Chapter 2

It was hard to breathe… that was the first thing Dean noticed when the darkness subsided and the fog lifted from his scrambled noggin. In… out… in… out… He wondered if some cracked ribs gave him the trouble – wouldn't be the first time. But it felt different somehow. Like this one time when he ate shellfish in this stupid salad bar Sam had dragged him into… Like his throat was too tight-

Memories crashed down on him, images of white bony fingers reaching out, iciness on his skin, his throat closing up, Sam somehow frozen to the ground, eyes wide and horror-stricken, calling his name anxiously when the blackness took over… Shit, what happened while he was out? Where was Sammy now? He should probably open his eyes to find out.

His vision was blurry for a second but when it cleared he was looking directly at a line of salt, going neatly around him and closing to a protective ring. But no little brother in sight. Dean's arms shook when he propped himself up, his strength apparently zapped along with his air. A loud clanking behind his back made him flinch and he spun around.

Sam was standing a few feet away, shotgun raised and about to hit an iron pipe in a dark corner again that reached from the ceiling to the floor. The next strike made his ears ring and his head ache. His voice failed him when he tried to call for his brother. Only a mere gasp left his mouth, followed by a raspy coughing fit. His eyes were teary when he finally caught his breath again, shaky but stable.

Sam was kneeling in front of him, wet bangs almost obscuring his concerned eyes that tried to catch his. One hand was on his shoulder, keeping him from tipping over. Well, at least he got his attention.

Dean tried to speak again, with more success this time.

"House is not… your enemy here… Sammy. Where's… the bastard?" He had to take a few breaks to suck in air but hey – his voice was back.

Sam's expression relaxed, cracking a smile. But it didn't reach his eyes. Dean could see pain and fear reflecting in them, making him wonder what he'd missed that had unsettled his little brother so much.

"Ghost won't be gone for long. How ya doing, Dean?"

Good question… breathing was still a bit off but his headache had eased to a subtle pounding and his arms got stronger by the second, holding his own weight safely now.

"I'll be fine. Just… give me a sec. This guy… had a strong grip."

Sam nodded and his hand left his shoulder, only to grip Dean's a moment later to let a few glass pellets fall into his open palm. He frowned when he observed them closely.

"Apparently our ghost had a few dirty secrets. Were hidden in the wall. I guess that's what the thieves were looking for. He thinks we murdered his family."

Sam was on his feet again, shotgun pummeling down on the iron pipe with another loud clank. Dean had a hard time following Sam.

"Gemstones, really?"

Sam only nodded and went for the pipe once more, this time cracking it.

"And what's that for champ?"

"Plan to destroy these."

Two swings later he dropped his shotgun to the ground, holding up his prize, an about four feet long tube. That's when Dean noticed Sam's left hand was pressed to his stomach. Lightning flooded the dark room and he was shocked to see a dark patch of blood on his brother's shirt.

"Shit Sammy, what-". But the ghostly figure of Jameson was obscuring his view suddenly, expression furious, spidery fingers reaching out for the gemstones in his hand but stopped effectively by the line of salt. Sam's pipe went smoothly through the apparition and Jameson dissipated with a furious screech. A gigantic roll of thunder startled them both, echo still in the room when Sam called out for Dean.

"Can you get up?"

"Watch me!"

Dean latched on to Sam's arm, swaying for a few seconds before straightening up and turning to face his brother. Dean had already caught his hand before Sam could pull it back. He hissed in sympathy when he saw the jagged piece of glass embedded in the middle of his palm, the wound still oozing blood at a slow pace. Sam tried to hide it but Dean could see the guilt and fear in his brother's eyes. His heart sank. He had a basic idea of what had happened.

However, this wasn't the time for questions. A ghost was still after their asses and they had to find a way to destroy the gemstones. Cause salt and a lighter wouldn't do the trick here.

"Let's go, Dean!"

But he still held on to Sam's hand which was trembling slightly beneath his touch. Dean cursed silently and hurriedly tore off a strip of his shirt. He ignored Sam's protests and tied it around his hand, careful to move the glass shard as little as possible. He looked up and met Sam's eyes, gratitude reflecting in them. He smiled… 'You're welcome.'

The cold was back, puffs of air suddenly visible. Dean grabbed his shotgun and fired before Jameson made it across the room. He cursed when he realized he'd just spent his last rock salt. Sam noticed too.

"Take mine!" Dean didn't need to be told twice.

They hurried out of the room, turning towards the staircase.

"I hope you've got… a good plan, Sammy. Cause… I can't think of a damn thing destroying fucking… gemstones right now."

Dean panted heavily, running not being the best sport for his abused windpipe.

"Heat! Like… extreme heat. Bone melting heat." Dean shot a glance at Sam, seeing his face contorting to a grimace and had to struggle not to gag at the thought that his brother might actually speak from experience.

"And where the hell are we supposed to conjure up such heat?"

They'd reached the stairs and stumbled down, Dean following Sam's lead to the front door, hoping his brother knew what he was doing. He grasped the door handle and ripped it open only to be flung back when he wanted to step outside. Sam landed next to him with a pained cry, injured hand knocking into the floor. They heard the door shut with an audible crash.

The ghost of Norman Jameson stood on top of the stairs and glared down on them, a smile curling up his lips.

"You can't escape! The gemstones are mine. You'll pay for what you've done."

He flickered and Sam jumped when he suddenly appeared in front of him, ripping the iron pipe out of his hand with a simple flick of his hand. Rock salt smashed into his head, leaving behind only puffs of smoke.

Flashing light flooded the entrance hall, followed directly by an ear-splitting thunder.

Sam picked up the iron pipe lying next to him. "Lightning! Should have enough firepower to turn them to dust." Sam's voice was almost drowned out by the rumbling noise.

Dean glared at him for a second.

"That's crazy!"

"You've got a better idea?"

Point taken. But if someone was going to risk getting flambéed, it was him. "Well, give that to me then." Dean whipped the pipe out of Sam's hand, ignoring his bitching. He thrust the shotgun into his arms.

"New toy to play for you. Keep Jameson's ghostly ass away from mine."

And with that Dean jumped up, ran towards the door and out into the raging storm.

The rain pelted down on him viciously, stinging his eyes and soaking his clothes in an instant. A sudden gust of wind knocked him off his feet. He landed on his knees and stifled an outcry when he hit the sharp edge of a stone. He picked himself up quickly and carried on till he was about 60 feet from the house, standing in the middle of the deserted front lawn.

Another lightning flooded the area, making the mansion look more than ever like an eerie haunted place. Dean ducked reflexively, though knowing that wouldn't do him any good. He was standing in the middle of nowhere with an iron rod in his hands during a thunderstorm. Not very clever.

"Okay, better hurry then." He mumbled, lunging out and driving the pipe into the muddy ground. He took the gemstones out of his pocket.

"Nooooooooooo, don't!" The screech was piercing the air despite the wailing wind. He was knocked down from behind, falling flat and face down into the mud. The smell made him sick and he tried to rise. But an icy hand pushed his head deeper down. Foul water and mud filled his mouth and nose, taking his last breath away.

A gunshot resounded. Dean was released and gasped when he emerged, coughing and spitting out mud. His stomach rolled and he couldn't stop himself from throwing up.

He was still gagging when Sam's outcry had him spin around. He saw his brother being flung from the porch, mud splashing in every direction when he hit the ground. He swung the shotgun around and fired. The ghost vanished into thin air, fogging Sam in for a second.

Dean propped himself up, glad to find the gemstones still clutched safely in his hand. He shortly considered what to do, then shrugged and threw them in the cavity of the pipe where they slid clanking to the ground. That was crazy! He could only pray for a miracle now.

Time to haul his ass back to the house. He trudged through the mud and looked for Sam. His heart dropped when he found him cowering on the ground, back pressed against the wall and arms slung around his knees. His legs carried him to his brother as fast as possible, storm and ghost momentarily forgotten. He dropped on his knees in front of him.

"Sammy? Come on buddy, snap out of it."

But Sam didn't hear him, apparently didn't see him either. His eyes were moving quickly from side to side, not focusing on anything in particular. He was shivering violently and when Dean touched his arm it was ice-cold. Shit, not good! What had triggered his breakdown? He'd been fine. Well, not really fine but he had it under control with his little scar-thing.

Suddenly Dean was lifted into the air and thrown into the wall next to Sam. He struggled against invisible bonds but noticed with despair that he was pinned for good. He cursed himself. Never turn your back on your opponent. He knew better than to get distracted during a hunt.

The spirit materialized in front of them, eyes scrutinizing him.

"Where did you hide them? Give me the stones!" Its voice was laden with hate and despite. Dean cast his eyes over to Sam, still sitting on the ground, trembling and unresponsive. The storm was raging around them, the rolling thunder ear-splitting and following each lightning instantly, indicating the thunderstorm to be directly above them. 'Come on!'

"Go to hell!" Dean spit and smirked at the surprised look on Jameson's face. But his smirk was wiped away when the ghost laid eyes on Sammy and smiled evilly. The bastard was going down!

"Don't you dare touch him!" If looks could kill, Jameson would've dropped dead instantly for a second time. But the bastard wasn't affected by his threat and closed his hands around Sam's throat, slowly lifting him off his feet and up the wall, eyes never leaving Dean.

The blast was deafening when the thunderbolt smashed into the pipe, shattering it. Jameson froze in his move as if hit by the fiery inferno himself. Shock reflected on his face and his mouth opened into a silent scream. His decayed skin started to glow, brighter and brighter till his whole appearance seemed to consist of light itself. With a final screech the spirit burst into thousands of tiny lights like some fireworks, glowing for another moment before going out, leaving no trace behind.

TBC

What do you think? I admit I really suck at physics so I've no clue if that's even possible. Just use your imagination, I'm sure you've got lots of it. ;) One chapter left, look out for it!