Alright, here we are. I'm still plugging away, it's just taking me longer. Thanks for hanging in there. I really want to reply to all your reviews, but felt that it would do nothing but take away the precious time I have to write. Between the two I hoped you would be better rewarded by another chapter. Thank you all so much for the unshakeable loyalty and encouragement, though. i really appreciate it! So, one of my chores is done. I pick up my new Toyota Highlander tomorrow, so the car hunt is over. But I also started an evening Real Estate class, so I've traded one distraction for another. I'm devoted to finishing this story, though. No worries. And I'm actually close to finishing another story, so when that one posts there will be no waiting for me to finish another chapter. And now I think I'm rambling, so I'm gonna shut up and just post the chapter. Enjoy, and thanks again for all the wonderful reviews!

It was a simple tremble in the walls and the floorboard that first got the notice of the trio of hunters. Dean's renewed steadiness on his feet waned as the scuffed wooden floorboards began to shake, but for once he didn't get frustrated. Sam and Bobby were having just as much trouble staying on their own feet as he was on his.

Reaching back to the windowsill to steady himself, Dean watched as Sam and Bobby both lunged for their own basis of stability, an old café table and a china cabinet respectively. But instead of gaining more stability each found his crutch to falter under the intensity of the tremors.

They continued to grow until individual objects in the room began to join force. The window Dean leaned against started opening and slamming shut repeatedly, causing him to have to roll quickly to the wall before his hand found itself smashed between the frame and sill. Or worse yet, impaled as the glass shattered inside.

Pictures started jumping and pounding on the wall, straining against the wire restraints that kept them held to the nails. The café table that Sam gripped began stomping a rhythm across the floor and Bobby's china cabinet started rattling the precious china displayed within.

Suddenly, the dusty antique rug Sam was standing on went flying, jerking out from underneath his feet and causing his body to soar in the opposite direction. The table went with him, landing on its side just seconds before Sam landed in the same spot, the back of his head clipping the smooth edge of the table before he landed gracelessly in a heap within the legs of the table.

"Sssam!" Dean screamed, a direct role reversal from minutes before as he let go of his tenuous hold on the wall to stumble across the room to his brother's side. Once a protector, always a protector.

Bobby moved in at the same time, dropping to his knees at Sam's side before Dean got there, but he was quickly shoved out of the way by the frantic reactions of the older Winchester. He fell back, landing in a hard sit, but immediately found a new purpose as he realized no one was covering their asses.

Drawing his shotgun once again, Bobby scrambled to his feet and began a circular sweep of the still rattling room. Everything was shaking and trembling, but there were no ghosts to remove from the equation and he wasn't entirely sure what to do next.

At his back, Bobby could hear the soft murmurs coming from Dean as he patted his brother's cheek in a desperate attempt to rouse him. And from the quickly increasing tone, it was clear the attempt wasn't effective.

"Dean, how's he doing?" Bobby asked, glancing over his shoulder quickly, but then immediately going back to his scan of the room. It was hard to stay on his feet as the floorboards continued to quake underneath. He could feel himself losing his balance, but knew that wasn't an option right now. He needed to find the McCoy ghosts and can their transparent bodies before they could do any more damage.

"No blood, but-t he'ss not-t waking up."

"He got a knot?"

Dean squinted at the back or his brother's head through his unswollen eye, feeling for a bump at the same time. "Big and ssstill ssswelling."

Bobby winced, but didn't dwell. "Well get 'im comfortable and then get your butt moving. We've got to figure out where the bodies are buried or Sam won't be the only one on the ground.

It was enough to get Dean moving. For the first time since the stroke Dean heard the sounds of being treated as an equal. Bobby needed his help, wasn't just playing along to appease the cripple but rather really and truly needed his help. Sam was down for the count and there were two ghosts in this house that wanted nothing more than to see the other two hunters join him.

He lacked the strength the haul Sam across the room to someplace safer, if there was such a place, so he tried to make his brother as comfortable as possible within the confines of the ornate table legs. With nothing more he could do for Sam, Dean dragged himself to his feet to join Bobby in the search.

The tremors seemed to have died down some, as though the spirits were waiting to see what the hunters' next move would be. Bobby had secured their current location, establishing there to be no trap doors or hidden passages anywhere within. For the moment that meant Sam would be reasonably safe as they went about searching the rest of the house. Not that they could say the same for themselves.

"I've got a feeling they're hidden somewhere upstairs. I think I might have noticed something while I was up there, but I didn't get a close enough look before McCoy decided to launch his attack," Bobby said, already climbing the dusty wooden flight to the next floor. Cobwebs clung to the ceiling and between the railing slats on the banister, stretching towards the hunters as they ascended to the next floor.

"What did you ssee?" Dean asked, slowly following the older hunter, struggling to keep up.

"I'm not sure. But if I was a bettin' man I'd say the house looked bigger from the outside than it shows from within. Seems like there might be more to the back of the house than the walls indicate."

"What roomsss're back there?"

"Master bedroom and a bathroom. Think there was an entrance to the attic, too."

"You thinkin the at-tic?"

Bobby nodded as he reached the top of the stairs. He disappeared from view before Dean could ask any more questions, taking advantage of his faster approach to search for a sign of the spirits.

It was calm. Too eerily calm for either hunter's liking, and as Dean crested the stairs he and Bobby exchanged an ominous glance. Chills ran up Dean's spine, his senses on high alert as he glanced down at the EMF still taped securely to his palm. It was quiet, but it just didn't seem right.

Gun still clenched in his left hand, Dean prodded at the EMF reader, prying his numb hand away from his stomach and closer to his line of sight so he could study the equipment better. He winced when he realized the reason for the silence, flipping the switch to the on position. Somehow the switch must have gotten switched off in the chaos of the attack.

The reader sprung to life immediately, shrieking and blaring for all it was worth just as he looked up to see a dresser sail smoothly over the wooden floor straight for Bobby.

"Bobby! Move!" Dean yelled.

He breathed a sigh of relief watching the older hunter turn and sidestep the dresser just before it could slam right into his gut. Instead the solid Oak dresser crashed deafeningly into the opposite wall, splintering into a million tiny pieces.

"God, Dean, that was close," Bobby breathed. "Thanks, dude."

Dean nodded, inching his way further into the hallway and peering through the doorframe from where the dresser had come sailing through. Once again the hallway was quiet. Eerily so. But it wasn't much longer before the EMF started up again.

It was just a few slow beeps at first, just enough to put the two hunters on edge, cause them to go spinning through the entire hall in search of a sign of the ghost.

McCoy kept himself well hidden, working on his stealth mode and waiting until just the right minute to appear. Waiting until its position was well and truly threatened before appearing. This was a smart ghost. It planned and schemed, was clearly aware of how to survive. This would not be a fight easily won.

The two hunter's split up in their search of the hall, each taking a side and carefully scanning the interior rooms for any sign of hidden rooms before finally meeting up at the entrance to the attic. As they had approached the beeping from the EMF reader got increasingly stronger, faster, until culminating in a shrill whine at the mouth of the attic.

The walls began to quiver again, the door rattling on its hinges before Bobby could grab the doorknob. He looked at Dean, a sense of apprehension in his posture as it became abundantly clear that the two hunters were getting close.

A silent conversation passed between the two of them. You ready?

As I'll ever be.

On three. Bobby held his hand at his side, slowly extending a finger at a time until he had three out, and then he gripped the doorknob. The antique brass turned easily in his hand considering the age of the hinges, and the door came open with a loud creak and a whoosh of air. All around them the building seemed to come to life, the shaking escalating to something of a hurricane force wind.

Looking to Dean, it seemed clear he was struggling to stay on his feet against the gales that enveloped them, and it wasn't much easier for Bobby. Dust and debris flew everywhere, irritating their eyes and suffocating their lungs. But the two hunters persevered, determined to put an end to this before things came to a devastating end.

Squinting through tearing eyes, Dean tried desperately to see within the entrance to the attic, searching for the trap door they knew was hidden somewhere within. Immediately behind the door was a flight of narrow stairs, enclosed on either side by rough Oak siding, but from what he could see the walls were solid. No sign of a hidden door.

There was no railing up the flight of stairs, and they weren't only narrow in width, but in depth also. It reminded Dean of his and Sam's first night at the cabin, trying to master the treacherous, crumbling steps to the front door. He was so much better now, but with the strength of the wind rushing down on him he might as well be right back in that night, reliving the torment all over again.

"You alright, kid?" Bobby shouted through the whistling breeze. He let go of the door and it whipped around on its hinges, slamming into the wall in the hallway and staying put. His ball cap was threatening to fly off, and he had one hand on top of his head trying to keep it put. Their weapons were useless right now as there was no visible sign of the ghost. Shooting into the wind would do nothing but waste a bullet.

Dean blinked at the sound of Bobby's voice carrying past his ear, only realizing that he had somehow ended up lost in thought when the sound jolted him out of his reverie. It took him another minute to register the words the older hunter had spoken, the question he had asked, the fact that he expected Dean to move.

"Yeah, sorry. I'm good." He moved forward, fighting his way through the wind and up the stairs, winning the battle over climbing the flight but still struggling. Even if he had wanted to he feared he would never get his gun into the air. And that was the good arm.

The numb arm was being forced into his gut, no fight against the pressure of air coming at him from all directions. It was all Dean could do to keep the arm stabile against his stomach, fear that it might rip right out of the arm socket if he lost that edge.

From behind him, Dean could feel the push of Bobby's hands against his back, and he fought against the feeling that it was meant to help propel him forward, to not let him fall back down the stairs. He just wants me to know where he is, Dean chided himself as he continued to push forward. It's got nothing to do with his thoughts on my capabilities.

They reached the top of the stairs by what seemed like sheer chance, and yet the frenzy only seemed to worsen as McCoy's ghost realized they had managed to make it as far as they had.

The attic was home to a macrabe collection of ancient artifacts, many of which told stories back to the turn of the 20th century. From the little bit the hunters were able to take in before McCoy intensified his attack to Hiroshima proportions there was plenty to cause physical damage.

An antique sewing machine sat in its original desk in the far corner, the iron foot pedal collecting dust by the pound. Along one crumbling brick wall, a chimney jutting through the house, was a clothing rack stuffed full of old ball gowns and tuxedos. A shelf stacked high with hat boxes was just above the clothes.

In another corner was a collection of children's toys; a wooden rocking horse painted in muted reds and blues, a box full of ABC blocks in colors to match the horse. A stack of moldering jigsaw puzzle boxes, matching Raggedy Ann and Andy dolls with cloth so threadbare it tore in places, and a tattered teddy bear missing an eye.

Another spot on the floor held claim to an old wooden cabinet on top of which was a tapestry bag. Several skeins of yarn and a collection of knitting needles peeked out over the top. A pair of large sewing scissors rested on a corner of the cabinet, beside the bag.

A third corner housed an old wooded crate of candle sticks, silver and gold and pewter. Glass sconces sat in a second box. And beside them were stacked several antique mirrors.

There was enough in the attic to massacre a small army if used correctly, and McCoy was determined to make use of every advantage afforded him.

With barely enough opportunity to think, Dean and Bobby found themselves in a whirlwind of flying antiques.

The ghost started small, sending the stuffed toys and clothes their way. But it was more of a hindrance than a danger. The clothes got in their way, creating difficulty seeing, a tangled web causing obstruction from their view and their mobility. Yet it was almost effortless to escape the first obstacle.

And that's when McCoy brought out the big guns. It seemed the farther the two hunter's moved into the warm attic the more frantic the ghost became and he started sending out larger objects.

Dean deflected one of the hat boxes with his good arm, stepping to the side and raising his arm just enough to simply be grazed on the shoulder by the solid cylinder rather than it smacking him in the face.

At the same moment, Bobby found himself the unwitting recipient of a box of wooden boxes dumping over his head. He brought his arms up to protect his head, hunching over as the fifty or so pine cubes rained down over top of him. When the attack was over he rose to his full stature sporting several new knots on the back of his head and neck and a fancy new shiner around his left eye having been just a half second too late to protect his face.

"Damn, Bobby, you okay?"

Bobby's expression was the only response he afforded Dean. The older hunter appeared more pissed than he did wounded and it gave Dean hope. This was going to end and it was going to end now.

They banded together, forging ahead side by side as the rocking horse sailed across the floor, making a valiant attempt to unseat the two hunters. But they managed to sidestep it just in time. Halfway across the floor they could finally make out the faint outline of a crack in the wall, just behind the collection of toys. It might be nothing, maybe just a failing plaster job. Or it might be the break they were looking for.

"You see what I see?" Bobby whispered, his lips barely moving.

Dean gave an almost imperceptible nod and gripped his gun tighter. In the other hand he could still hear the EMF shrieking away, unwilling to quiet while there was still supernatural activity around it.

They moved closer still, barely missing a pewter candlestick as is sailed over their heads, and Dean couldn't help as his mind wandered to some inane reference to a Clue gameboard and Old McCoy in the attic with the candlestick.

He still couldn't shake the desire for his arm to miraculously spring to life so that he had both access to a gun and access to a shield. One arm acting as both trigger and deflector was one arm too few. But nothing seemed to be working, he was still working his way through this gauntlet of an attic as the One Armed Bandit.

More Candlesticks flew their way, striking them in the back and the legs, before they finally made it to the other side of the attic where the crack more clearly became the outline of some type of door. This was it. But the next step was how to get through.

McCoy stepped up his attack again, sending the rocking horse across the floor again as he launched a series of the glass sconces toward them. This time Bobby went down by way of the horse as it slammed full force into the back of his knees.

Distracted by Bobby's downfall, Dean missed the presence of the three sconces heading his way and turned toward Bobby just in time to receive a blow from the clear globe in the back of his head instead of the temple.

He saw stars, but stayed steady on his feet as the glass shattered, not unaware that a temple shot as had been intended would have felled him too.

"You hurt?" Dean asked, only glancing down to the older man from the corner of his eye after realizing he had to get the passageway open. Dwelling on their injuries would only allow for more to occur.

"I'm good." Bobby said, waving Dean on. He was considering the same conclusion, and he was hardly hurt enough to ignore that. "Just had the wind knocked out of me. Can you get it open?"

Dean was already feeling along the outer edges, putting pressure on the most vulnerable spots. Something had to trigger the opening. He just had to find it. "I hope ssso. Jusst t-trying t-to find the t-trigger."

Bobby finally caught his breath enough to scramble to his knees as he dodged a musty book that sailed his way. "It's gotta be there, Dean. Look harder. This thing isn't going to give up." He did a quick scan of the room, still trying to spot a sign of the ghost itself rather than just its handiwork, but when he still spotted nothing Bobby returned his attention to helping Dean find a way in.