Act II

See teaser for details…

Got a little Kripked with Sam, Interupted, but not too bad. Same concepts, different direction.

Thanks for the reviews, the story alerts and the favoriting…makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside Enjoy the next part…

"Okay, let's think about his," said Sam in as calm a voice as possible. He tried to ignore the look of terror and unease in his brother's eyes. He wasn't used to seeing it there.

Dean pinched his nose and then ran his hand down his face. "I'm not crazy, Sam. It was Jo. I could…I touched her," he said, his eyes not meeting Sam's. "Hell, I could smell her," he continued, his voice going gruff as he desperately tried to put his mask of badassery back on. "Did you find anything downstairs?"

"Besides the red paint job in the bathroom…nothing. Everything was clean," said Sam.

"No bodies buried in some secret passage place somewhere?" asked Dean, standing up.

"No, Dean, I'm telling you, there's nothing here," said Sam.

Dean nodded towards the master bedroom, its door still shut. "I didn't get that far. Maybe Norman's mother is holed up inside?"

"Be great if it were that easy, huh?" said Sam. He pulled the shotgun out of Dean's hands.

"Since when is it ever that easy? Especially for us," said Dean.

Sam twisted the doorknob to the bedroom and slowly opened the door. He could hear Dean's rapid breathing in his ear as he cautiously entered the dark room, shot gun held out in front of him. He tried the light switch and the room lit up in a burst of bulb. The room was a slightly bigger version of the two rooms next to it, complete with big comfy bed, television and a big chest of drawers. This one didn't come with a spirit though. "Room's clean, dude."

"There's gotta be something at the source of all of this man," said Dean.

"Library downstairs," said Sam. "We should start there."

Dean groaned. "Oh joy…research."

A half hour later, Sam was sitting behind his computer, knee deep in Google research while Dean was pretending to look through scrapbooks of the hotel he had found in the bookcase. Sam snuck peeks at Dean every few minutes, catching the troubled far off look in his brother's eyes. He also caught the sneaks of whiskey Dean was taking off his flask. Sam was really regretting talking Dean into this hunt. It was obvious he wasn't ready. Unfortunately, they were trapped like rats for the night. He sighed heavily and looked back at his ghostly Google results. He saw an article about a shape shifting mass of dark energy called an Uturu that caught his eye.

"Hmm, this is interesting," uttered Dean.

Sam looked up and was pleasantly surprised to see Dean actually looking at a newspaper article that was stuck in one of the scrapbooks. "What?"

"Apparently Maxine "Max" Gibbons isn't in a wheelchair from old age. Five years ago she was struck by a truck and narrowly escaped death," said Dean. "Isn't that when all these hauntings started?"

"Yeah, yeah that's right," said Sam, unable to control encouragement in his tone.

Dean glared at him. "Dude, I'm fine, okay. Don't treat me like some scared kid."

"Dean, I wasn't," said Sam.

"Whatever," said Dean. He stood up and grabbed one of the shotguns.

"Where you going?" asked Sam.

"What are you, the hall monitor? Gotta take a leak," said Dean.

"Ah, you might want to go upstairs. The downstairs bathroom is kind of…gushy," said Sam.

"Right," said Dean. "If I'm not back in ten, it means burning man got me."

Sam chuckled slightly as he watched Dean leave the room and then got back to the article on the Uturu.

****

Dean zipped up and flushed the toilet, sighing softly. The whiskey buzz was starting to wear off and now he just felt lethargic and generally out of it. He could drink more, but the amount that would be required to reach that click state of mind would put him over into full blown drunkenness. And he really wasn't one to drink on the job, especially one as messed up as this one.

He took a glimpse of himself in the mirror and started in surprise and a bit in disgust. He looked like absolute hell. In fact, he looked worse than when he actually was in hell. He had lost a lot of weight the last few weeks and it showed, particularly in his face, which appeared bony and sunken in. His skin was pale and lacked its usual glow. His stubble was beyond stubble, it was almost a beard he was so scruffy. But the worst was his eyes. They were dull, lifeless. The usual vibrant green that sparkled with mirth was gone, replaced by…nothing. He looked like he had died with his eyes open.

His shoulders were slumped down, the invisible weight getting heavier and harder for him to handle every day. He turned on the faucet and leaned down, palming the cool water over his face, wishing that he could wash all of it away.

He turned off the faucet and looked back up in the mirror. His breath hitched in shock. Standing behind him in the reflection was his father.

"Dad?" he murmured, his voice going high, losing all of its usual manly gruffness. He was twelve years old again.

"Son," said John.

Dean's heart won out over his brain. He just couldn't help himself. He turned around and pulled John into a tight hug, drinking in his musky dad scent that made Dean feel like he was home. He waited to feel his father's arms embrace him, but they never did. Dean stepped back, swallowing hard, his eyes hesitantly rising to meet that of his father's. John was giving him one of his you screwed up good looks, which had the power to topple any and all sense of self worth or value within Dean. In fact, he had spent most of his life doing everything he could possibly do to avoid getting those looks. Even after his father had died, when Dean messed up, he would see that look in his mind and it would feel like he had been gutted. Somehow, this look he getting now, from a damn spirit or ghost or whatever the hell, was the most excruciating look from his father Dean had ever seen. He wanted to die right there on the spot. Just shoot him in the head like a wounded dog and put him out of his misery. "I know you're disappointed in me. Hell, I'm disappointed in me," said Dean as he slowly backed out of the bathroom, cursing himself when he realized the shotgun was sitting on the back of the toilet.

"Disappointed, Dean? Disappointed?" said John in a stern voice. "Disappointed's when you destroy a car. You…you destroyed the world. I'm not disappointed, son. I'm horrified."

A lump formed in Dean's throat. "I tried dad. I tried to save Sammy. I tried to protect him. Hell, I tried to stop him." A small sob escaped Dean's lips. "I tried so damn hard, dad."

"You don't try Dean, you just do it. I thought I'd taught you better than that," said John. "I went to hell for you, son…to hell. I gave you one order and you didn't follow it. In fact, you went and did the exact opposite of what I wanted you to do!"

"I'm sorry, sir," said Dean.

"Do you see now why I gave you that order? Are you getting the big picture here?" said John, getting right up in Dean's face. John was only a little taller and heavier than Dean in actuality, but in Dean's mind, his father had and always would be a giant. Dean's heart thudded painfully in fear as his father continued on his tirade. "I never would've traded my soul for your life if I knew this was how you were going to let things end up," said John, glaring at him.

Dean felt weak in his knees. The air had been knocked out of him. He looked up at his father through blurry eyes. "I'm sorry dad. I'm trying to make it right."

John scoffed. "How Dean, how? By making a jackass out of yourself by thinking you could kill Lucifer with the Colt? By getting Jo and Ellen killed? By saying yes to Michael and letting him destroy half the world? Damn it, son, you never should've let it get this far. If you had done what I asked when I asked you to do it, none of this would've happened!"

"But Sam…

"This isn't about Sam, Dean, it's about you…about your responsibility to not only your family, but the people around you. And you blew it, son. You blew it," said John as he grinded his foot against the floor, like a bull getting ready to charge. "You blew it!"

The first blow Dean had anticipated and was able to side swipe. But the sudden follow up blow to the kidney he hadn't counted on and the stabbing pain startled him, sending him to the ground. John didn't give him time to recover. He pummeled Dean with fist and foot, hitting him savagely, the momentum from the blows edging him closer and closer to the staircase. The blows came so hard and so fast that all Dean could do was tuck into himself and try to protect his most vital organs from the onslaught as he tried to get away.

"You blew it!" yelled John. His father pulled his leg back to kick and Dean used the opportunity to kick out at the other leg, catching the spirit off balance. Dean was able to stagger up and punch the spirit solidly in the face. This gave him an opening to reach for an iron shank he always kept tucked in his sock. He pulled it out and stabbed forward, hitting his father. But not before the spirit was able to get in one more punch to Dean's face, the force sending him reeling backwards as he watched his father disappear in a cloud before his eyes. His right foot suddenly had no purchase and he realized with sickening dread that he was going to fall down the staircase.

****

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, his brain fried. There was something he wasn't getting about this case. He knew it was right under his nose, but he couldn't quite place it. He was pretty sure he had identified the big bad they were fighting, but something still wasn't making sense. It was an Uturu. Of that much he was positive. But he couldn't figure out its source. Maybe there was something else in the house.

He heard a loud thud followed by a shout and then more thuds. Dean. He had been so lost in thought in hadn't realized how long his brother had been gone. Panic ate away at him as he dashed out of the den to find his brother. He arrived at the staircase just in time to see Dean smack into one of the stairs with his back and then do a full somersault down the rest of the stairway before coming to land with a harsh whack against the floor.

"Dean!" said Sam as he knelt down next to his brother to check for injuries. "What the hell happened?"

Dean looked up at him with ghosts in his eyes. "Dad," he gasped out. Then his eyes fluttered and his head rolled limply to the side.

"Dean, Dean!" shouted Sam, nudging him. But Dean was out cold.

TBC