Written for a Halloween Challenge to include the real life Winchester House and previous bad guys the Winchesters had faced. Spoilers through the start of Season 2. Enjoy!
Winchester House
By Perryvic
"I'm just sayin' Sammy, of all the places we could've been headed, this is probably the furthest you could've picked."
"And we know whose fault that is." Sam had his knee crooked up as if that was really helping him keep his notes steady when Dean drove. He'd been reading the things and scribbling for the past couple hundred miles.
The unjustness of the comment made Dean blink.
"Dude, he was in the middle of extracting that one brain cell you've got out through your third eye or whatever the hell it was," Dean protested. "Excuse me if that was inconvenient to you."
Sam glanced over at him. "You didn't have to shoot him."
"Well, no, I guess not, but I figured you had little enough brains as it was without possessed psychic shaman guy snacking on them," Dean replied and then half smirked as a thought occurred to him. "Guy might've had such slim pickin's he'd need seconds."
"You would've been safe then," Sam replied, scribbling another note before looking up. "Dean, if you're wanting a break, just say so, okay?"
Dean held the smirk, even if the light feeling faded. He was getting predictable and that was bad. His brother knew him too well. He wasn't up to fighting trim yet even if he faked it well enough, and coming out and telling Sam he wasn't dealing with the whole thing about Dad had pretty much ruined whatever image he had going.
"Hell, no, the day I can't drive my baby is the day..." His words faded off as his thoughts derailed into memories of pain and the metallic tang of blood. "...is the day some asshole crashes it into a eighteen wheeler." He still couldn't put anything like real feeling into the words and his brother knew it. And he knew, he knew it, which made it all pointless, but road trips were pretty much like that and if he didn't talk, it was a long journey to have in silence.
Sam smiled and shook his head and carried on with his notes. "Whatever, Dean."
Sometimes having a brother who watched too much daytime TV and had a touch of the shining sucked ass. It was becoming increasingly difficult to hide things from him, and he had this whole tolerance thing going on since he'd pulled over the car and apologized for being an asshole. It was damn annoying, now that he came to think about it, but at least it had stopped Sam from going on and on and making everything he said or did, or didn't do something to do with him having some sort of breakdown over Dad. Truth was, it had been a lot easier to face his own death than deal with Dad or Sam dying and he wasn't telling his brother that just in case he saw it as some sort of death-wish or weird psychosis. That psych class had a helluva lot to answer for. One day he was going to swing past Stanford again and look up that professor and give him a respectful black eye for all the touchy-feely crap he'd had to put up with over the last year or so.
"If we have to go to California, there are a lot of places that are better than, uh..."
"One day you're actually going to listen to a word I say, Dean," Sam said losing a hint of that artificial patience. "Then I'll probably die of shock and haunt your ass."
"I'm so not asking why it's my ass you want to haunt, Sammy," Dean replied automatically as the Impala ate up the miles. "Seriously."
"It's where you keep your brains, bro," Sam replied easily enough and he preferred that banter to the Gandhi-like acceptance of all things that his brother had been hitting him around the head with. In a very passive, non-violent kind of way. "Look, pull over. I'll drive. Few more hours and we'll be close enough to stop and still hit the Winchester House for the Halloween special."
"Spooking the kiddies. Jesus," Dean exhaled but he didn't pull over. Not just then. That would be a little like admitting that Sam was right on the money. "I still don't get why we have to go there."
"Ash sent us to the shaman because his research said he had summoned the spirit of Sam Colt and he knew he had taken notes about the various weapons he'd made," Sam said.
"And said shaman turned out to have bitten off more than he could chew. The guy was practically rotting away when he was talking to us. I still can't believe you couldn't smell that," Dean replied. Few more miles and he'd find an unrelated reason to make Sam drive.
"I caught a cold, hanging around waiting for you to get your lazy butt out of bed," Sam said calmly, and damn this whole new tolerance thing was really starting to get on his nerves.
He couldn't find the rhythm again, how they worked or nearly worked, occasionally exploded or whatever it was that passed for normal. Truth was, he didn't think about it too much, he just lived it. And yeah, maybe that caused a few problems, but it solved a hell of a lot of them, too. It meant that he kept an eye on the important stuff and didn't clutter it up with his own crap.
Ever since the demon, the hospital, his close encounter with death and successfully scaring the pants off of Sammy, their dad dying in what he knew was no fucking coincidence, and his roadside confession, his brother had this whole Dean can't piss me off Zen thing going on. It was damn annoying because it was hard to get back to normal without Sam snapping back like he was used to.
He bantered, but there was no sting to it. Knowing his luck. Sammy'd probably made some weird pact that he'd never be nasty to him ever again. So far he was doing pretty good, but that was probably because he hadn't hit his stride yet. He was working on the principle that if he got annoying enough, Sam would have to start reacting.
"Hey, I was having a dream, finally found where they've been keeping all the hot chicks," Dean replied with a shrug, because it wasn't true. His dreams had been nothing but nightmares.
"Yeah well, you shot the evil undead shaman."
"Soul-sucking, you forgot that."
"Soul-sucking undead shaman."
"Zombie shaman gotta have the zombie in there."
"Dean, seriously, zombies are different to the undead. I know you've read that book," Sam said and there was a glimmer of irritation and Dean smirked a little. A little bit of genuine reaction was all he asked for.
"Tell that to Angela. Okay, so I shot him, incidentally saving your life Sammy, and this was apparently a screw up?" Dean asked. Next gas station, he was pulling over. Sometimes his bones ached as if they were all bruised on the inside. Not that he was telling his brother about that little side effect. Hadn't really slowed him up any, he could still take out a zombie shaman guy by swinging his Winchester up and letting rip with one hand. A guy had to have muscles for that.
"Dude, if you'd screwed up any more, your dick would be sprouting wings," Sam replied. "We needed that guy. We needed to know about how the Colt or the bullets were made so we could get some more done, or find out if there was another gun. Something useful. Ash reckoned he'd be our best bet of finding out. I mean, I have the shaman's notes, but they don't make much sense."
"There's a surprise from a guy with worms in his head." Dean drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "So because I shot him with a Winchester gun, we can go to this Winchester house and get hold of the spirit and ask it a few questions, right?"
"I knew you were listening," Sam replied, glancing over at him. "Yeah, that's about the size of it."
"I was listening but that's different to believing. I mean come on... Winchester House? What are the odds?" Dean scoffed. He wasn't entirely convinced this wasn't some joke of his brother's, although if he really had driven across country for a hoax, he was going to be so pissed Sam wouldn't know what hit him.
"Pretty high. Look, it was designed as a spirit trap, Dean. It's like a massive spirit waystation or bottleneck, and legend has it anyone or anything killed by a Winchester gun filters through the place."
"Place'll be full of Bambi's mother then," Dean pointed out.
"You referenced Disney?"
"Had to show you something when you were a kid." Dean said defensively. "And you cried like a big wuss."
"No look, Disney? Really, Disney?"
"Scarred you for life, Sammy. You were never the same," Dean shook his head. His brother wasn't going to let that drop. Maybe he could make it to the next gas station after all.
Truth was, Sam was still pretty worried about Dean, and about himself come to that. He couldn't shake the feeling that things were going to head to the inevitable really unpleasant ending, and he'd begun to think that he knew how their Dad had felt about things. Stuck on a pathway that lead directly to dying, win or lose.
It was pretty ironic, really, because he'd always pegged Dean as the Winchester-most-likely
Most likely to die doing something ridiculously heroic. To go in without back-up. To take a hit for someone else.
Now he just wasn't sure enough of what the hell was going on to be able to tell him he'd help and make things better.
He glanced across every now and then at Dean's sleeping expression. Dean had scared the crap out of him. By nearly dying -- not just having a foot in the door but pretty much moving in on the other side before his 'miracle' cure -- by then just becoming all the things that he hated about their dad. Obsessive, closed off, a simmering ball of anger and rage. Strangely, he hadn't let himself think about it, about what Dean coming back meant aside from what it meant to him. It meant not being alone. Still having someone there. Being able to move on somehow.
For a brief moment, he'd glimpsed a little of what Dean seemed to be reaching for. Nothing too much aside from just not being alone, which shouldn't be too much to ask for anyone, but for his brother it seemed to be an impossible dream. As far away as his fading ambitions for a normal life. Truth was, he thought about what the demon had said to his brother, and he'd seen how it had hit him every single time dead on.
Sitting by Dean's bedside, he'd wondered for the first time what it felt like to be him, to be that person. To spend a life protecting someone who didn't want protecting. Being there for someone who said they didn't want to be there in return. To be the glue, the replacement for so many different people that all people looked at was whatever function he was trying to do that day.
There were a lot of things that he'd planned to say to Dean if he just, please god, woke up and here they were coupla months down the line and...
He hadn't said any of it.
The words had vanished with the shock of losing Dad, Dean working himself back to fitness and piecing himself together along with the Impala. Hell, he knew he'd been a little all over the place himself talking crap and spouting off, "Dad would've," because it was natural to cope that way. It was a different grief to losing Jess. It was like losing roots, whereas Jess had been like losing hope. He'd always felt Dean was lucky not to have to go through that until he realised with a bitter twist of comprehension that his brother didn't have it to lose.
All along, Dean had been thinking clearly, and trying to deal with that and the knowledge that whatever the outcome, his life had been bought at the expense of someone he loved. His worst nightmare, Sam was pretty sure about that. He was pretty sure that sometimes the thought of being last man standing woke Dean up in a cold, fear-soaked sweat.
That fierce obsession had faded to a calmer form of a need to get this job done. Implacable, yeah that was a good word for it. They were implacable now. Driving across country to take a lead on the Colt. Driving back to take a slim chance of intercepting that information before it was lost forever. Driving anywhere there was an answer.
It was all still kinda obsessive, but not in the same way that had Dean transforming into a very human monster before his eyes. There were some things that just weren't worth the price. He'd learned that a little late in the game from Dean himself, but he had learned it in the end.
He looked at the road stretching out in front of him, wanting Dean to wake up and give him some snarky comments just to annoy him. Just to talk to him. Just to be Dean and be alive in the same space as him again.
He looked at the next signpost to San Jose.
If Dean hadn't woken up on his own in a hundred miles, he was putting in one of his tapes. There was no way he'd sleep through that.
Contrary to popular belief, the Impala didn't run on some symbiotic relationship with Dean's state of health, even if Dean felt like he had been rebuilding himself as much as the car.
He hadn't cared about the expense because he'd sharked a bit of pool, paid in cash to Bobby for the bits he couldn't scavenge because it was important. She was his own dark phoenix and a way of proving things could be fixed in a very real, tangible way. He found the purr of her engine on the open road every bit as good as a lullaby. A damn sight easier to sleep in her rather than in a motel room with silence playing background to secrets that wouldn't shut the hell up. The Secret, complete with capital letters in his head, in case he ever forgot it was that important.
That was pretty weird because considering he had been in an accident that nearly killed him in the car, he had no problem with that. He was at home here, or as near to home as he got with his brother driving and the Impala complaining at having to hold back on town streets.
And somewhere along the line, Sammy had changed his tapes.
"Sammy, you're playing Coldplay in my car?"he mumbled opening his eyes. "That's like... dude, I'll find a circle of unholy deafness."
"House rules, Dean," Sam said with a smirk. "Didn't you tell me that?"
"Yeah, but Coldplay." He'd have to get some sort of emo-repelling amulet. Visit that voodoo chick and make sure there were no lingering vibes. Have the car blessed and smudged with sage. He made a mental note to pick some out of the next herb garden where he saw it.
"It's in your brain now. Subliminal messages," Sam replied sounding way too smug. "Besides, we're here. San Jose."
"Think we blew through here once when we were kids," Dean said, trying not to flinch from the memory. Him, Dad, Sammy being about six in a hot summer and a succubus prowling the streets looking for virgin prey. He didn't have time to do that. Didn't have a gap in his life for weakness.
"I'm surprised Dad didn't stop and show you this place," Sam said as they followed the signs to what was obviously a big draw.
"Hey, you were there, too, Sammy," Dean replied absently looking around and catching sight of the Winchester House for the first time.
He wasn't sure what he had been expecting, some semi-mansion effect place, maybe, but not this.
"Jesus, Sam, its Barbie's dream house on crack!"
"You know, man, I'm getting really worried about you, Dean. First Disney and now Barbie." Sam contrived to look a bit smug and Dean just gave him a look.
"I was thinking the typical haunted rundown place," Dean replied looking back at the Winchester House. "You have got to be kidding me. This is a full on tourist attraction, Sammy."
"Sam. And at least it'll be a piece of cake getting in," his brother replied. "The website says they do special flashlight tours... which I managed to get us on the list for."
"Got a feelin' they might be a little put out about the rifles tucked under the coat," Dean pointed out. "A flashlight tour in a Haunted House? Haven't these guys ever watched.any horror movie ever made?"
"It's good business, and I don't think they're too late. Look, Dean," Sam leaned towards him. "We go in there, slip away from the tour, cast a quick protective circle, get out a ouija board and just ask old Frederick 'Owl-heart' Jones all about the Colt then hook back up with the tour and get out. "
"You make it sound so simple, Sammy." Things generally did when Sam was running a plan. Usually there was the need for some improvising on the fly, and that was his area of expertise.
"It's Sam. And yes, it should be simple. It's Halloween, we shouldn't have any difficulties getting through. All you need with a ouija board is someone in the room with touch of talent -- not a rifle, Dean."
"And that's why I bring Sam 'The Shining' Winchester wherever I go," Dean said wryly as he opened the door. "Dude, I've got the picture, but pardon me if I work out a way to get some sort of protection in there with us."
"You go ahead. Stick the rifle down your pants. No one will know." Sam sounded disapproving but Dean just smiled, letting slip his dazzling charm.
"From you, Sammy, I'll take that as a compliment."
Still smiling, he turned and left Sam's indignant spluttering in his wake.
Sarah Winchester was, in his own words, 'one whacked out bitch'. And Dean thought he was being pretty charitable when he said that. After they had paid -- paid ferchristsake -- for something to eat down the road that was cashing in on the tourist trade, and drifted around for a few hours because Sam had neglect to mention that 'their' candlelight tour was one of the ones coming up to midnight around eleven, Dean was pretty sure he could recite the Sarah Winchester story in his sleep. And probably would.
That was why he was yawning a little too obviously as their terrible perky tourguide tried to infect their select group of about fifteen with spookish enthusiasm for the bizarre building.
"After the death of not only her infant daughter, but her husband as well, Sarah Winchester was devastated. She inherited a staggering $20 million and back in 1881 that must've seemed like an impossible sum. But Sarah was convinced that she was plagued by misfortune and at the prompting of a friend, she visited a renowned spiritualist in the hope of receiving some comfort or guidance."
Dean snorted quietly and murmured quietly, "Should've visited Missouri. She would've told her to suck it up and get on with it."
Sam grinned a little but didn't speak; he had his attentive listening face on.
The tourguide, who Dean mentally called in his head Hi-please-call-me-Mindy seemed oblivious to what he was saying and continued, dropping into an approximation of thrilling tones.
"Much to Sarah Winchester's horror, the séance did not bring her the comfort she had been seeking. No, it was there that the spirits had a very grave message for her."
Dean saw the moment that she pressed a discrete remote and the lights around them started to glow in a mysterious and yeah, to the sort of people who'd scream at a spider in the bath tub, a pretty spooky fashion.
"The spirits told her that she had been cursed!"
Dean was impressed. "Nice use of reverb on the mike there," he commented and Sam elbowed him. "What?"
"Dean, shut up. Don't spoil it." Score one for Dean against Zen Sam.
Spooky music accompanied their tour guide's dramatic recitation and Dean tried really hard not to laugh.
"Sarah Winchester became convinced that this information was true. That, as the spiritualist medium had declared, she was doomed to be haunted by the spirits of those who had been shot by the Winchester Rifle." Hi-please-call-me-Mindy looked around at them all. "Imagine if you can the feeling of constantly being hunted, of fearing the supernatural death prophesised to come to you. Imagine being alone in the dark and wondering if the night would reach out.and take you!"
"It's a struggle, but I'm imagining," Dean murmured dryly.
"Dean..."
"Shush, Sam, I'm empathizing. They'd have to be a pretty hot spirit before I'd let them 'take' me," Dean said, deliberately provoking his brother some more. This had to be the lamest hunt in the history of hunting. There was probably a list of them up somewhere in the Roadhouse tacked up in the restroom -- Hunts that Sucked the Most Rotten Ass. This would be up in the top five.
He made a mental note to start that list the next time they swung back there.
"Dean." Yeah, a Sammy-growl of doom. Things were looking up.
"Sarah Winchester was told she had one hope. To move West and then build a home where the restless spirits would wander before finding their way onwards and to never stop building the house because she had been told in no uncertain terms that if she ever completed the house she would die. So she built and built and built the house, filling it with rooms, passageways, plans inspired by sessions with the spirits for over thirty-eight continuous years." Hi-please-call-me-Mindy, smiled in a way Dean knew she was doing to up her tip, and then said. "Some say that the spirits that wander the house make this the most haunted house in America. Certainly we have had a lot of psychics confirm the presence of spirits. In fact, tonight in what used to be Sarah Winchester's bedroom they are filming for a live Ghosthunter special for Halloween. We may get to peek in on our tour around, see if the renowned psychics have managed to get anything from the restless spirits purported to be constantly roaming the house. It is Halloween after all."
There was a ripple of chuckling and interested murmuring they finally appeared ready to move on. Finally.
"The rooms in the front of the house were boarded up by Sarah Winchester after the great Earthquake in 1906 to prevent the angry spirits from destroying any more of the house. Sarah was fascinated by occult ideas and you will see repetitions of certain motifs around the house. The number thirteen fascinated her, and the house has many incidences of..."
Blah, blah, blah. Like he said, he could've repeated the story in his sleep. Fact was, right now the house wasn't feeling particularly haunted. A little freaky but not haunted. He'd been in enough to know the difference; that moment where something slid from the air and coalesced just there, ice cold and eyes glittering with untold years of hatred.
Slightly more disturbing than the fact that there were thirteen panels of glass in the windows.
He shifted slightly so his sawed off shotgun didn't stick out noticeably. His leather jacket was the best at covering weaponry and he'd secreted a few odds and ends in various pockets. It really would've been like going out naked to be wandering around like Sammy was with only an ouija board and some kitchen salt under his jacket.
"So uh... when are we." He jerked his head to indicate his growing need to ditch this group and get on with the hunt rather than listen in mock awe about how freakishly amazing it was that no one had ever counted the same amount of rooms twice in the Winchester House and removal men had gotten so lost that it had taken six weeks to move things out.
"In a minute. We'll try one of those boarded off rooms at the front," Sam murmured back. "We won't need long."
"Great because, man... this is boring the hell out of me." And he ached even though he'd slept on the journey. Hunters were either out on Halloween kicking serious ass, or holed up with a shitload of protection around them. And here he was taking a thirty-five dollar tour of an architectural nightmare that looked like that dude Escher had been tampering with the blueprints.
Except the blueprints were on napkins and tablecloths and sheets apparently. Dictated by spirits at nightly séances. Go figure.
The group had strung out ,and Dean waited until he saw Hi-please-call-me-Mindy do her unobtrusive headcount and then turned to use her flashlight to point out the next set of fascinating features. He tugged at Sam and then melted back into the darkness behind them, not needing the flashlight to work out where they were going.
"Dude, you moving in the dark creeps me out," Sam murmured as they rounded the previous corner.
"Practice, Sammy. Got a few years of experience on you." It was a standard reply, but every now and then he realized it was true. He'd started early. Earlier than they had with Sam, and he had an additional four years of solos after Sam had gone to Stanford. That came to... best part of a decade more and in hunting, that was a lot of time. Sam though... Sam was freakishly good at some things. And of course there was that handy-dandy psychic thing.
Of course then he chose a moment to stand on a creaky floorboard but yeah.
"Here. Here will do," Sam said pushing open one of the doors that had only a nominal amount of boarding. Easy to get under.
The room was like any other and Dean watched as his brother hastily drew out a circle of protection in salt, muttering Latin under his breath that made him smile because he was pretty sure the Church wouldn't be impressed with the mixing and matching that was going on. But whatever got the job done.
The ouija board was out, and Sam sat crosslegged on the floor in the circle, looking up at him expectantly.
"Oh come on," Dean said as he realised that Sam wanted him to play the séance game, too. "Can't you use it on your own? I hate these things."
"You've used it before. Pretty recently." Sam looked at him and gave that head tilt thing that really made him think he studied puppies to get that innocent look going on.
"Yeah, well, not that I remember," Dean said kneeling down. Quicker get up if there was trouble. "On account of being, well, pretty much dead."
"Near only counts in--"
"Yeah, yeah... c'mon Sammy, we've got to do this and get back before someone realizes we've ditched the tour." It made him uncomfortable to think about because it brought it all crashing down on him again how it was that he managed to survive. He never asked to have his life bought for him. Bartered. It made him feel owned. Not his own person, and Sammy probably wouldn't understand how wrong that was. His brother wanted to be normal after all.
"Right. Man, okay let me just uh..." Sam cleared his throat, dark eyes refocusing on the ouija board. "Put your fingers on the, yeah, like that. I'd like to contact the spirit of Frederick Jones also know as Owl-heart. Is he here?"
"Dude, you sound like you are trying to call collect," Dean said as he waited.
"Kinda am," Sam replied with a grin and then looked startled when the pointer moved over to the 'Yes'.
"Hey, it's working!"
Dean was less ecstatic, as he could feel the weirdly magnetic sensation under his fingers that sparked a feeling of familiarity that he really didn't want to think about.
"Right well, let's get on with it. Ask about the Colt, if there are other bullets or whatever"
"Right right, Frederick. Does the demon that killed our mother have the Colt and the bullet?
Yes
Dean grimaced a little but Sam wasn't looking, but asking questions.
"Is there another Colt?"
No
"Damn. There goes that plan." Dean said, his fingertips buzzing now with the energy.
"Are there more bullets for the Colt, or can some more be made?"
No-Yes-No-Yes
"You confused him," Dean said as the pointer darted back and forth. "Break it down."
Sam exhaled. "Okay. Are there more bullets?"
No
"Can more be made?
Yes
"See? Simple," Dean said nonchalantly but there was a feeling of sudden anticipation that maybe this hadn't been a waste of time. Maybe he would buy Ash a drink when they got back after all. If he had a weapon, there was nothing he wouldn't face. Hell, he'd face them without, but he stood a better chance of walking away if he had a weapon.
"How? How are they made?"
The next bit seemed to go on forever and his arms were killing him by the end of it, jerked around as if the spirit was trying to get tumbling words out. He lost track of the words but it felt a little like he could feel Frederick "Owl-heart" Jones standing behind him and an echo of words he couldn't focus on. Sam seemed to be hearing it too so he hadn't gone completely nuts. Well not yet.
"Holy Metal. Alchemy. Nagari. Full Moon. Seal of St Michael. That's it." Sam said aloud.
"Not very specific," Dean commented. He recognised some of it. Nagari was alchemy as well. Something to do with the destruction and creation.
"Specific enough. I've heard of some of these things. There's a lot of work involved in each thing. I should've guessed it was alchemy based." Sam turned and scribbled a note leaving Dean with his fingers on the pointer.
"Well yeah, because then we wouldn't be having an impromptu séance on Halloween in a nuthouse if you had known," Dean said and then frowned a little.
His fingers quivered and he looked down at them in surprise. "What the..."
The pointer started moving, his fingers going numb with sudden cold and he looked up at Sam in sudden alarm. "Sam?"
"Dude, are you channelling?" Sam said incredulously.
"Sam, if you're using that mindwhammy thing of yours, so help me..." His hands... his hands were prickling and like ice and the pointer moved with jerky desperate movements. "S.T.O"
"This is so not funny, Sam," Dean said and he didn't care that his voice was a little high with strain. His hands felt like he'd plunged them into ice water. "I can't stop it!"
"Not a good idea to interrupt a spirit when it's got something important to pass on," Sam said noting the letters that were flying under his fingers up to the point there was a gust of wind and the door to the room flew open and Dean fell backwards with the mother of all pins and needles in his hands.
"Never allowing you to talk me into this again," he complained shaking out his hands. "What was that all about?"
Sam was frowning looking at the paper. "Well... uh..."
Dean took the paper from him and frowned a little.
STOPTHEMSTOPTHEMOPENINGNOWNOWSTOPBLOODCLOSEBLOODFAMILYSTOPOPENINGOPENINGOPENINGTOOLATE
"Not much on grammar or punctuation, these dead guys," Dean commented. "Stop what? Opening? Who's opening what? No one would be stupid enough to do anything like an opening or summoning ceremony at Halloween in a Haunted House would they?"
Sam looked at him and he had the realisation at the same time.
"The fucking TV show!"
"If they don't complete the circles exactly right, this is going to be..."
"Dude, we had to practice for months before we could get that damn thing right. You think they had that?" Dean replied scrambling to his feet. "Live TV or not, they're in for a hell of time if they open the door into a purposely built spirit focus."
They didn't even wait to pick up the ouija board and he followed Sam in a half jog up the twisty corridors. He didn't even question that Sam seemed to know where he was going even when he was usually the one on point.
"We should be in time. Not that far from..." Sam stopped as they seemed about to plough into a group of people stuck in the dark and babbling hysterically.
"It's part of the tour, isn't it? Mom? They made all the flashlights die because of the tour, right?" The young girl's voice sounded shrill and nervous.
"Of course, honey. It's just something to spook us a little more."
"It's working, too," an older man's voice said with a bit of self-depreciating humour.
"If everyone could just stay together," Hi-please-call-me-Mindy sounded very nervous. "I'm sure this is just temporary."
There was a scream from somewhere further up in the darkness and Dean started forward. That wasn't someone messing around, that was someone screaming in terror.
"What... who was that?" an older lady asked. "Miss? This is part of the show right?"
"I'm, uh, I'm afraid not. But I'm sure, um..."
"Maybe it's part of the TV show?" one of the kids piped up. "Like, like they're filming us and you know, it's like a hidden camera."
"Got to be," Dean said thanking god for cynical kids. "Hey, um... Mindy right? Mindy, how about my brother and I take a look see up at where they're doing the filming and get them to turn of whatever EMP device they've got shutting down all our lights."
"Yeah," Sam added. "It's not hard to do. Just need an EMP generator and you can knock out lights... classic ghost effect stuff."
Dean really, really hoped nobody thought about it too hard because they might realise a device that could knock out flashlights for a TV program would also knock out the cameras used to film the damn thing. Slight logic loophole there, but everyone was so glad to have some sort of explanation their clutching at straws was palpable.
"Would you mind?" Mindy said and Dean felt a little sorry for her. She was pretty young herself and probably working holidays because she needed the cash.
"You leave it to us." Dean smiled in the dim light and he and Sam set off in the direction of the scream.
It occurred to him there was a lot that could be said about people who instinctively set off in the direction of a scream, but he wasn't going to be the one to say it.
As they took the set of stairs up to Sarah Winchester's room -- thank god it was clearly signposted -- Dean felt the atmosphere change right at the moment that Sam wincing and pressed his hand to his head.
"Sammy? Sam? What is it?"
"You feel that?" Sam bowed over a moment. "Jesus... it's likemassive pressure. We're too late. They're coming through."
"They?" Dean reached inside his jacket and pull out his shotgun. "You able to focus to fire this thing?"
That earned him Sammy's 'you have got to be kidding me' look which he guessed he deserved. He passed it over even as Sam said. "Dean, some of this feels familiar. Very familiar."
"Things shot or killed by a Winchester right?" Dean said thinking quickly. "I've shot and killed a fair few things. So have you. Pretty much gonna have some old friends turn up."
There was no denying it. He'd been proud of their reputations as hunters and now it was coming to bite them in the ass.
"You got another right?" Sam asked as he checked for rocksalt load.
"Right," Dean lied. There wasn't room for two shotguns under his jacket. Silver blades, handgun and fire would have to do. If it didn't, they were so screwed.
He startled as someone staggered down the corridor towards them.
"Oh my god... oh my god." Blood was streaming down the man's face from his eyes. "My... she's..."
"Like I said, old friends," Dean said glancing at Sam. "Bloody Mary."
"Hey, hey, you okay? What happened in there?" Sam asked in a soothing voice.
"Holy Fuck, they they were doing a summoning ritual... inviting the spirits in. I was filming and it it looked cool, sensational for the TV. Bob... Bob, did a close up... crossed into the circle thing... andthere was... things exploded. Voices... hands... I looked in the mirror they had on set..."
Well at least his eyes hadn't liquefied along with his brain. Unless breaking a circle of protection in a summoning ceremony counted. Actually, it probably did in a supernatural sort of Darwin Award way.
"Yeah, yeah okay, we got that. Figure of a woman, all that."
"There were so many, so many pouring in." The man was shaking. "I think they're dead... all of them... I think..."
"Look, I want you to go to this corridor, take this salt. Get everyone in that group in the hallway standing inside a big unbroken circle of salt okay.? You got that?" Sam said passing over the salt container. "Seriously, man, I'm not joking here."
The camera guy nodded, the blood congealing on his cheeks. "Ookay. I can do that."
Dean shifted a little. "Maybe you should go with him, Sammy, make sure he doesn't fuck it up."
"You're not going up against the Winchesters' greatest kills without me," Sam replied. "Okay? Go... hurry!"
The camera guy hurried off clutching the salt to him like a holy grail.
Dean was getting his weapons to hand, really wishing he had a few more tucked away. Four or five more shotguns for a start.
"Dean, this is a big problem," Sam was saying as they kept on heading onwards. "It's not like we can banish them by salting and burning the bones. We've already done that. We broke Bloody Mary's mirror then showed her her reflection. She was gone."
"And now she's back and she's not dropping in to borrow a cup of sugar," Dean said trying to remember what spirits he had shot. Or Sam had shot.
There were a lot. Various Women in White. Vengeful spirits. Hookman, that weirdass thought form tulpa thing. Damn, that life sucking Shtriga. Shapeshifters, oh and nutso asylum guy. Those were just the most recent.
"Right. Dean, we've got a load of spirits here without a means to kill them."
"So what you're saying is that we should be runnin' for the hills right about now." Dean replied.
"If I thought we could get out... yeah, pretty much." Sam replied. "This place was designed to be a container. The broken circle has pretty much allowed the other side to bleed into here. The whole house is sort of standing across the veil right now, kinda half in their territory, half ours. That's what Halloween is all about and summoning and opening ceremonies are designed to make a pocket of their world here."
"So what? We wait it out?" Dean asked. He hated being told that he couldn't do anything.
"Good chance that by the end of it, the whole house might end up as more their side than ours."
"That doesn't sound good."
"It's not. But this house was designed for this on a lower scale," Sam said earnestly. "There has to be a naturalplug to pull. A release valve. If we can get that..."
"Wait, wait, didn't we have someone try and warn us. Someone on our side?" Dean put in remembering. "A ghost who wasn't too happy about other ghosts being here?"
"Yes." Sam appeared to be thinking. "Yeah, Dean you're right. That's got to be Sarah Winchester. She spent her life worrying about the spirits. She would know. She would know what was built to pull the plug."
He could hear noises up ahead. "You go back, see if you can get hold of her. Dial her up, whatever, I'll go and.."
"Dean, she talked through you. I'm thinking you've got better chance there."
Dean paused. He had a point although Sam was usually their resident psychic. "In that case, you fall back to those people -- protect them. I'll go see if I can have a nice discussion with Sarah Winchester and find out how the hell we're going to get out of here."
It was just amazing how quickly they managed to get themselves up shit creek, with or with out that proverbial paddle.
As he watched Sam head off, he turned back and instead of heading to the room where they left the ouija board, he headed on towards Sarah Winchester's room. Of all the places in the house, she was most likely to be there.
TBC
