okay, sorry this took me forever to write...hopefully it turned out okay... thanks for reading. hope everyone enjoys!! thanks for reading!!! reviews as always are golden!! bambers;)

Chapter Eleven

The blast of gunfire echoed through the stillness of the cemetery, momentarily silencing the harmonic chirping of crickets and peepers. The .45 slipped effortlessly from Dean's hand and fell to the ground. Blood dripped down the side of his face, quickly soaking his t-shirt.

Damn, that so should've hurt like a sonuvabitch.

The banshee picked the weapon up and shook her head. Her steady gaze fixed on Dean. "Tha' wasna such a good idea." She gently wiped away the blood from Dean's temple. "I did try an' warn ye, but ye wouldna listen."

"Am I — "

The banshee rested two fingers on Dean's lips, hushing him. "Shhh . . . dinna say it — dinna even dare tae think it. For tae say the words would make it so."

Dean took her chilled hand in his. A single tear slipped down his cheek as he glanced around the quiet cemetery, and then his gaze settled on her. "It figures, you know . . . I couldn't even do this right."

"Pray, I do no' understand."

"Most people — most people don't get stuck outside of a grave hoping to get in."

"An' why would ye be wantin' tae get in?"

Dean lowered his head, his hand falling away from hers. "I failed them . . . failed them miserably. My Dad gave me one job — protect Sam and I let him die. God, I don't even know how my father could stomach looking at me."

The banshee reached out and lifted his chin, cupping his face in her delicate hand. "Yer bein' too hard on yerself, Dean. Ye do the best ye can, and tis far more than most would do. Yer Da was proud o' ye."

"I wonder how proud he was of me, when I bashed his skull with a crowbar — Christ, what kind of person kills their own father?"

"I willna have ye belittlin' yerself. Ye didna hurt yer father, he choose tae die tae save ye."

"It really doesn't make a damn bit of difference how he died. It's still because of me that he's dead." He stood and stared at Sam's grave. "Even if this isn't real, even if I didn't murder my own father, the guilt's still there . . . it doesn't go away. Not for one damn second does it ever go away."

He looked at her for a moment, blinking back the tears in his eyes, and then turned away. "It's been eating away a hole so big inside of me that sometimes it's even hard to breathe cause the hurt is too much to bear — and I'm afraid someday Sammy will come to hate me for it."

"So ye chose tae end it all . . . give up on all tha' is real, tae believe in tha' which is not, so ye could put an end tae the pain?"

"I'm not a coward." Dean shook his head, the sound of the words on his lips, leaving a decidely bitter taste in his mouth. "I'm just so damn tired of fighting an' never knowing a minute's peace."

The banshee stood and placed her hand over his heart. "Tis a warrior's cross to bear, Dean. Tis no' fair tae have tae be the one who is ever vigilant, protecting those who canna protect themselves, but ye were chosen for yer strength o' courage and for yer heart."

"And what if I'm ready for it to be over?"

"Tis your choice, but yer brother Samuel is awaitin' yer return. He drove away yer demon, and he need ye more than ye can ever know."

Sam, I knew you couldn't be dead. Dean turned away from her, his hand lightly brushing against his brother's gravestone. Touching the side of his head, Dean felt the hole left behind by the bullet. But how can I face you? I gave up on you . . . gave up on myself. How do I tell you I wanted more than anything to die? He swallowed hard, a tight knot forming in his throat. "I don't think I can."

"Ye'd rather I finished my keen and yer heart shall cease tae beat?"

He heard her soft mournful crying and swung to face her. "Will he know what I did — that I . . . ."

"Nay, he will only know what ye choose tae tell him."

I can't leave you, Sammy, can't let you fight alone. Dean gave a curt nod. "Think this is the part where I'm supposed to click my boots together three times and say, there's no place like home? Kinda fitting seein' as how I was born in Kansas." He chuckled.

"Tis no' gonna be tha' easy, Dean. Ye see, yer kinda stuck between a Rock 'n a Hard Place."

That's where we were. Mara was there, she poisoned me. Sam was angry and left. I told him I wouldn't die in the — Dean shook his head in disbelief, a short laugh escaping his lips. "Yeah, it kinda figures, doesn't it. Told Sammy I wouldn't die in the bathroom . . . and so Mara somehow trapped me there, right?"

The banshee nodded. "Mirrors are tricky things, Dean. Twas said in days long since past, tha' a mirror could trap a man's soul within its murky depths. Ye smashed it, yer blood mingled with it, and Mara trapped yer soul inside o' it."

"So that's why I didn't die here." Dean stalked back and forth, fists clenching and unclenching, his anger growing with every step. "That stupid bitch. She didn't just want me to die in real life, she wanted me to stay trapped here in a never-ending nightmare."

"Aye."

"And Sammy killed her?"

"Nay, ye canna kill a nightmare, ye can only chase it away, and hope it never darkens yer doorstop again."

"So how do I get free?"

"Smash the mirror, the curse is broken."

"Sounds pretty damn easy, how do I find it?"

"Nay, Samuel must do it . . . tis him tha' the promise was made tae and now only he who can right the wrong."

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

"Come on, Dean, you can't do this. I — " Sam's voice hitched in his throat as he angrily brushed away the tears cascading down his cheeks. "I saved you." Sam cradled Dean's motionless body to his chest, and gently rocked him back and forth.

The sound of the banshee sobbing caught Sam's attention. He glanced toward the entrance of the mausoleum, and saw her standing there, tears shimmering in her unearthly blue-gray eyes.

"Help me," Sam begged, hugging Dean closer to him. "Tell me what I'm supposed to do."

Misery took several tentative steps toward Sam, then hesitated. "Yer brother, I saw 'im. He be ready tae come back tae ye."

Sam could tell by the look in her eyes, she was warring with the idea of Dean living instead of dying. "And you want me to let him go?"

In a blink, Misery was at Sam's side, placing a delicate hand on his shoulder. "Yer brother, be broken, Samuel No' just here." Misery pointed to her heart."But here as well." She tapped a willowy finger to her temple. "I dinna ken if ye'd be savin' 'im or causin' 'im more heartache."

"So you're just gonna let him die?"

"Tis no' my choice tae make, Samuel." She ran her fingers down the length of Dean's face, and then looked at Sam. "By all tha' is right, he shouldna be alive, 'is heart no longer beats within 'is chest, no breath does he take . . . but he is no' gone." She glanced at Sam, tears glistening on her pale cheeks. "Yer brother will live because he chooses tae live. Do no' forget tha' in the long days an' weeks tae come, for it is yer strength tha' shall see him through."

"I-I don't understand. How do I get him back?"

Misery placed her hand under his chin and lifted his chin, so Sam was looking her in the eyes. "I already told ye, remember?"

Sam thought about everything she'd said to him, trying to recall anything that would bring his brother back to life. At the bar, when she spoke to me, it wasn't a curse. Misery was trying to tell me how to save him. "Reflect on the past and you shall find . . . demons and haunting delusions do bind. . . .Images are not always as they seem . . . when caught between daylight and the dream. . . .Reforge the once true vision . . . shatter the illusional division. . . ."

"Aye, well done, Samuel."

"I have to rebreak the mirror."

"Aye, tha' shall release his soul."

"Simple enough."

"Nay, do no' be fooled, Samuel, tis never an easy thing tae be messin' with things o' a dark nature."

"Doesn't really matter cause I'll do whatever it takes to save him." Sam stood, wincing as pain shot through his sore back. He carefully lifted Dean's lifeless body into his arms, shifting him slightly so Dean's head was cradled against his chest.

"Then be warned, young Samuel, for the next cry o' the banshee may be for ye."

He looked at her one last time, a wry smile twisting on his face. "I'm willing to risk it. He's my brother. He'd do the same for me."

"Then good luck tae ye."

"Misery."

"Aye?"

"Thanks."

"Ye're welcome, young Winchester." The banshee disappeared in an explosion of writhing flames. A trail of black smoke rose slowly to the ceiling, fanned outward, then dissipated.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Sam grabbed his knife, slid out of the Impala, and carefully shut the door, so as not to give away his presence to any demon who might still be lurking around just out of sight.

Yeah, somehow this idea sounded a helluva lot better when I wasn't heading into a den of angry demons.

He edged his way to the door, glanced back at the car to make sure Dean was still alone, and then crept inside. The room was ominously quiet. Pink neon casting eerie shadows along the walls. I don't care what Dean thinks, I am so definitely choosing the next bar we go to.

Chairs and tables lay in a scattered mess on the ground, some in splintered pieces. Sam winced recalling the pain of when one of the demons slammed a heavy wood chair into his back.

Broken glass crunched underfoot as he slowly traipsed to the far corner of the room where the bathrooms were located. He pushed open the door, and peered inside, his hand tightening around the handle of the knife he was carrying. The bathroom was empty. So not that I'm complainin' but when a banshee warns you, you might die, you kinda expect at least one demon to try and kill you at some point.

Sam strode to the mirror, looked back at the door to make sure no one was coming after him, then raised his fist and slammed it into the glass while repeating, "Reflect on the past and you shall find . . . demons and haunting delusions do bind. . . .Images are not always as they seem . . . when caught between daylight and the dream. . . .Reforge the once true vision . . . shatter the illusional division. . . ."

The mirror shattered, pieces of reflective glass clattering into the sink below. A wisp of grayish-black smoke rose from within, and brushed past Sam, disappearing into thin air. Well, that was sorta anticlimactic to say the least.

Sam turned and headed for the door, stopping dead in his tracks when an explosion rocked the building, throwing him backward into the wall. Another strong blast quickly followed, thick black smoke filling the bathroom.

Staying low to the ground, Sam edged to the door and tried to push it open, but it wouldn't budge.

Sam turned and kicked at it with all his strength, yet the door held firm. Panicking, he stood, and looked for a window. Heavy smoke burned his eyes, making it almost impossible to see anything.

If I can't have Dean, I'll take you instead. Sam heard Mara's voice through the sound of timber crackling and crumpling to the ground outside the bathroom. Jade eyes glared mockingly at him through the thick smoke.

Oh God, there's no window. I'm gonna burn alive.

Sam coughed hard, smoke filling his lungs making it increasingly harder to breathe. He ran at the door, slamming into it at full force and it gave way.

Dropping to the floor, he slowly crawled on all fours through the maze of broken furniture and burning timber, not knowing exactly where in the tavern he was.

Dean . . . I need you. Don't want to burn to death. Gasping for breath, Sam made it a few more feet before he passed out.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Dean awoke with the sound of the first blast. By the second, he was out of the Impala, searching for Sammy.

Sam . . . Sammy!"

Oh Christ, he's inside there.

The keen of the banshee could be heard above the roar of the fire. You can't have him. You hear me. I didn't come back to have Sammy die on me.

He heard the banshee's voice in his head. He made his choice, Dean . . . knew the risk. He was willing tae die tae save ye.

I won't let you take him from me. You hear me, bitch. No one is going to kill my brother. Fighting the pain, ripping through his sides, Dean rushed for the door, threw it open, and ran inside.