So it's been forever since I looked at this, but I got an urge to fiddle with it today, and now it's interesting me again. Second chapter should be up any time this/next week, & this chapter's been changed quite a bit.

...Reviews make the world go round, don'tcha know. . .

The air was stale: breathing it in was actually worse than not breathing at all. The torches they had brought with them did not shine through the gloom but onto it, meaning the two young men who had forced entry to the abandoned building could still see no further than a foot in any direction.

'This is pointless.' one hissed to the other, 'We don't need to be here, Dean. This is stupid. No one is in danger here, except us.' The older man smirked at this,

'Not scared, are you Sammy?' making no effort to lower his voice. His brother winced as the sound surged through the dusty log cabin. There was no echo; apparently the air was too thick for the sound to reverberate.

'Not scared, just… I don't know. Do you see any pissed off spirits anywhere?' Sam didn't need to look to know that Dean was rolling his eyes.

'Dad wouldn't send us out here if it wasn't important, you know that.'

Sam snorted. 'Since we got that letter, every co-ordinate dad sent us has lead to a dead end. We've been to fifteen different states in 3 months, Dean, and we haven't found anything.' Dean held his torch up to a map of the hunting ground, deciding not to hear. 'Dean. I did some research. No violent deaths, no disappearances, no local legends. No activity. When are you going to accept that dad's making some mistakes?'

'For God's sake, Sam. The letter said we had to follow his exact instruction. I don't know what's going on but I'm sure as hell not going to be the one to mess it up. This could be what we've been hunting for 22 years, so I suggest you quit bitching and go take a look around.'

'Fine, fine, alright!'

Sam tried to storm off. The effect was somewhat ruined by the fact that he had to shuffle with one hand waving blindly in front of him to feel where he was going. Dean's night vision had kicked in enough that he could see this little display, and had to bite back a laugh at the attempted tantrum. Slowly he overtook Sam and made his way towards the large room at the end of the corridor. As he reached the doorframe, he thrust his hand out until his fingers stumbled over a light switch. He was surprised when the light flickered on – usually electricity was the first thing to cut out when there were any spirits around. Maybe they hadn't needed to come here. Shit. If Sam had been right about this, he wouldn't hear the end of it for days. He glanced into the hallway in time to see Sam disappearing into another room. Well, he thought hopefully, there still might be something here that wants to kill us.

The room was hideous, by any stretch of imagination. A horrible hunting lodge cliché. On the wall opposite the door was the fireplace with a deer head mounted above it. Scattered through the room were several brown armchairs, each draped with skins of various dead animals. The chair nearest to the fire was set next to a large wooden coffee table. Seriously, who owned a place like this, anyway? Even if there turned out to be no activity here, Dean was sorely tempted to take a match to the place, do the world a favour that would actually be appreciated for onceInstead, he walked to the fireplace to get a better look at the rest of the room.

Dean had time to see more heads mounted over the door before the light exploded. Plunged into darkness and showered with broken glass, he tried to steady himself.

Those heads couldn't have been human.

Those heads couldn't belong to Sam and John Winchester. Sam was here, Sam was alive.

'Sam?' He could hear his brother's footsteps in the hallway. That's not Sam. Sam is dead, dead and waiting for you to join him on that empty plaque next to him. Your whole family, all together just like you always wanted.

Dean pushed the thought away. He thought he might throw up if they stayed much longer. 'Sam!' A hand on his shoulder almost caused him to blast his brother's face full of rock salt. Sam reached behind him and flicked a switch. A couple of wall lamps slowly hummed into life, filling most of the room with dim light and heightening the shadows. Sam flinched and frowned as Dean smacked a hand into his shoulder. 'Shit, Sam. Lost your voice or something? Don't creep up on me like that Jesus!'

'Sorry.' He gave a non-committal shrug. 'What do you want? Find anything?'

Dean's eyes raced to the heads on the wall. Four more deer, antlers brushing the ceiling in places. No decapitated family members and no empty plaque with his name on it.

'Dean?' Sam leant back with his hands on hips, clearly unimpressed with Dean's behaviour, and in that second Dean was filled with an urge to bounce his ass off the walls.

'Bad person, my ass' he said, inwardly marvelling at how casual his voice was, outwardly gesturing to the deer on the wall, 'That is why I'm not getting hooked up at Christmas.' Sam looked at him blankly. 'Y'know, when we were at Hell House…and I said about…never mind.' Sam shrugged again, not understanding. 'Anyway, apart from an exploding light bulb, there's nothing weird going on here. I say we call it a night. Guess we made a mistake here.'

'Dude, it was your mistake. I said this would be a waste of time.'

Sam stood in the doorway, arms folded and wearing that infuriating 'I-told-you-so' look.

Sam also stood within arm's reach of Dean, grinning in a way that wasn't quite human.

'What the…' Dean trailed off as he realised, too late, what had happened. He raised his gun to the Sam nearest to him, who flashed him a soulless smile, and swiftly knocked it from his hands. The demon had him pinned against the chimney before he even realised what had happened. Refusing to panic in the face of the black eyed demon holding him captive, Dean looked to Sam, who stood motionless in the doorway.

'HEY! Think maybe you could help me out here?'

Sam stared, confused. He had just watched Dean throw his gun away and stumble back against the wall. What exactly did he need help with?

The demon-Sam drew back, but Dean still found himself unable to move. It smiled at him and then at Sam, clearly amused by the situation. Then it seemed to grow bored of the game, and lunged. Dean's world swam in front of his eyes as he heard the sickening rip of the demon pulling his chest open, felt the cold marble of the hearth rush to meet him.

He was vaguely aware of a scream. Sam. He tried to move but blood continued to pour out of him and he found himself involuntarily returning to the floor. He closed his eyes and prayed that Sammy was alright, because that was all he could do.

There was a hand around his wrist. He looked up and saw Sam, hair obscuring most of his face as he looked down over Dean.

'Dean….happened? …. be okay….'

He tried to make sense of what he heard while drifting in and out of consciousness.

'Demon…' He shut his eyes again. Sometimes he just hated this job.

'…. see, Dean.' He couldn't open his eyes anymore, could feel himself slipping away. It hurt to speak single words, and his last sentence almost killed him.

'The deer. Look at the deer.' Dean slipped away.