Dean edged his large frame onto the porch roof, catching his boots on the shingling. The moon was still overhead, casting eery shadows over the house. As Dean glanced up at it, he lost his footing and skidded down the roof and landed hard on his chest on the grass below, only inches from the sidewalk and his brother.

"Uh, sh..."

Dean grunted, the air knocked out of him. Sam sat up, grabbing for his brother. His head hurt from the fall, but other than that he was generally unscathed. The towel on his left hand was missing, the mark on his face was gone. Something was amiss here.

"Man, did you, did you catch the plate of the bus that kicked my ass?"

Sam chuckled as his brother rolled over, finally able to speak. Dean ran a hand over his face and looked up at the house and his breath hitched. The attic window was intact. Not a break, not even a sliver missing. Sitting up, he stared harder, praying it was just a trick of the moonlight. Though there it was, glass back in place.

"Sam, I have no idea in hell what is going on here, but I do not like it. Not one bit!"

They both stood, not even feeling sore now, and raced around the back half of the house. Sam leapt down into the basement first, ignoring the dust that filtered into his face. Dean followed after him. They moved slowly toward the back half of the cellar, stopping where Sam had his first encounter, and both stopped short when they saw Sam's gear, sitting on the floor as if it had never moved a solitary inch.

"What the hell?"

Sam touched it, half expecting it to vanish, but it was as solid as he was. He turned back to his brother, when something struck him. He yanked his EMF detector out of the bag as he had in the upstairs kitchen, or thought he had, and scanned the cellar. Dean walked behind him, eying the machine. It stayed steady for a moment, then as soon as they came back to the pantries, it went wild. It crossed over into the red and begged to cross even further. Sam stepped forward and looked up. There was a large junction box with millions of exposed wires. The detector screamed as loud as it could. Sam turned it off and tossed it to his brother.

"I can not believe this, not at all!"

Dean stared at Sam as if he had just spoke in Swahili. What the hell was he babbling about? Believe what?

"Um, could you fill me in on your little revelation there buddy boy. Apparently some of us are a little slow on the uptake."

Sam turned, leaning on a small workbench. He ran a hand through his hair.

"Well, seems this area of the basement is what we call a Fear Cage."

That was all he said, as if that was enough of an explanation. Dean frowned, tapping his foot. That was not enough. He did not think a simple: "well this is a blahdy-blah" was gonna cut it. Crossing his arms, Dean raised an eyebrow.

"I assume there's more to this, or else all your time at Stanford was for naught."

Sam huffed.

"Well if you gave me two damn seconds, I might get there."

Dean put his hands up in a fake defensive matter.

"Woah, excuse me. Don't have to get your tighty-whiteies in a bunch."

Sam squinted.

"May I continue, please?"

Dean chuckled.

"If it so pleases you your Highness."

Sam ignored his brother's comment, but continued just the same.

"As I was saying, before I was rudely interrupted, a Fear Cage is something that many buildings have. Where, if the wiring is bad, you might sense a feeling of paranoia, see things, feel nauseous. Depending on how sensitive you are to these, it can manifest itself to the highest degree."

Dean thought about this a bit.

"So everything that happened tonight, it was all fake, nothing really happened? It was all in our he...Wait. That was what the shadow said to me. It told me it wasn't real, that it was in our minds. Explains why my back no longer hurts, why your face isn't bleeding, and the attic window. We imagined it all. But one thing, how the hell did we get from here to the front lawn?"

Sam chewed on that a moment, then spoke.

"I think that was merely a delusion brought on by our sub-conscious, manifested by the stress of the job. In reality, we never left here. The truth is..."

Dean stopped his brother with a hand to his face.

"Sammy, the truth is, you talk too much and all that psycho babble gives me a headache. I think it's better if we don't know the truth, cause sometimes the truth is scarier than fiction. That okay with you college boy?"

Sam shrugged. In all honesty, he was scared out of his mind. He was only trying to cover his fear with words, and prayed that it worked. He truly had no idea what in hell happened down in the cellar. The Fear Cage theory was all he had to work with, and gave them the best to work with. Dean smacked his brother on the arm, spooking him. He pointing toward the ceiling, letting Sam know that he was going to retrieve his bag. If Sam's idea was right, it was still upstairs in the living room. He gave his brother a half-smile, then climbed the cellar stairs, shutting him in.

Sam sighed. He reached down to his flashlight that was on top of his bag. Somehow he could not remember leaving it there, but oh well, it was just a fluke. Standing up, and flicking it on, Sam gasped as a shadow stepped out of the corner of the basement.

"You?! But you said..."

The shadow stood within a breath's distance of Sam. He could feel dampness exude off it. He shivered.

"Yes, I know. I lied!"

Sam screamed as the shadow engulfed him, entangling with his clothes, slipping into his lungs. He choked and spat, trying to get rid of the vile mess that was now inhabiting him. A crash erupted the cellar as Dean tossed open the door and flew down the stairs. He cried his brother's name, then reached for his gun. Taking careful aim, he let off a single shot. The creature never moved when the rocksalt made a hole in its head. It imploded, becoming nothing but dust.

"Sam, Sammy!"

Dean grabbed his brother as he fell to the floor, gagging and spitting. A small cloud of dust slipped past his lips, but other than that, it was gone.

"No offense dude, but I thought you said it was that Fear Cage deal."

Sam looked up at his brother, breathing heavily.

"I think it still is, but at this point it's too far gone. We have given it too much power. Like Amityville, it sort of took on a mind of its own. We need to get the hell out of dodge, before dodge makes us a permanent resident."

Dean nodded, then lifted his brother to his feet. A light above them, this time with a bulb in it, flickered, then exploded. Dean sheltered his brother then grabbed his bag and gun, rushing them up the stairs. At the top of the stairs, a leftover gardening tool flew at them. Dean pushed Sam to the stairs, the trowel slicing Dean's shoulder. He groaned. Ignoring the pain, he pulled Sam up, and kicked the door open. In the hall, papers, broken glass and other debris were flying hither and yon. Dean slammed Sam against a wall and swung the bag in front of him to avoid the flying objects.

"Sam, hit the floor. Crawl...NOW!"

Sam did as he was told. He dropped to the floor, and worked his way toward the dining room just as a broken vase sailed over his head. Dean grunted as a bowl cracked him in the back of the head. Blood trickled down the back of his head. He continued to swing the bag anyway.

Dean backed into the dining room, then around into the living room. He dropped to the floor alongside his brother, who noticed Dean's wound. Sam ripped a piece off a piece of his shirt and pressed it to Dean's head, causing him to suck air between his teeth.

"Dude, don't!"

Sam protested.

"Hey I need you to save my life, and you can't if you're bleeding to death."

Dean rolled his eyes, but let him control the bleeding. The flying objects ceased their trajectory, and crashed to the floor. The sound was ear splitting. Dean pushed at his brother. Sam teetered backwards, almost falling against a broken chair, but caught himself before impaling himself. Skirting around the death trap, he moved toward Dean's bag and scooped it up. Then they both hurried into the kitchen.

They stopped short as the stove door shot off, hitting the sink window, shattering it. Gas began to hiss, then fire shot out of the stove, blocking their path.

"Sam, we have to go through the basement, it's our only chance of getting out alive."

Sam did not like the sound of that, but it was either that, or be fricasseed alive. He nodded, and they both rushed for the basement door. The hallway was silent, it never even bothered to stop them, which was never a good thing.

In the basement, all was silent, and there was even a light on. Something was definitely not right. Dean went first, holding Sam back. As they stepped into the middle of the cellar, the light dimmed, casting more shadows yet again. Dean watched as the shadows began to move, to dance. Then the very creature he shot not even 10 minutes ago, slipped out of the middle of the room and smiled.

"Well, looks like you can't get anything right, huh Dean? Lousy shot, lousy brother. Too bad tonight is the night you die!"

A tick started slowly, then sped up. It sounded like it was to their right, in one of the pipes. As if a rat was trapped in one of them, trying to get out. Sam grunted, pressing on Dean's hold on him. Dean looked back at him with a look of sheer terror on his face.

"Sammy, I'm sorry, but you have to go. Get out of here, just go!"

Dean strong armed Sam, thrusting him toward the crawlspace. Sam could hear the sound more clear from there, and knew instantly what it was. The upstairs gas pipe had backed up, and it would be only mere seconds before the house would become a raging inferno.

"Dean, this isn't real. Once we get out of the house, once we are far enough away, we will be safe!"

Dean shook his head.

"No, you said it yourself Sammy, it's like Amityville. It takes over, gets too strong. There's nothing I can do, but there is something you can. You can get your dumb ass out of here! Now just go!"

Sam wanted to hit his brother. He was being foolish. This was not the time to be the big badass, trying to save everyone. He reached for Dean who just shoved him away.

"No, damn it. I mean it. If I have to throw you out of this cellar myself, I will. GO!"

Dean pushed Sam hard, causing him to land against the stone wall. He grunted, a tear falling from his eye. Damn you Dean, you bastard! Sam gave his brother one last look, then ran toward the opening. Pulling himself out, he rushed toward the Impala. He looked back, waiting, praying Dean would be right behind him. Then he just turned his back, not wanting to look anymore.

Moments later the house exploded, shingles and doors flying everywhere. Sam was knocked on his back in the gravel drive, a piece of shingle landing on his chest. Everything went black.

Sam groaned. The sound was muffled, and his head hurt. He touched his forehead, and felt blood. He was unaware of how that happened, or even of where he was at the moment. Sam tried to sit up, but felt himself being set back down. Wherever he was, it was softer than gravel, and a lot brighter.

"Dude, you can't do that. You might throw up in my car."

Sam heard a chuckle. He knew that sound anywhere. Opening his eyes a bit more, he saw his brother sitting next to him in the Impala. He had a matching cut over his left eyebrow, and looked a bit singed, but seemed otherwise uninjured. Sam lunged at him, hugging him hard.

"Uh, dude, air. Breath, can't..."

Sam smiled, not wanting to pull back. It was hard to believe that his brother had survived that explosion. But he did as he was asked.

"How did, how did, how...?"

Dean eyed Sam.

"Man, are you sure you went to college? Maybe all those late night cram sessions made your mind a bit flabby around the middle."

Dean waited for Sam to jab him back, but he just continued smiling like a goof.

"Okay, you are creeping me out there. Mind if you stop that?"

Sam coughed, but still kept a slight smile on his face.

"But seriously, how did you make it out? I watched, and you never..."

Dean was the one to smile now.

"Sam, never turn your back on your brother will ya? I just saw you turn your back when I hurried my ass out of there."

"How did you get rid of that thing in there?"

Dean leaned against the back seat of the Impala, his eyes half closed. Sam could see what damage the house really was in. It was eviscerated. Nothing but rubble. In the distance he heard a fire truck blaring and people yelling. He stared at Dean, wondering why they were sticking around for this.

"Well, I just gave that bastard a taste of its own medicine. Made it a crispy critter. If you had been down there with me, I knew we both would have died down there. I needed you to get out so I could destroy it."

An ambulance whined in unison with the fire engine. Sam tapped Dean, who opened his eyes. He listened closely, then sat up.

"Looks like we have company. Time to make the great escape, so to speak."

Then Sam said something that he wished he hadn't.

"What if this becomes like Mordecai? I mean, what if we can't stop it?"

Dean turned back to his brother, a sour look on his face. The thought had crossed his face, yet he wished Sam had not said it aloud.

"Well, I guess we'll cross that bridge when get to it."

Sam sighed. It was an answer, just not one he was looking for. Dean exited the vehicle, picking up their bags and shoving them in the truck. He slammed it shut then slipped into the driver's side. Sam made himself as comfortable as he could in the backseat, moving his long legs into a decent spot, then laid back. As Dean started the car, Sam looked out at the wreckage. Ash and debris filtered into the air, floating toward the moon. Sam watched this little dance with awe for a moment, then gasped as he saw the ash take shape in front of the glowing orb. It settled there a second, then broke apart. He could swear he heard laughter as the ash was taken away by a gust of wind, not to be seen again.