Cas sat at the library table, wrapped up in a blanket like an angel burrito and shivering so hard his teeth were chattering.

Sam gave him a sympathetic look. "Is there anything I can get you?" he asked. Cas shook his head. "We're working on a cure as fast as we can."

"I know," the angel rumbled. "I just need… a distraction."

"OK," Sam said. "Maybe you could do some research? I'll get you my laptop." He stood up and accidentally brushed the angel's arm as he passed. Cas let out a cry and fell to the floor. "Shit! Dean!" He kneeled down next to Cas, who was writhing around as if he were having a fit, his eyes rolled up in his head. "DEAN!"

He slid his arms under Cas's armpits, trying to avoid the angel's flailing hands and hauled him upright, the angel's head lolling alarmingly as he pulled him towards a chair. And then all of a sudden, Cas's head snapped up and he stared at Sam, a wild light in his eyes.

"Uh, Cas?" Sam said nervously. The angel didn't answer, he just thrust Sam backwards against the table. Sam yelped as the wood dug into his spine. Cas didn't stop, he lifted Sam bodily off his feet and slammed him down onto the wooden surface, which let out a loud crack. Fuck, was Cas going to beat him to death under the influence of this damn spell before Dean could hear him crying out for help? "DEAN!"

Cas pinned him to the table with his hands on his wrists and straddled him, his face close to Sam's. His expression was savage, and there was a look in his eyes Sam didn't recognize. And then he realized what it was he could feel digging into his leg and his eyes widened in shock. Cas crushed their mouths together, thrusting his tongue into Sam's mouth. The angel was hot and demanding, the kiss was a taking, not an asking. And Sam absolutely should not have been aroused. He definitely should not have been tangling his tongue with Cas's and groaning desire into the angel's mouth. Cas was tugging at his shirt and Sam gasped as the angel lifted his head and tore the garment open, buttons scattering all over the floor. He grabbed a handful of Sam's hair and yanked his head back hard to expose his neck, growling like an animal. Sam shivered with a complex mix of fear and arousal.

"Cas!" Dean's voice cracked through the haze of lust that was enveloping Sam's brain. He grabbed the angel and somehow managed to pull him off Sam. Cas collapsed onto the floor, breathing heavily.

"You OK?" Dean said to Sam. Sam nodded, not trusting himself to speak. "Cas?" The angel curled into a ball and was sobbing. "OK, Cas. Come on. You're OK." He lowered himself carefully to the floor and gripped the angel's shoulder tightly. Cas pulled away and grabbed his blanket, wrapping it around himself and rocking back and forth, making soft, keening sounds. "OK," Dean said. "I'll let you calm down." He stood up and turned to look at Sam.

"Are you OK?" he asked. "Did he hurt you?" Dean was staring at Sam and for a moment he wondered what his brother had seen when he rushed into the room.

"Yeah, I'm OK," Sam said, carefully levering himself off the table and gingerly limping towards a chair. "He slammed me into the table pretty hard, but I think I can walk it off."
"Jesus," Dean said. "He could have killed you."

"It's not his fault," Sam said, wincing.

"Yeah. I know." There was a groan from Cas and Dean's attention returned to the angel. "I'm working on a lead on Rowena," Dean said. "Just hold on, Cas." Cas nodded mutely. "OK, I'll be back in five minutes. Don't move." Dean said and dashed out of the room.

Sam eyed Cas for a moment. The angel was staring at the floor, his mouth turned downwards.

"Cas?"

"I'm sorry, Sam," Cas said. "I'm so, so, sorry."

"It's OK," Sam told him. "I'll be fine." Cas looked up, his eyes red-rimmed and a little watery. Silence hung between them crackling with tension. He could have said something then, but then Dean walked back into the room with his computer and the moment was gone.


Sam watched from his hiding place behind a shelf in the warehouse. Cas was prowling the rows of shelving, looking for the unfortunate passer-by who'd caught his attention. A flicker of movement caught his attention to his left and he saw her, creeping towards the door where he'd entered. He turned and followed the young woman, ready to intervene if Cas reappeared. It was lucky he did, the angel appeared suddenly and grabbed the woman by the throat, cutting off her scream. Sam pounced, clapping one hand over Cas's nose and mouth and dragging him backwards. The woman yelped and scrambled away, her feet slipping in her haste to get away. But once she was gone, Cas stopped struggling and Sam felt relief flood him. The angel had regained control, thank God.

So he wasn't prepared when Cas whipped around and shoved him up against the shelves, which rocked alarmingly. The angel stared at him, the pupils wide and black, only slivers of blue remained. And then his gaze dropped to Sam's mouth and Sam shivered. This time, Cas grasped his face between his hands and brought his mouth down on Sam's, a more sensuous and giving kiss than last time. Sam groaned and let his hands drop to Cas's hips, tugging him closer. Cas growled and pressed his body insistently against Sam, deepening the kiss further. All sense and rationality had fled, the fact that Rowena or Dean could come around a corner at any moment was so far from Sam's mind that when the witch did appear, his brain couldn't process the information. His eyes flickered open at her gasp and he saw her stood there, stock still with astonishment. But then Cas lifted his head and moved his attentions to Sam's neck, biting down hard and wringing a cry from the hunter. Rowena was forgotten.

"Cas!" Sam heard vaguely from elsewhere in the warehouse. The angel lifted his head and turned in the direction of the sound. He growled and Dean stepped out from behind a shelf, Rowena in tow. Cas launched himself at Dean, and the witch sidestepped daintily.

Sam struggled to regain his equilibrium as Cas pushed Dean into a pile of boxes and then began whaling on his brother with his fists. Sam blinked and then noticed Rowena backing away. He pulled his gun and pointed at her.

"Desiste!" Rowena shouted and Cas paused, his face still contorted with savagery.

"Do I need to remind you these are witch-killing bullets? Finish it!" Sam snapped.

Rowena cast him a speculative look. "Yes, yes, all right. Adlevo onus tuum." Cas's face went blank and he slumped to his knees. Sam could hear Dean trying to steady him but his attention was on the witch. He shouldn't have been surprised when she managed to separate herself from them with the gate. Dammit.

"I'm sure you had every intention of honoring our deal," Rowena said sweetly. "But why take chances?"

Cas leaned forward, his fingers extended towards Dean. "Dean, I can fix that," he said. Dean leaned back out of reach, wincing as he did so.

"No, no, no," he said. "No, no. It's fine, Cas. Besides, I had it comin'."

Sam rolled his eyes and exchanged a look with the angel. Dean's martyr complex could be a little hard to bear sometimes.

"Don't think I can't see you," his brother snarled. "Rolling your eyes at me. You know what I mean. This is penance."

"You're being ridiculous," Cas said suddenly. When Dean's face slid into a mulish pout, he sighed. "All right. Have it your own way."

"I will," Dean said. "I'm gonna go get some sleep." He got to his feet and shuffled off to his room.

"I wish he'd let me help him," said Cas. Sam gave him a sympathetic smile. "And you."

"Me?" Sam asked in surprise. "I'm OK."

"I attacked you," Cas said mournfully. "I…"

"Cas," Sam said, holding up one hand. "I told you, it's fine. You were under a spell." Cas nodded but continued to eye Sam uncertainly. "Was there something else?"

"I… no. No." Cas said. "As long as you've not suffered any lasting… harm."

Sam yawned, the events of the day overtaking him, and he stood. He grasped Cas's shoulder and squeezed. Cas looked up at him, his mouth a little slack and his eyes vulnerable. Sam looked at him and swallowed, the memory of the angel's mouth on his making him shiver. Cas blinked and Sam nodded at him.

"I need to get some sleep. Take care of yourself, Cas. I'll see you in the morning."

Any hopes of a good night's sleep vanished the moment he closed his eyes. All he could think about was the heat of Cas's mouth on his, the insistent press of the angel's body and the hard arousal unmistakable against his leg. The wild savagery of the first kiss in the library, the intoxicating sensuality of the second in the warehouse, whirling around his head and making his body heavy and uncomfortable with desire. And there was nothing he could do about it. Cas's horror at what he'd done was plain and Sam was sure the angel would not appreciate a discussion on the matter. Eventually, he kicked off the covers in frustration, taking himself in hand and trying to direct his thoughts to someone else, anyone else. But the only thing he could concentrate on was Cas, and so he gave in finally and let his imagination take him where it wanted to go.


Dean awoke suddenly, unsure what had disturbed him. He lay there quietly, straining his ears to hear any unusual sounds but the bunker was silent. After a few moments, he slipped out of bed and wrapped himself in his robe. He left his room and padded down the hall to the kitchen. Through the open door to the library, he could see Cas sitting at the table, his head in his hands.

"Hey, Cas," he said softly and the angel's head came up suddenly, a wild look in his eyes. Not the attack dog spell rearing it's ugly head he realized thankfully, just shock and horror.

"Dean," Cas said and his relief was evident. Who had he been afraid of encountering? He and Sam were the only ones here.

"How are you doing?" Dean asked. "You look… awful."

"Thanks," the angel said dryly and Dean laughed. "I did a lot of bad things under the influence of that spell, and I'm trying to process it all."

"OK," Dean said. "I get that. Believe me, after the Mark of Cain, I totally get that."

Cas nodded in agreement. "For some things, I can regret them but not be disturbed by them. But what I did to you and Sam-"

"Hold up," Dean said, raising his hands. "You beat the crap out of me, sure. But I told you, I had it coming. I nearly killed you when the Mark was controlling me."

"You know I don't agree," Cas said. "But even if I did, that hardly excuses what I did to Sam."

Dean looked at him curiously. "Sam's tough. So you punched him a few times? He'll live. And you know him, he's never been one to nurse a grudge. Hell, I've punched the kid a time or two myself, sometimes warranted. Sometimes, not so much. But he forgives, because that's who he is."

The angel regarded his hands sorrowfully. "If you say so," he said doubtfully.

"Has Sam said something," Dean asked, not sure he wanted to open this can of worms. "Did he say he was pissed? I can have a word."

"No!" Cas yelped in alarm. "No."

"OK," Dean said, feeling stupid. What the Hell was he missing here? "I guess I'm having a hard time understanding what the problem is?"

"The spell Rowena cast, it wasn't a simple attack spell," Cas said. "It induced an… animalistic state in my mind."

"Yeah," Dean agreed, rubbing his sore jaw ruefully. "I got that."

"No," Cas said shaking his head. "I'm not just talking about violence."

Dean stared at him. "Cas, what did you do to Sam?" Color flooded the angel's face and his hands began to shake. Dean eyed him in dismay. "Cas? What did you do?"

"I kissed him," Cas confessed in a low, ashamed voice. Dean just gaped at him, the shock of the angel's revelation rendering him mute. "Twice. The first time was when you pulled me off him on this table. The second time was in the warehouse."

"Uh," Dean said intelligently. "And uh, has Sam… uh. I guess he's mad?"

"I don't know," Cas said, looking up at him. "He hasn't said anything."

"What? Nothing at all?" Dean replied. "Wow."

"Which is why I'm worried," Cas agreed. "Sam's not like you, he always wants to talk things out. But he's said nothing to me. And I think he's avoiding me."

Dean scratched at his stubble. This wasn't so much a can of worms as a barrel of snakes. God damn it.

"Do you uh, want me to talk to him?" he offered, hoping the angel would say no. He wasn't disappointed.

"No," Cas said firmly. "If he doesn't want to talk about it, then I should leave it alone."

"He'll come around," Dean told him. "He always does."


Sam clicked on an interesting looking link on a Reddit forum frequented by hunters. He followed the link through to the report on the website of a local newspaper in Branson, MO. Sounded like a routine haunting, maybe they should check it out. He heard the scuff of shoes and looked up to see Dean enter the room, a mug in one hand.

"Hey," he said, "Did you make coffee?"

Dean looked down at the cup in his hand. "Uh, yeah. You want some?"

"I'll go get it, you take a look at this," Sam said, waving one hand at his computer. He got up and walked through to the kitchen. Cas was in the fridge, rifling through its contents.

"Looking for something, Cas?" Sam asked and the angel started, banging his head on a shelf and sending beer bottles flying. His hands shot out and grabbed them, carefully replacing them before replying.

"No," Cas said. "Well. Yes."

"OK," Sam said slowly, watching the angel curiously. "Anything I can help with?"

"No," Cas rumbled. "It's… fine."

Sam had no idea what had gotten into the angel. He'd have to ask Dean about it later. He grabbed a mug and poured coffee from the pot into it. He eyed Cas for a moment.

"Hey, can I just get the half-and-half?" he asked. Cas's eyes widened and then he pulled the container from the door and thrust it at Sam. He took it gingerly and poured some into his coffee then handed it back. The angel shoved the container into its place and then closed the fridge door. "OK," Sam said. "Uh. I'll talk to you later."

He walked back to the library, contemplating the angel's odd behavior. Dean was reading the news report intently.

"Hey," Sam said. "Is Cas OK?"

"What?" Dean yelped. Sam frowned at him. "Yes, he's fine. Why?"

"Uh, I dunno really. He just seems… off. Jumpy, unsettled. Is he still having side effects from Rowena's spell?"

"Not as far as I know," Dean said. "Don't worry about it. I'm sure he's OK. Now, talk to me about this case."

"OK," Sam relented. He'd have to corner Cas later. "So, this woman, Mary Hartley, passes away. She was in her late nineties, died of a stroke. So far, so not mysterious. She has only one relative, a grandson. He comes in from Chicago with his wife and their two children to sort through her belongings and decide what to sell and what to keep, before putting the house on the market. And that's when things started getting weird. I thought maybe old Mary's spirit was still hanging around. She was cremated, last week, so no body to dig up, salt and burn. But maybe there's something of her left in that house."

"Quick, easy job?" Dean said. "In and out, bread and butter kind of thing?"

"Yeah," Sam said. "I thought it might be nice, you know. Just a simple hunt, none of the complications we've had to deal with lately."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "OK, I'm in." He checked his watch. "Let's hit the road in about an hour."

Sam went back to the kitchen but Cas was no longer there. He sighed and headed to the angel's room. He could hear the faint sounds of the TV in there so he rapped lightly on the door.

"What do you want, Sam?" Cas said tersely without opening the door.

"Uh, just a chat. If you don't mind." Sam said. "We're going out on a hunt."

The door opened a crack and Cas's face appeared. "Do you want me to come with you?" he asked.

"Only if you want to," Sam replied. "It's just a salt-and-burn ghost hunt."

"No."

"OK, well-" Cas shut the door in his face. Sam blinked in surprise.

"Uh, Cas?"

The door opened again, and the angel looked stressed and pale. "Yes?"

"Are you OK? I mean, you seem… unhappy. I know you're still recovering after that spell, but I just wanted to know you're OK."

"I'm fine," Cas said robotically. He went to close the door again and Sam blocked it with his foot.

"You don't seem fine," he said. "Look, I'm not trying to get on your case. But if you want to talk, I'm here, you know." Cas's mouth turned downwards but he nodded. And then he closed the door gently with a click. Sam sighed heavily and headed to his room.


Branson was a small town, and the house in question was like many others on that block, with pale blue siding and a sand colored roof. The yard was neat but uninspired, and there was a calico cat sat on the doorstep. Dean leaned down to pet it and it hissed at him and ran away.

"Look at you, the Cat Whisperer," Sam laughed. Dean glared at him and then rang the doorbell.

The woman who answered the door was mid-thirties with straight black hair and pale skin.

"Hi," Dean said, giving her a winning smile. "Mrs Stanton? I'm Dean Young, this is my colleague Sam Johnson. We spoke on the phone."

"Oh, yes," she said. "I'm Hermione Stanton."

"Well, as I told you, we're from the Springfield News-Leader and we heard about your story from our friends at the Tri-Lakes News. We thought it deserved more attention."

"Please, come in," she said. She showed them into the house, which was clean and tidy but dated. They walked past a small formal dining room, where wallpaper had been stripped from the wall and there was a large hole in the floor. Sam pointed it out to Dean as they passed. Hermione led them into the kitchen and began making coffee.

"So, what can I tell you that wasn't in the paper?" she asked.

"Is your husband here," Sam asked her.

She shook her head. "Not right now, he's picking up some supplies at the Home Depot. We're doing some renovations before selling Nana's house."

"Yeah, I saw that," Dean said. "Trouble in the dining room?"

"Yes," Hermione said. "But I don't think the Home Depot sells what we need to fix the problem."

"Oh?" Sam said. "Why's that?"

"Because I think we need a priest," Hermione said firmly. She was clutching the small gold cross at her neck. "I think this house is haunted."

"Yes, Malcolm Andrews told us you thought there was a ghost. What sort of things have been happening?" Sam asked her.

"Oh, the usual sort of things," Hermione said. Dean exchanged a look with Sam.

"You've had experience of hauntings before?" he asked carefully.

She nodded emphatically. "My family are what you would call sensitives. Not full on mediums but we are able to detect more about the spiritual plane than the average person."

"I see," Sam said. "So, the usual things?"

"Oh, of course, how would you know what I'm talking about? Cold spots, things disappearing and turning up in odd places. This strange smell of burning. Sounds of footsteps upstairs when I'm the only one in the house. I've also heard a child's laughter and singing."

"Sounds like a haunting to me," Dean said. "Did your grandmother ever talk about there being a ghost in the house?"

"She's actually Jerry's grandmother," Hermione corrected. "But no, Nana wasn't a believer in the supernatural. She was quite dismissive of my gift, kept telling Jerry I was nuts. Since everything started, he's been nearly as bad. Nana and Granpa bought the house new, Jerry said, so how could anyone have died here? I told him construction workers died on the job all the time but he wasn't interested."

"So, other times you came here, you weren't aware of any spirit activity," Sam clarified. Hermione shook her head and began pouring coffee into cups. "No, nothing. Not that we came here often or stayed for long. I'm not the kind of granddaughter-in-law she wanted, I guess." She placed one cup in front of Dean and another in front of Sam and he noticed her hands were shaking.

"So, if you're a sensitive and you've prior experience of ghosts, why are you so scared of this one?" Sam pressed as gently as he could.

"I wasn't, at first. But then she began targeting the children," Hermione said.

"Wait," Sam said. "She?"

"I can't explain it, I just feel that the spirit is female," Hermione told him. "Anyway, she started pulling Charlotte's hair, hard enough to pull clumps of it out. And then she scratched Harvey's face, actually drew blood."

"And that's when you took the children to your sister's, back in Chicago."

"Yes. I was worried the violence would escalate."

"Fair enough," Sam said. "And they've had no more incidents since they left."

"No. Violet's even more sensitive than I am and she was on alert for anything but no, the incidents have only happened in this house." There was a sudden loud crash from upstairs and Hermione jumped to her feet. "Oh, God! What now?" She dashed out of the room and both Winchesters raced after her. Upstairs, Hermione was standing staring into a room, her mouth covered by her hands.

The room was dominated by a huge wooden sleigh bed. It looked incredibly heavy and was currently stood on one end. Sam blinked, it would have taken at least four men to move it at least.

"Well," Dean said. "I think it's safe to say no human would stack furniture like this." The temperature suddenly dropped and Sam began to shiver. He could see his breath misting in the air.

"She's coming," Hermione whispered.

There was a sensation like a cold breeze that whipped around them, tangling Sam's hair and ruffling their clothes. A horrid scratching sound made all of them wince and when it was over, Hermione pointed at the wall behind Dean. In letters about a foot tall, scratched deep into the drywall, was a single word. LEAVE.


"So, Mary Hartley was cremated," Dean said, frustration evident in his tone. "And we searched that place from top to bottom and found nothing."

"I wonder if this is a ghost after all," Sam mused as he stirred his coffee absently. He watched the diner waitress serve a couple of cops at the counter with slices of pie and smiled at the sweet old-fashioned feel of the place. "I'm thinking poltergeist."

"You think when the Stantons started taking the house down to studs, it got disturbed somehow?" Dean pushed away the last of his french fries and licked the salt from his fingers. "OK, maybe. Why not."

"I'll hit up the local library for back issues of the Tri-Lakes News," Sam said. "Maybe there's been trouble in the house before. Something Mrs Hartley didn't tell her grandson or his wife about."

"OK," Dean agreed. "I'll grab some ingredients for the purification ritual. Let's meet back here in a couple of hours.


Sam pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. He'd spent the past two hours going through old copies of the Tri-Lakes News on microfiche at the local library and had nothing to show for it but a headache. Whatever had started this poltergeist off, there was no history associated with the house.

His phone buzzed and he answered it, receiving a glare from the librarian. He gave the older man an apologetic smile and headed for the door.

"Sam," Cas rumbled in his ear.

Sam swallowed and took a deep breath. "Uh, Cas, yeah. What's up?"

"How is the hunt going?" the angel asked.

"OK," Sam replied, wondering why Cas had called. Surely he wasn't checking up on them on a simple hunt? "We think it's a poltergeist, although we can't figure out what started it. But we know what to do."

"Of course," Cas said. There was an uncomfortable silence that stretched out between them.

"Cas? Was there something else you wanted?" Sam asked.

"Yes. No. I…" the angel seemed at a loss and Sam considered his next words carefully.

"Cas, if you want to talk, we can. Dean and I should be done with this case tonight and then we'll be heading home."

"That's not necessary," Cas said. "I mean… It's fine. I'll see you when you return." He hung up and Sam sighed in vexation. Despite the fact Cas was determined not to address what had happened between them while he was ensorcelled, it continued to loom large in the angel's consciousness it seemed. And if Sam was honest with himself, he couldn't let it lie either. It really would be better if they talked it out. Once they got back to the bunker, Sam decided he was going to have to try and convince Cas to open up to him.

He saw Dean standing by the Impala, talking on his phone. He walked up and Dean's face went curiously blank.

"Yeah, totally," he said. "Right. Well, Sam's here. I gotta go. What? No, no. I'll talk to you later, man." He hung up and nodded to Sam. "Any luck?"

"Nothing. As far as I can tell, the house doesn't have a history. Literally nothing interesting has ever happened there. The only death not of natural causes that has ever happened on the entire street was a woman who was killed by a falling tree back in 2003."

"Well, we've got everything we need. I picked up angelica root and Van Van oil at the Hoodoo store over by the Walmart. There's crossroads dirt in the trunk already." Dean opened his door. "We've got about an hour until sunset. Let's get this done."


Sam hefted the sledgehammer over his shoulder and swung it at the wall. It made a satisfying thunk as it opened a hole in the wall and Sam placed the container he and Dean had made. There was a terrible shrieking sound and Sam's instincts made him duck instinctively. It was lucky his reflexes were so well honed, for the screwdriver that had been flung across the room buried itself to the hilt into the drywall. Sam let out an explosive breath. He needed to move quickly now.

The next corner was the north. He tapped the wall experimentally with his fist and frowned at the solidity of the wall. This was not going to be as easy to knock a hole in as the east wall. He listened out for Dean, who should have finished the south wall and started on the west but the house was eerily quiet. And then there was a huge crashing sound that echoed off the walls.

"Dean?" he called. There was silence. "Dean!"

Nothing. He regarded the sledgehammer solemnly as he considered what to do. He decided it would be better to continue and then investigate once he was done. He swung the heavy implement and swore as it bounced off the wall leaving barely a dent. His shoulder throbbed in protest at force that reverberated up from the handle.

"Great," Sam muttered.

"Great," a voice said behind him. It sounded like a young girl. He spun around and stared at her. She appeared to be six or seven years old, with dark skin, deep brown eyes and her hair in pigtails with pink beads and ribbons at the ends. Her dress was also pink and quite long, almost to her ankles. She carried a rather ragged teddy bear, who had a spotted handkerchief tied over one eye and a sheriff's star pinned to his chest in one hand.

"Uh, hi," Sam said, giving her a smile.

"Uh, hi," she repeated.

"What's your name?" he asked. Was she a ghost? She seemed very substantial. "I'm Sam."

She frowned at that. "No," she said. "That's wrong." He blinked. "I'm Sam."

"Oh," he said stupidly. "That's OK. We have the same name. That happens sometimes. My full name is Samuel, but everyone just calls me Sam. Maybe your name is Samantha?"

She regarded him warily, her eyes large and intent. "No. My name is Samuel."

"That's quite unusual, for a girl," Sam said carefully. "So what are you doing here, Sam?"

"Looking for ghosts," she said matter of factly. "Dean and I are ghost hunters."

Sam almost choked. "Dean?"

She held up the bear for his inspection. "This is Dean."

"Wow," Sam said, feeling really weird. "You know, it's funny. My brother is called Dean too. I don't suppose you've seen him?"

"No, silly," the little girl informed him. "He's long gone."

Cold sweat crept down his spine. "I see. Do you know where?"

She smiled at him and he wondered why he hadn't noticed how sharp her teeth were before. "To Coventry."

Sam had no idea what that meant. He had some vague memory that there might be a city in England called Coventry, but since it seemed unlikely Dean would have gone there, at least willingly, he was at a loss.

"I see," he lied.

"I don't think you do," the little girl said menacingly. And then she gave him a sweet smile. "But you will." Sam rubbed his eyes as she seemed to fade in front of him until he could see through her to the opposite wall. And then she was completely gone.

He abandoned his task and headed off to the south wall to see if he could find his brother. But when he got there to see the sledgehammer leaning against the wall and the containers of purification ingredients sitting waiting to be placed, he cursed.

"Dean?" There was no reply. "Dean!"

"Sam?" Dean voice was weak as though he were very far away.
"Dean, where are you?"

"I dunno. It's dark. Like, inside of a whale dark. The floor's made of dirt. Maybe a basement?"

Sam pulled the house floor plans from his pocket in consternation. He didn't remember the house having a basement. He pored over them, looking for anything that might match what Dean described.

"Sam?"

"I'm looking, hold on. Actually, keep talking, it might help me find you." Sam turned on his flashlight and began scanning the walls for any sign of a hidden door.

"Uh, Maybe not a basement. It's too small. More like… a crawlspace."

Sam turned the flashlight back on the plans, scanning until he found what he was looking for. "OK, I think I know where you are! Stay put."

"I'm not going anywhere," Dean said snarkily.

Sam grabbed the sledgehammer and headed for the kitchen where, according to the plans, there was an unusually large gap between the inner wall and the outer wall although no closet or other reason for such a large discrepancy was marked. The little girl was waiting for him and she looked mad.

"I can't let you do this, Sam," she said. "I told you. He's gone to Coventry."

"He's my brother," Sam replied. "I have to help him. It's what family does." The girl looked puzzled.

"Not my family," she said.

"Well, I'm sorry to hear that," Sam said desperately. "Sometimes families go wrong, I guess."

"Sam! SAM!" Sam could hear Dean scrabbling in the wall. He didn't know what this little girl was, only that she wasn't human. So he had no idea if he could hurt her.

"Families go wrong," little Sam repeated. "Families go wrong…"

"Please," Sam begged. "Please let me save my brother."

"Families go wrong!" she exclaimed.

"SAM! There's… there's a little kid in here."

"Is her name Sam?" Sam called out.

"She's been dead a long time, Sam. I don't think she's answering any questions." Dean sounded heartbroken and slightly terrified all at once. The little girl was grinning at him.

"I'll make a deal with you," she said. "I'll let you help your Dean. In return, you have to give me something."
"OK," Sam said slowly. "What do you want?"

She put on a show of thinking, placing one finger against her chin and looking thoughtful but Sam was pretty sure she already knew what she was going to ask for. "This house."

"It's not mine," Sam told her. "I can't give it to you."

"Say bye bye to your brother then," she sang.

"No! Wait. Look, I'll talk to the owners, OK? Maybe if I convince them not to sell the house. Would that be enough?"

She tilted her head to the side. "Nobody lives here?"

"Nobody except you," Sam promised.

"Deal!" she exclaimed, holding out her hand. Sam took it cautiously and shook it, yelping with pain when he felt something sharp cut at his palm. He looked down in astonishment to see a small incision and the little girl's hand covered in his blood.

"Great," he muttered. She skipped out of the way as he hefted the sledgehammer and approached the wall. "Dean, I'm coming to get you. Uh, can you bang on the wall so I don't take your head off?"

"Yeah, all right." There was a series of knocks and Sam pinpointed a good spot then swung the hammer and watched as plaster and wood crunched as a hole about the size of a football formed in the wall. He shone his flashlight in and was rewarded with the sight of Dean's face, dusty and smeared with blood on his forehead.

"You OK?"

"Yeah, just get me out of here, willya?" Dean grumbled.

Sam widened the hole until it was broad enough to accommodate Dean's shoulders and then helped his brother wiggle out of the space.

"You said you found a dead body," Sam said.

"Bones, really," Dean said. "In the corner."

Sam gritted his teeth, they'd have to come out so they could salt and burn them. Just in case they were little Sam's.

"You're not going in there?" Dean said.

"No, I was gonna knock another hole in the wall," Sam said.
"Oh. Good idea." Sam's sledgehammer was lying on the floor where he'd left it. "I'll help."

They spent a few minutes figuring out where to strike and then opened up a hole as close to where Dean said the bones were as they could. Looking through the hole at the pile of tiny bones and tattered faded pink fabric made Sam's eyes prickle alarmingly.

"Oh no, naughty Sam!" came little Sam's voice and he was blindsided by a kick to the head.

"Aagh!" He tried to turn his head to where he could hear Dean cock his salt-filled shotgun and fire off both barrels.

"Sam, the bones!"

"OK," Sam said, wincing at the pain in his head. "I'm getting them." He gathered them up and pulled them out before dragging himself upright and staggering towards the back door. He screamed in agony as a slicing pain in his right leg caused him to stumble and drop to his knees.

Dean's shotgun roared again and Sam crawled to the back door and managed to lever it open, pulling himself outside and dumping the bones onto the concrete. Dean stepped over him and doused the bones with salt and lighter fluid and then tossed in a book of matches. The scream as the bones lit up chilled Sam to the bone.

"Lemme take a look at that leg," Dean said.

Sam felt dizzy and nauseated. "OK. And then my head?"

Dean looked puzzled. "What?"

"My… head…" Everything was spinning and then it went black.