Hey guys. I just want to say I am so, so, sorry for the posting progress I've made. The semester going on now features a teacher who loves papers and projects and assigning a ton of them at once, so I've been super busy. I'm trying to keep writing, but as I'm sure someone out there noticed, as opposed to once a week I have to go once every other week to continue writing something that I think has acceptable quality. This chapter is shorter than normal, I'm so sorry, but I realized today that I was supposed to post today and there was still half the chapter left. I hope you guys are still enjoying the story and I'll try to see if there's any way I can start posting again on my regular schedule soon! You guys are wonderful, I really hope you are enjoying the story so far!

Chapter 7

Dean read the message over again, turning it over in his message. "It makes no sense," he said once again.
"You're positive the Doctor never called you?" Sherlock asked.
"Definitely," Sam repeated.
"Then it must be from our future, yet it happened in the past...or maybe..." Sherlock muttered to himself, walking away.
"I really hate time travel," Dean groaned.
"You and me both," John agreed.
"Who is the "he" that Amy mentions?" Sam asked.
"Most likely Rory," Dean suggested.
"But why would she need the exorcism?" John asked. "Was Rory possessed?"
"We were with him for a while, I think we would have noticed if one of our own was possessed," Sam scoffed.
"Unless the demon was dormant the entire time," Dean mused. "Maybe he hid deep inside and the only effects that Rory would feel would be more anger or frustration or something."
"He did seem a bit angrier than usual," John reflected. "But I assumed that to be because of a bad trip with the Doctor."
Sherlock moved past time, his lips moving soundlessly, no doubt trying to figure out the time line of the group versus the Doctor. Dean didn't envy him that job that was for sure. Even the small business with the weeping angels in the beginning of all this made his head hurt when he thought about it too much. "But what we still don't know is why there are weeping angels hanging around in the yard," Dean pointed out, walking over to a window that was in an odd corner of the room.
He glanced out, and to his surprise, the sun was just beginning to come up over the horizon. "Damn, time flies," Dean muttered to himself.
"What's that?" came John's voice from right beside him. Dean started, having not noticed the doctor come up behind him.
Dean looked to where John's finger was pointing and narrowed his eyes, trying to see better. "It looks like one of those large tomb things that the people with the most money seem to get many times," he said slowly.
A thought occurred to him. "Oh, come on," Dean complained, turning away from the window in frustration.
"What?" Sam asked in concern.
"We've been in the wrong place the entire time," Dean sighed. "That's why we can't find anything beyond this miserable set up. They're probably holed up underground again and the way down is in that tomb."
"Only one problem with that," John interrupted. "Why would they even bother putting this up here? It looks like it's been used many times to paint runes on angels, what's the point if you have a secret base somewhere else?"
"Most likely they want to keep where they're hiding out different from where they're working," Sherlock spoke up. "Paint the runes here; plot the next step down there where it's less likely to be overheard. If anyone does see anything, they'll assume that this is the center and won't bother to search anywhere else."
"Not a bad plan," Sam admitted.
"So this whole thing was a waste, partly," Dean surmised.
"Not necessarily," Sherlock countered. "There's got to be a reason why Amy wrote what she wrote here, and I imagine we'll find out soon enough."
Sherlock moved over to the window and glanced out himself. "That tomb is certainly worth investigating, if anything, there should be interesting corpses to inspect," he said, in a tone that made Dean unsure as to whether or not he was joking.
John didn't even look surprised at Sherlock's words, but Sam and Dean exchanged a glance. I wonder when I'll be so used to Sherlock that something like that won't even surprise me, Dean wondered. They must have seen some interesting things for John not to blink when he hears his best friend talking about looking forward to seeing dead bodies.
Strangely enough, there was no mocking laughter as the four of them went down the stairs to the entrance hall. What Dean did find, however, was a small electronic device hooked into a wire that apparently led to speakers all over the house. It was also plugged into the wall and was apparently on a time. "Figures," Dean muttered to himself, thankfully too low for the others to hear him.
Luckily, it was still too early for anyone besides ambitious joggers to be out, so there was no one around for them to be seen by. The tomb wasn't as far away as it had seemed from the window, so they were there in a matter of minutes. Sherlock was the first there, and he strode up to the door and pulled at the handle. "Locked," he announced, stepping back. "Dean, will you do the honors?"
Dean smiled, walking towards the door. "I thought you'd never ask," he said, crouching to get a better look at the lock. It wasn't as complicated as he'd expected, though it seemed a bit unique in design. Perhaps crudely designed by hand and giving to a locksmith or whoever made locks nowadays. It took Dean three minutes to get in. He straightened, shooting a grin at his brother. "That's how you pick a lock, Sammy," Dean said proudly.
"I don't know, Dean, I think you're slipping a bit," Sam hedged. "It took you quite a while."
Dean frowned. "Quite a while?" he demanded. "It took me three minutes, tops! That is not a while!"
"Boys," John waved at them from the door to the tomb. Sherlock was already inside. "We came here to investigate corpses, not argue about lock picking times."
"We're on our way," Sam said.
"Bitch," Dean muttered, loud enough for Sam to hear him. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw his brother half-smile.
"So, what exactly are we looking for here?" John asked the brothers as they entered the room.
"Anything that would indicate evil intent," Sam said, crouching down to peer at one of the plaques.
"Great," John muttered.
The room itself was medium in size. There weren't many members in the family, whoever they had been. Dean noted two large coffins, presumably for the adults, and one smaller one. A child, most likely. There were names carved into the stone, but they had faded away as the years went by, and it wasn't possible to distinguish one letter from the next.
Sherlock wasn't near the coffins, surprisingly enough. Instead, he was looking at the walls where there were several paintings hung. Apparently, this tomb was either a lot more ancient than Dean originally thought, or this family had been very old-fashioned. Either way, it wasn't much use to them what the family did. However, Sherlock was looking at the people in the portraits carefully, a curious look in his eye.
"What's up, Sherlock?" Dean asked, walking over to him.
"Just a thought that's bothering me," Sherlock murmured. "These portraits, the people in them, they look," he hesitated. "...familiar," he said quietly.
"Familiar?" Dean asked, surprised.
"Yes, though I'm not sure from where," Sherlock shook his head. "It'll come to me," he said firmly.
Dean clapped him on the shoulder. "In that case, let's look for demon signs," he said, moving around to check out the various coffins.
"Someone certainly had an enormous amount of money," John observed, peering through the coffins.
The coffins themselves were made out of the same stone as the tomb, with the exception of the lid. That was made of glass, making one able to peer inside and look at the corpses below. While morbid, Dean was grateful that because the coffins were sealed airtight, the corpses weren't as decomposed as one would have thought. "It's like that scene in one of the Indiana Jones movies, where he opened the cloth coffin to reveal the body and it rotted away," Dean murmured thoughtfully.
"It's possible," Sherlock, looking at them carefully.
"Why would they have the portraits though?" John asked, glancing back and forth between them.
"If I were to guess, I'd say it's because they wanted to be remembered as they were and as they are currently," Sam spoke up, still reading the plaques. Standing up and stretching, the elder Winchester joined the others around the stone and glass coffins. "Judging from the plaques about the family, they were a very vain and filthy rich family," Sam continued. "It's another way of showing power, to show that they can afford portraits and to keep their bodies in such a condition."
Dean shuddered. "It's a way of showing how creepy you are," he stated, continuing to the back wall.
Dean shined his flashlight against the wall. There were more portraits there, this time of different members of the family. Most likely extended, as they weren't in any coffins as far as Dean could tell. Sherlock was right though, Dean thought. There was something familiar about the family's features, as if he had seen them somewhere a long time ago and had long since forgotten about it. Why that was, he had no idea.
"Guys, I found something," Sam called.
Dean turned away from the portraits slowly, his mind still thinking about the faces. He saw Sam kneeling alongside John and Sherlock in the back corner of the room. There was something between them, but it was too dark for Dean to see clearly from here. He started to move towards them, but his foot caught on something, and suddenly the ground was no longer beneath his feet.

*****

Sam turned at the sound of crashing. He caught a glimpse of the top of his brother's head before it disappeared from view. "Dean!" Sam shouted, rushing forward.
"Wait!" John flung out an arm, somehow stopping the taller man from rushing forward. "We don't know how unstable the ground is!" he shouted.
"Dean?" Sherlock called softly as the dust settled.
Sam held his breath as he carefully tested the ground in front of him, moving towards the hole that his brother had disappeared into. There was a cough from inside of it. "God damn," he heard Dean say. "I'm fine," he called. "It turns out it's not stone after all; it's wood. Painted wood and it's rotting underneath."
Sherlock moved forward and knelt besides Sam, peering into the whole. "Now, why would they do such a thing as that?"
"This family just gets weirder and weirder the more I look at them," Dean said, coughing.
"Do you still have your flashlight?" Sam called to his brother.
There was a pause. Sam imagined Dean searching the ground. A small increase of light suggested that Dean had taken his phone out and was using that to guide his search.
"Found out," Dean finally called. There was a click of light, and then Sam reared back as Dean shined the flashlight up at them. "Sorry," Dean said, sounding decidedly not sorry.
"What do you see down there?" John asked.
There was another pause as Dean took another look around. Sam reached into his own jacket and took out his flashlight, clicking it on to try to see what was down there himself. "Damn," Dean's voice sounded surprised. "There are some tunnels," he said, moving forward.
Screw it, Sam thought to himself. Shining the flashlight to make sure there was nothing dangerous beneath him, Sam slipped down into the hole after his brother. He ignored John's protests as he walked towards the tunnels, coughing in the dust that rose up when he landed. The sound of another body hitting the ground indicated that Sherlock had followed him down. Sam moved to his brothers' side, checking out the tunnels that were in front of him.
There were two in front of them; one on the right, one of the left. Judging from the size of the section they were in, this was a small chamber that would serve as an entrance into the tunnels. Or, on the other hand, it could a simple stop on a series of sections that one tunnel led through. The tunnels themselves were surprisingly large. Whoever had dug them hadn't been much smaller than Sam; he was able to walk through without ducking his head. There were also wide enough that two of them could walk side by side at once. A small breeze was coming from down the left tunnel, indicating that there was air down the tunnels.
"I vote the right," John spoke up. Sam jumped, having not noticed that John came down.
"That works for me," Dean said, starting down the tunnel.
Sam waited for Sherlock to walk forward before following the rest of them down the tunnel. Taking out his gun, Sam glanced behind them towards the left tunnel. The darkness suddenly seemed looming, taunting, as if it was hiding something in the shadows. Chiding himself, Sam turned back to the ground. There was no reason to have an over-active imagination that created things out of nothing.
The group walked on in silence. As they walked, Sam consistently checked behind him. There was never anything there, but Sam had been on enough hunts to know that that didn't mean anything in five minutes. Anything can come out of the darkness when your back is turned. And that anything was more likely than not evil with the intention to kill you.
Suddenly, Dean began to slow, raising his hand. Sam moved past John and Sherlock, raising his gun next to his brother. When Sam added his flashlight's light to Dean's, he saw why his brother had slowed. The tunnel was expanding again, leading to another chamber. They approached it cautiously, but it didn't appear to be occupied.
This one was a bit larger than the chamber in which the group had entered. There weren't any sources of light, so Dean and Sam had to rely on their flashlights to show them what was before them. "You'd think they'd want a source of light down here," Dean muttered, swinging the beam of light from left to right.
"Yeah, you'd think," Sam agreed.
"Maybe they had lanterns and such, so they didn't need it," John suggested.
"As well as the fact this was probably built before electricity, and it would be too much trouble to incorporate wires down here once it was already dug," Sherlock commented.
"Well, whatever the reason, it's sure inconvenient for us," Dean said, moving forward.
Sherlock moved off to the right, clicking on his own flashlight. Dean noticed and stared for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he did so. "What?" Sherlock asked, not turning his head.
"You had that this whole time?" Dean demanded. "Why didn't you turn it on earlier when we were in the tunnels?"
Sherlock shrugged. "You and Sam had it under control," he said mildly.
Sam hid a grin behind his hand, pretending to cough. Dean's gaze didn't waver for a moment before he turned away, muttering to himself. Sam turned his attention back to the walls. Something shined when he waved the light over it. Narrowing his eyes to try to see better, Sam walked closer to the wall, trying to see what was reflecting the light.
"Hey, guys," John said from somewhere nearby. "There's something on the walls."
Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw Dean and Sherlock move closer to the walls themselves. Reaching out, Sam touched the substance on the walls with his fingers, and then brought his hand back to try and see what it was.
"Is that..." Dean started.
"Wax," Sam breathed.
"Why the hell is there wax on the walls?" John wondered.
"Well, it's a bit of a funny story, actually," came a familiar voice from behind them. "There was a huge fight between two demons and one of them got so pissed he blew up the candles that they were using for decoration."
The group whirled around, each of them simultaneously raising their guns. "Tsk, tsk," Crowley said. "Is that how you greet an old enemy?"
"It's how I greet anyone I can't stand," Dean corrected him.
"Touché," Crowley told him.
"What are you doing here, Crowley?" Sam asked, causing the king of Hell to turn towards him.
"You're getting close to the center of the action. I thought I'd up the stakes a bit," Crowley said.
"You certainly have a habit of dramatically appearing only to do practically nothing," Sherlock noted.
Crowley turned cold eyes on him. "So," he began. "You're as much as a smart ass as the Winchesters. Figures, the last time I saw you I never would have thought as much."
"Speaking of the last time I saw you," the demon continued, walking forward several steps. "Where are the other members of your group? The cute redhead and handsome sandy haired boy, as well as that odd man."
None of them responded. Crowley sighed. "Secrets, secrets," he intoned. "One day everyone will just stop lying to each other and the world would be an admittedly less complicated but overall more terrible place than it already is."
"Not to hurry along what I'm sure is a glorious speech," Dean interrupted. "But can you inconvenience us and then get your ass back into Hell?"
"Or better yet," Sam added. "Just go there now, and we'll continue on our way, no hard feelings."
Crowley smirked at them. "Sorry, Moose," he said. "No can do. Unfortunately, I am too busy to be bothered by the menial likes of you and your friends, so I've brought along some of my own to mess with you."
The king stepped off to the side and clapped his hands. Suddenly, there were at least five demons standing there, each holding a lantern. Sam instantly sighted the one closest to him, keeping an eye on the others and Crowley at the same time. Crowley chuckled. "Don't worry; it's not them I brought along. These are the friends I brought along."
Crowley waved his arm. The demons dropped the lanterns on the floor and disappeared in a flash of smoke. Sam instinctively moved backwards away from it. When the smoke disappeared, there were four very familiar stone statues standing in front of them.
"Really, Crowley?" Dean scoffed. "So scared of us that you send in rocks to do your dirty work for you?"
Crowley shrugged. "You've got to admit, it isn't the most conventional idea, so I get some points for that."
Crowley turned his back on them, walking to stand between the middle angels. Dean instantly sighted him, but Crowley held up a hand, apparently preventing the gun from firing. "I don't think we're quite up to our final confrontation, Dean," he said smoothly, walking forward into the darkness. Then the King of Hell was gone.
All that was left were five lanterns, four men with flashlights and guns against four stone angels that wouldn't move unless you blinked.
"Well," Dean said. "This sucks."