A/N: Thanks a bunch to all my reviewers! I'm sorry about it taking me so long to update, but I don't have internet access in Rome, where I study. I'm back home for the holidays now, so I'll try to post as many chapters as I can, there's only a couple more to go anyway. Thanks for sticking with me and have a great Christmas all of you!

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PART 13

Sam came to with a small gasp of fear.

"Dean!"

He blinked, slowly turning his head from side to side to look around. Everything was dark and silent. It felt like nothing, and Sam's stomach clenched as panic began to rise.

He forced himself to calm down, knowing that no matter how frightening, this was only a dream.

Said knowledge faltered when he rolled to one side and gingerly climbed to his feet. They thumped over something solid, like a floor that was just out of eyeshot, and it felt… real. As real as they come.

Terror threatened to take him over, when something glistened in the dark, and his eyes caught sight of a large mirror not far from him.

He started to walk up to it; slowly, warily, like he would approach one of the creatures he used to hunt.

Until the image in the mirror changed, and it wasn't reflecting darkness anymore.

"Dean!"

The cry left his mouth before he could even register it being born, and next thing he knew, his hands were once more pressed helplessly against a glass surface.

He only pounded over it twice though, not really surprised when he didn't get any result.

So he stared, the fierce pain so familiar by now that it only brought numbness to his body, as his brother lay in the hospital bed, the machines beeping steadily, wires all around his unmoving form, his cheeks paler than Sam had ever saw them, except for the dark circles under his eyes.

"Dean… Dean. Dean Dean Dean Dean…"
The name escaped his lips over and over, like a whispered mantra that Sam knew would just go unanswered.

The image in the mirror faded, and Sam was left staring at his own pale, devastated features.

His reflection moved his head, and he jumped back. He moved his hand, but his reflection didn't match his gesture, merely staring at him through cold hazel eyes.

Sam swallowed, the whole predicament triggering an awful deja-vu of what had happened when he and Dean had faced Bloody Mary, back in Toledo.

"Do you know why you're behind this glass instead of sitting at your brother's bedside?" his reflection suddenly spoke, eyes no longer bleeding and voice free of the furious rage that had marred it that time, but it still held that same hint of cruelty.

"Because you can't do anything," the Sam in the mirror went on when he didn't answer its question. "This," it embraced the whole glass surface, "this here, this mirror. This is your helplessness."

Still, Sam didn't speak, too crushed by his own emotions and memories to say anything.

"You're not at Dean's bedside because even if you were, it wouldn't change a thing." His reflection paused cruelly. "Time's up."

"No, it's not," Sam replied reflexively, steel determination bringing the voice back to his throat. "And if I have any say in the matter, it won't ever be."

"But you don't have a say in the matter, do you?" his reflection retorted tauntingly. "Let me ask you a question. Can you deal with loss?"

Sam's gaze hardened.
"I've been dealing with loss my whole life," he said coldly.

His reflection smiled a smile that sent shivers all down Sam's spine.

"Oh, I don't mean pushing it all back down until the pain turns into anger like you usually do. I mean really deal with loss. Can you do that?"

Sam didn't answer this time, feeling the words sink in and cut deep.

"Can you deal with this particular loss?"

Sam thought of Dean; of his too pale features, of how exhausted he looked even as he slept, of how slack his lips were while they should be forming the smirk Sam knew so well.

He shook his head in response.
"No, I can't."

His reflection sneered.
"Thought so."

It disappeared with the widening of its grin, and Sam was left alone in front of the now once more dark mirror. He leaned both his palms and his forehead against the cool glass, wishing that he could somehow wake up from this nightmare in the nightmare and go back to Dean's side, letting him know that he wasn't alone.

---

Dean was starting to truly hate that wall. True, it had somehow stopped that thing from going after him, for which he was grateful beyond measure, but it was still trapping him, keeping him away from Sam and Sam away from him.

Sam, who sometime during his latest ordeal had disappeared, leaving him to wake up to an empty bedside.
Sam, whose absence could only mean two things: either more research, or trouble. Possibly both.

Dean looked up at the ticking clock on the far wall of the room. 8pm. No libraries were open at that hour, which ruled out the research option.

"Come on, Sammy," Dean thought fervently, throwing yet another anxious glance at the door. "I'm gettin' worried here, little brother."

"Dean!"

Dean startled, the monitor giving a longer, slightly shriller beep as his damaged heart jumped in his throat. It settled back down almost instantly, which gave Dean no reason to worry about medical staff rushing into the room and the chance to focus on Sam's distraught voice.

"Dean. Dean…"

"Sam?" Dean called. "Sammy, where are you?"

"Dean Dean Dean…"

"Sam!" Dean yelled as loud as his strength would allow.

"Dean Dean Dean Dean…"
The litany of his name continued uninterrupted.

"Sam! Dammit!" Dean cursed his weakness when he tried to get up and failed miserably, pain shooting up in his chest as soon as he dared trying to put some weight on his elbows.

"No, it's not. And if I have any say in the matter, it won't ever be."

Dean frowned as Sam's voice came to him again, from somewhere that sounded close enough and yet just out of eyeshot.

"I've been dealing with loss my whole life."

They were snippets of a conversation, and judging by how cold and spiteful Sam's voice had sounded now, Dean figured whoever it was that he was talking to, his brother didn't like the person that much.

He wondered why it was that he could hear Sam's voice so clearly and absolutely nothing of what the other person was saying. Maybe Sam was on the phone? But with whom? Their father?

"I've been dealing with loss my whole life."

No. There was no way Sam would throw that into their father's face, no matter how much they had fought in the past. Especially not now, when Sam was losing a brother and John Winchester a son. Those two may be stubborn, but they were never cruel, and pain always did seem to bring them together somehow.

Dean was still trying to figure out the mysterious speaker's identity, when Sam spoke again.

"No, I can't."

He sounded broken, defeated in a way Dean had never heard him before.

He was listening to the sound of his brother, his ever resourceful, stubborn to the point of being a pain in the ass little brother, giving up for the first time.

Dean decided he'd heard enough.

He fought to drag himself up, not caring about the pain. He squeezed his eyes shut against the strain and reached out a hand to give his body some shove forward.
He was surprised when he felt his fingers go straight through the glass barrier and close around solid flesh.

---

The coolness of the glass was almost comforting as Sam still leaned against it, eyes closed. He could feel himself plummeting into despair, but he couldn't find the strength to snap out of it.

As he found himself truly empty for the first time, he idly thought of all those times in his life in which he had thought he was drained, and realized just how full of energy he still had been in truth.

"Sammy."

The voice came out of nowhere, and Sam barely had time to snap his eyes open before a hand closed around his wrist and he was forcefully pulled through the mirror.

---

"Sammy."

Sam jerked awake, eyes wide and frantic.

"Easy, boy, you're okay."

His gaze finally managed to focus on the worried features of Davis Alban, who was peering anxiously down at him.

"You had us worried, young man," the man said as he helped him sit up and handed him a glass of water.

Sam drank gratefully, looking around the small room. A single room. He looked down at his hospital clothes in disbelief.

"They had me hospitalized?!" he cried.

Davis hurried to hold up his hand in a placating gesture.

"When you didn't wake up after the first two hours, Nath- Dr. Jackson," he corrected himself, "thought it was best to keep you in observation for 24 hours. You know, out of precaution."

Sam shot him such a both thunderous and appalled look that Mr. Alban almost squirmed.

"I don't have time for precaution," he growled, swinging his long legs off the bed and getting up, hastily retrieving his clothes.

Davis shot out of his own chair.

"Sam, you should rest. You were out for almost six hours…"

"I gotta go back to Dean," Sam cut him off as he finished dressing up. "I need to talk to him."

Something had happened while he was unconscious. He remembered being trapped, unable to snap out of the darkness that surrounded him. Until Dean had somehow found a way to connect with him and drag him out.

He didn't know whether Dean was aware of it or not, but Sam was determined to get to the bottom of it.

"Sam."

Something in Davis' voice forced Sam to stop his frantic activity and look up. He found the old man staring at him with both sympathy and worry in his eyes. Sam's stomach clenched.

"What?" he asked, unable to keep the fear out of his voice.

"You can't talk to Dean."

Sam could actually feel the color drain out of his features.

"What are you talking about?" he breathed.

Mr. Alban didn't answer. He merely kept on staring at him, pity mixing with confusion.

"What happened to my brother?" Sam cried in anguish, feeling his own chest tighten.

As soon as he realized what Sam's fear was, Mr. Alban's hands flailed up in the air in a frantic attempt at reassurance.

"No, no, no. He's not dead," he said hurriedly.

Sam felt his knees almost give out in relief.

"Then why can't I… Has he slipped back into the coma?" he ventured. "Please don't let him have gone back there," his mind prayed fervently. "Please no."

The old man frowned.

"Sam, what are you talking about? He never woke up."

Sam stared at him, uncomprehending.

"What… Of course he did. Right before the Gwrach-y-rhybin came."

Mr. Alban's features were once more awash with heartfelt sympathy.
"You must have been dreaming, boy. Dean never woke up."

---

Sam stared at the unconscious features of his brother, shock quickly turning back into despair in the pit of his stomach.

"So you didn't see any of it," he said, his voice flat and detached, with just a small hint of disbelief to betray his emotions. "The glass wall, me trying to reach through, Dean in pain… Nothing?"

Mr. Alban shook his head.
"Nothing. I've seen you standing between the Gwrach-y-rhybin and your brother and lunging at the thing. And passing out once she had gone, of course. But I saw no wall and no reaction from Dean, other than the monitor going off- "

The old man trailed off abruptly, and Sam forced his eyes away from Dean to look quizzically at him.

"What?" he asked.

"You know, that's weird…" Mr. Alban reflected.

"What's weird?"

"When Dr. Jackson finally came into the room after I called him…"

"What?" Sam pressed urgently.

"He said there had been no change in Dean's condition. He said the monitor never went off. And that's why none came before."

Sam blinked.
"Excuse me?"

"That's what I said, too," Mr. Alban nodded. "But he did a double check both on Dean and the machines and said that nothing had changed at all."

Sam sat lost in thought for long minutes, brow furrowed and mind working furiously.

"It's like we all did perceive reality differently," he ventured at last. He spoke slowly, thinking through everything as he tried to figure it out aloud. "And everyone of us had some more details than the others. Me, I saw Dean awake, the wall, the Gwrach-y-rhybin, and I heard the monitor. You only saw the Gwrach-y-rhybin, that part of my actions that didn't include an interaction with Dean, and you heard the monitor going off. And Dr. Jackson walked into the room and saw it as if nothing had happened."

"And Dean was in there somewhere, too, perceiving people and things his own way. And you two somehow connected through it all so that you perceived it like he was conscious," Mr. Alban echoed his train of thought. "The Gwrach-y-rhybin, too. She only seemed to be able to see me and your brother. Even when you collided with her, it was like you weren't there."

"It's like we all were on different levels of reality," Sam mused.

Their eyes met.

"You ever heard of anything like this before?" Mr. Alban asked.

Sam shook his head.
"Never."

"What exactly happened after I passed out?" the young man asked after a while.

Mr. Alban shrugged.
"Nothing. Your brother's condition still didn't change and Dr. Jackson was worried about you 'cause you wouldn't wake up."

"It was Dean," Sam said after some silence, looking back down at his brother.

"I'm sorry?" Mr. Alban asked curiously.

"I woke up thanks to Dean."

Sam proceeded to tell the old man about his dreams. About the wall and the mirror and how real everything had felt. How Dean had reached out to him and pulled him back to consciousness.

"Something's going on with you and Dean," Mr. Alban said after some pondering when Sam had finished his tale.

"You think it might have something to do with the Gwrach-y-rhybin?" Sam asked. "Maybe she's doing it to us?"

The old man shook his head.
"No. I never heard that she was capable of anything like this. It's something else. And I'd dare say we might want to figure it out."

"Not now though."

Mr. Alban stared at him uncomprehendingly.

"If it's not connected with the Gwrach-y-rhybin, it can wait," Sam said. "Right now we need to figure out a way to destroy that thing before she comes back for Dean."

Mr. Alban nodded, and then his sharp blue eyes sparkled as he grinned the grin of the cat who's just about to eat the canary.

"I have an idea."

---

"Are you sure this is going to work?" Mr. Alban asked as he watched Sam draw an intricate pattern of symbols in and around a circle on the humid ground of the woods just outside the town.

Sam looked up at him and nodded distractedly, bringing his attention instantly back to what he was doing.

"We've used it before, Dean and I."

"I still can't believe you and your brother deal with this kind of things on a daily basis," the old man said.

Sam shrugged, barely hearing his words, lost in thought.

He remembered the last time they had performed that ritual.

He had been seventeen. Their father had uncharacteristically decided to go soft on the angry soul haunting a small town in Kentucky, trying to find a way to have it put at rest by digging into its history.

Until the particularly vicious spirit had attacked Sam himself.

Dean had come to the rescue like a pissed off cougar, shooting the thing full of rock salt and roaring out a binding spell that Sam had no idea where was coming from at the top of his lungs.

Next thing Sam had known, his brother was furiously drawing a wide circle and a number of symbols and sending the spirit back where it belonged.

What had come next hadn't been pleasant. Their dad had yelled at Dean for performing a ritual out of nowhere without consulting anyone first. Dean had fought back that time, screaming that surely Dad had picked the wrong hunt to start caring about the human history of the things they hunted, and what if Sammy had got hurt.

And for once it had been Sam who had watched a fight ensuing, knowing that it was his fault, because he had been the one to repeatedly accuse their father of killing blindly, until John had finally caved and tried to do things another way. For once.

Dragging himself out of the memory, Sam finished drawing the last symbol and stood, looking down at his work critically.
Five years ago, Dean had used that ritual to protect him. Now he would do the same for Dean.

"And you say this is going to trap my father's spirit? Only him?" Mr. Alban asked.

Sam stared intently at him.
"You can still change your mind," he offered sympathetically.

The old man shook his head with a small smile.
"No. I've done nothing for too long."

"But it's your father."

"My father died 45 years ago, boy," Mr. Alban said pointedly. "It's the only way."

Sam knew he was right. If they wanted to stop the bargain the angry spirit of Davis' father had going on with the Gwrach-y-rhybin, there was no other way but to trap the spirit itself and let the creature finally come to collect her prize.

It had been Mr. Alban's idea, and Sam could only imagine how hard that decision had been on him.

"I just want to make sure we get the right ghost," Mr. Alban said.

"We will," Sam assured. "Your blood is to ensure that only those with the same DNA as yours answer to the call," he explained, pointing at the symbol in the middle of the circle, wet with a few drops of blood oozing from the cut Mr. Alban had purposely opened in the palm of his hand.

"Black magic," the old man remarked.

Sam shook his head.
"Occultism," he said. "There's a difference," he added when he saw Davis open his mouth to protest.

"So what now?" the old man asked again.

"Iubeo te! Veni!"

Sam uttered some more words, finished the invocation and grinned.
"Now we wait."

"Um… Say, Sam," Davis began after a few minutes of silence. "If there was some other ghost in my family, would they get sucked into this, too?"

Sam's eyes immediately shot to him, narrowing in suspicion.

"There's someone else?"
He truly hoped that there wasn't, because that would really complicate things, and how much more complicated were things bound to get before he could finally have his brother back?

Mr. Alban heaved a deep sigh, crushing Sam's hope and fuelling his anger with that only small sound.
"Well…"

But before the old man could get any further, temperature dropped and angry gusts of winds came to sweep the trees.

"It's too late to tell me now!" Sam cried over the screaming of leaves. "He's here!"

What happened next, Sam knew he would never forget. Because however had he imagined the ritual to unfold, this certainly wasn't it.

TBC…

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Further A/N: The Latin words Sam utters mean, "I command thee! Come!". Or so I hope… I suck at Latin. So if any of you has any clear idea of how that would be translated, please let me know. Otherwise, just excuse my poor Latin skills.