Okay, here it is! The chapter you've been waiting for!! Now to find out what the heck is wrong with Sam:
Chapter Twenty-four
Sam tried to pour all of his energy and anger into his digging. The exercise helped, but not enough. He still did not feel normal. So he allowed his mind to wander while he dug. Images of Dean being thrown into walls, too many to count, filled his mind. That was not helping. He tried to think of all the people they had saved, but instead his mind went to all the people who had hunted them over the years. The shovel bit hard into the rich soil.
There was something perverse about death creating the perfect kind of place to plant crops. Or was it simply full circle? Either way, it ticked Sam off. It was just not right. There was far too much death in their lives. Why couldn't there be more life? And why couldn't more people just cross over nicely? What the hell was wrong with the human race?!
His shovel hit with a hollow clunk. "Finally," he breathed. Sam lifted the shovel to break the top of the coffin. When he tried to thrust it down, he couldn't. Sam looked back to find his brother holding the handle of the shovel. He gritted his teeth. Oh, now what!
"I warned you," Dean said, but his brother was not looking at him. Dean's eyes focused beyond him. "We'll torch you both unless you move on. Hasn't your brother suffered enough?"
Sam, not releasing his shovel, twisted to look out at the ghost brothers. They were merged again, fading in and out of each other. Why did Dean honestly think he could convince a couple of psycho ghosts to cross over? They probably didn't even understand what was happening.
"Ben is safe!" Jerry's voice roared.
"Not him!" Dean shouted. "I was talking to Ben!"
The younger boy stepped out of the merged form. He looked curiously at Dean. "What do you mean, hasn't he suffered enough? Jerry suffered?"
"Of course he's suffered!" Dean snapped, maintaining that death grip on Sam's shovel. He tried to be subtle about pulling it out of his brother's hands, but Dean was not subtle. With one yank, his brother removed the shovel from his grasp. Damn it!
"He watched you die!" Dean waved the shovel, leaping over the open grave. "He failed to protect you and had to watch you die." His brother stared down Ben. "He had to live the rest of his life without you, without being able to see you grow up, without being able to talk to you."
"We talked!" Ben shouted.
"You were a ghost!" Dean screamed. "And you didn't even know it! Can't you see how that would tear him apart!" The shovel hurtled through the air, passing harmlessly through the two brothers.
"Jerry?" Ben looked up at his big brother. "Should we go now?"
"Go where?" Jerry asked, appearing dazed.
"I think we can find it." Ben moved away. "I can see a bright light, right over there." He pointed. "You see it?"
Jerry looked up, squinting. "Wait a minute, Ben." Jerry approached Dean. Sam's anger surged to new heights. He jumped out of the grave to arrive at his brother's side. If these ghosts thought they were going to hurt his brother…
"The guy you were talking to earlier, can we trust him?" Jerry asked.
Confused, Sam waited for Dean's cue, but the anger still surged through him.
"Mike? Yeah, I think Mike can show you the way." Dean's smile was bright and full of hope. That ticked Sam off, too. Geez, what the hell was wrong with him??
"Come on, Ben. Let's go." Jerry stepped into Ben's space again. They looked up together, fading out as a bright light replaced them.
Sam shielded his eyes from the light, it was too bright, too intense. It hurt. It hurt a lot. Sam fell to his knees, pain wracking his body. Oh, crap.
"Sam?" Dean's voice was the last thing he heard before it all went black.
"Sam!" Dean caught his brother in mid-fall. "Crap!" He poked and prodded, but he couldn't find where the ghost brothers might have hurt his brother on their way out, not that they really had a reason to. Dean gritted his teeth, preparing to light Sam up again, heal him.
"Let me." Mike's voice came from behind him.
"He's my brother," Dean replied calmly.
"Dean." A hand pulled back on his shoulder. "Let me do it."
Dean glanced back at Mike's worried face. Since when did archangels look worried? "Why?" he demanded.
Mike sighed, sinking down next to them. "I have a pretty good idea what's wrong with him. Sam has been fighting this for a long time, probably since the demon visited him as a baby." He hesitated, running a hand through his wild hair. "I'm not sure what will happen to you if you do it."
"Meaning what?" Dean demanded. "It might cancel out this freaky angel stuff? Bring it on."
He leaned forward, hands splayed open and headed for Sam's chest. The moment he touched his brother, Dean felt that anger and darkness well up. Normally it ran from him, but now it came right up to say howdy. Figured. He pushed out with his mind and emotions, attempting to flood Sam with that healing light and drive out this – whatever this was.
Like two great tidal waves, the healing light and the darkness clashed. Dean found that he had to fight to maintain his footing against Sam's anger. Ironic that he spent most of his life doing this on the outside, and now here he was on the inside still trying to handle Sam's anger. It was bigger now than he remembered from before. Or maybe it had been waiting, biding its time? Yeah, that was a comforting thought.
Dean pushed further in, battling against various angry currents. Images of fights with Dad, angry words, Sam feeling fed up with Dad or Dean, it all battered against him. He waded through, trying to find the source of this tide of negative emotions. It swirled around his legs, trying to draw him down and in. Dean slogged on, ignoring it all the best he could. He did have a lifetime of experience in that, and for the first time Dean was grateful for it.
As he plodded on, heading for the darkest area he could see, the emotions strengthened. Fear and anger combined, heightening his own general feeling of unease. If he had to be honest with himself, and lately Dean did not have a choice in this matter, Sam's negative emotions were downright creepy. They could shoot a freaking horror movie in here.
The closer he came to the center of it all, the more solid Sam's emotions became. A Wendigo glared out of a shadow to the left. A witch hovered near Dean's right shoulder. A blur flashed by in front of him. He hesitated only a moment before pushing through. The blur happened again.
"Damn it, Dean! Not again!" Sam's voice echoed. Without pausing, Dean looked toward the blur. It was him being thrown into a wall. Okay, he did not expect that to be one of the things that set Sam off. Huh. Dean might need to think about that later, when he had more time.
"Not again!"
"Not again!"
The words echoed, reverberated through the shadows and darkness encroaching. He pressed on as more images of himself flying into walls blew past. Other images, nasty gym teachers, feds, small town sheriffs and even a few ungrateful people they saved, crowded in front of him. Through it all he could hear Dad's voice bellowing orders over Sam's repeated questions, over all the other noise. This was one hell of a mess, how was he supposed to fix this? Just light?
He held his hands up, palms facing that pitch black center. It was so dark it was blacker than just the color black, it was the absence of all light. There was nothing of light inside there, only Sam's darkest fears and emotions. He figured it was mostly fear, though, and that was something Dean understood.
"I gotcha, Sam," he said, speaking for the first time in here. "I'll take care of it." Light pulsed from his hands. As the light reached that really dark spot, it seemed to fold into the darkness and disappear.
"Oh no, you don't. You don't get Sam." Dean gritted his teeth, pushing in deeper. "If I'd known you were in here…" He shook his head in disbelief. This level of darkness actually existed inside Sam? His little brother? It was a good thing that yellow-eyed SOB was already dead, or Dean would already be planning a little hunt. As it was, he would really like something to loose his anger on.
Huh. What did you know? That nice dark spot made a good target for his anger. Dean let it pour out, all of his own anger with the fact Sam couldn't have a normal childhood, that even though he did everything he possibly could he still didn't protect his brother from this. It all turned into light discharging from his hands. When he glanced down, Dean saw the light also came from his arms, legs and body. He was a freaking star! Literally.
"Come on, Sammy," he murmured, heading straight into that patch of darkness. "Help me out here." Dean walked into the darkness until the only light he saw came from him. He turned around. All the images were gone, invisible in the darkness. The only reason Dean could see his hand was because it glowed.
"You're more than this, Sam!" he shouted into the darkness. "Come on! Give me something to work with here!" Dean held both hands out, stumbling in the darkness. "Sam!" He would not panic, he would not panic. "Sammy!" Okay, maybe just a little.
"Dean?" Sam's voice drifted through the impenetrable darkness. "Dean?"
"Sam!" He wanted to head toward the sound, but it came from everywhere. "Where are you? I can't see a stinking thing in here!"
"I, uh, don't know." Again the voice came from everywhere and nowhere. "I can't see you either. Keep talking."
"Keep talking." Dean snorted. "Sam, I swear, if you get me lost in here I'm kicking your ass from here all the way to…"
A gangly teenaged Sam appeared from the darkness. "Hey, Dean."
"Took you long enough," he muttered, stepping forward. "What kept you?" Dean demanded. He resisted reaching out to touch his brother, knowing this was at best a mental self-image and at worst, well, he didn't want to think about that.
Sam shrugged, bony shoulders rising shyly. It was the 'new kid' act Sam perfected over a hundred schools and towns. Sam usually had a new friend or two within hours. Dean rolled his eyes.
"So how long has this been here?" he asked, waving at the darkness.
"This what?" Gangly Sam asked, looking around with wide eyes. "My room?"
"Your room?" Dean lifted an eyebrow. "Ever think of putting in a light or two?"
Gangly Sam chuckled, that old smile rising. "There's never any light in this deep, Dean. Honestly, I'm shocked you made it in this far."
"Why?" Dean demanded.
"Because," Gangly Sam broadened, his features widening into his brother of today, "this is where my abilities come from, Dean. It's a little different from yours."
"No kidding." Dean took a deep breath, let it out heavy and slow. "Well," he rubbed his hands together, "you ready?"
Sam's eyes widened. "For what, Dean?"
"Some redecorating, Sammy. I think your room needs a little light." He met Sam's eyes. "You gonna help out or what?"
"I-I can't." Sam backed away, eyes too wide. "I don't do light."
"Come on, Sam. Remember how awesome you said it was?" Dean used his most persuasive voice.
A smile flickered over Sam's face. "It was pretty awesome."
"Just pretty awesome?" Dean demanded, smiling.
Sam stepped closer, the smile growing in strength. "Really awesome."
Dean held up one hand, light flickering from his cupped palm. "Catch." He tossed his light ball to Sam.
Sam caught it in one hand. Instantly his smile widened, spreading across his whole face. "Wow," Sam breathed.
"Want to see something even cooler?" Dean asked, grinning.
"What can be better than this?" Sam asked, awe in his voice and the light reflected in his eyes.
"Trust me?" Dean asked. He waited for Sam to nod, still smiling. "I don't want it to hurt, Sam, so don't fight it." The smile dropped a little there, but Sam nodded again anyway. He saw the fear there, the darkness reflected in Sam's eyes. Dean was determined to remove that fear, forever. His hand settled on Sam's shoulders.
"Ready?" he whispered. "Just let it happen, Sam. It'll be all right. I'm here."
Sam trembled under his hands. Before more fear could build, Dean gripped Sam's shoulders and forced the light into his brother. Around them cool flames, flickering tendrils of pure light, leapt up through the darkness. Dean watched the light eat away the darkness surrounding them. Sam relaxed under his hands.
Laughter, his, Dad's, Sam's, filled the space around them. He forced every bit that he could, everything he had, out of him into his brother. The space around them glowed brilliantly just before it all went dark. Again.