Okay, just a few chapters left! You crazy oddballs just keep me rolling with this!

Chapter Twenty-three

Sam felt slightly disoriented as the graveyard swam into view. "Dean?" he asked weakly.

"Give it a minute, Sam."

Sam nodded to himself. He waited a moment and it settled down, but his stomach continued to churn. Dean's solid and worried face stood right before him. He nodded at his brother, attempting to ignore a fresh churn of his stomach. "I'm okay, Dean."

Dean scoffed. "Uh-huh. Okay, Sam. We need a plan."

"Yeah, I'm going to need a minute," Sam groaned. He needed something to rest on. A pair of hands helped him sit slowly. When the hands went away, that now-familiar anger rose up again. Between it and his stomach, Sam wasn't sure if he had ever felt worse. "Not sure I can help you there, Dean," he admitted, shutting his eyes.

"Sam?" The anger darted away, hiding back in his mind someplace. Without it as a distraction, the image of those two brothers came back to him.

"I wonder if we could convince them," he mumbled.

"Convince them of what?" Dean asked, his voice close to Sam's ear.

Sam opened his eyes, turned his head to the side. Dean sat beside him, one hand still clamped firmly to his shoulder.

"We dig up Ben," Sam explained, nodding towards the grave. "When they show up, we tell them that if they don't cross over, we torch him and they can't be together."

Dean's eyebrows drew together. "Think that'll do it? They're pretty out there, Sam."

Sam shrugged. "If it doesn't, we can really salt and burn him and at least put a stop to this."

Dean's hand massaged his shoulder. Sam discovered that he was leaning into his brother's touch.

"Okay," Dean said finally, "we'll give it a shot. How's the stomach?"

Sam gave his brother an odd look. "How did you know about my stomach?"

"You had that weird expression you always get when your stomach is upset," Dean replied.

Sam chuckled, relieved. Yeah, sometimes the more things changed, the more they stayed the same. "It's fine now. Let's get the shovels."

Dean's hand on his shoulder prevented him from standing. "You sure, Sam? You sure you're all right?"

Sam frowned at his brother. "Yes, Dean, I'm sure."

Dean shrugged. Sam knew the moment his brother released him, though. That anger flowed unchecked back through him. He supposed when there was nothing to drive it away and it was constantly there he handled it better. Now that Dean could drive it off temporarily, his usual defenses relaxed and he was never quite ready for its return. All he wanted to do was torch those brothers and move on to the next hunt. Sam figured he could work out some of this anger by digging. Maybe he could talk Dean into standing guard with the shotgun while he dug. Yeah, that sounded like a plan.

Dean watched his brother warily as Sam dug up Ben's grave. Sam seemed just a little too keen on torching the younger brother and moving on. Maybe it was related to his new anger issues. These were new anger issues, right? The graveyard around them dissolved into another dark place, a basement. Sam held up a shotgun, pulled the trigger.

Dean shuddered as the graveyard sprang back into place. He really hated the repressed memory thing.

"Dean?" Sam asked, worried eyes weighing on him.

"Fine," Dean replied with a wave of his hand, "keep digging."

Sam stared at him for a tense moment before resuming digging. Dean rubbed at his eyes. Where did the spook brothers go? Jerry ought to be freaking out with Sam digging up Ben's body. Assuming it was still here. Dean froze, his eyes widening.

"Uh, Sam? Are you sure the body is still here?" he asked.

"What?" Sam paused in his work. "What did you say?"

Dean walked around Sam's work. "Why are they letting us dig him up? Why haven't they shown up yet?"

Sam leaned on the shovel, one hand wiping his sweaty brow leaving a dark smudge. Sam shrugged. "Maybe we're back to the crazy thing."

"Or maybe he's not here." Dean pointed at the grave.

"He has to be, Dean," Sam replied with a shake of his head. "Otherwise the summoning wouldn't have worked."

Huh. Sam was right. How did he forget about that? "So you looking for some coffee?"

Sam snorted, shaggy hair bouncing as he thrust the shovel back into the dark earth. Dean stood guard, waiting. Those guys would show up again, they had to. Jerry had to be planning something. What would Dean do if someone were after his little brother like this?

Well, for starters he would figure out a way to take the suckers out. So assuming this was the right grave and that the brothers were looking for a way to take them down, it was only a matter of time before they showed up. Great. Dean checked the shotgun rounds again. Ready to go.

"I don't suppose you'd have any ideas either, Mike?" he whispered into the still night air.

"Well," that familiar voice that used to aggravate him sounded really good right now, "I might." Mike's body took form out of the dark, a halo of diffused light around him.

"Oh, come on!" Sam shouted from nearly six feet in the hole. "We don't need him!"

"Sam?" Dean crooked an eyebrow at his brother. "Have you considered some anger management?"

"What do you think the digging is for?" Mike asked.

Dean turned to face Mike. "Because he doesn't like me to bend over," he replied. "It's not?" he asked, shooting a glance at Sam.

"Partially," Sam admitted. "The rest is what Mike said."

Mike beamed at that. "Sam admitted I'm right?"

"And you didn't bitch about him calling you Mike," Dean observed. "I might have to start believing in miracles."

Mike laughed. "Kind of a job requirement, Dean. Hey!"

Sharp pain spiked from the weak point in his back out to every part of his body. No air moved in his body, he couldn't even gasp. He tried to roll his eyes toward Mike, but his personal pain-in-the-ass wasn't there. Dean fell to his knees, desperately trying to pull air into his lungs but the pain refused to let his muscles move. What the hell was going on here?

"Now you know," a voice said. Who was it? "This is what your brother deals with everyday. It should be you."

He tried to turn his head, but the pain wouldn't allow it. Sam did not feel this all the time, he couldn't. Dean would know. He should know.

"Not that kind of pain," another voice said. "It's metaphorical. You're not very literate are you?"

"Doesn't feel metaphorical," he grunted through clenched teeth.

Jerry appeared in front of him. "He's not as dumb as you think he is."

Ben appeared beside his older brother. "Sure he is. He didn't even know there was anything wrong with his brother."

Jerry bent over to study Dean. He looked too solid to be a ghost. "I'll bet he does, he's just been trying to figure it out. Have you?"

"Gonna burn his ass," he grunted. "Then you're both toast." That would sound so much better if he could move. And where did Mike go? Or Sam for that matter? He could still move his eyes and this looked like the graveyard, so did they go someplace or did he? Ben's grave was still intact with piles of flowers on it. Ah-ha!

Dean locked eyes with Jerry. "You got a problem, dude. The inside of your head looks like a graveyard." He turned his head despite the searing pain. "Isn't that Ben's grave?"

"What?" Ben raced over to the headstone. "Hey, that is my name! Jerry, what's going on? Am I…" He waved a hand at the headstone.

Dean gritted his teeth. It kind of helped to know he was just in Jerry's head and that none of this was real. Then again, maybe it was more real in here. Okay, he really needed to get back out. How could he be in a ghost's head anyway? Pain surged through his body as he stood, blinding him momentarily.

"You both are." He forced himself to breathe. Okay, why would that be necessary? He was just in the dead guy's head. Right. Breathe, Dean, breathe.

"Jerry?" Now the kid brother sounded scared. "You died?"

"Wrecked his car," Dean informed him, desperately trying to remain on his feet.

Ben looked mad now. "You idiot! How many times did I tell you to keep your eyes on the road?"

Jerry looked at his brother, fresh tears rolling down his cheeks. "Not enough." He sniffled. Dean felt disgusted. Older brothers should never sniffle. "But that was my fault, for not protecting you."

"Jerry!" Ben faced his brother, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Dean flinched. "Watch your language!"

Jerry shoved him. "Don't you talk to my brother like that."

Dean glared back, hoping he still had the glowing eyes thing going for him. "As long as you two stick around, I'm going to. If you want it to stop, you're going to have to cross o…"

A bright flash blinded him, searing through his vision. Dean clenched his jaw against the pain, unable to even wonder what might be happening now.

"…ver."

"Dean!" Sam's voice penetrated the pain-filled haze. He opened his eyes to the same graveyard, only this one had Sam hovering over him and Mike. Wait a second. Was his head in Mike's freaking lap? He shifted his head, relieved when he felt it brush nice solid ground. At least that was one indignity he did not have to endure. "Dean?"

"Yeah, yeah," Dean grumbled. He held his arms out. "So pull me up."

He noticed that while Mike grabbed his hand to haul him up, Sam grabbed his sleeve. That bothered Dean on more than one level. Sam was just inside his head and couldn't take him by the hand? Or did Sam find something in there, something Dean would prefer his little brother not know? What deep dark secret did Sam see that drove his little brother so far from him? Crap, he tried to protect his brother and wound up pushing him farther away. Just one more thing he screwed up.

"Sam?" he asked. At the expression on Sam's face, Dean figured he must look pretty worried.

"You had us worried, passing out like that," Sam snapped. "Don't do it again."

That spot in his spine still hurt. Dean rubbed his lower back, watching Sam jump back into the grave. "You might not need to do that."

Sam gave him a dirty look. "Better safe than dead."

"He has a point," Mike said.

Dean took a hard, long look at Mike. "So how did it go with Bobby?"

Mike looked down at an imaginary watch. "Oh, look at that. I'm late for my harp lessons. Gotta go!" He vanished.

"Bastard," Dean muttered. "Don't think I don't know what you're up to!" He shouted into the space Mike just disappeared from.

"Which is?" Sam asked, pausing in his work.

Dean shrugged. "Wish I knew."

Sam leaned on the shovel, his mouth dangling open. "But you said…"

"Whatever," Dean waved a hand at him. "If you're going to keep digging, keep digging." He heard a few grunts from his brother as the digging resumed, but at least Sam was exercising a little anger management. On the other hand, if Sam needed anger management, then this anger thing might be something to worry about. Then again, Dean worried about everything Sam, so he would worry about it anyway. The Anger Issue just went up near the top of the list.