And I Rise [1] (Supernatural)

Mᴏᴍᴍʏ Dᴇᴀʀᴇsᴛ || Sᴇᴠᴇɴ

I collapsed to the floor, the wind ripped from my lungs before I was thrown to the wall and pinned. I winced as Sam was tossed like a ragdoll into the kitchen island and then whisked away again against the pantry door. He struggled, fighting against the invisible grip.

I tried to move, but the thing holding me back wouldn't budge. I reached down into the veil of my everything to pull out that same power, that same horrifying power that I somehow used to move that knife and that shovel to peel the poltergeist's fingers from me.

Nothing. There was nothing. Nothing but a deep hole inside of me where that power should've been, that was empty.

And then the house shook. Burning hot heat filled the room as the sound of whipping and roaring fire reached the sphere of my hearing. The burning thing from the closet rounded the corner into the living room, advancing towards us. Towards Sam.

Dean appeared in front of us, his shotgun raised and loaded at the ready.

"No, don't! Don't!" Sam roared.

What?!

"What? Why?" Dean demanded.

The flames blew back and a form began to materialise as Sam said, "Because I know who it is. I can see her now."

The flames dispersed to reveal a blonde woman in a nightgown, her hair billowing down her back. She was beautiful. Such kind beauty and grace to her.

Dean's bravado façade shattered as he lowered his gun, and uttered the name that seemed so impossible. "Mom."

The woman smiled; the spirit of the woman smiled. She looked up at her eldest son with such a loving expression that even my heart ached. Not because of how those boys looked at their mother. But because of the woman whose face I could never forget, that I'd never truly see again.

"Dean," Mary Winchester uttered. She looked and approached her younger son, the child she never truly got to know. The child that had gone his entire life without the woman who stood before him "Sam."

Tears welled in the young Winchester's eyes, a single drop rolling down his cheek as he smiled one so painful, but glad to finally see the woman who should've raised him.

"I'm sorry," she said.

Sam frowned, one as painful as his smile. "F-for what?"

Mary Winchester's expression was that of agony, even as she sent me a glance, before she turned her back on her sons and looked up.

"You, get out of my house," she ordered so calmly, so deadly with motherly instinct laced through her next words. "And let go of my son."

She ignited, a pure essence of flame, and she exploded into the ceiling and disappeared. The tension and power holding Sam and I back released. And then there was silence. There was so much of it as I slid down the wall to the ground.