Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews, guys! They really mean a lot to me. :)

Sam was still thoroughly freaked out, and Dean blamed himself. After all, if he had forced his little brother to go upstairs with him, Sam wouldn't have been anywhere near the events on the second floor. The next time, there would be no compromises, no falling for Sam's subtle guilt trips, no letting Sam do what he wanted. The next time, Dean was going to watch out for his little brother like he was supposed to. Like he had promised.

Dean had been ready to fess up to leaving Sam alone, but upon being asked if Dean had experienced any of the same things that Sam had, Sam quickly jumped in and said that Dean was on the other side of the house. Once John accepted that answer, Dean had shot his brother a confused but grateful look, and Sam just shrugged slightly in response. He definitely appreciated the fact that Sam had kept him from getting into major trouble, but didn't he understand that any punishment Dean would have been given would be deserved?

All Sam wanted to do was go back to the motel and pretend he had never set foot in the McCarley house. Unfortunately, the construction was only on a temporary hold and John had too much work to do to take the boys to the back to motel and return to the house alone.

Instead, the three of them were on the back porch, John standing and the two boys sitting on the floor, as they attempted to figure out what was happening. The cold spots and the footsteps along with the events the construction crew experienced were classic signs of a haunting, but electricity coursing through dead wires and tools falling from the sky were steps beyond a simple haunting or even poltergeist activity. Something was in that house, something that felt threatened and did not like its space being invaded.

"And you're sure it was a man's voice?" John asked as he paced back and forth along the length of the porch.

Shuddering, Sam closed his eyes and focused on the sound of the voice. "Yeah. He kind of whispered to me, but I could tell it was a man."

A hush fell over the porch. Dean stole a glance at his brother, who was sitting beside him, staring at his shoes. He looked so small, so vulnerable, so much like the little kid he still was. Dean knew that the trauma Sam was feeling and the failure and guilt he was feeling would lessen once they all got a little distance from the event, but at the moment the only things running through Dean's mind were the what ifs.

"You boys stay out here," John said, breaking the silence. The boys jumped slightly, startled. "I'm going back inside to see if I can get the bastard to come out and play."

"No, Dad!" Sam cried, jumping to his feet. "He doesn't want anyone in the house! You'll only make him angry if you go up there."

"I'll be careful."

"But--"

"Sammy." The tone in John's voice left no room for further argument.

As John disappeared back inside the house, Sam's shoulders slumped in defeat. He kicked the wall in frustration before leaning back against it, dropping to the floor, and pulling his knees to his chest. All Dean could do was inch closer to his brother and attempt to calm his fears. "Sammy, Dad'll be fine. He's careful and besides, I bet this doesn't even make the Top Ten list of dangerous jobs he's had."

Sam just shook his head and raised his eyes to meet his brother's. "You don't understand, Dean. He was really, really mad that I was there. The hammer and the knife, they were just warnings."

Dean held Sam's gaze for a long moment before Sam grew uncomfortable and broke eye contact. Although Sam had every reason to be scared, Dean was beginning to become concerned with how much Sam was letting the spirit get under his skin. "Look, Sam, I'm sure it was awful, but you're scared right now, and fear always makes things seem worse than they really are."

Sam raised his head sharply and fixed an angry glare on Dean before pushing himself to his feet and stomping out of the porch. Dean got up and took off after his brother, who had run all the way to the back of the yard and had settled himself on the top rail of the white split rail fence. When Dean arrived at the fence, Sam refused to look at him and instead trained his eyes on the second floor windows, searching for his father. "I didn't mean to upset you," Dean said in an effort to apologize.

The younger Winchester kept quiet for a moment, then spoke up softly. "Don't make it sound less scary than it was. You weren't there, you don't know. He was warning me to get out."

Dean nodded and after another moment of silence, he joined his brother on the rail of the fence. Sam unconsciously inched closer to him, seeking comfort. "What do you think is in there, Dean?"

"I don't know, Sammy," he said after a brief hesitation. "But whatever it is, I'm sure Dad can take care of it."

Sam nodded, his unwavering stare still on the second floor windows. Dean regarded his brother for a moment longer then followed Sam's gaze. He could make out the shadow of a man in the furthest window on the right side of the house. The shadow was moving slowly, deliberately; Dean assumed that it was his father working his way from one end of the house to the other.

Suddenly, a flicker of movement in the attic window drew his attention. Another larger shadow paused in the window, which happened to be along the stairwell in the attic, then moved out of sight. After a second, it dawned on Dean that whoever--or whatever--was in the attic was moving down the stairs to the second floor. Out of his peripheral vision, he could see that Sam had seen the exact same thing. The brothers both leaped off the fence at the same time, running towards the house while yelling warnings to their father.

Dean reached the porch a split second before Sam. He pulled the back door open and raced into the house, Sam at his heels. Halfway up the main staircase, Dean realized that Sam was no longer behind him. "Sammy?" he called, turning back down the stairs. Where the hell had his brother gone?

He found Sam a few feet from the steps, sitting on the floor and whimpering in pain with both hands wrapped around his left ankle. "Sammy, what happened?" he asked, rushing to his brother's side.

"I tripped on that," Sam said tearfully, nodding towards a large power drill. "Dean, it came out of nowhere!"

"Come on," Dean muttered as he crouched down to the floor. He slung his brother's left arm over his shoulders and allowed Sam to lean on him as he tried to stand. "Don't put pressure on it right away."

"I think it's just twisted," Sam said, wincing in pain as he put his foot flat on the floor. "I think it's okay."

As soon as Sam tried to take a step forward, it became clear that he was not okay. He cried out and quickly took the pressure off his foot, cursing under his breath. "It's okay," Dean whispered. "You're going to be okay."

John chose that moment to come down the stairs, perfectly safe and ready to call for his boys. When he saw Sam hopping on one foot and leaning on Dean, he hurried over to them. "What happened?"

"Sam tripped and twisted his ankle," Dean explained. "He can't walk on it."

"Yes, I can," Sam interrupted, setting his foot on the floor again. "It kills, but I can walk on it now."

John bent down and examined Sam's hurt ankle, which was already beginning to swell. "We need to get ice on that as soon as possible. You're sure you're okay to walk on it?"

Sam nodded, cringing as he stepped forward. "Yeah. It's just twisted." He met Dean's eyes, giving him a silent indication that it was okay to let him walk on his own. Dean stood still while Sam stepped away, limping on his hurt foot. As he watched his brother hobble towards the front door, he vowed that he would personally stop whatever was in that house from hurting anyone else.