Yes, the oddball fantasy is back! Man, have I missed you crazy oddballs!! (I've already started on the next chapter, so hopefully there won't be a long wait for it. Yippee!!)

Chapter Thirteen

Finally, they made it to Seattle. Between Dean's new "job" and Mike popping in unexpectedly from time to time, hoping for Dean to back down to him, Sam had begun to wonder if they would ever make it. But here they were, parked just across the street from an abandoned apartment building.

The spirit in question was supposed to be here, attacking teens stupid enough to try spending the night here alone. Sam researched the building online during their many stops, finally hitting on the idea of doing something useful while Dean played morale officer. Now that was a concept he was still trying to wrap his head around; Dean was a morale officer, specifically for people who were freaking out. Maybe it was the concept that this was the role they thought Dean was best suited for that bothered him. Sam shook his head, staring out at the abandoned building.

All the windows were busted out, not even jagged glass remaining. The exterior was various mottled colors, like several layers of paint had been simultaneously exposed by the elements and neglect. Graffiti scrawled across one corner, advertising a local gang or someone's abundant ego.

"So?" Dean asked, squinting against the sun. Sam noticed his brother tended to shun those sunglasses since he learned how to control his glowing eyes. He figured Dean was making some kind of point with that. "What's the story?"

Sam flipped back several pages in his legal pad, past his Dean notes to the Seattle job. "Well, on a semi-regular basis a teenager goes into the building, usually on a dare to spend the night. No one ever sees them again."

"And Mike sounded pretty sure that the body was already cremated," Dean added, his eyes still locked on the building. "Any theories about what is keeping it here?"

Sam shook his head, checking his notes again. "I couldn't find anything about violent deaths here, either. It would have helped if Mike had at least given us the name of the spirit."

Dean's sigh was heavy. "Yeah, I don't think that's allowed."

Sam bit his tongue to prevent himself from asking why. He doubted Dean knew, at least not consciously. Dean kept mentioning stuff that might be against the rules, but he never seemed to know what exactly those rules were. Sam flipped to his Dean notes to enter this new information. All the hairs on the back of his neck tingled. Sam turned his head to the side to find his brother glaring at him. "What?"

"Nothing," Dean growled, but his eyes held that low level of glow Sam was starting to identify with 'annoyed.'

Sam quickly flipped back to his research on the building. "Well, I didn't look for people who had been hurt here and died later, maybe in the hospital." He ran a hand through his hair. "That might be worth checking into."

"Maybe," Dean's gaze drifted back to the building. "We've only run into one spirit who stuck around after she was cremated."

Sam was reading through his notes again. "Yeah, but that was love," he replied.

"Right." Dean's fingers drummed on the steering wheel. "So maybe we're looking for the wrong kind of thing. It might not be a violent death." His door opened and Dean hopped out of the car.

Sam stared after his brother a moment before realizing that Dean intended to go inside. Sam rushed to catch up, not noticing the car barreling down the street. By the time he heard the horn, there was nowhere to run. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping the car could stop in time. The sound of tires squealing reached his ears, making him cringe in anticipation of imminent pain. The noise stopped abruptly. Sam waited, but nothing happened. He cracked open an eye.

A car stood in the center of the street, mere feet from him. Smoke poured from its tires and the street behind it, from the black rubber tracks there. The driver stepped out, dazed. He held a hand to his temple as he looked at Sam.

"Man, you all right?" he asked, unfocused eyes looking behind him at the still smoking tracks.

Sam swallowed hard, glancing down. He was untouched. When he looked back up, Dean moved swiftly into the street toward the driver. Sam's entire skeletal structure felt like jello, so he was unable to intervene in whatever Dean had planned. Dean headed for the driver almost clouded by his haze of irritation, and were Dean's eyes glowing again? Sam tried to move, he really did, but his feet felt stuck to the street and that jello-for-bones thing was not helping. He watched Dean approach the driver in absolute horror. He could not hear the words exchanged, but the guy's face drained of what color remained just before he rushed to get back in his car. As the guy fumbled with his keys, trying desperately to start the car, Dean clamped a hand on Sam's shoulder. Sam discovered he could move now, and Dean made him move fast.

When they stood on the sidewalk, the man drove his car by slowly. The instant the car reached the next intersection it left a mark of rubber on the pavement with a squeal of tires. In a moment, it disappeared from view in the maze of city streets. Sam shook his head, turning to face his brother.

"I'm sorry, Dean. I guess I wasn't…" his voice died out at the expression on his brother's face. The term 'righteous indignation' was only something he had ever seen in a book, but that perfectly described Dean at this moment. His eyes blazed with worried anger and his features were as stern as Sam had ever seen there.

"I think you learned to look before crossing the street when you were four, Sam." His voice, a heavy sound, crashed against Sam leaving guilt and shame in its wake.

"Sorry," Sam managed to mumble, casting his eyes down. Dean grunted and Sam realized that the heavy sensation keeping him in place was gone. He lifted his eyes to see Dean walking away from him into the building. Sam rushed to catch up. "Uh, Dean?" he tried, unsure if he should even be speaking yet.

"What, Sam?" Dean sounded normal again, but his brother did not turn around.

"Shouldn't we do more research first?" Sam asked, debating with himself on whether or not to walk beside his brother. A step or two behind felt safer. "Instead of barging in unprepared?"

Dean paused in his walk. His shoulders moved slowly up and down as though his brother needed a deep breath in order to face him. Dean looked back over his shoulder. "We're not exactly unprepared, Sam."

Sam decided not to say anything more, though he felt completely unprepared for this job. He heard Dean muttering something along the lines of, "Kid can throw freaking electricity and he thinks we're unprepared."

Dean marched into the building as though they could take down whatever body-less vengeful spirit… Wait just a minute. Just because there wasn't a body did not mean… "Dean!" Sam stood stock still, amazed he did not realize it earlier. They've encountered two spirits whose bodies were cremated, not one.

"What, Sam?" Dean growled, turning around. "Look out!"

As Dean crashed into him Sam thought about how dense his brother was, and not in the intellectual way. Dean was just solid muscle, which was painfully obvious right now as all the air was forced from his lungs. "Dean…" he gasped, using the last of his air like a prayer.

"Sorry, Sammy," Dean said, releasing his hold on Sam's chest. Dean turned his head and Sam followed his brother's gaze. A section of the ceiling was on the floor, right where Sam had been standing.

"Thanks," he managed to whisper as Dean hauled him to his feet. "Uh, I thought of something. There could be some remains."

Dean frowned, still regarding the rather large chunk of ceiling that tried to bean Sam. "But Mike said the body had been cremated."

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean there aren't still human remains. Remember the doll?" Sam asked, leaping to the side as a section of wall fell in.

"Doll?" Dean's eyebrows drew together. He spun around to glare at the opposite wall, then at the floor. "What doll?" He stepped back, motioning to Sam.

Sam moved to where his brother indicated, wondering if the floor would be the next to go. "The ghost of that girl with the razor. The one in the haunted painting?"

"Oh, right," Dean nodded, moving closer to the wall. "Where I torched the doll and you had the girl falling all over you." Dean shook his head, like his brother had trouble with that concept. "And she thanked you for it."

"She thanked you, too!" Sam insisted, knowing not being thanked was one of his brother's pet peeves. Why in the world it would matter so much to Dean was beyond him, though. It wasn't like Dad ever said anything more than the occasional 'good job.' Sam frowned at that. Could that be the reason? And was this really the time to psychoanalyze his brother?

As an abandoned bed frame rattled, Sam decided that no, this was not the time. He and Dean watched as it shook violently, like it was working up the courage to attack them. Dean stepped right in front of him, blocking Sam's view. Before Sam could lean to the side, the sickening sound of twisting metal reached his ears. He grabbed Dean by the shoulders, intending to pull his brother out of the way, but found he could not budge his brother.

Slightly panicked, Sam looked over his brother toward the source of that twisting metal sound. A metal bed frame hovered in the air right in front of Dean, twisting away from them as it were caught in a severe windstorm. With an open mouth, Sam watched it continue to swirl and twist until it fell to the ground in a knotted heap.

"Maybe we need to do a little more research, Sam," Dean said, turning around. "Let's go."

Sam allowed Dean to steer him out of the abandoned building.

"You know," Dean mused once they were outside, "maybe one of us should go research while the other one keeps an eye on the building, to keep anyone from going in."

Sam shot Dean a look over his shoulder. "You're not trying to get rid of me, are you?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Sam, you'll have the car."

Sam nodded, reassured. Dean would never just send him off on busy work with the car. He turned around to check the street for cars before crossing, when the whole world went dark.

With mounting horror, Dean watched his little brother crumple to the ground. "Sam!" he managed to catch Sam's gigantoid frame before it hit the ground. A piece of concrete laid on the ground near them. Dean shot a glare into the sky as he lifted his brother up. Though for once Sam did not feel too heavy, he was big. Dean had to drag his brother across the street and stuff him into the back seat. He toyed with the idea of going to a hospital, but he had the nagging suspicion they did not need one.

Dean drove at breakneck speed back to the abandoned house they found. This one still had running water. He dragged Sam from the car into the house, laid his brother out on a lumpy old mattress thinking that they needed to start carrying some clean sheets or blankets with them.

After a couple of anxious hours the only movement Sam had made was breathing. Well, at least he was doing that. Dean worked up his courage enough to rest a hand on his brother's forehead, where the lump from that concrete formed. He closed his eyes and concentrated.

"It would be better if you took him to a hospital." Mike's voice broke Dean's concentration.

Dean spun around, keeping a hand on his brother. "Mike, unless you're going to be helpful, for a change, get the hell out."

"Now, Dean, is that any way to talk to…"

"Yes," Dean snapped, interrupting before Mike could start on anything. "Don't let the door hit you in your harp-playing ass."

Mike lounged against the wall. "Never did learn how to play one of those things."

Dean snorted. "You must feel so neglected. I'll bet there's a class. Right now."

"I'm just saying, considering who and what Sam is, it would probably be better if you let a hospital handle this," Mike replied. "I don't think you really want to do this."

Dean shot Mike a nasty look before returning his attention to Sam. He put both hands on Sam's head and concentrated. He imagined the lump and in his mind's eye could see the swelling. Pushing deeper, Dean saw the minor damage to Sam's brain, just enough to keep his brother unconscious. He pushed and prodded a little, glowing energy speeding up the healing process. Then a darkness rose up, battled with the helping light, shoving it away. Confused, Dean poured more healing light into Sam but the darkness came back like a lightless tidal wave.

Dean stumbled backwards, confused. "I tried to warn you," Mike said. Dean expected Mike to sound smug, but there was a deep sorrow in his voice. Scowling, Dean returned to his brother. He rested one hand on Sam's chest this time, determined that this angel thing work for them. It was about time something went their way. From both hands he allowed the light to flow out, into Sam, directing it at Sam's head injury. The darkness came again, but this time there was enough light to keep it at bay long enough to heal Sam.

"Sam?" Dean whispered, still pouring out the light and reaching out for his brother. "Sammy? You hear me? Time to wake up."