Sounds Like Shadows

Once again, very sorry the last one was so short. I have appropriately chastised myself for it. --hangs head in shame-- Thank you for your very kind reviews despite its shortitudity.

Chapter Four

Sam instinctively tried to move forward, away from the claws, but whimpered in agony, unable to free himself as the claws seemed to curl, holding him in place.

The ghost backed away like it understood there was a problem and wanted to distance itself from it. Dean ignored him, snatching up the canister of salt and limping toward Sam as fast as his wounded leg would allow.

The long claws reaching through the barn wall and into Sam's shoulder flickered angrily and Dean was certain they were dealing with a ghost. He wrenched open the top of the canister, poured out a handful and dumped it into the short gap behind Sam. Another roar sounded from the other side of the wall as the claws dissolved. Sam doubled over as he was released and fell to his knees, clutching his shoulder.

"Sammy?" Dean knelt at his brother's side, ignoring the screaming pain in his thigh as the wounds stretched. "You with me?"

"Maybe shooting it wasn't such a great idea," Sam said, gasping and bending over until his forehead rested on the ground. "I think I just ticked it off."

Dean carefully moved toward the holes the claws had left in the boards and peeked out. He could hear the thing prowling back and forth almost like a caged tiger, but he couldn't see anything.

Suddenly remembering the barn actually had another occupant, Dean turned. He scanned the entire structure including looking back up in the rafters, but the man was nowhere to be seen. "Huh. Looks like Mr. Spines-are-optional has left the building."

Dean managed to get to his feet and moved to Sam's other side to grab his brother's uninjured arm. "Come on, Sammy. Let's get you off the floor." He helped him to the bale of hay sitting in front of the stalls. Sam sat down heavily, cradling his injured arm with the other. Dean's leg took the opportunity to tell him it was done for the day and buckled, forcing him to half-sit, half fall to the floor. He too sat back against the stall, hunching forward slightly so his shoulders weren't taking his whole weight.

"What do we do now?" Sam asked through clenched teeth.

"I'm going to go with… Wait 'til morning and hope we don't bleed to death in the meantime."

"Proactive," Sam wheezed.

"That's me," Dean replied. "Of course shooting first and asking questions later just got you skewered."

"It's a ghost?" Sam asked, his face still twisted in pain, looking to where he'd been standing and the holes in the boards the claws had made.

"Salt worked like a charm."

"So what's the connection with the ghost guy in the rafters? There's got to be one."

They both looked up hearing a low rumble as the thing outside made a prowling pass on the other side of the barn to where it had been. It was apparently making a circuit around the building looking for… Them? The dead guy? A way in?

The claustrophobic sense of being stalked by the thing circling outside set his teeth on edge and Dean fought the urge to do something he might regret. To say the least, he was not enjoying being locked up and feeling helpless to do anything about it. If there was one thing he hated, it was feeling useless. When he was injured and couldn't hunt, his dad looked at him like he was so disappointed. Just waiting here, he felt… crippled, optionless, useless. He needed to get Sam to a doctor and he was stuck sitting here until morning.

"It's ok, Dean," Sam said.

"What?"

"It's ok. Don't worry. We'll take care of it," he added gently.

Dean looked up at his brother from where he was sitting on the floor and frowned at the concern on Sam's face. "Dude, will you stop reading my mind? It gives me the creeps."

"I don't read minds, Dean. You just look like you want to hit something."

Dean gave him a half-smile. "I always want to hit something. I believe my high school guidance counselor labeled me 'excessively aggressive.' I think that was code for 'budding sociopath'."

"You expected her to make her your personal assistant?" Sam raised an eyebrow. "You knocked out her son's two front teeth."

Sam was watching him so intently that Dean fought the urge to fidget. "He needed a lesson in humility."

"You know, you never did tell me why you did that," Sam hinted, not so delicately.

"No, I didn't," Dean replied, purposely keeping his expression closed. "And I don't plan on it."

Sam gave a loud sigh.

"Oh, don't give me the longsuffering sigh thing," Dean said holding up a hand to stop him. "Did I ask you about what happened with Sarah Snodgrass?" Sam paled visibly. "Yeah, that's what I thought," Dean nodded, with a self-satisfied snort. "Did I ask about what happened with Tom Simpson?"

"I explained that!" Sam protested.

"No, you lied! You expected me to believe that load of crap you were shoveling?" Dean cocked his head to one side, looking up at his brother. "Dad might have believed you, but did you honestly think I was that dumb?"

"Dean, I…"

"You…?" Dean leaned forward, as if waiting for an explanation. Sam opened and closed his mouth several times like a landed fish. "Uh huh… That's what I thought. So don't go expecting me to spill my guts just because you think I ought to."

Sam frowned. "But I got the idea… What did he say Dean? What made you so angry?" He was still looking down at him, almost pityingly.

Sam didn't need to know. Sam thought he was the only one who'd had trouble getting through his teen years. He didn't need to know about the times when Dean had barely been holding it together, when he'd been angry and bitter and lost and unable to do anything about it, when mixing killing and homework had become almost more than he could bear. Their dad was always gone and he'd had no one to talk to, even if he'd wanted to. Which he hadn't.

And then that smart-mouthed jackass kid had walked in and said 'Hey, Winchester. I hear your kid brother's a genius. What's it like being an embarrassment to your family?'

That was when Dean had knocked his teeth out. He'd felt much better too. But Sam didn't need to know that.

"Nothing, Sam. He didn't say anything," Dean said, suddenly exhausted.

"Now who's lying?"

Dean laid his head back against the stall, letting his eyes trail up into the rafters. They were still just rafters, no swinging corpses to speak of. No noose.

Hanging was such a bad way to go. Definitely not something he would choose. You hang yourself and your body did all kinds of funky things you'd never like anyone to see. There were better ways, less messy ways, less painful ways even… But it always came back to the same problem. A corpse. Someone had to find it. How could you leave something so ugly and painful for a family member to find? Some things you just didn't do to people you loved.

"Dean?" Sam said quietly.

"Yeah?"

"You can tell me to take a hike, you know. You don't have to tell me."

Dean carefully schooled his expression. He wasn't sure what had shown on his face, but Sam was looking worried now. Great. "Sam the Magnanimous has given me permission to keep my thoughts to myself. It's a red letter day."

Red in more ways than one. Dean looked down at his leg and saw a small puddle was forming beneath his injured thigh. Could this night get any freaking worse? Strike that. Of course it could, he thought, furiously retying the torn strip of cloth around his leg.

Both brothers looked up hearing steps coming from the other side of the barn. The man walked out from the far corner carrying something heavy, though his hands appeared empty. He had a length of rope thrown over one shoulder. His neck wasn't broken, but he was mumbling to himself as he walked toward them.

"Never let me go… She'll never let me go…"

"Who won't let you go?" Dean asked, struggling to his feet.

The ghost paid no attention. He stopped in the middle of the barn and Dean realized what the man was carrying. He set up the invisible ladder, trying it for steadiness. He then looked up into the rafters, studying them as he pulled the rope off his shoulder.

"This is going nowhere good," Dean observed. "Any suggestions?"

The ghost continued to ignore them, readjusting the coil of rope over his shoulder and then stepping on a non-existent rung of the ladder.

"Dean, I really don't need to add this to my nightmare repertoire," Sam said, his voice rising.

Both brothers jumped at the near roar outside, followed by the sounds of movement as the thing outside continued to circle the barn.

The ghost turned angry eyes toward the noise. "Leave me alone!" he screamed. "You're dead!"

"Ok, the 'she' who won't let him go? I'm thinking that's her," Dean pointed over his shoulder toward the source of the noise outside.

"Ya think?" Sam said.

The animal/ghost roared again and the man stepped down from the ladder and turned to face the padlocked door. "Stop snarling at me, woman!" he shouted. "This is my barn! You can't come in! I told you! Over. My. Dead. Body!"

"Boy is that a poor choice of words," Dean muttered. They both involuntarily stepped back when something threw itself at the wall of the barn causing the wood to splinter.

"I won't let you take me!" the man screamed. He frantically moved back to his invisible ladder and began scrambling to the top, which was a freaky sight in and of itself, Dean thought. The man snatched at the rope, tying one end of it and throwing the other end high up into the rafters to loop it over. He then grabbed the loose end and with fumbling fingers began fashioning a noose. Not a very good one, Dean observed. Still, it would get the job done.

"Dean, do something," Sam ordered.

"We only have a little salt left, and nothing personal, but I'd just as soon save it for the grizzly chick who tried to skin us. This guy doesn't even know we're here."

"Just leave me alone, woman," the man almost sobbed. He turned his head away from her. "You'll never leave me be."

He put the noose around his neck and snugged it down tight. Again the thing bashed into the barn wall, almost breaking through the wood.

"Good thing we salted the doors," Dean frowned. "She's just going to break a wall down."

"You're dead!" the man screamed, completely frantic. "You're supposed to stay dead!"

Dean saw that the man was about to reach the end of his rope, quite literally in this case. He turned his back and stepped in front of Sam. "Don't look," he said intently.

Sam looked away, pain written across his face and Dean fought the urge to put his arm around him. Sam didn't need to see some things. And Dean wouldn't change that about him for anything. Their father called it weakness. Sam called it being normal. Dean did too, after a fashion. But Dean knew that it was only that Sam still had just that last little bit of innocence left. He'd seen too much and done too much, but he still had that one tiny, little spark of hope that things could be different, that things could be better, kinder, gentler. Normal. Something that Dean had lost too many years ago to count if he'd ever had it at all. He would do everything in his power to make sure Sam kept that little spark alive.

They both heard the rope pull tight and the ugly snap of the man's neck breaking. In the same instant, the barn wall gave way under the continued onslaught. Both brothers turned as an enormous tiger, all lithe stripes and sinew, jumped through the hole and sauntered toward them.

The muscles shifted and flickered and the tiger's limbs reformed, rolling up into themselves, and a woman with shocking, orange-red hair took its place. Her eyes traveled from Dean to Sam and then up into the rafters. Dean knew they would not be so lucky with this one. The dead guy might not care if they were there, but she did. And if the expression on her face was anything to go by then she was one angry lady.

"Tsk, tsk, Otis," she said, shaking her head, watching the dead man swing. "You think you can kill me and I'll let you go that easily?"

I've been ordered in for overtime again tomorrow, but I am going to do my darndest to get the chapter up before I go in.