In the beginning the world was without form, and void. And God said "Let there be light." And God separated the light from the dark. And did two loads of laundry.- Kevin Krisciunas
Okay, let's do a little laundry, people!! (For those of you feeling Sam needs some anger management classes, you're right. But there's a reason for it. It's coming. Honest. I swear on Mike's harp.)
Chapter Twenty-two
Dean watched his brother thrown backwards by an invisible force. Great. Sam and his big-frigging-mouth. He imagined a nice soft mattress between Sam and that crypt he was headed for. Sam stopped a few feet shy of the marble surface, a look of shock on his face. Well, he reasoned, that was what happened when you ignored your big brother. Kind of like this mess they were in right now.
Dean turned to face Jerry. The ghost eyes blazed with anger and hatred. But Dean knew there was fear in there, too. There had to be.
"We're hunters," he explained to the specter.
The ghost flashed out of existence. Dean looked for the younger brother, who was trapped in the area between the candles. As he expected, the older brother reappeared just in front of the boy. Translucent hands balled into fists.
"You won't hurt my brother," he snarled, "not again."
Dean shook his head. "You two can't keep hurting people who go into that building." He cleared his throat, very uncomfortable. Something brushed his shoulder. Without looking, he knew Sam stood beside him.
"You're killing people," Sam accused. Dean sensed the anger flowing through his brother, wondering if there was something he could do about it. "You have to stop."
The two ghosts blended for a moment, upping Dean's freak-out factor.
"They hurt my brother," Jerry stated, hovering in front of his brother. "Never again, I promised."
Dean waited for Sam to say something sweet and convincing, but his brother was strangely silent. Then a thought hit Dean. "Sam? Do you think they know?"
Sam shuddered beside him. Dean felt an urge to grab his brother by the hand, but that was too girly for words. "Know what?" Sam ground out.
Honestly, this anger thing of Sam's, it was disturbing. "That they're dead," he whispered.
Sam turned to glare at him. "Of course they know! You think they're killing people by accident?"
"Cool it, Sam," Dean snapped. He watched the reactions of the ghosts.
"Jerry?" The younger one asked, staring strangely at the older brother. "Is it true?"
The older brother glared at them not bothering to hide exactly what he thought of them. "No," he snapped. "You're fine."
"Don't!" Sam shouted, pointing at Jerry. "He doesn't want you to just tell him what he wants to hear, he wants the truth! Tell him!" When Jerry did not say anything, Sam continued with, "You're the reason he's still here."
The calm and cold tone of Sam's voice sent a shiver down Dean's spine. "Sam? Want to share with the group?"
Sam's continued to glare at the ghosts. "He didn't want to leave without his big brother, so he never crossed over."
That did make sense. "So when Jerry died, he didn't cross over either because his little brother wasn't there." Dean looked right at Jerry. "Don't blame you there."
"Shut up!" Jerry screamed. The wind around them picked up, howled through the trees. "He's fine! Ben is just fine!" A large oak stood maybe twenty feet away. Its branches twisted and writhed, the leaves shooting off and riding the violent currents, tiny green boats adrift in a storming sea.
Dean had no idea what losing your little brother would do to you. Sure Sam left for college, but he knew his brother was alive and well. And when he didn't feel sure, he and Dad checked up on Sammy. Your brother dying would have to be the worst, the most horrible thing to experience. He suspected Jerry must have buried it most of the time, refusing to acknowledge it was even true. It was probably the only way he survived as long as he did.
"Did he ever answer?" Dean asked softly. When his voice cut through the turmoil of wind it surprised him, but just barely. Maybe that should bother him, that he was getting used to these changes. Jerry glared at him, silent. "When you used to talk to him," Dean continued, "did Ben ever answer?"
Ben pushed through his older brother, until their faces merged. "Of course," Ben replied, his voice a strange mixture of boy and adult, "I always answered my big brother."
Dean stumbled back a step, snagging Sam's jacket to pull his brother further away. He really didn't count on both brothers being crazy. He might not have noticed the candles blowing out, except for the fact they all went out at once.
The merged form of Ben and Jerry, and Dean was no longer sure which one was in control, charged at them. Dean had the impression that they wanted Sam for some reason. He clamped a hand around the back of Sam's neck, drawing him closer than he had ever dared before.
Sam blinked and in that instant the graveyard complete with an angry ghost team, of all things, vanished. In its place was a cluttered room. Sam glanced around. Posters for bad horror and monster movies covered the walls. One for a movie called "Ghost Ship" looked the most recent, layered on top of several others.
Huge boxes, filled to the brim with papers and objects sticking out, were stacked along the walls. The strange thing was that there was no door that he could see. Sam suspected Dean did this, but he had no idea where his brother might have taken him. The one thing he was sure of, though, was that he was safe here.
There were no chairs in the room, so Sam folded his long legs up to sit on the floor. He studied the boxes surrounding him. Some were labeled. One with the name 'Cassie', a large wooden box with a padlock, caught his eye.
"Oh, crap," he whispered to himself, his eyes darting across the walls again. "Don't tell me…" Now that he really studied those movie posters, a few did look familiar. Crap. Dean did say he was in Mike's head, didn't he?
When Dean did not show up in the room right away, Sam got curious. He never had been able to control his curiosity. Cardboard boxes without labels were stacked neatly in one corner, reaching all the way to the ceiling. Unable to help himself, after all Dean shouldn't have stuck him here if he didn't want Sam to look, Sam stood and carefully pulled off the top box.
With a guilty glance around to make sure he was still alone, Sam opened it. Right on top was a worn brown teddy bear. Confused, Sam took it out. It was missing an eye and the hard plastic nose, and stuffing leaked from a busted seam in the leg. Wondering why it would be here, Sam set it aside. The rest of the box was full of papers, and the one on top was very familiar. He picked it up, looking at his acceptance letter to Stanford. Oh, crap, crap, crap. His eyes darted back to the interior of the box. The rest of it held report cards and papers he had written over the years. Yep, this was his box. He eyed the stack of boxes. Were they all his?
Unable to stop now, Sam lined the boxes up across the room. One by one he opened them. Each had some childhood memento on top, holding down memories. Apparently Dean liked thinking about him as a kid, if these boxes were anything to go by. They were surprisingly organized. One was nothing but embarrassing pictures of Sam. Some had him making goofy faces while others were candid shots of things Dean did to him, like him sleeping with the plastic spoon in his mouth. Judging by the flaps on this box, it was opened regularly. Another held all kinds of memories from their childhood, most of which Sam had a completely different take on. It was kind of interesting to see these things from Dean's point of view, to really see how Dean felt about the way Dad raised them. Not that Dean thinking of Dad as some kind of superhero should be a revelation.
The last box, judging by how worn the edges were and how the corners were beaten in and rounded, had to be the oldest. At the very least, it was the one Dean wanted to keep on the bottom. Unlike the others, it was taped shut. It was light so Sam lifted it and shook. He heard voices inside. Straining his ears, Sam could just make out Dad and someone shouting at each other. Wait, was that him?
Sam checked his pockets for his penknife. They were empty, he didn't even have his wallet on him. Sam studied the box for a moment. Since he had that bad habit of chewing his nails, he didn't even have a nail capable of peeling the tape up. How was he going to get this box open? He studied it for a while. This box had to hold memories Dean did not want to remember, but had trouble forgetting. That particular combination Sam found troubling.
As he studied the box, Sam noticed a tiny edge of the tape sticking out over one of the corners. Sam picked at it, using his single-minded determination to work the tape off that side. Finally he had enough to grab. He pulled it off the top carefully, wondering how a screaming memory was going to work. It would not be like the others, mementos and papers and pictures. Like a movie, maybe?
Despite the fact it was something Dean tried to bury, Sam grinned at the thought. Watching a memory like a movie would be pretty cool. He hesitated once the tape was off the flaps. Dean really should have secured it better than this, he told himself.
Sam sat in the floor, the box between his legs. This was an invasion of privacy. Hell, just being here was an invasion of privacy, so why not? His hand hovered just over the freed flap as he wondered how guilty he would feel afterwards. This memory was definitely about him and Dad and one of their fights. All of their fights? He looked over the box again. It would need to be much bigger to hold all their fights. Sam decided it had to be that last fight when he left for college.
Okay, he could do this. Sam prepared himself for Dean's perspective on that, knowing it would only heap more guilt on him. Him leaving for college had to be one of Dean's worst memories, Sam knew that as well as he knew the date the Declaration of Independence was signed. Yes, he should see this from Dean's perspective. It would help him understand his brother better and show him how to assure Dean he would not quit their family again. He knew he was seriously lacking in the reassuring Dean department.
With a deep breath, Sam opened the box. The room shifted into a nearly barren apartment. Sam frowned at the change. This did not look like the place they lived in when he left for Stanford. He looked down. Dean's hands cleaned a weapon broken out into its various pieces on a green cloth spread out on the floor. The sound of pages being turned reached his ears. He turned Dean's head to see a young version of himself, when he was maybe fourteen. What the hell was this?
Dad blew in through the front door. He, or rather Dean, stood up and approached Dad. He could feel Dean's anticipation, his utter relief at seeing Dad home in one piece, and his bitter disappointment when Dad just swept by without bothering to glance at either of them.
He heard a disgusted snort. Turning, he saw that it came from him. Well, fourteen year old him. "Don't start, Sammy. He's probably just tired." Dean's warning came from his own mouth. This was really weird. He felt alarm over what young Sam might do next.
"It's Sam." Did he really sound that snooty? Young Sam set his book aside. "Let's see how long it takes before he starts yelling." Young Sam looked down at his watch. Arrogant little snot, wasn't he? How did Dean put up with that?
"Sam!" he snapped, his alarm rocketing through the roof, "I said don't start!" Young Sam ignored him. Not wanting weapons in the room when Dad came in, he started packing them away.
Much faster than he thought, Dad came into the room. Almost instantly, Young Sam and Dad were at it. He tried to intervene, to calm them down. They were a family. He and Young Sam should be glad Dad made it home in one piece, not this. Never this. When he pushed between them, holding Dad and Sam apart, it did not help. If anything, it made things worse. Desperate, he tried yelling too, but they ignored him. Sam screamed about Dad not being home to see him in that math contest, while Dad shouted back that math was a waste of brain cells. He stepped back, finally just letting them go at it. It was like he was invisible. If he couldn't help his own family, he was worthless. A waste of space. He sunk down to the floor, watching, helpless.
Eventually Dad, red-faced, turned away from Young Sam. He stomped into the small kitchen area. Cabinet doors opened and closed while Young Sam stormed off to their room. "Dean? You ordering pizza tonight or what?"
Sam blinked hard as the apartment faded away, replaced by the cluttered room. His first thought of his own was to slam the flaps of the box closed. That was one memory Dean would be better off without. He checked his pockets again, hoping for a lighter. Nada. Sam repositioned the tape over the flaps. Thankfully, it stuck like it was new. He wrapped it around carefully, making certain there were no loose sections or ripples or any way of peeling it off this time. Still feeling Dean's panic, he shoved it into the same corner he found it in. Not satisfied, Sam stacked all the other boxes on top of it. He left the box with his Stanford letter closest to the bottom and the one with the embarrassing pictures of him on top. Dean deserved at least that.
Just after he shoved the last box in place, a section of the wall swung open. It sliced perfectly through various movie posters. Dean walked in.
"Hey!" he said, still feeling out of sorts.
Dean gave him a quizzical look. "Hey, Sam. What's up?"
Sam shook his head, not wanting to admit what he just did. "So, this is what the inside of your head looks like, huh?"
Dean grinned as he looked around. "Well, it's not wheat, but I like it."
"Uh, Dean? Why am I here?" Sam glanced guiltily at his stack of boxes.
Dean heaved a mighty sigh. "I screwed up, Sam. I didn't think both brothers were crazy. I mean, I figured Jerry probably was, but not Ben."
Sam stared at his brother for a long moment. "Dean. They're named after ice cream. I have a feeling sanity isn't a strong suit in their family."
Dean laughed at that and the sound warmed Sam, lessened the panicked feel in his chest. As his laughter died off, Dean approached him. "Well, we still need to figure out how to get them to cross over."
Sam's eyes felt like they might pop. "Cross over? Dean, all we have to do is dig up Ben. Salt and burn, no problem."
Dean glanced away. "Yeah, well, I don't want to."
"What!" Sam resisted grabbing his brother's arm. He had no idea what the rules were for being inside someone's head. "Why not?" he demanded.
Dean shrugged. "I can't. It doesn't feel right."
Sam chewed on his lower lip, trying to figure out what he could say. "Never the easy way, huh?"
Dean chuckled. "Sorry, Sam. I think I drove them off for a little while. Ready to come out and join the fun?"
Sam paused. "You have no idea how to get them to cross over, do you?"
Dean gave him a huge grin. "That's why I have a brilliant little brother."
"Great," Sam mumbled. "Just perfect."