-CHAPTER 7-

Sam stumbled into the backyard, panting with the fear that had grown with every empty room he checked. Dean was nowhere to be found. Surrounded by the foreboding house blanketed in night, Sam's imagination ran away with him, picturing every possible horror that could have greeted Dean. Despite their bickering, Sam knew Dean would not have left him alone, not willingly.

The only option Sam had left were the outbuildings.

Outside, the cold air knocked into him, and Sam shook off the clouding fears that had nearly overcome him inside. He cursed himself for letting it get to him when he knew better. But out here, away from the enclosing walls, his thoughts were clearer.

"Dean?" he shouted, sweeping his flashlight beam over the property. "Where are you?"

His flashlight locked on the middle building. Sam stared at it. The door mocked at him, still too high to reach.

But then he realized the edge of the door was darker, the right edge hidden in shadow. And he realized it wasn't the frame casting the shadow. The door hung a few inches ajar. It was open.

A sickening feeling dropping in his stomach, Sam raced towards the structure as hope and fear pounded at his chest. "Dean!" he shouted, becoming frantic when he didn't answer.

With his arm, Sam slammed the door wider open and threw his flashlight just inside. Then, placing his forearms on the bottom of the frame, he pulled himself up and over the lip of the door. He crawled on his stomach onto the floor behind the door. To his surprise, the floor ended before his body was stretched out all the way, and he had to twist to the side before pulling his legs in behind him.

Once he was all the way through, he grabbed his flashlight and stood up. He ran the light over the floor as he crept to the edge. Looking down, he realized there was a pit below. "Dean?" he called down, his light sweep across the bottom.

He heard a low groan just as his light caught a form crumpled by the wall. His heart jumping into his throat, Sam immediately leaped off the ledge into the ground below. He landed with a jar, realizing the fall was deeper than he thought. The distance to the ground turned out to be greater there than it had been from the door to the ground outside the building

Dean was hunched over, his legs sprawled in front of him, one leg bent at the knee. He looked up, his eyes bright and uncomprehending in the beam of light. His face was streaked with sweat, even though he was trembling in the cold air. After a moment, his head dropped down again.

Cursing under his breath, Sam rushed to his brother. He immediately dropped into a crouch in front of him, laying the flashlight on the ground. Dean seemed to jerk a little, but otherwise didn't move. "Dean, are you okay?" he asked softly, carefully placing a hand on Dean's leg.

Dean lifted his head slightly, his flickering gaze eventually settling on Sam. He licked his lips. "There—there's a skeleton over there," he reported. "Over in that far corner." With his head he gestured at the darkness behind Sam.

Sam quickly glanced over his shoulder and then turned back to Dean, nodding. "Oh, okay," he told Dean softly.

"It's a kid, I think. Might be Stevie, but...I didn't want to check."

"Okay, sure," Sam replied. He tried to stay calm, but he couldn't keep the hard edge from tinting his voice. "Dean. What happened?"

Dean rolled his head, looking up at towards the ceiling. "I think this was some kind of punishment room."

"Dean..." Sam studied his brother, his mind racing, hoping Dean would continue so he would have some clue what was going on, so he'd have some idea what was wrong with his brother. Then he realized why his brother was shivering. "Dean, why'd you take your coat off?"

Dean dropped his gaze towards Sam. "I didn't," he replied flatly. "It was already off." In the dim light, Sam saw him point vaguely across the room. Sam picked up the flashlight and aimed it across. There, near the middle of the floor, Dean's coat and bag sat in a rumpled pile, looking as if they'd been dropped there.

Sam looked at his brother, confused. Dean twisted up his mouth. "I didn't really feel like putting it on," he admitted.

Sam quickly got up and grabbed Dean's stuff. "Why not?" he demanded as he came back, dropping back down in front of him.

In answer, Dean lifted up an arm. Even in the dark, Sam could tell something was wrong, but when he shone the light on it, he wasn't prepared for the bloody wounds encircling Dean's wrist. A involuntary gasp flew from his throat when he saw the torn, bleeding skin. He looked at Dean with wide eyes.

"He tied me up," Dean explained. "The son of a bitch tied a rope around my wrists."

Sam swallowed and tilted his head back. At least now he knew. Dean had some type of encounter with a malevolent spirit. "Real rope, or phantom?"

Dean shook his head wearily. "Dunno, couldn't tell. Hurt like hell, though." That didn't tell him anything, but Sam figured cataloging the ghost didn't really matter at that point. If it had been real, he couldn't clean out the dirt and bits of rope now anyway.

"Do you think Dad's dead?"

Sam froze at the sudden question., taken aback as Dean pinned him with his stare. "Why would you ask that?" he finally got out.

"It's just--It's been so long since we heard from him…"

"We got that note just a couple of weeks ago."

Dean blinked slowly. "But we don't know how old it is," he argued. "Maybe we're tracking him down, and he's already dead."

"Don't say that!" Sam shot back sharply. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he drew in a deep breath. "We're going to find him," he insisted, calmer this time. "And until then, you know Dad can take care of himself." He refused to think of the alternative.

"But, what if he is dead? Then what?" he demanded, his voice cracking in the middle.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked him, feeling a heavy pit settle in the bottom of his stomach. But Dean didn't answer.

Sam watched him for a moment and realized with a start that he was still shivering. Shaking himself into action, he lifted Dean's coat up and moved towards his back. "Well, you're freezing," he said, holding the coat out like a cape, "So I'll just-"

"Wait," said Dean suddenly, his spine stiffening. "I can take that."

Sam frowned, bewildered. "I was only going to cover your back."

"Yeah. I know," Dean replied, sounding strangely exasperated. "And it would really mean a lot to me if you didn't."

Sam let out his frustration with a dry laugh. "What the hell are you talking about?"

In reply, Dean just sighed. Unwilling to wait, Sam grabbed his flashlight with his free hand and armed with a coat, came around to Dean's back.

"Jesus!" he cried, nearly dropping the light.

The back of Dean's shirt was shredded and slick with blood. Underneath the tattered fabric, all he could see was torn skin, caked with blood.

At Sam's exclamation, Dean immediately began moving, struggling to turn away. "It's fine," he ground out.

Sam laughed harshly at that. "Like hell it is." He could feel Dean glare at him, knew his eyes were boring into him. Sam shone the flashlight briefly at him, and in the light, his face looked unnaturally pale.

With a sigh, he lowered the beam. "Dammit, Dean."

They lapsed into silence, and a moment later, Dean relaxed. "Let's just get the hell out of here."

"Yes," Sam agreed quickly. He got to his feet and slung his bag over his shoulder, keeping an eye on Dean as he pushed himself up. His brother stumbled a little, but he managed to stand up, even if he did look unsteady. Sam knew he wouldn't want his help, but he stood nearby, just in case his help was needed.

Dean moved stiffly towards the elevated platform, Sam keeping in step right behind him. He dreaded their next move, but they had no other option. Since the pit was deeper inside, the climb up to the ledge would be much harder than Sam's climb into the door. Dean went first, bracing his forearms against the wood, and Sam helped him as he struggled to pull himself up. It only took a few seconds, but by the time Dean was completely up on the platform, he was breathing from the exertion and pain. Sam quickly hoisted himself up beside him.

The door was still open, and the bitter cold air never felt so wonderful and alive before. Sam could even see the grass waving underneath the moonlight, and his eyes were thankful. "All right," he began. "I think it'd be easier if we sit at the edge of the door and jump down."

Dean looked at him, his eyebrows furrowed. "Huh? What did you do with the stairs?"

"There weren't any, remember?" Sam reminded him, feeling a new bout of worry.

Dean made a frustrated sound deep in his throat. "Well then, looks like my friend the psycho ghost uses phantom objects from his twisted little world," he said, scowling. "Should've known."

Sam dropped to the ground first. Dean quickly followed beside him. But as soon as his hit the ground, his knees buckled and he staggered, almost falling the rest of the way. Sam quickly grabbed Dean's upper arm and helped him to his feet. Dean waved him off as soon as he was steady again.

"Hey, where you going?" he said when Sam started towards the car.

Sam looked at him, startled. "Um, the car."

"Dude, we're not finished yet."

Sam gaped at him. "Dean, you can barely stand. Of course we're finished."

"But now we know who's causing everything."

"Let's go, Dean," Sam said wearily. There was no way Dean could be serious.

But Dean refused to budge. "Hey, we have a malevolent spirit inside there, and all we have to do-"

"No," Sam interrupted, taking a step towards him. "We have two malevolent spirits, and one ghost who's learned possessions."

This time, Dean gawked at him. "Huh?"

"Look, I don't know how you ended up there, but while you were gone, I had my own little adventure," Sam told him. "The ghost of Hattie Schumann, the girl we heard screaming, is running around scared up because whoever killed her family is still there too. And if anyone is around when she runs into her murderer, she'll jump inside, use that person to protect her. I think she's the one that's been throwing those metal pieces."

Dean whistled lowly as the information sunk in. Sam continued to explain. "She's been reliving that night over and over again, up on the third floor, and she's so scared she'll take anyone with her." Sam took a deep breath. "And since her murderer is haunting the place, I think he was killed before he got to finish. His soul's been twisted so much that he's barely human anymore, just a spirit filled with rage. So now he's stuck there, waiting to kill someone who's been dead over a hundred years. I think that bloodlust is why he killed the Morey's, because he could tell they were from the same family. And he'll try to kill anyone when they're possessed by Hattie's spirit."

Dean blinked at him after he had finished. "Wow," he said. "You were possessed by a little girl?"

Scowling, Sam pushed at him, and Dean merely smirked back. "Jerk," Sam muttered.

"Okay, so why do you think we have two malevolent spirits here? How do you know they're not the same?"

"It all fits," Sam replied. "The only one not in the house when the massacre happened was Hattie's father. Hattie tried to warn him, but…Well, he found out when she screamed. And since he was warned, he must have been able to kill the guy somehow--but not before his entire family was murdered."

Dean nodded, picking up on Sam's train of thought. "So then he goes out back and hangs himself, and now his ghost haunts that building."

"Yep," Sam nodded. "From your back, I'm guessing Mr. Schumann wasn't exactly a great guy. So one night--May 8th, 1871--one of his slaves, pushed to the limit, somehow manages to break free from his chains and sneaks into the house to slaughter him and his family, except Mr. Schumann wasn't there."

"He dug his way."

"What?"

"The slave…There was a tunnel inside that building. He couldn't get out through the door, so he dug his way out. I think--I think that's how Stevie got in." Dean swallowed. "The tunnel was caved in a few feet out."

"Oh…" Sam paused and then took a deep a breath. "So we have two spirits looking for revenge against each other, and a little girl caught in the middle. To get rid of the two malevolents, I think we need a showdown. But how do we get them together?"

A slow grin slid across Dean's face. "Ready to get in touch with your feminine side?"

Sam's eyes grew wide and he backed away. "Oh, no. I'm not getting possessed again."

"Aw, Sammy, you're still not upset about Millie Kern, are you?" Dean asked cheekily.

"That was ten years ago," Sam retorted. "And hell yeah, I'm still upset! I was thirteen, and she made me kiss a sixteen-year-old on his forehead!"

"I think it was sweet," Dean replied, barely stifling a laugh.

"Why do you do it?" Sam demanded with narrow eyes.

Dean pointed emphatically at his back. "Injured, remember?"

"Oh, now you admit it."