"Hey, Sammy," Dean shouted enthusiastically, pointing off into the distance, "look over there!" Sam sighed, closing the lid of his laptop and looked up to where Dean was pointing. "Creepy, huh, Sammy?"
Sam closed his eyes for a moment. "It's a creepy old house that looks abandoned, Dean."
"Exactly. It's a very creepy old house that looks abandoned. Let's check it out!"
"No, Dean. Let's not ch- DEAN!"
Dean had already got out of the Impala and started jogging towards the wrought-iron gate. Sam opened the car door, stepping halfway out and motioned for Dean to come back. "Dean! Get back over here now!" Dean had his hands wrapped around the bars of the gate, shaking it. Sam let out an exasperated sigh and walked over to Dean. "Dude, come on, back in the car," Sam groaned, yanking on the back of Dean's jacket. Dean shook him off.
"Stand back," Dean ordered as his hand disappeared within his jacket. Sam stood back as Dean pulled out a gun, aiming it at the rusty lock placed in the middle of the gate. The lock burst into pieces when the bullet made contact with the worn, eroded metal.
"That's better!" Dean cheered.
"Dean," Sam sighed.
Dean just smirked as he pushed open the gate, the rusty hinges creaking and screaming in protest.
"Dean! We really should get back in the car! We don't know what's here."
"Nah, Sammy! We just got started!"
"All the more reason to get back in the car," Sam argued.
"'All the more reason to get back in the car'," Dean mimicked. "All the more reason for you to shut your cakehole and follow me."
Sam grimaced and fell in step behind Dean, who had already made his way to the front door. He jiggled the doorknob, groaning when he realized it was locked.
"Why does everything have to be locked?" Dean pulled his gun out once again, and aimed it at the doorknob.
Click
Dean lowered the gun, a smile slowly spreading over his face. "Well, Sammy. Looks like we might have ourselves a ghost!"
Sam laughed sarcastically. "Oh, great!"
"That's the spirit!" Dean grinned, amused.
"Dean. We're leaving."
Dean twirled around to face Sam, a frown morphed onto his face. "Sam. We're staying."
Sam's mouth tightened into a thin white line as he tried to think of something to say back. Failing to do so, Dean smiled.
"Thought so," he said, stepping inside. Sam let out a loud groan, and stepped inside after his brother.
It was dark inside, despite the rays of bright sunlight streaming in through the grimey busted out windows. Cobwebs littered the ceiling and walls, casting long shadows on the floor. It was cold, too. Sam bit his lip and stayed close to the door.
"Dean. I don't like it in here. I really think we should leave." Sam protested.
"'Course you don't!" Dean said, his lopsided grin plastered on his face. "Go out to the Impala and get the ghost-hunting stuff, will you?"
"Dean. If I go out there, I am driving away, leaving you here, and never coming back."
Dean dug into his jeans pocket, taking out the keys to the Impala, dangling them in front of Sam's face. "Like hell you will. Now go out and get the gear. Now Sam," he demanded.
Sam's mouth morphed into a tight line again as he turned on his heel and left. The steps on the front porch groaned under his weight as he stepped off the white, paint-chipped pieces of wood. He popped open the trunk, tossing the equipment into a bag dangling off his shoulder.
Dean was leaning against a dust covered desk examining his nails. A cold gust of wind grabbed his attention.
"Sammy! Hurry up, will you?" Dean shouted. Sam didn't respond.
The gusts became stronger and colder. Dean slowly removed his rock salt gun from his jacket, index finger finding home on the trigger. He was ready to shoot anything that came out.
"Sam!" Dean was getting impatient, now. What was taking Sam so long? "Sam!" Dean growled. His voice echoed throughout the empty antechamber. Sam! Sam! Sam! Sam! Another voice soon joined his continuous echos. It was a woman's voice, and it was screaming Sam! When the echos stopped, so did her screams, but it was soon replaced with a high, cold cackle.
"Hi, Dean," said a cold voice slowly. Dean froze, his hand glued to the handle of his gun. Slowly, he turned to face whatever had spoken.
It was a woman. Her long blonde hair was matted and tangled in the back, brown eyes glistening maliciously. The half-grin plastered on her face emitted an aura of nothing more than evil intentions. A trickle of blood trailed down her cheek, dripping off her chin and leaving maroon, dime-sized drops on her blouse.
"How do you know my name?" Dean asked cautiously, hand tightening on the gun.
"Word travels fast, Demon-Hunter." She shrugged.
Teeth clenched, Dean lifted the gun and shot, spraying rock salt over the area where the woman just stood. Dean sneered. "Dammit." He looked up at the doorway. Sam still wasn't back.
"Hey, Sammy?" Dean yelled, and Sam still didn't respond. Dean balled his hand that wasn't hold the gun into a fist and stepped outside into the retreating sunlight. Sam was leaning against the Impala, his laptop balanced on his knee.
"What the hell, Sam?" Dean yelled. Sam glanced up from his laptop, looking remotely startled, but mostly uninterested. "I told you I wasn't going back in there, Dean."
"Well tough, Sam," Dean shot at him.
"Dean, we have no business here! Let's just go."
Dean tried a different approach. "Oh, come one, Sam! It'll be fun!"
"I seriously doubt that, Dean."
"We'll go get pie after."
"Dean, that's your thing."
"Sammy, please?"
Sam closed the lid of his laptop and sighed. "Fine." Dean smiled. "But," Sam said. "no more hunts for a month."
Dean hesitated. No hunts for a month? After a minute, Dean agreed solemnly.
"Good," said Sam, grinning.
"Shut up, bitch," Dean growled.
"Jerk," Sam smirked, and stepped inside. Dean grinned foolishly. "Dean, I still don't like the feel of this place."
"No big surprise there, Sam. This place isn't exactly Disneyland," Dean said.
Sam thrust the bag into a nearby chair, emitting a cloud of dust from deep within the cushions. He unzipped it and dug out the EMF's, handing one to Dean.
"So," Dean began, "You wanna search upstairs?" He motioned towards the stairway. A gold and red, moth-eaten rug trailed up each step into the unknown.
Sam turned on his EMF, then examined the staircase from a distance. It didn't look safe; but then again, nothing in the house did. "Fine," Sam said after a minute.
"Good luck, Sammy," Dean smiled.
"Yeah, thanks," Sam said dully. Dean patted him on the back, grinned, and disappeared down a nearby hallway. Sam glanced loathingly over at the staircase. Hesitantly, he slowly began to climb the stairs. When he reached the top if the stairs, a horrible scent hit Sam's nose.
"Holy sh-!" Sam yelled, covering his nose with his shirt. It smelled like rotting flesh. Sam gagged, his eyes watering, and every hair on his body felt as though it had been singed off. "Dean!" Sam called.
"What?" Dean yelled back.
"Get up here!"
A minute later, the sound of Dean's heavy footsteps could be heard as he barged up the stairs.
"What is it, Sa-... Son of a bitch!" Dean yelled, covering his nose, too. "What the hell is that?"
Sam shrugged and shook his head, then closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, Dean had already begun scanning over the walls and floors with his EMF.
"Do you think it's body is here?" Sam asked.
"I do," Dean answered. "it'd explain the smell." As soon as Dean said it, the scent vanished, the air returning to the bitter scent of dust and mold. Dean lowered his EMF, his face showing nothing more than pure confusion. He turned to face Sam, who looked just as puzzled as he did.
"What happened?" asked Dean. Sam merely shrugged in response. For a moment, Sam and Dean stood there staring at each other. Dean turned around abruptly, examining the room.
"What's going on?" Sam asked.
"I don't know, Sammy." Dean responded.
Sam's eyes began to widen. "Dean. Do you hear that?"
"Hear what?" The room was silent.
"There's a voice, and it keeps saying my name," Sam's voice quavered slightly, and Dean turned to face him. Sam's eyes were as wide a saucers, and he was rubbing his arm. He looked awkward standing there in the middle of the abandoned room.
"Dean, the voice is nearly shrieking in my ear!" Sam said, shaking his head. "How can you not..."
"Get down!" Dean commanded. Sam ducked as Dean thrust out his gun and pulled the trigger. The woman was standing behind Sam, an arm outstretched. She disappeared as Dean shot at her, but the way she disappeared was what confused Dean. She flew out in a cloud of black smoke, which ghosts didn't do. Dean knew that much. Sam crawled over to Dean, clinging to his jacket.
"Sammy, this isn't a ghost."
"What?" Sam question.
"It's a demon," Dean said.
"What?" Sam exclaimed.
'You know, demons; Evil, spawn of the devil..."
"I know what demons are, Dean." Sam glanced over his shoulder, eyes widening. "Dean."
Dean whipped around, and the woman was standing there, grin glued to her face and eyes twinkling dangerously.
"So," her voice chilled every bone in Dean's body. "I see you have a brain after all." Her eyes glowed a sickly yellow, and Dean glared at her. "Took you long enough, though." She smirked. Her head snapped up and she stared at Sam. "And Sam." She took a step closer to Sam, an evil grin spreading over he face, "How's Jess?" She winked. Sam began to advance at her, but Dean thrust grabbed his arm and held him back, shaking his head slightly.
"Smart boy, Dean," she said. "Sammy should really be more careful. Clearly, he doesn't know who he's dealing with." She thrust her hand in the air, crashing Sam into the wall behind him. Sam writhed in pain, teeth clenched and eyes shut tight. The woman's eyes flashed yellow again as she gave Sam a piercing stare. Those eyes were familiar, though, Dean had seen them before. It was the Yellow-Eyed Demon.
"It's you," Dean said, balling his hands into fists.
The Demon diverted its attention from Sam to Dean. "Excuse me?"
"You're the Yellow-Eyed Demon."
The Demon smirked. "Bit slow on the uptake, I see?" Dean felt his upper lip twitch, the deafening bang of his gun filled the air as he shot at the Demon, but it had disappeared.
"Oh, really, Dean. Is that necessary?" The Demon was sitting in the rafters. Dean glanced over at Sam, who was still pinned to the wall, thrashing around in an attempt to break free.
"Let him go!" Dean yelled. The Demon cackled viciously.
"No, I don't think so." A grin spread over the Demon's face. "I want to have a little fun first." At that, a long, deep gash appeared on Sam's left cheek, and he yelled in agony as blood began to ooze from the wound.
"Sammy!" Dean screamed, running towards his younger brother. The Demon shook it's head, thrusting Dean into the wall opposite Sam. Dean fell to the ground in a heap. A throbbing pain erupted in his skull, making him groan in pain. He opened his eyes, only to be greeted with the sight of his own blood dripping down his forehead. Shakily, Dean lifted a hand up to his head. He brought his hand in front of his eyes and examined his blood-stained nails and maroon colored fingers.
Another scream tore through the air as the Demon tortured Sam. With all his strength, Dean lifted himself up enough to see Sam. The cut on Sam's face was steadily dripping blood onto his torso, slashes on his legs, chest, and arms blossomed blood, staining his shirt and jeans. A moan of pain escaped Sam's lips before he went limp. The Demon's eyes glistened with pride and pleasure.
"Sammy!" Dean weakly cried, desperation lingering in his cracked voice. "Sammy!" Dean's vision began to blur, becoming red around the edges. His head still ached, but the the flow of blood dripping from it slowed. Dean's mouth was dry, and his body tingled from the blood loss. He wanted to call for Sam, but his voice was caught in his throat. Dean couldn't see now, his vision was completely blurred. He heard a disembodied cackle, and then everything went dark.
ᏫᏫᏫ
When Dean came to, the room was dark. His mind felt blank and his head was sore. Where am I? he thought. But more importantly, Where was Sam?
"Sammy?" Dean called out, not getting a response. "Sammy!" Dean attempted to move away from the post he had been set up against, only to be thrust back with a sharp pain in his wrists. His arms had been tied together behind the post with a piece of rope. He struggled to abandoned his binds, eventually giving up with his attempts failed. Dean leaned his head back against the post, eyes shut. Mind racing, he tried to remember what had happened to him and Sam. He remembered that the Demon had attacked them. Approaching footsteps snapped Sam back into focus.
"Sam?" Dean asked, puzzled. Sam stood in front of him, the gashes dried over, leaving dark red marks up and down his body. His hands were tucked into his pockets. "Sam, come on. We got to get out of here. Help me out of these ropes," Dean ordered. Sam shook his head. "What? Why, Sam? This is no time for screwing around!" Dean stared at Sam disbelievingly. Sam's eyes flashed yellow, and Dean began to shake with fury. "What did you do to Sam?" Dean fought to remain calm, but his voice still cracked and broke.
"Nothing that concerns you." The Demon's evil grin formed on Sam's face, his eyes burning yellow. Dean tried fighting off his ropes once again, digging them into his wrists. He gave up and slumped against the post.
"Don't worry, Dean. He's safe," The demon said.
"Somehow, I'm having a hard time believing you," Dean growled.
"Note taken."
"Where's Sam," Dean demanded.
"Watch your temper," The Demon teased.
"Where is Sam," Dean yelled. The Demon gave Dean a piercing glare, and a sharp pain in Dean's forehead blinded him briefly. Dean grunted in pain, shutting his eyes as blood rolled down his eyelids.
"Sam is fine. I've no reason to harm him," The Demon said. Dean remained there, eyes shut, limp against the post. A scream pierced the air, and Dean's eyes snapped open. Sam's body was crumpled and heaped on the floor, his chest rising and falling unevenly.
"Sam!" Dean yelled. Sam stirred slightly, his head lifting and inch off the ground, recognizing Dean's voice.
"D-Dean?" Sam stuttered slightly, eyes flickering open to slits. "Dean, is that you?"
"Yeah, Sammy. it's me. Are you okay?" Dean asked, concerned.
"I..." Sam grunted. "I think so." He slowly flipped onto his back, teeth clenched. "What happened?" He clutched his stomach.
"It was the Yellow-Eyed Demon. He possessed you and tied me up,." Dean informed. The blood from the gash on his forehead was dripping around his eyes and drying on his cheeks. Sam grunted, pushing himself up onto his knees, one hand on his stomach, the other on his head. "Feeling alright there, Sammy?" asked Dean. Sam nodded weakly.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine." Sam stood up, pressing his hand against the wall to steady himself.
"Are you 'fine' enough to untie me?" Dean smirked. Sam looked at Dean and sighed. He stumbled behind Dean and began to fumble with the ropes. After a moment, they fell off and Dean rubbed his wrists.
"Thanks." Dean said. Sam nodded and leaned against the post. Dean stood up, stumbling slightly, and examined the room. The Demon wasn't there. He peered out the doorway into the vacant hall. "He's gone," Dean said. "Let's go." Sam looked up at Dean.
"Go where?"
"Out of here." Dean hoisted Sam up from his armpits, balanced him, and tossed Sam's arm over his shoulders. With his free hand, Dean patted down his jacket and jeans for his gun. "Damnit!"
Sam looked up at Dean. "What's wrong?"
"My gun's missing," Dean growled, looking around the room.
"Here," Sam said, pulling his gun out of his jacket, "use mine." Dean wrapped his hand around the handle and lifted it from Sam's grip and smiled.
"Thanks, Sammy." Sam nodded in response.
Gun balanced in one hand, Sam in the other, Dean slowly and steadily walked down the staircase one stair at a time. When they got to the lower floor, Dean adjusted Sam's grip around his shoulder and, gun cocked, pressed him and Sam against the wall, peering around the corner. The room next door was vacant, but a bang behind Sam and Dean made them jump. Dean thrust Sam to the floor and jerked around violently, pressing his index finger against the trigger, but the gun jammed.
"Really, Dean? Don't you think that's getting a bit predictable?" The Demon, once again inhabiting the woman's body, was perched up on an old, dusty counter. It leaped off and began making it's way towards Sam and Dean. Instinctively, Dean took a step back, shielding Sam with an outstretched arm. The demon smirked.
"Don't you think Sammy's getting a little old to be babied, Dean?" It taunted, motioning to Sam, who was rubbing his head.
"Don't call him 'Sammy'," Dean growled.
"And why not?"
"Only I can call him 'Sammy'."
"Fine. Don't you think Sam should start looking after himself?" The Demon said, smirking. Sam groaned slightly from behind Dean. "You're always in the way, Dean. I don't think Sam needs you to protect him all the time." Dean froze for a moment, thinking over the Demon's words. He did protect Sam a lot; But Sam was his brother. It was his job, wasn't it? Sam let in a sharp intake of breath, snapping Dean out of his thoughts. The Demon still stood before him, it's smirk glued onto the girls face. Dean took another step back towards Sam, turning his head slightly to the left, examining the room but still keeping the Demon in his peripheral vision.
Dean was so close to the door. He thought about grabbing Sam and hauling ass out of there right then, but he knew it wasn't a good idea. He saw the bag of equipment resting on the chair Sam had put it on. He could run over and grab something, but he couldn't risk Sam being unprotected for even a second. Then Dean remembered he always kept a flask full of Holy Water stashed in his jacket.
"Well, anything to say," the Demon said, taunting Dean, "or are you afraid I'm right?" Dean glared up at the Demon, hate glimmering in his eyes, a scowl forming on his lips.
"Burn in Hell, you shit," Dean growled, ripping the flask from his jacket and splashing the water in the Demon's eyes. The Demon shrieking in agony, steam rising from where the water made contact with the skin. It closed it's eyes tightly, attempting to wipe the water from it's face and falling to the ground. Dean grabbed Sam's arm and dragged him to his feet, sloppily balancing him on his shoulder and quickly grabbing the bag from the chair and threw it over his other arm. Dean ran out the door, Sam stumbling with every hurried stride.
When Dean finally dragged Sam to the Impala, he ripped open the back door and thrust Sam inside along with the bag, running around to the front and jumping in the car. He jammed the keys into the ignition. Dean twisted the key's and the engine roared, then he thrusted the Impala into reverse and slammed his foot onto the accelerator, pulling away from the house as fast as he could. They were already two miles from the house before Dean said anything.
"If only I had the Colt," Dean growled, morphing his fingers into the shape of a gun and fake-fired it into the distance. He was shaking slightly from anger, his mouth knit together into a thin, white line.
Sam had regained some of his strength and sat up, resting his head in his hands. "At least we're alive," Sam mumbled.
"But we could've had him!" Dean pounded the heels of his hands on the steering wheel. "We could've killed him!" Dean was so frustrated he began to see red.
"Do you think the Demon followed us?" Sam said wearily, lifting his head from his hands. Dean hadn't considered that, and put more pressure on the accelerator.
"I sure hope not," Dean said, and edge in his voice.
"But Dean, if it di-"
"Sam. I don't want to talk about this right now," Dean interrupted, flicking on the stereo and turning it up. Sam sat back and relaxed slightly. His back was killing him and his head was pounding, the blasting music not helping any.
"Dean," Sam said, barely able to see from his blinding headache. "Dean!" he shouted. Dean looked back at Sam, seeing the agonized expression on Sam's face.
"Sorry," he said, turning down the stereo, staring ahead at the road. Dean sighed and looked back at Sam once more. "Sammy?" Sam looked up at Dean.
"Yeah?"
"You sure about no more hunts for a month?"
Sam looked at Dean incredulously. "Really, Dean?" Dean nodded and Sam shook his head, smiling slightly at his brother's onreyness. "Yes, Dean. No hunts for a month."