A/N - Sincere thanks to all who've kept reading and reviewing; I really appreciate the feedback even though I'm a pathetic respondent.
Sam felt a sensation like being pushed, and realized that the imposter wearing John Winchester's face had fired at him and that the imaginary rock salt had found its target--and now Dean, believing that Sam was a banished spirit, was shutting Sam out of his mind. He looked up at Dean, who was staring back at him with a shell-shocked expression. The crumpled form of "John Winchester" lay a few feet away, a pool of blood spreading beneath him. Apparently Dean had imagined rounds stronger than rock salt for his own gun, and he had used them against a man he believed to be his own father, his hero, in order to save his brother.
Sam struggled against the forces pushing him out of the burning room. He had to show Dean the way out, or his brother could still die, trapped in his own mind.
"Dean! You have to leave this room, do you hear me? Just walk through the door! Please--you have to get out of here!" Dean was still motionless, surrounded by the spreading flames. In a sudden realization, Sam saw what he must have looked like to Dean when his brother pulled him out of the burning apartment in Stanford, and Sam panicked. If Dean hadn't come after him and dragged him out, Sam would have been too paralyzed by guilt, shock and sorrow to leave the bedroom. He would have died with Jess; hell, for a long time afterward he wished he had died with Jess, but now he knew better, and it was all because his brother had saved him.
"Dean! Please!" Sam pushed back with everything he had, but it wasn't enough--he didn't know how to overcome Dean's barriers. He shouted his brother's name one last time as the room faded from view.
Sam came to with a start, finding himself still on the bed and half-draped over his brother's chest. Quickly he moved his head, placed his ear over Dean's heart, and listened. The heartbeat was faint and sluggish. "No!" Sam shouted, pushing himself to a sitting position. "No!" Sam looked frantically around the room, searching for Sarah. He caught a glimpse of blue tracksuit on the floor on the far side of the room, and quickly ran to her side. Sarah was breathing, but she was unconscious.
As Sam stared helplessly at the older woman, her words came back to him. "You're strong enough to do this on your own."
Rushing back to the bed, Sam cradled Dean's head in his hands and closed his eyes. "Please," he whispered. "Please live."
The shock of seeing his brother vanish spurred Dean into motion. "Sam?" he called, smoke burning his lungs and making him cough. He dropped to his knees, trying to get below the thickest part of the smoke, turning in a slow circle and squinting through the haze. Sam had just been right there, telling Dean that their father wasn't...Dean looked down at the bleeding body that lay nearby. If Sam was real, and their father wasn't, then why was John the one lying on the floor? Sam wouldn't have tricked him, would he? Had his father been right--did Sam hate him that much? Dropping the shotgun, Dean scrambled across the floor to his father, but something stopped him short of touching the motionless form.
Memories flashed through Dean's mind in rapid succession: coordinates on a phone, the smell of lighter fluid and the electric grip of a madman, his brother standing over him with a pistol, pastel houses and the smell of the sea, his father punching him in their Kansas home as Sam burned on the ceiling, a river of blood, running on soggy ground, cornbread, his mother, and finally Sam, crying.
The last image snapped Dean out of his confusion. No, his brother hadn't lied--he had been here, which meant that Dean had to find him, which further meant that Dean was going to have to find a way through that fire, weakness be damned. Dean braced himself, trying to block out his pain and fear. "Just run through it," he told himself, when it occurred to him that he wasn't sure anymore where the doorway was--the flames had formed a ring around him and the smoke was obscuring everything beyond.
"C'mon, Sam, which way did you go?" muttered Dean, desperation rising.
"This way!" Sam's voice came from behind him and Dean turned, seeing nothing.
"Sammy?"
"The door is this way--just follow my voice!"
Dean hesitated, glancing once more at the body on the floor. If he was wrong...
"Trust me!"
If he was wrong, then it didn't matter anymore, did it? Dean pulled himself up, took a deep breath and ran into the fire.
Sarah Wilson sat up slowly, putting a hand to her throbbing head. The older Winchester boy had a helluva set of mental defenses when they were triggered--it was no wonder the creature pursuing him had needed him physically weak to gain access to his mind. Then Sarah caught a whiff of smoke in the air. Memory returned in a rush and she struggled to her feet and staggered to the bed, almost tripping over Sam, who lay sprawled on the floor. Kneeling quickly, she took his pulse and concentrated, checking his aura. It was strong, steady, and the brightest blue she had ever seen, fairly pulsing with power. Satisfied that Sam was fine, Sarah stood automatically and looked at Dean.
His face looked pinker and less waxy, but that wasn't the most amazing thing. As Sarah drew closer, she saw a few wisps of white smoke trailing off of Dean's skin, dissipating into the air. Afraid to touch him at first, Sarah concentrated on viewing his aura instead. It was pale but present, and the gray was fading away practically before her eyes. She blew out a deep sigh of relief, and reached for Dean's wrist, intending to check his pulse.
A strong hand suddenly gripped Sarah's forearm, forcing a startled gasp from her lips. She looked down into hooded hazel eyes that, though tired and weak, glinted dangerously.
"Who the hell are you, and where's Sammy?" Dean's voice was rough with smoke and worry.
Sarah forced herself to remain calm. "I'm Sarah Wilson, and Sam is fine." She met Dean's gaze, waiting for his reaction. After a moment, Dean released her wrist, his arm falling limply to the bed. Sarah realized that Dean's sudden action had taken most of his strength, and wondered how badly bruised she'd have been if Dean wasn't so incapacitated.
"Where are we?"
"You're in Raleigh. Sam brought you here after you collapsed in Charleston."
Dean's eyes closed briefly, and Sarah could feel the tension leaving his body. She watched him struggle to open them again, only managing to force them halfway.
"Sam's okay?" Dean's voice was quieter now as exhaustion took him.
"Yes. Just rest now."
"mmmhmmm," Dean's eyes drifted closed, and Sarah smiled.