Hey guys! Here's the next chapter. Thanks for the reviews and I'm glad people have been enjoying this. :)
I hope this isn't getting too repetitive or anything. We're nearing the end of our journey here. Few more chapters to go. :)
Sam wriggled out of Dean's arms, motioning down the new hallway before them. "We want to go that way."
Dean turned and began to walk down the hallway, thoughts on his baby brother.
This is a much bigger job than I thought. I guess that fortune teller really knew what she was talking about.
It killed Dean that the fortune teller had been trying to tell him about his dad all those years ago and he hadn't listened.
If only she had told me. If I only Sam had told me... I should have been paying attention.
Dean looked up in surprise as his guide suddenly stopped. His eyes widened at the sight before him.
The hallway had enlarged, shifted, and they were standing in a motel room. There were two Sam's here, one strong and healthy, the other sickly. It worried Dean just how sick the other looked. He was leaning against one of the motel beds, sitting on the floor, pale as death, clearly unable to stand.
"Who are these guys?" Dean asked young Sam, who was watching the two with sorrow and slight fear in his eyes.
"Optimism and cynicism. Cynicism used to be so weak, but over the years he has become the powerful one. Optimism is dying. We've tried to save him, but...there's only so much we can do."
Oh no.
The implication was clear to his brother.
Sam doesn't have much hope left. The kid is dying, but in a way I never expected.
I'm gonna fix this, Sam. I promise.
That's when he realized the two Sam's, both about 15, were arguing.
"D-Dean's coming. E-everything will be o-okay. W-we c-can't g-give up." The sick Sam looked horrible, his voice weak, though his belief in his words was clear with every syllable.
The healthy Sam rolled his eyes. "Why don't you just give up and die already? There's nothing left to hope for. Dad hates us, Dean thinks we're worthless, we hate ourselves. We're horrible hunters, we're bad students. We have no friends. What's the point? We've never done anything right. It's time to give in." Healthy Sam paused, looking at sick Sam pointedly. "Maybe you should just end it, huh? Let's just get it over with. I'm sick of this! There's no point!"
The sick Sam hesitated this time, tears beginning to stream down his face. "Maybe..."
Young Sam tensed beside him.
Dean couldn't stand by any longer.
"Oh no you don't."
Dean strode forward, pushing the healthy Sam down onto one of the motel beds.
"You sit there, and shut up." the order was clear, healthy Sam glaring the whole time.
The older brother then knelt next to his ailing sibling, gently grabbing his shoulders, looking him in the eyes.
"I don't think you're worthless and I don't hate you. Don't give up. You hear me? You keep fighting. I'mg oing to make everything better, but you have to give me some time. Okay? Don't you dare give up."
Sam looked at him a moment, then nodded. "Okay."
Dean gazed at him a moment, then stood, satisified by the truth in his eyes.
A bit of color seemed to return to the sick Sam's cheek and he pushed himself to his feet with a groan, sitting down hard on the bed.
"I believe in you, big brother. Please save me. I know you will. I want you to go throught his door." he gestured towards the motel room door. "It will take you where you need to go."
Dean nodded, squeezing his brother's shoulder reassuringly, then turned to his young guide, six year old Sam, and followed him to the door.
Sam looked happier now. "This is the last room we need to go through before we find the final door. This contains my, um, my favorite things." the child blushed slightly. "It's, it's not all bad in here, you know. Things are just bad now. The other Sam was right. You can fix this. He's not the only one that believes it."
Dean smiled at his baby brother, reassured by the thought that there was something of the happy child he had known before left to save.
Opening the door, Dean moved forward, waiting till his guide was inside before closing the door behind them.
Immediately, he was hit by the smell of old books. The room was lit up like a sunset, a beautiful view of the ocean flashing before them, the sound of the waves lapping on the shore the most soothing thing Dean had heard in a long time.
The smell of old books was replaced by leather and gun oil, mixed with an aftershave that Dean was startled to recognize as his own.
Then two familiar laughs broke out and Dean smiled as he saw him and Sam, sitting in the Impala, laughing at some stupid joke Dean had told. Similiar scenes flashed before Dean's vision again and again.
His childhood wasn't all bad.
Dean was surprised to feel his heavy guilt ease just a tad.
I haven't completed failed him. He has good memories too.
Six year old Sam met his gaze with a flash of dimpled smile, gently urging them both forward through the next door.
One last hallway stretched before them, empty of doors except for one at the very end.
It was black and ominous looking and Dean immediately hated it.
Whatever's in there isn't good.
It was a knowledge, something that he knew without fully being able to explain why.
"This is where you need to be." His guide said softly, looking intimidated at the sight of the door. "This is the Sam you need to free. He is trapped among his own self-doubt and guilt. The witch forced him in here. He's going to think you're a hallucination, Dean. Please don't give up. Free him. We're so close."
The child sounded so desperate.
Dean knelt down in front of him, pulling him into a tight, but gentle hug.
"I'm going to make all of this right, Sammy. And even when we both wake up, I'm still going to be working at it. I'm never going to give up on you. Never. You mean the world to me, Sam. You remember that and spread the word. Okay?"
The flash of relieved tears and loving smile he received was worth the chick flick moment.
"Okay."
With a last nod, his guide disappeared.
Standing, Dean grabbed the door knob.
Deep breath.
I can do this.