Title: Blackbird

Author: Oldach's Dream

Summary: Someone or Something is trying to trap Sam within his own mind. Alluring him with the promise of the normal life that he's always wanted. Will Dean be able to save his baby brother before he's gone forever?

Disclaimer: Supernatural defiantly isn't my creation. Jared and Jensen are pretty.

Rating: M

A/N: I'm really sorry about the long delay in posting, I... Well I'm utterly and completely fed up with this story. I made the mistake of writing the last chapter before the rest of it was done. Here's a tip: If you ever intend on finishing a story, never do that. Because now it's like the story's over. Only it's not. And I have to keep writing.

Okay, I'll stop blambering and let you read this chapter now. Hope it was worth the wait!


Chapter: Thirteen

"Dean."

Sam's voice filtered through the cell phone, which was being held up and displayed by the psychotic girl in front of him. Dean tugged and thrashed at his bindings, but held no real hope of getting loose. All he could do was listen to his brother's desperate pleas, recorded onto his voicemail, his helpless feelings growing more pronounced by the second.

"I need your help. The doctor here is nuts. He's doing something Dean, I don't know, but it's not good and you have to come get me out of here, I..."

A gunshot rang out, cutting his brother off. Dean had no doubt that that's what the sudden, loud, crack sound had been. The knowledge of that was enough to make Dean's blood run cold, and his heart stop.

Sammy, he thought, biting his lip to keep from actually crying out. Come on Sam, he pleaded silently, say something, make a noise. Let me know you're okay.

The next few moments would go down in remembrance as the longest and most terrifying of Dean's life. Because for a few moments, he wasn't sure if his brother was alive or dead. He didn't know whether or not he had failed.

For a few moments, Dean was convinced it had all been for nothing. That everything was over.

Then Sam's hallow voice sounded again. It was enough to bring tears of relief to the elder Winchester's eyes.

"Help Dean. I can't get out of here myself, I need you..."

The gun sounded again, and this time Dean knew that the line had been disconnected. The harsh, beep, beep, beep of the phone line confirmed his suspicions only moments later.

"Well, Dean, I guess Sammy's in a bit of a scrape." The demonic chick snapped his cell phone shut, tossing it carelessly to the side of the room. Dean watched as it clattered across the floor. "What do you think's up with that doctor? Sounds kinda creepy."

And the worst part was, her cruel taunting was completely deserved.

Dean didn't respond.

"But I'm sure Sammy's just overreacting, right Dean?" She smirked evilly. "I mean you checked out that hospital before you dumped him there, right? Gave it two thumbs up and a gold star?"

She studied his downcast eyes and blank expression, and Dean was absently grateful that she had gotten rid of the fire; just moments after his cell phone had begun to chirp.

"Oh my God." She dragged out in mock exasperation. "You didn't, did you? You had no idea what was going on there. You just dumped your little brother there like he meant absolutely nothing." She shook her head, and Dean glared, not finding it within himself to do much more.

She simply continued. "You know, my father told me that a lot of your strength, why the Winchester's were so dangerous and why I should be so cautious around them, laid in your relationship as brothers." She smirked. "My father has never been wrong before. But I guess I'll have to tell him he overestimated you guys.

I mean, if you could just leave Sammy like that…"

"Stop calling him that!" Dean shouted, finally fed up with her. "I didn't abandon him! I was trying to do the right thing! He was supposed to be safe!"

"But he isn't, is he?" Her voice was low and threatening. "He's going to die. He might already be dead. Because of you."

Dean had never felt so much blind rage in his entire life. Nor had he ever felt as ashamed, as he did right at that moment. This demon, this witch, whoever she was, she was using Sam's predicament to get to Dean. To get him to fail in his, albeit pathetic, attempts to save his brother.

At the same time, she was telling him that he was horrible brother. What hurt the most, was hearing that. Hearing the cold, hard truth; that he had done this to Sam. That he had abandoned him. Lost him.

To hear it from a demon though, to be legitimately criticized by an evil being…shame was not a strong enough of a word. Complete and utter despair was just scratching the surface of his feelings.

He didn't think a word or phrase existed that could effectively describe what he was feeling right now. It was like someone had torn out his heart and shoved it through his stomach. Then made him relive every even remotely bad experience of his entire life, again and again and again. Before repeating the process. And that just started to scratch the surface of what he was feeling.

"Geez Dean," She mocked a sympathetic tone. "I didn't upset you, did I?"

The eldest Winchester brother felt defeated, for the first time he could ever remember, he wanted to give up. It wasn't a feeling he liked too much.

"What do you want?" He asked pathetically, arms sagging on restraints he no longer bothered trying to struggle away from.

"I already told you what I want." She said, a little anger present. "I want my family back."

"You know," Dean started, unable to resist himself. If he couldn't go down fighting, at least he could go down unafraid. "Most people, when they lose a family member, they just get counseling. I think all you really need is a good shrink. How much do you think Dr. Phil charges?"

"You really think your sarcasm is going to make this better?" She smirked. "I can read your fucking mind, remember? I know you just gave up. I know you believe that Sam's dead."

"He's not dead!" Dean said forcefully, perhaps there was some fight left in him after all.

"You don't believe that." She said factually. "You know it's true."

Dean couldn't find it in himself to actually gauge his own thoughts on the matter. He couldn't tell if he really believed, knew, that Sam was dead. Or if she was just saying this to get him to believe that's what he thought.

This chick was playing a twisted game. One that the Winchester's had fallen right in the middle of. One of death and other worlds and resurrections and spells and psychic powers. Dean was in over his head; he had no problem admitting that now, he just didn't know what to do about it.

"You hang there, and wait for your brother's powers to come to me." She answered his thought.

"Stop doing that." He demanded, knowing it was pointless.

"But it's fun." She smiled.

"I thought you said you couldn't get his powers if someone killed him." Dean remembered suddenly, hope springing up. "You said he had to…"

"Kill himself?" She laughed at Dean's difficulty in saying the words. "Well see now, that's the beauty of my curse. As long as Sam was in his make believe world when he was killed, it's still suicide enough for me to get his powers."

"He's not dead." Dean said firmly. "If he was, you'd already have his powers."

She sighed, rolling her eyes, annoyed. "Yeah, you're probably right. He's still alive." She paused, before her eyes locked Dean's gaze. "For now."

Dean gritted his teeth angrily, before letting out an almost dangerously un-humorous, low-toned chuckle. "You are a fucked up piece of shit, You know that!"

"Watch the language." Was her only reply.

"I hope you die a slow, painful, torturous death." He seethed, putting his imagination to good use, hoping that she could see the images flashing behind the backs of his eyelids.

She only smirked again. "No Dean, that's reserved for your little bother."

Dean stopped breathing once more, gritting his teeth harder, waiting for her to go on. He wondered briefly if all the information he had gathered on her, from her, was for nothing. Would he make it out of here in time to do anything about it?

Would he make it out of here at all?

"Do you know what happens, when someone dies and they're trapped inside a curse like that?" He couldn't tell if her triumphant expression came from talking about Sam's entrapment, or if she had read his thoughts again. Probably both.

"They get to stay there forever?" He guessed, although he had no idea why he bothered.

She snorted. Actually snorted her amusement. The moment felt suddenly incredibly surreal.

"If that was the case, Dean, It wouldn't really be a good curse, now would it?" Something in the way she said his name made him shudder.

"Then what happens?" He didn't want to know the answer. He needed to know the answer.

She studied him for a moment. "Something bad." She finally responded, for once deciding not to give up all the information she had. "Something that'll make Sam wish he could just die. Something he would kill to get away from."

"Kill you?" Dean asked hopefully. "'Cause I can so see Sam's ghost coming back to haunt your ass."

She smiled. "I'll be too powerful by then."

"It's a good plan." Dean acknowledged, feeling suddenly strong. "But it'll never work."

"No?" She raised an eyebrow. "Why's that?"

"Because you're gonna die." His own voice took on an almost mystic quality that he could not identify. He had no idea where this sudden burst of power stemmed from, but he didn't fight it. He knew it came from somewhere good, and it chased away all his defeated feelings.

"You have no idea…" But her sentence was never finished. It hung there, an absent place in time and space, for the rest of eternity. Cut off by the familiar, and in this instance comforting, sound of a gunshot.

In a single, oddly anticlimactic, moment, the demon chick's eyes went wide and turned from evil to…shocked, sad and scared. It was in that moment that Dean realized she was indeed a human being. Capable of human emotions and feelings.

It was in that moment that Dean hated her so much more. Wanted to see her die again and again. Five million deaths wouldn't be enough for this type of pure, chosen, human evil.

It was a moment that went on forever. Her final breath, her automatic glance down, the blood oozing out of the bullet wound in her chest. Her glance back up at a still restrained Dean, asking silently how he had done this. How he had killed her.

Dean answered with a satisfied smirk and a knowing look in his eyes. Because even if he didn't know, even if he wasn't sure, he wanted her to die thinking that he was the one responsible.

He broadcast his next thought as loudly as he could, hoping to God that she could hear it.

That's what you get bitch…when you mess with my family.

She gave him one last dying look, one Dean would never be able to identify for sure, but bordered somewhere on a silent plea for forgiveness.

Then the moment was over, and she died, collapsing to the floor in a pathetic heap.

Revealing the person who had fired the shot, the one still holding the smoking gun.

"Dad," Dean rasped. On some level, not believing what he was seeing. On another, he was not surprised in the least.

John Winchester lowered the gun and took a long, hard look at Dean.

"Hey son," he finally managed half a smile, accompanied by a long pause. "Having a bad week?"

His father had always had a twisted sense of humor, one that Dean often found comforting, because it was so much like his own, and he knew how to deal with it. And knew what it really meant. In this instance, his words could have meant a plethora of things.

"You could say that," he mumbled when some of the shock wore off. He shook at his restraints slightly, in a hinting manner, feeling absently embarrassed at his current predicament.

The eldest Winchester crossed the room smoothly, ignoring the body on the ground entirely, all traces of humor gone from his tired face. He had Dean released in a matter of moments.

The younger man slumped slightly again the wall once he was free, rubbing at his painful wrists. He watched as his father crossed the room, once he had given his son a good once over, to heading to the alter that was set up on the other side.

Dean's brain was having a hard time catching up with the events of the last minute and a half.

"What are you doing here?" He found himself asking, while glancing around the basement himself. Searching for where his shirt might be hiding.

John's movements halted for only a moment. It was so slight; Dean could have sworn he imagined it, as his dad was crouched down in front of the locked cabinet moments later.

"I'm saving your life." He informed. "Sam's too. You boys are in over your head with this one."

Dean snorted. "Figured that much out." He mumbled, recalling his identical thoughts on the matter. "But how'd you know…?"

Dean jumped slightly at the sudden noise of his father bursting open the lock on the double doors of the cabinet beneath the alter. A myriad of thick, leather bound books and other various occult type items came into view.

John began flipping through crusty old pages of the books he began pulling off the selves, seemingly at random. It was a few more seconds before his voice filtered through the crinkling of the pages and the clunks of discarded texts on the floor.

"I've been tracking her for a while." He answered factually. "I thought… for a while I thought she might be connected to the thing that killed your mom…"

Dean's head snapped up and he felt suddenly alert. "Is she?"

His father just shook his head. "No, her mother was just another victim of it."

"And it turned the whole family evil." Dean shrugged when John turned to look at him. "I heard the story."

"Well, the story doesn't end there." He said, going back to the task of shuffling through books.

"She has Sam," Dean's voice was suddenly frantic. "Trapped, there's a curse. Dad, I…" He was going to admit his mistake in failing to protect his baby brother, but something stopped him.

His dad didn't notice his son's internal struggle, he just barged in with, "I know about the curse, I know everything. And I know that the counter curse is in one of these books."

"What?" Dean gasped. "How? How…"

"It's a long story Dean, one we don't have time for right now." He snapped. Something in his commanding, almost exasperated, tone, made Dean feel like he was twelve years old again, and being criticized and reprimanded for making a mistake during a crucial part of a hunt.

Finally the older man found what he was looking for in one of the books, just as Dean stumbled across a pile of his things in the corner of the moldy, cellar like basement. Pulling on his t-shirt seconds later, hoping to fight off the remaining chill, he shrugged on the leather as well, ignoring his aching limbs.

"Gotcha," John mumbled, before ripping the page out and turning back towards the alter.

He began to read the words off the page, and all Dean could do was stand there and stare, dumbstruck.

Could it really be that easy? Could the answer to saving Sam really have been lying only mere couple feet away this whole time?

Dean didn't want to believe that was true, but his father's deep voice started to speak the Latin words, there was really no doubt in his mind. He had failed.


The reading of the counter curse lasted a few minutes. A few solid minutes of John Winchester chanting in hollow, unwavering, old Latin phrases. The Celtic bowl that the demon chick had been using was smashed loudly and with an unrestrained force a few minutes into the chanting.

The vials of their blood were thrown against the wall, the pictures were burned, and by the time his father had finished taking his arm, and in one fluid motion, knocking every single item of the alter onto the floor, the cabinet looked harmless. Just a cabinet full of old books.

A pile of books that was set on fire just moments later. Dean found himself retreating from the flames subconsciously. He distracted himself from his fear, by wondering if all this destruction had been a necessary part of the ritual, of if his father was just pissed.

"Dad?" Dean called tentatively when the older man stopped speaking. His breathing was shallow and labored, frightening the younger of the two. The fire danced, happily contained, in the background.

It was as if time had stood still in this dank, deteriorating old basement. For a few minutes, after the curse had been spoken, it was as if everything stopped. For a brief moment, nothing else existed.

Then John spoke. "That was it." He mumbled, sounding a bit unsure himself at the simplicity of it. "I broke the curse."

"Are you sure?" They were gambling with Sammy's life, after all.

"No." He spoke factually, but the word made something inside Dean snap.

"No?" He shouted. "No! What the hell do you mean, No! This is Sam! How can you not be sure!"

"Because I've never done this before," his teethe were gritted in an effort to remain calm. "The curse should be broken, but I..."

He trailed off and shook his head, now wasn't the time for this. "Forget it," Dean decided. "Let's just get to Sammy, I think something..."

He had been moving towards the door and on the verge of asking his father for his advice on the hospital situation. He stopped though, when he realized that his father was not following him. "Dad?"

"I have to stay here."

Dean just gaped.

"I have to burn Meg's body." He explained, not meeting his son's eyes.

It was a ridicules reaction, bur Dean couldn't stop himself, it was the only thing he could think of to utter, "Meg?"

John just nodded, and reminded his son. "She was a citizen, registered, had a license. She was human."

"She was evil." Dean countered, and John did not argue the fact.

Meg. Dean examined her lifeless body, still sprawled out on the floor in front of them. Her blood was still spreading. It would reach his feet soon.

Dean turned away from her abruptly, heading instead to a nearby corner to pick his, thankfully undamanaged, cell phone off the floor. They would need this to save Sam.

"So we light her corpse on fire..." He paused, facing his dad again. "The entire damn house while we're at it, and go to Sam."

His father just shook his head. "It's not that simple." He informed him. "I need to find the bodies of her parents. There are spells that have to be done, to reign in her spirit. She's got too much power already. Her soul is going to try and find a way to come back and haunt us. Keep killing."

Okay, Dean admitted to himself, that was a logical thought. "So we'll keep her spirit bound for a while, go get Sam, come back, then we can all do some voodoo, mumbo jumbo... What?" His father was shaking his head again.

"You need to get back to your brother." John said simply.

"No," Dean countered slowly, as if speaking to a small child, or someone incapable of comprehending the most basic of facts. "We need to get back to my brother. We need to get back to Sam." This was incredibly simple logic. Why was his father not getting it?

"Dean," John snapped harshly. "I can't come with you. I have to take care of this."

"So, what?" The younger of the two started sarcastically. "You disappear for months, barely contact us at all, make us think you're fucking dead... and when you finally show up again, its only for a half a goddamn hour? Just long enough for you to do what you need to do and send me away? We're your sons, remember!"

"I know that!" John shouted, emotions were running high. "I'm doing this to protect you! If I don't get a handle on this situation, you know what's going to happen? Sam's going to die. Then you will. Then I will. Our family could die right now, tonight, if I don't take care of this."

The words were blunt and took Dean's breath away. But the elder man kept going.

"You need to go back to your brother. Protect Sam." And just like that his voice was soft and controlled again. "That's an order."

Dean nodded, an uncomfortable lump forming in his throat, a few silent moments passed before he managed to swallow it. "I...I'll call you. Tell you of the counter thing worked." His voice was more level than it had been in hours.

He felt more composed as well. He didn't agree with what his dad was insisting he do right now. Dean wanted them to stay together, to be a family again, only that wasn't going to happen. But still, following his dad's orders was oddly comforting. Something he'd been doing for as long as he could remember.

"I'll come if you need me." These words also reassured Dean, because he knew the elder man meant them.

The stared at each other for a few long moments. John's eyes were apologetic, he was silently begging his oldest son to understand the decision he was making. Dean's own eyes assured him that, even if he didn't, he would not be holding a grudge about it.

Father knows best.

'I love you, son.' The silent words were exchanged and Dean conveyed the same sentiment. The eldest of the Winchester's did not engage in emotional displays. Body language and non verbal communications had always been enough for them. Always had to be.

A quick nod from Dean, and he turned on his heel, fleeing the prison-like basement. John just watched him go. His sons would take care of each other. Of this he would always be sure.

Dean was outside moments later. All thoughts of anger and disappointment, or anything that he'd been feeling towards his father, were left rightfully in the basement. As soon as the cold night air infiltrated his lungs, all he could think of was getting back to Sammy.

And he prayed to God that he was not too late.

End Chapter.


Finally, progress! The next chapter will feature Sam's world once the curse is broken, while he's still trapped there. If you're guessing something bad's gonna happen... You're right. And if you thought I was twisted before...

Anyway, the more you Review, the faster the next installment comes out!