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When Sam finally managed to concentrate enough to astral project over five hundred miles from the library in Indianapolis to the convent in Ilchester, the sight in front of him was even worse than he imagined. Elizabeth was dead, lying in a heap on the ground. Benny was locked outside the sanctuary door, attempting—ineffectively—to smash his way in. Dean was securely fastened to the side of the altar, and Jacob was sitting on top of him, strangling him.

Elizabeth was dead…

How could she be dead? Jacob loved her! He genuinely loved her, and Sam never thought for a moment he would actually hurt her. She was practically his little sister! If he could bring himself to murder Elizabeth—of all people!—he wouldn't hesitate to murder Dean, and nothing Sam said would change his mind.

Still, he had to try.

"Jacob!" He hightailed it over to the altar and knelt beside his brothers, trying to get their attention. "Jacob, stop!"

Dean's eyes were closed. His breathing was even further hampered by the sock stuffed in his mouth, and his face was contorted in a mixture of fear and pain. Sam doubted he was aware of anything apart from the hands on his neck.

Jacob, however, glanced sideways at him with a triumphant glint in his cold blue eyes. "Hey there, kiddo. I was starting to wonder if you would make it." The glee in his voice was gut-wrenching. "I'm glad you came. You need to watch this."

Sam tried not to look at Dean, focusing entirely on Jacob. "Please! Let him go!"

The son of a bitch chuckled. "Now this is starting to sound familiar. Why would I let him go, Sammy?" He squeezed even tighter. "We're better off without him."

Sam couldn't let his brother die. Not like this. Not today. He had to stop Jacob! But how? He was just an apparition! A spirit!

A ghost…

On rare occasions, when ghosts were particularly angry, they could possess living people.

Sam didn't know if he was angry—just terrified—but he was certainly desperate, and he would do anything to rescue Dean! Even if it meant blending himself with an obsessed monster.

"Let him go!"

Without hesitating, Sam launched himself at Jacob, diving into his body with a flash of silver light.

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"Dean…?"

Jacob's voice was soft, nebulous and… worried?

The sock was gently extracted from his mouth.

He could breathe.

The hell?

Confused, Dean opened his eyes and found Jacob looking back at him. In concern. What?

When the creepy bastard noticed Dean's improvement, he actually gave a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank God!" Something was very different about his tone, his mannerisms, his whole posture, which Dean couldn't comprehend. "You're okay! I'm not going to let anything happen to you." He turned to examine the manacle on Dean's left wrist.

At a loss for words, Dean struggled to speak—his throat was incredibly sore. "…J-Jacob…?" He started coughing, much to his rival's alarm.

"No, Dean, it's me," he said when the coughing stopped. "It's Sam. I'm astral projecting, and somehow, I managed to possess Jacob's body. I'm gonna get you out of here. I promise."

Sam…? Possessing Jacob…? Was that even possible? It couldn't be possible! And yet, here they were. Instead of killing him, Jacob went back to fiddling with the manacle. He was trying to free him. Rescue him.

Meanwhile, outside the sanctuary, Benny was still pounding on the door, determined to break it down. Dean silently urged him to hurry as Jacob—Sam?—grew visibly upset.

"How the hell do these damn things open!? They don't have locks, or hinges, or anything!"

"Magic," Dean said, eliciting a moan from Jacob, who seemed close to panicking. Could he actually be telling the truth? One way to find out. "Sam… If that's really you… get the door… for Benny…"

Jacob froze, processing the request, but then, a heartbeat later, he nodded. "Yeah, okay!" He clambered to his feet and stumbled across the room. Dean watched nervously, tugging on his restraints, rattling the chains. Was this real? Was he dreaming? Or was he dead?

Suddenly, halfway to the door, Jacob whipped back around, flexing his muscles while turning red in the face—Dean cringed at the wild look in his eyes. "Oh, Sammy!" he exclaimed with a cruel laugh. "You're just full of surprises, aren't you? I love it!" He homed in on Dean, grinning. "Now, let's try this again. Let's wring his sorry neck."

As he marched towards the altar, Dean's blood ran cold. "SAM!" If his brother lost control of Jacob's body, he wouldn't just be forced to watch. He'd be forced to participate.

"NO!" Jacob stopped short, grimacing. "You stay AWAY from him!"

It was like watching someone with split personalities. Jacob clutched his head, took two steps forward, then toppled backwards, landing on the floor.

"Come on, little brother!" he yelled hoarsely. "You can't fight this! We're a part of each other now! Accept it!" He rolled to his knees and shook his head. "GO TO HELL!"

"Sammy…" Dean whispered, heart racing. This couldn't be happening!

"You wanted this, kiddo!" Jacob argued. "You came to me! You joined with me! You WILL submit to me!" Grasping the side of a pew bench, he pulled himself to his feet. "We can spend our lives together, Sam! You and I! Think of all we can accomplish together! Think of the dynasty we can build!" He trudged towards Dean. "It starts here…"

Now, more than ever, Dean had to fight. He couldn't let Jacob force Sam to kill him, so he renewed his efforts to tear his chains from the altar—but that only caused the manacles to bite into his wrists. "BENNY! GET YOUR ASS IN HERE NOW!"

Thankfully, the wooden door splintered—not enough for the vampire to reach his arm through, but he was certainly making progress. Jacob scowled, scanning his surroundings for a weapon to contend with the imminent threat. Benny could no longer be ignored.

Observing a tall candelabra tucked in a corner, Jacob set his jaw and crossed the room. He promptly snapped off the upper branches to create a long bronze shaft, which he carried back to Elizabeth's body. Sparing a glance at Dean, he plunged the tip through the corpse's chest. "Anyone ever tell you about dead man's blood? It's a bane to vampires."

Of course it was…

As Jacob found the perfect position to impale his enemy, Dean tried to shout a warning. "BE-BEN!" He started coughing—his throat had reached its limit.

No…

The door finally crashed open.

Benny stood in the threshold, brandishing a machete and baring his fangs.

Jacob lunged… and at the last possible second, he twisted, hurling the weapon in the wrong direction. As it clattered harmlessly to the floor, Benny attacked, aiming the machete for Jacob's neck. The bastard dodged, darting out of reach, and the next thing Dean knew, the two were engaged in a fearsome brawl.

It didn't last long. Jacob was pulling his punches, shaking feverishly, but somehow, he still managed to wrench Benny's arm behind his back and drive him to his knees, where he held him in submission. "I'm going to rip you apart, limb from limb," he growled. "NO!—Sammy, I'm only going to say this once!—LET HIM GO!"

Abruptly, Jacob released the vampire and backed away. Benny sprang to his feet, spinning around. Their gazes met. Every muscle in Jacob's body was rigid, he was sweating profusely, and his fists were clenched. "I've got him," he proclaimed, gritting his teeth. "But not for long… You have to hurry!"

Benny didn't hesitate. Adjusting his grip on the machete, he swiftly severed Jacob's head from his body, killing him in a single swipe.

Dean blinked.

Jacob's body hit the ground.

Everything grew silent.

It happened so quickly, so suddenly, Dean could hardly believe it.

Jacob was dead.

Benny tossed his blade on the floor. "Good riddance." He glanced over at Dean, observed his restraints, and hastened to his side. "Let's get you outta here." He grasped the left-hand chain and pulled, trying to yank it from the altar. It held fast.

Meanwhile, Dean glanced around the room, expecting to see—hoping to see—an apparition of his brother. "Sa…? Sa…?" His voice was ragged and pathetic.

"Don't talk," Benny advised him.

Dean whimpered. Aside from the vampire and two corpses, he was alone. His brother was gone.

If Jacob died with Sam's spirit inside him…

No. That shouldn't matter.

But what if it did? Sam wasn't technically a ghost. The normal rules might not apply. He could be hurt… Or… Or…

Dean felt tears prickling in his eyes.

"SAM!?"

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The sun had set by the time John arrived with Bobby and Rufus. Dean was still fastened to the altar—despite his supernatural strength, Benny was unable to break his chains. The wait was unbearable, especially with the stench of blood and death. Dean tried convincing the vampire to drag the corpses outside and burn them, but Benny refused to leave him unguarded for any length of time. Azazel might return.

Fortunately, he didn't. Thank God for small favors.

Just to be safe, when the three old hunters rushed into the sanctuary, they immediately lined the door and all the windows with salt. Only then did they direct their attention toward the prisoner.

"Dad, I'm sorry," Dean whispered as John knelt beside him. "I did everything I could."

"I know," his dad assured him, briefly cupping his face with his hand. "It's gonna be all right. I'm gonna get you out of here, and we're gonna find your brother." He spoke with such confidence that Dean believed him. He didn't know how—he didn't even know if Sam was still alive—but his dad was a hero, and when he put his mind to something, he never failed. Dean trusted him.

Climbing back to his feet, John produced the angel blade from inside his coat. "This better work," he grumbled. If the celestial weapon wasn't powerful enough, or holy enough, to dispel Elizabeth's magic, then nothing could—and Dean would be stuck here forever. It was a disconcerting possibility.

But when John brought the blade down on the chain, it shattered, dematerializing in a puff of smoke. Dean's arm dropped heavily to his side, and he grimaced at the sudden, painful movement. Stepping around him, John repeated the process with the other chain, and Dean was finally free. He tried to get up, but his body objected, and he sank back against the altar.

"Not so fast," John warned him, sheathing the blade. "You're hurt."

"Nah, I'm fine," Dean argued, but his arms were numb, and he couldn't stop his father from helping him to his feet. It was humiliating—Dean was a hunter, not a victim!—and his face flushed.

"I've got you," John whispered, drawing him in a tight embrace. "It's all right."

"The demon's still out there," Dean replied miserably. "We lost our chance to kill him, and it's all my fault."

"Don't give me that!" Slowly and carefully, John led him away from the altar. "We're alive, and the Stynes are dead. Take the win." He guided Dean to the front pew and made him sit. Then, he glanced over at Benny. "I can't thank you enough."

The vampire shrugged. "Don't thank me. The credit goes to Sam. From what I gather, he's the only reason I had time to bust through the door, and he's the only reason I wasn't poisoned the moment I walked in. He's one hell of a kid."

"Can you track his scent?" John asked.

"I reckon so. Once I get a breath of fresh air."

"Good. The sooner we find him, the better."

"You two go ahead," Bobby urged them. "Rufus and I will stay with Dean and tidy up all this crap." After all, they couldn't leave without torching the bodies and destroying the spell book—if that was even possible. Dean would only slow his father down, and he couldn't let anything distract the old man from his search.

"It's okay, dad," he said when John hesitated. "Go. Please. Sam needs you more than I do."

After a beat, his father nodded. "Be safe." Casting one final look at his friends and family, John motioned for Benny to follow, and made his way outside.

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(Indianapolis, Indiana … Sunday, December 13, 2005)

When Sam woke up, his heart was heavy. He was back in the same hospital he had fled the previous morning, and this time, his wrists were cuffed to the bed rails. Apparently, while his spirit was hundreds of miles away, grappling with Jacob, his physical body was discovered by a concerned librarian who thought he was comatose. Naturally, she called 911, and now Sam was under the watchful supervision of a security guard and the nursing staff.

They didn't know who he was. They couldn't figure out what ailed him. And they were suspicious by his earlier escape. In their minds, he was a danger to himself, and possibly to others, so if he requested an AMA form, they weren't likely to comply.

He didn't care. He was too broken to care. Jacob was dead.

Why was that so upsetting? Sam hated Jacob beyond words. The son of a bitch was not his brother. He was a kidnapper, an abuser, a murderer, a monster. He was evil, and Sam hated him.

But in a way, he was still Sam's brother. They shared an emotional connection that couldn't be denied—however twisted and perverted it was. Over the past two months, there were times when Sam genuinely longed for Jacob's presence, for his protection. Now that he was gone, permanently, Sam's relief was tempered by loss. He mourned for Jacob, and he burned with shame. How could he mourn for Jacob? He hated Jacob.

When his doctor came to check on him, Sam turned his head toward the wall. He didn't answer any of the man's questions—didn't even speak.

"We're just trying to help you, son," the man gently assured him, trying to coax him into cooperating. "Please. Let us help you."

"Thank you, Dr. Riley," came a familiar Cajun voice. "But we'll take it from here."

Startled, Sam whipped his head around, and there was Benny, standing in the doorway along with his dad.

"Who are you?" the doctor demanded as the security guard took a step forward.

"FBI," John said, flashing his badge. He focused on the guard. "A word?" They quickly withdrew from the room while Benny smiled at the doctor.

"If you don't mind, sir, I'd appreciate a moment with your patient. In private."

The man hesitated, reluctant to leave Sam, but curious to join the guard's conversation with John. "All right, but keep an eye on him. He's a flight risk."

"Oh, I know," Benny replied, stepping out of the way so the doctor could slip past him. Then, he closed the door, and glanced back at Sam. "You okay?"

Sam stared at him, silent and miserable.

Benny sighed. "I suppose not." He crossed over to the bed and gingerly removed the wrist cuffs. "I can't begin to understand what you're going through, boy. But you saved your brother's life, and you prevented the ritual. The pain you're feeling right now… You have to believe it ain't gonna last forever."

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