We reached the house late in the evening and we missed it, driving past the dirt road leading there two times before I realized with the help of a map where we should turn off the highway.

Late afternoon shadows played on the shining hood of the black car as we opened the trunk and armed ourselves with holy water and guns filled with salt. Being true Winchesters, we were prepared for every eventuality.

After this was done, we turned to the house itself, and frankly, I could not understand how such an innocuous building could be so haunted. It was a grey two-story building made of stone surrounded by trees. In this light, it most certainly did not look imposing or fear-provoking. As one, we stepped onto the porch in front of the house, and the old wood creaked something awful. My brother kicked down the double doors which had been bolted, and guns at the ready, glinting in the last rays of the sun, we entered the house.

As soon as we entered, however, an invisible force threw us back and before we knew it, we were flying through the air, over the porch and had landed in the dirt not too far from the car on our asses. The doors accordingly slammed shut.

I looked over at my brother, raising an eyebrow. "A walk in the park , you said?"

It was clear that a new strategy had to be formulated. There was a presence in the house and more information had to be gathered before proceeding with the hunt. We therefore drove to the small village of Canterbury, as planned earlier, but instead of a night, we booked a room in the only inn for a week. After discussing the matter over takeout, it was decided that I would do some surfing on the web to try and find some information about the house and what might be the cause of the paranormal activity taking place there. Dean, on the other hand, would go out and speak to some of the locals, to try to discover the legends surrounding the house which may not have been recorded. We therefore parted ways. After two hours of research, my sleep deprivation took over and I decided to sleep until Dean returned.

It was close to midnight when I stirred from my place in one of the single beds and sat up as my brother entered. He laid the salt lines and then came into the room. It was only when he came into the light of the lamp I had left on, that I noted he was incapable of walking in a straight line.

"Are you drunk?" I questioned Dean incredously.

"Yes, I believe I am," returned my brother. He collapsed onto the other bed and sat there motionless for a few moments before continuing. "Shall I tell you a secret, little brother?"

"Dean, you are drunk and incoherent. Speak to me of the matter when you wake in the morning." Without further ado, I turned around to lie on my side, facing away from him, a sign he should do the same. I expected he had passed out since I heard nothing for quite some time and I was on the verge of sleep once more when Dean spoke again.

"I have been in love with the same person since before I can remember."

At his words, I turned on the bed to face him. "Tell me about her." The eagerness in my voice was painfully obvious.

My brother gave a snort. "Who said the person in question was female?"

The confidence alone floored me and the surprise revelation astonished me even more. "But all the women…"

"They were just a bit of sport," my brother stated nonchalantly. "It is different with him." He waved his hand in the hair, effectively dismissing all the women he had slept with, many of whom would have been glad for more then a single night in the arms of Dean Winchester. I could have settled for far less then that.

It was the reality I had to confront every morning.

"What makes it different?" I questioned, throwing off my comforter and sitting down on the edge of my own bed. I had changed earlier in the evening and was not wearing anything except pyjama bottoms. My mind wondered as to the identity of the man in question, seeing as we made few acquaintances and no friends on the road. Suddenly, a wave of jealousy washed over me and I vowed to keep my poise through the revelations which were sure to follow.

All traces of the alcohol now seemed gone from my brother and he answered with perfect composure. "I do not know, Sam," he growled. "You are asking me to describe with words something which cannot be explained. All I know is that it is."

"Have you told him of your feelings?"

"No, do you think that I should?"

"Yes."

My brother looked into my eyes with his inscrutabe gaze and then leaned forward to close the gap between us. Before I could react, his lips were on mine, and just as quickly he had pulled back.

Prior to him being able to question me, I arose from the bed, grabbed the car keys he had left on the table when coming in, and slammed the door behind me as I left. A noise soon brought me back to the room and I peered through the curtains. My brother was sitting on the bed, his face hidden in his hands, weeping. I wanted nothing more then to go in and comfort him, but I did not. Instead, I turned and walked away, got into the Impala and turned on the engine. With pain in my heart, I drove into the night.