam. What did you say? Dean's in a coma?"

"Yes," Sam snapped. "Dean's in a coma and he might not wake up. But apparently our father would still rather call his friends than his own sons."

"Sam." Caleb's voice was now firm, harsh, holding the authoritative 'shut-up-this-instant' tone that had Sam so intimidated when he was a kid. He was twenty-two now, and it didn't affect him anymore. But he clamped his mouth shut nonetheless. Because that tone also meant Caleb had something to say, and when Caleb had something to say, it was always worth listening. "It's a Gwrach-y-rhybin."

Sam suddenly found himself more confused than angry.

"A what?"

"It's a kind of Banshee. Only, a Banshee announces death, Gwrach-y-rhybin brings it to those who have somehow escaped the call. It creates a link with them, opens a hole through their defenses, which would be why Dean and the other victims were suddenly drained of their strength and passed out right before the real thing started. Grach-y-rhybin is some sort of avenger of Death. It rights the 'wrongs', succeeds where Death has failed."

Sam shook his head, feeling slightly dizzy from all the information he had just received. But his mind sharpened almost instantly, instinct kicking in. He wasn't powerless anymore. His hand squeezed Dean's arm tightly.

"The name of this thing," Sam began. "It sounds weird. What kind of language is that?"

As he spoke, his whole self back into the "job", everything about him changed. His posture became alert, shoulders straightened, his body ready for action almost as if he was about to launch himself in a battle. Which, admittedly, he was. His voice was now firm, oozing determination.

"It's Welsh," Caleb replied, and Sam could swear he heard a grin in his voice. He had probably picked up Sam's change of demeanor. "You're dealing with a creature that's supposed to be a pagan goddess. A Celtic one."

"Supposed?" Sam repeated suspiciously.

"It's just a theory, actually. John Rhys mentions it in his book, 'Celtic Folklore'. There's a few figures that are quite similar to Gwrach-y-rhybin in British folklore. Rhys figures they could be what's left of an ancient cult worshipping a dark goddess."

"What about you?" Sam asked. "You think this Rhys guy could be right?"

"Actually, yes. It makes sense."

Caleb sounded sure enough for Sam, and he implicitly embraced the theory himself.

"How do I stop it?"

"Well…" Suddenly Caleb sounded uncertain. "The thing is, Gwrach-y-rhybin is supposed to haunt ancient Welsh families…"

"We're in South Dakota!" Sam interrupted in disbelief.

"I know. But listen, it's also associated with specific places, so maybe there's an ancient pagan site over there, somewhere. Maybe Gwrach-y-rhybin clung to it."

"Could be…" Sam muttered. "But still, there wouldn't be any Welsh families here."

"Who knows? Maybe someone's got a Welsh heritance."

"Dean certainly doesn't," Sam argued. "And I doubt all the twenty people who have died in these past few months did, either. Why is it attacking them?"

"I don't know. But Sam, find the pagan place, destroy what's there, and it should kill it."

Sam nodded, even though he knew Caleb couldn't see him.

"Okay."

"And Sam?"

Caleb's voice had now gone soft, almost apologetic, and Sam felt his stomach clench slightly.

"Yeah?"

"We're not sure killing it will save Dean. It might be too late."

Sam swallowed, hand closing around his brother's. He took a look at Dean's features, and stubborn determination flared up inside his chest.

"It won't."

Caleb didn't say anything, so Sam took it upon himself to break the silence.

"Caleb, all these info… It was Dad, wasn't it? It was him who figured it all out."

A sigh was blown out through the line.

"Yeah, it was John."

"Why didn't he call us himself?"

Sam's voce held no anger now. He just wanted to know. He wanted to have something to tell Dean, some sort of explanation. Any answer that wasn't, "I don't know".

"He thought it wasn't safe, Sam, calling you."

"But it was safe calling you."

"Apparently, yes." Caleb gave a small chuckle. "Hell, I hope so." He sobered up instantly. "Look, Sam, your Dad loves you very much, he tries to look out for you. He may not always do a great job, but he does his best. Just give him some credit, will you?"

Sam was silent, reflecting for a moment, his fingers still holding Dean's hand gently. He looked up to see Dean's prized necklace on the nightstand, the very same necklace that had been hanging from his brother's neck since the day their father had given it to him.

He smiled.

"All right."

"Good." Caleb sounded relieved.

"I gotta go now, I've got work to do."

"Sure. Call me if you need anything. And let me know about Dean, okay?"

"I will. Thanks Caleb."

Sam hung up and took a deep breath, taking a moment to stare off into space, processing everything he had just learned, a plan already taking form in his head.

He needed to learn about the town's history, and he also wanted to look up background information on the previous victims. Some of them could actually have had Welsh heritage, in which case there would be leads to follow.

There was some more hacking awaiting for him. Which meant he had to go back to the library.

He glanced at his brother. He didn't like the idea of leaving Dean, but it had to be done. Information didn't just come out of nowhere.

Despite what he had just told Caleb, Sam found himself back to cursing his father. If only he had come… Someone could stay with Dean. Instead, they were alone in this. Again.

Admittedly, that wasn't entirely fair: John's discovery would probably save Dean's life, but to Sam, research support just wasn't enough. Dean needed his father to be there, physically. And Sam had to admit with some reluctance that he needed him, too.

He shook his head. No point in dwelling something that couldn't be helped.

He leaned forward and gave Dean's arm yet another squeeze.

"I gotta go. Dad figured out a way to help you. You just hang on, all right?"

---

"Wanted to thank you for the last drawing. But the thing is, I need your help again."

Sam watched as his brother tried to reach out to the silent child, smoothening the piece of paper with almost fond gestures.

"How did you know to draw this? Did you know something bad was gonna happen?"

Lucas didn't reply, of course. He didn't even acknowledge Dean. He just kept on drawing, crayons running almost frantically over the paper.

"Maybe you could… nod yes or no for me."

"Smart try," Sam thought.

It didn't work.

"You're scared."

And then, Dean's expression changed. His features were awash with emotions Sam had never seen on his brother's face, pain he had never even sensed oozing from the green eyes.

"It's okay, I understand. See, when I was your age, I saw something real bad happening to my mom."

Sam frowned. Dean had never talked about this. He never said anything about their mother's death. He would just relate the story of how she had died, with no personal details whatsoever. Sam had never known how Dean had felt that night, had never known how Dean felt about it in the present day. Something was telling him he was about to find out, and despite having always wished for Dean to tell him, he wasn't sure he was prepared to know.

"And I was scared, too."

Sam actually flinched at that. Getting to know about one of Dean's fears in the specific was a new thing in itself. Hearing Dean admitting to that fear was totally astonishing.

"I didn't feel like talking," Dean's voice broke, and Sam felt his heart clench, "just like you. But see, my Mom… I know she wanted me to be brave." There was a flicker in Dean's eyes that told Sam his brother was seeing their mother's face in his mind. It was gone as fast as it had come, but Sam had noticed. "And I think about that everyday."

Sam felt tears coming to fill his eyes, and he angrily blinked them back. Dean had tried to hold the most part of his emotions back as he said it, preventing them from bursting out. He managed, but Sam had seen. Sam could actually sense the pain fighting for release after all those years of being kept at bay. Once again, it didn't win, but it was enough to tear at the younger Winchester's heart.

"And I do my best to be brave."

There they were again, the memories in Dean's eyes. Memories Sam was not allowed to enter. The most private of Dean's possessions, all there, in his eyes, for a little boy to see.

"And maybe your Dad wants you to be brave, too."

Lucas froze at that, and the crayon fell from his hand.

"You did it, Dean," Sam thought proudly. "You've reached him."

The kid looked up at Dean, and the young man returned his gaze, holding his breath, just like Sam and Andrea were doing as they stood in the doorway.

Lucas reached out and put a drawing in Dean's hands. His brother looked down at it, and then back up to the kid. A look passed between them. Something Sam nor Andrea could ever be part of.

---

Normally, Sam would have wondered where that memory had come from. But he didn't. Memories of Dean had been popping up out of nowhere for days now; an image flashing before him, Dean's voice talking into his ear, whole flashbacks like this one.

Sam didn't mind. They helped him keeping his hold on Dean, and so he was grateful.

He ran his fingers through Dean's short hair.

"Dean, should you see Mom… just tell her to wait, okay? Tell her you can't follow her, yet." He swallowed hard. "That's braveness, too."

He swung his bag over his shoulder.

"I'll be back soon. Whatever you do, don't follow the white light."

---

But there was no light.

They say that when you're in a coma, you can hear the voices of those around you when they speak. But Dean could hear nothing.

They say that when your time is near, you see your whole life flashing before your eyes. But Dean could see nothing.

They say that when death comes, all the fear goes away.

Bullshit. Dean was dying. And Dean was scared.

TBC…

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Additional Notes: Gwrach-y-rhybin is indeed a creature from Welsh folklore, just as John Rhys and his book, "Celtic Folklore" do exist. Gwrach-y-rhybin is indeed a darker sort of Banshee, but I played around a bit with the legend. If you're curious about how the real tale goes, take a look at the following link:

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