New story ahead! This one is set in season 8, between 8 x11 and 8x12, so after Sam and Dean resolve the silly conflict they've had at the beginning of the season, but before they meet their grandfather and find the Bunker. I usually steer clear of the first half of season 8, because there's a lot of stuff there I find annoying and out of character. This story will offer an insight into some of the things that happened while Dean was in Purgatory, as well as showing a plain old case story with the boys getting back in the game together and being that awesome team we all know and love.

Chapter 1

Manchester-by-the-sea, Harwood Manor, 1890

Larissa Graystone locked herself in her room and dragged a heavy chair against the door. She knew she could not stop what was coming, but she could probably delay it. She had sent for Robert that very afternoon, he was bound to come soon and maybe he would put a stop to this madness. Or maybe not. Maybe the madness could no longer be stopped. Maybe what she had started had to be seen through.

Larissa took out the journal she kept hidden under her pillow and tore the last two pages. There! she thought triumphantly. Now, whatever happened to her, no one would know. She made for the fireplace and was ready to light the fire that would make sure her secret died with her when the chair by the door fell sideways and the door swung open. Larissa froze, clutching the pages.

Her eyes widened as she noticed her intruder.

"You!" she exclaimed.

She waited for a sign or an answer, but the figure advanced towards her without saying a word. Larissa was suddenly furious.

"This simply can't go on. You've got to think of the consequences. Listen to me, we can still make this work. I have the evidence. I can destroy it. I swear to you I won't mention it again to a living soul."

She watched as the figure approached her, hands outstretched.

Later, the servants were to report they had heard their mistress scream and plead for her life. The screams were cut short abruptly. The butler rushed to Larissa Graystone's room to find her dead on the floor. She was still clutching some mangled pieces of paper in her hand. There was no sign of her attacker.

xxxXXXxxxx

Manchester-by-the-sea, Harwood Manor, 2014

Chad Thomson considered himself one lucky guy. His Dad would have firmly disagreed. There was no luck, he would have reminded Chad. It was dangerous to believe in good fortune. When you did that, you became complacent. And complacent could get you killed.

Chad wasn't a hunter anymore. Had never been one, truth be told. He had been lucky – again that word! – to be taken out of the life at sixteen. Young enough to have a chance to become well-adjusted, old enough to understand his old man had indeed had a point in some matters. He knew enough to recognize a supernatural threat but had not seen enough to live in constant paranoia. And that was more than could be said of a lot of the people he knew from the old days.

He had a life, Chad reminded himself, a new life, he thought as he looked at his Victorian manor house. Technically, his wife's Victorian manor house. His new wife. Chad turned to her now, holding his bags.

"So that's it?" he asked, gesturing to the house.

Rebecca grinned, amused.

"Don't tell me you wanted more. Friends are already warning me you married me for my money."

Chad put an arm around her.

"No, I married you for your legs. Among other things."

Rebecca snorted.

"Let's just go inside before we scandalize the neighbors."

Chad looked around. The place was completely isolated.

"There aren't any neighbors here to scandalize," he pointed out. "This is the middle of nowhere. We can be as frisky as we want."

Rebecca rolled her eyes.

"I'd rather we be frisky inside. After we've settled in and had something to eat."

Chad shrugged. It was worth a try.

He had never been to the manor before. He would have settled with a large apartment or a house in the suburbs but, apparently, Rebecca's money was tied to this house and she was supposed to live there after she got married.

"I still think we could have sold the place and bought ourselves a sweet deal in say California," he said. "This is really in the middle of nowhere. Might get inconvenient."

"We both work from home," Rebecca reminded him. "And I can't sell the place not with grandma's will being what it is. I'm the last generation who can't. Our children will be able to sell it, though."

Chad raised his eyebrows.

"We're having children now?"

Rebecca giggled.

"Well, not exactly now. But since we got married, I assumed children would be on the table. Why? Have you got a problem with that?"

Chad hesitated. His experience with fatherhood was a gruff hunter who took paranoia as a way of life. Rebecca had no idea about that, though.

"I was more intrigued about your use of the plural," he said instead. "Isn't one enough?"

Rebecca shrugged.

"One's boring. I'm the first only child in my family in generations."

"Two's dangerous," Chad said. "They get wrapped up in this weird dynamic. You want to interact with one, the other's always close by."

Rebecca tilted her head.

"I thought you were also an only child."

Chad nodded quickly.

"Yup. But I knew these two guys. I suppose you could call them family friends? I was about a year older than the younger brother, but I struck a friendship with the older one – we had more in common back then. The younger brother acted as if I was murdering puppies in front of him every time I took some of his sibling's attention from him. He really didn't like to share."

Rebecca laughed.

"I think you had quite a lot in common with the younger one, too. You don't like to share, either."

That night, Chad heard the noises for the first time. They were coming from upstairs, in the room above their own. At first he decided to chuck it up to old floorboards or maybe rats. But then a door banged on the same corridor, waking Rebecca and scaring the hell out of them both. Chad went to investigate, with Rebecca at his heels, since he had been unable to convince her to stay back. As soon as he stepped inside the room he knew what he was dealing with. The place was empty. But it was also freezing, and smelled strongly of smoke.

"Hey, Rebecca," he said, trying to sound casual. "You know those two guys I was telling you about? I neglected to mention what they did for a living."

xxxXXXxxxx

Sam was lying on the motel bed staring at the ceiling. He'd had that dream again the night before – the one where he was walking down some dark corridor and he was all alone and he knew he needed to find something or get away from something, but the only thought in his mind he could focus on was that there was no one there with him. He'd often had that dream the year before when he had been sure Dean was dead.

One did not need to be a therapist to interpret it. Although Sam had been to a therapist several times, because Amelia had made him go. But therapy only worked when one was honest and 90% of the things Sam had been though could not be shared with others. So he quit, at first in secret, but then Amelia had found out and they had a blazing row. Perhaps that was one of the things that caused a rift between them that had been there long before Dean got back.

What puzzled Sam was why he would have the dream now. Dean had been back for a while. They were working on solving their issues and, in many ways, they were having a good time together again. So what had happened last night that brought back not only the dream but the overwhelming, paralyzing terror that came with it? A terror that Sam usually had found hard to shake, which was why he used to spend mornings motionless in the bed, staring up at the ceiling, not wanting to deal with anyone.

Amelia had tried to understand, but Sam had seen the hurt in her eyes when it dawned to her that she could not fix him. Amelia, he had always suspected, was a vet for a reason. She needed to fix living beings. Sam had been the perfect project – only Sam had never allowed himself to be fixed.

He heard the key in the motel door, followed by Dean's trademark steps and, just like that, Sam could move again. Dean walked in, carrying a large paper bag, a broad grin on his face.

"Did you know there's this waffle house with six different kinds of blueberry waffles? Ever thought that possible, Sam?"

"No," Sam said dryly. "I'm sure you did, though. I hope you're not planning to stay in town until you sample all of them."

Dean waved that aside.

"Well, no. As a matter of fact, we're heading out. You remember Chad Thomson?"

Sam searched through his memories. He did not like what he found there.

"That's Ralph Thompson's kid, right? The one that was always trailing after us?"

Talk about revisionist history, Sam thought, because Chad had most certainly not been as unwelcome as Sam liked to think. Dean confirmed it with his snort.

"Chad wasn't trailing after me. You were trailing after us."

Which was true enough. Chad and Sam had been almost the same age but had possessed nothing in common. Chad, however, happened to be obsessed with hunting and starstruck with Dean. And, since the trigger-happy monster-loving boy seemed to be everything Dean had wanted in a kid brother, Dean took his interest to heart – much to his real kid brother's chagrin.

"Funny he should turn his back on hunting when he grew up," Sam remarked. "Seeing as he was so gung-ho about it when he was a kid."

He faltered when he saw Dean's eyes narrowing.

"Unlike you, you mean?"

Sam shook his head quickly. Apparently, they were still on shaky ground in some areas.

"I didn't mean anything," Sam defended himself. "It was just an observation. I mean, Bobby once mentioned he went into economics or something."

Dean seemed a fraction more mollified.

"Yeah, he became one of those fancy financial advisors. Bobby also used to say his father was probably doing cartwheels in his grave. Although maybe he's glad his son's safe – well, as safe as anyone can be. Chad recently got married and apparently his wife inherited this huge mansion from her grandparents."

Some people apparently did get all the luck and did none of the work.

"Lucky him," Sam commented.

"Not really," Dean said. "He thinks the mansion is cursed."

Sam wondered if he really had the energy to play second fiddle to Dean while he ran off to Chad Thomson's rescue.

"And he wants you to look into it?"

Dean shrugged.

"Well, wants us to look into it. Think of it, Sammy. Huge mansion, fancy food, clean towels in the bathroom…"

Separate bedrooms. The idea of lying in bed and not hearing Dean's breathing nearly sent Sam into a panic attack. But Dean looked so damn excited about the new hunt, that Sam could not bring himself to allow his sudden clinginess to get in the way of the one thing that gave his brother joy.

"Right. Well, he asked for help. We can't exactly say no, can we? Where's the mansion?"

Dean's bright grin, so rare these days had Sam swearing he could bear an entire lifetime near Chad Thomson if that was the result it got him.

"Apparently, Manchester-by-the-sea. It's got lots of huge old houses."

"And lots of history," Sam agreed. "Old families, old feuds. I can see why Chad is worried."

Dean clapped Sam on the shoulder.

"Time to get to work."

And for a moment, it felt like old times. Like the beginning when there was no Purgatory or Hell or death. Sam wished he could have that forever.

xxxXXXxxxx

It was raining in Manchester-by-the-sea when Sam and Dean parked the Impala in the front yard of the large manor house. Chad was waiting for them on the front steps. He headed towards them as they got out of the car.

"Dean, my man!" he said, giving Dean an unexpected hug. "So damned good to see you."

Sam watched as Dean bore the hug stoically and even returned it. That last bit surprised Sam. Dean was never the most demonstrative person – even Sam got hugs only in life or death situations most of the time. Since Purgatory, he was even more leery of having people in his personal space and had no qualms in letting them know. Still, he seemed to accept Chad alright, which brought a twinge of jealousy in Sam. Chad, Cas, Benny. It seemed everyone but Sam got his brother's full attention and affection. He was immediately ashamed of the thought, and told himself not to act like a spoiled brat just out of kindergarten.

Chad turned to Sam. To Sam's relief, he did not go for a hug, but simply shook his hand. The handshake was too tight and too forceful and Sam wondered if he wasn't the only one unable to live childhood feuds in the past.

"Sam," Chad said tilting his head. "You've grown like the proverbial weed. I remember when we were kids, I used to look down on you."

"That you sure did," Sam said tightly, wondering if Chad had been aware of the double meaning of his expression.

Chad had gone to seed. He looked flabby, he was losing his hair and his horned rimmed glasses made him look like a boring accountant. Quite different from the tall, muscular kid who used to compete with Dean on their improvised shooting ranges. Still, he had the big house and he had the girl, so maybe he was not doing so bad.

"So, when do we get to meet the lady of the manor?" Dean asked following Chad up the stairs, with Sam not far behind.

"This evening," Chad announced curtly. "Rebecca's with a lawyer."

"Anything the matter?" Sam asked.

Chad scowled.

"We're not getting divorced, if that's what you're implying," he snapped. "It would take more than a haunted house to break us up."

Sam shook his head.

"I wasn't implying anything. It's usually, people don't go to lawyers unless it's bad news."

"I want to show you the old family journals," Chad said. "Apparently, they had an au pair who turned out to be quite a diary writer and she chronicled every little aspect of her employer's lives. Some stuff are quite scandalous, so the family has them under lock and key and with strict instructions for no one to read them or allow them to get out. Hence the lawyer. I don't want to publish them, just think I should show them to you."

"Good thinking," Dean agreed. "I'm sure Sam will be able to get to the bottom of this once he reads them."

Dean's matter of fact confidence had Sam grinning. The grin faded as he caught sight of Chad's raised eyebrows.

"Really?

Sam's hackles were rising, already on the defensive. Dean, however, was too distracted to notice the subtext. He whistled as he looked around the wide hallway.

"I've gotta say, you haven't done so bad for yourself, Chad."

Chad snorted.

"If my Dad could see me now, he'd be rolling in his grave. You know how gung-ho he was about hunting."

"So were you," Sam commented quietly.

Chad grinned easily.

"Hey, kids at that age always want to be badasses that save the world. I got over it."

The tone was friendly and light and Sam was beginning to think he had misjudged the situation. Perhaps Chad really did consider the conflict between them closed.

"So, Chad," Dean said sitting down in the living room. "Tell us what you've got. What makes you think this place is cursed?"

"The first night, there was something in the room above ours," Chad said. "I heard it. And, more importantly, I felt it. You know, it got cold. And…there was a fire burning in the fireplace in that room. Only problem is, that room hasn't been used in at least a century."

"And you're sure your wife didn't light the fire?" Dean asked. "Maybe she thought it would warm the walls and prevent your own room from losing heat?"

Chad shook his head.

"No, we'd just moved in that afternoon. We helped with the unpacking all day and I'm sure Rebecca never left to light any fires. In the evening we had dinner and Tom, that's our sort of butler left for his own place and we decided to…you know…christen the bedroom."

Dean snorted.

"Oh, I get the picture."

He winked at Sam who cleared his throat, slightly uncomfortable and not wanting to show it in front of Chad.

"And you're sure your butler – Tom, you're sure he had left by that time and didn't light the fire himself?"

Chad frowned slightly.

"Quite sure."

"What do you mean he's sort of a butler anyway?" Dean wanted to know.

Chad rubbed his forehead.

"Well, I wouldn't want – or need him. But he's got this complicated contract with Rebecca's family. Seems his family is to be permanently employed by Becca's in some capacity or another. Tom's technically a butler, but he's doing some night classes in computers, and Becca intends to use him as a web designer once her business gets started. She says just because her family acts like feudalism isn't dead, it doesn't mean she has to keep the man employed in a dead end job when she can give him better."

Dean smiled.

"Girl after my own heart. You did good for yourself."

"Do you think Tom is related in any way to the servant who kept a journal about Rebecca's family?" Sam asked.

Chad shrugged, then shook his head.

"No, I doubt it. Why? Do you think the contract was some kind of a bribe?"

Sam shrugged.

"I think there was something in Rebecca's family that we need to look into. Something happened in this house that left a lot of baggage."

Chad smirked.

"And who else would know more about baggage than the Winchesters?" he commented. "Come on. Let me show you to your rooms."

Dean followed Chad grinning, probably already planning on how to deal with the hunt as quickly as possible and then take advantage of Chad's hospitality. Sam was not as cheerful. He could not help having misgivings about the hunt – and about Chad.

This story gave me the occasion to research old houses in the US and I found a hell of a lot of interesting information that I could play with. I chose the setting as Manchester-by-the-Sea Massachusetts, because it had a few old houses and, in fact, the Harwood Mansion in the story is inspired by the real Kragyside Mansion built around 1885 and demolished in 1929. The house was supposedly influenced by an English Victorian manor called Cragside, which is still standing today, although it's been pretty much entirely restored. I had a look at old pictures of the houses and they looked rather creepy even in their prime, so they'd be the perfect setting for a haunted house full of secrets.