A/N: Sorry it's taken this long to update – I only just returned from my computer-free holiday. But, like was promised, I've posted instantly on return, having used my time lazing on the beach to mentally brew up this third chapter. I hope you enjoy! And once again, a big gigantic thank you to everyone who reviewed and added this story to their favorites list! I really appreciate the feedback – good or bad. So please continue to review, as I've discovered not only am I a spoiler-whore, but a review one too. And your guesses and speculations have been great to discover.
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural in any way shape or form.
Haunted
Chapter 3
Sam woke with a start. Had he just been hit with a pillow? Sam sat up and indeed found a pillow lying at the side of the bed, having fallen there after bouncing off his head. Dean stood a feet away, jacket on, duffle packed and ready by his feet. He was staring at Sam impatiently.
"Come on, Sleeping Beauty, rise and shine already."
Sam rubbed the sleep from his eyes and then blearily looked at Dean. "Did you just chuck a pillow at me?"
"Dude, it's almost lunchtime. Move your ass," Dean replied in answer. He scooped up Sam's jacket and chucked that at him also.
Sam caught the jacket before it could smack him in the face and gave Dean an incredulous look. "You're the one who said I could sleep-in, remember?"
Dean shrugged, proceeding to pick up Sam's shoes and throw them at the foot of his bed. "Yeah well, not for this long! I've been so fricken bored I almost wished another ghost would attack me. Now, come on! Lets go find some bad guys."
Dean was out the door so quickly that Sam could have sworn a group of cheerleaders were waiting outside. Sam shook his head as he threw back the covers and dressed at a normal pace. Only Dean would prefer to chase deadly demons over being bored.
A few minutes later, Sam walked outside to find Dean sitting in his car, his head rolling on the seat impatiently. Sam smirked and jumped in.
"Anyone ever tell you that patience is a virtue?"
"Anyone ever tell you that you should shut up?"
Sam chuckled and reached into the backseat for the map. "Okay, so Archers Way is about 10 minutes from here." He folded up the map as Dean started up the car.
Sam couldn't resist one last jibe. "And I don't want to hear any 'are we there yet's from you, okay young man?" He was rewarded with a punch in the arm.
Ten minutes later, the brothers arrived at Archers Way. Dean parked the car at the side of the first street and they hopped out, looking around.
"This the place from your dreams?" Dean asked. If the ghost had pointed them in this direction, it made sense that Sam's premonition would lead them here also. Or so Dean hoped. He really didn't want to be chasing two nasties at once. One mystery per town was definitely enough for him.
Sam was carefully staring ahead – absorbing the street's detail and trying to match it with what little he'd seen in his vision.
"I think so," he replied after a moment.
"You're not certain?"
Sam rubbed the back of his head, squinting in concentration. "Well…suburbs have always kinda looked alike to me."
Dean raised his eyebrows. "Well, try and get over that David Lynch complex, and tell me if we're in the right place. Don't those visions of yours have a zoom-in button, or something?"
Sam sighed and took another look around. Leaving Dean by the car, he walked up closer to some of the houses. Shouldn't he be feeling something – some kind of deja vu – if this were the place from his dreams?
The street was filled with large houses lined up against each other. But without a terrified girl running down the middle, he was finding it hard to distinguish this street from all the others they'd passed. The lawns were all cut neatly, the trees trimmed evenly, the flowers colourful and alive. Though, there was one thing about Archers Way that struck Sam as odd: As hard as he looked, Sam could find nothing out of place - not a single toy or garden utensil lay about, not one flower wilted, not one car had any mud or dirt on it. He was also beginning to feel unsettled by how still the street was. It was close to eleven in the morning, yet no people were out walking, no children played on the streets. He couldn't even hear any families shouting at each other from behind closed doors, or even a single dog barking.
Sam abruptly turned and strode back to Dean, who was leaning against the car, watching him.
"This is the place," Sam said.
"You getting a bad juju vibe?" Dean asked, pushing away from the car.
"Yeah," Sam replied. "It's the exact same quiet from my dream."
Dean nodded; Sam didn't have to explain, he too had noticed how unnaturally still the place was. Dean reached into the car and removed the list of five houses that the blog entry had listed as possible sources for the strange noises that plagued the town at night. He stared at the list for a moment, a rare sense of hesitation forming in his stomach. They were walking into this hunt practically blind. They had no real idea of what they were up against, and the only real clues they had came from ghosts and bloggers. What if behind one of these five doors lived the guy he was meant to shoot?
Dean mentally shook himself, dislodging the thought. This wasn't the time to let doubt creep in; when on the hunt, he had learnt to push anything aside that would interfere with his training and instincts. That philosophy had served him well so far; he wasn't about to rewrite it now.
"Here," Dean said, handing the list to Sam. "Let's start from the top."
Both were suddenly distracted, though, by a movement near the end of the street. They had grown so accustomed to the still nature of their surroundings, that it was almost startling to see a young woman casually strolling into the street and up her driveway.
"Hey, it's that waitress!" Dean exclaimed. "What's her face…um," he clicked his fingers. "Mary. That's it."
"So?" Sam said wearily. "Dean, we don't have time to entertain your hormones."
Dean shot Sam a withering stare. "She lives on this street, dumbass. Hormones have nothing to do with it." He shrugged. "She might be in danger."
Sam wasn't buying it. "Her house isn't one of the five."
"Just come on," Dean hissed, grabbing Sam's arm and pulling him forward. Sam rolled his eyes, but followed, ignoring the frustration welling in his stomach. Who knows? Maybe Dean was following an instinct other than the primal one.
"Unlikely," Sam muttered to himself as Dean dragged him up the porch steps.
"What was that?" Dean asked, ringing the doorbell eagerly. His hearing was sharp.
Sam sighed. "Nothing. I was just reminding myself that a hormonal 15-year old lives beneath your skin."
An odd smile curved Dean's lips. "With all his irrational fears of what's behind closed doors."
Before Sam had a chance to absorb those words, to realize that perhaps Dean was using this chance to put off discovering whether a killer lurked within him, the door swung open. The off-duty waitress beamed when she saw Dean.
"Hey. It's you!" she said.
"Hey. It's me," Dean replied, grinning. "Can we come in?"
"Sure." She stepped aside and let the brothers enter, leading them into a small living room. "What are you two doing here?"
"I'd like to know that myself," Sam muttered, but managed to mold his face into a smile when Dean elbowed him in the ribs.
"We've heard that this town is experiencing some unusual sounds and we were commissioned by the local council to deal with the issue. We need to inspect each house in this area individually." Dean's smile sparkled. "Would you like to show us around?"
Before she could answer, they heard heavy footsteps approaching. Rounding the corner and entering the living room appeared a heavy-set man whose soft blue eyes left no doubt that he was the father. He smiled in surprise when he saw that his daughter was entertaining guests.
"Why, hello there," he said. "Who do we have here?"
Mary told him about how Dean and Sam were commissioned to inspect the local houses. The father looked at them with renewed interest. "Is that right?" he exclaimed, a larger smile overtaking his original one.
"Yes," Dean responded, wearied by this man's enthusiasm.
"I've been a mite concerned with those noises myself," he said.
"You have?" Dean asked, surprised. He shot a look at Sam who returned it with burgeoning interest. Hadn't that blogger said everyone living here refused to acknowledge the sounds?
"Sure have," the man continued. "Odd noises. Can't quite place what they are or where they come from. Only at night too. But I guess you fellas will solve that mystery, now won't ya?" He chuckled, clearly unperturbed.
Those noises aren't anything more than an annoyance to him, Sam realised. He has no inkling that anything sinister could be behind them. And he wasn't enthralled with staring at Dean the way those people at the diner had been.
"I'm actually president of neighborhood-watch around these parts," the man continued. "I'll be sure to let everyone know you two are coming."
Dean's eyes widened slightly, but he quickly recovered his composure. Just his luck – he followed a cute girl and winded up meeting the one person who'd ruin any element of surprise that he and Sam had possessed in this hunt. Dean stubbornly refused to look at Sam. He just knew a huge I-told-you-so was coming.
Sam, meanwhile, was resisting the urge to smack his brother upside the head. Dammit, Dean, he thought.
"What does the council think the sounds are?" the man asked.
Still a bit off guard, Dean drew a blank for a second before blurting out the first thing that popped into his head:
"Rats," Dean nodded.
"Ew!" Mary squealed.
"Ah," the man frowned.
"Big rats."
"Well, we should head off," Sam said, standing quickly. The less they tried to fabricate an explanation, the less likely this man was to grow suspicious. And, Sam refused to let Dean drag him through this house looking for imaginary rats while Dean hit on this squealing waitress. "We'll be sure to inform you if we find anything."
Mary and her dad stood up also, each shaking hands with the boys. Dean followed Sam out without complaint, only a small pout marring his features.
Just short of the hallway, Sam stopped and turned back towards the man. "How long have you guys lived in this town? Just out of curiosity."
"Moved in three weeks ago," he beamed.
"Okay, thanks again for your help."
Once in the hallway, Dean punched Sam in the arm. "We could've learnt more from those two. Why you gotta be such a stick in the mud?"
Sam didn't hesitate to swat Dean back. "They're new here. They have no idea about what's going on. They are, in all sense of the word, clueless. And a clueless neighborhood-watch president can be as bad for us as an evil one. Good work, Sherlock."
"Hey, I came up with a good cover story," Dean said, defensively.
"Rats, Dean? Big rats?"
Dean frowned, growing annoyed at his brother's attitude. "I didn't hear you jumping in with anything better. What's the big deal, anyway? So a few people think we're here chasing after rats. Ooh, scary. Let's start running for the hills."
Sam rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to keep his frustration at bay. "The big deal is that instead of looking into five houses, we're expected to check into every one on this block. And with everyone expecting us, I doubt we'll be able to walk in and find the source of those noises greeting us in the hallway."
"It's never that simple anyway," Dean countered. "At least this way we don't have to make up some cock-and-bull story every time we want to enter some stranger's property. I did us a favor. You should be kissing my ass."
"More like I should be kicking your ass," Sam mumbled.
"Whatever," Dean said, hitching his duffle further onto his shoulder and moving towards the door. But he stopped short once he past the mirror and caught a glimpse of his reflection.
Dean smacked Sam in the chest. "Dude! Why didn't you tell me I look like I just did three rounds with Mike Tyson!"
"It's not that bad," Sam said, referring to the marks that were left over from Dean's encounter with the ghost in the bathroom.
"Not that bad?" Dean exclaimed. He had a large spilt in his lip and the bottom of his chin had a blue tinge to it– the beginning of a bruise that would clearly end up traveling the length of his jaw line. "That thing fucking broke my face!"
Sam grabbed hold of Dean's arm, alarmed. "Shh!" he whispered angrily. "Don't swear!"
"Excuse me?" Dean shrugged his arm out of Sam's grasp, staring at him curiously. "Don't swear? I'm sorry, mother, didn't realize my potty mouth bothered you so much."
That's right, Sam thought, given all that had happened, he hadn't yet told Dean about his encounter with that man in the store. So Sam quickly filled Dean in. When he finished, Dean wasn't reacting like Sam had expected. He didn't looked shocked or perplexed like Sam had at the time. He was standing there, nodding his head slightly, looking as if Sam had just told him the weather.
"Yep, now everything makes sense," Dean finally said.
Sam was taken back. "It does?"
"Perfectly. I'm a bad influence with a capital James Dean, and so they hired a spiritual hitman to off me." He strode to the front door and yanked it open. "It makes perfect sense," he growled, marching towards the first house on their list. God, he was sick of this town.
The family sat in silence, waiting. Each one lost in their own thoughts - staring at nothing in particular. Their hands gripped their knees or clutched at armrests. The little girl couldn't stand it. The silence was so complete that she could hear everyone's breath. She shifted slightly, hoping the leather couch's crinkling would display her impatience. She was sitting between her mother and older brother, but could've been wedged between two cardboard cutouts for all the attention they gave her.
"Who are we waiting for, again?" Her voice cut through the thick silence, jarring her mother from wherever her mind had disappeared.
"Some people from the council. They're going to look into this town's rat problem," she answered distractedly.
"Apparently," her older brother sneered.
Her mother shot him a look, but said nothing.
He let a loud sigh escape his lips and ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "This isn't right! They shouldn't be here. Why are we letting them search our house?"
"They're searching everyone's house," her other brother said quietly.
"It's still not right. They're dangerous. I can feel it."
They all suddenly looked up as a young man stumbled into the room.
Sam quickly straightened when he realised the whole family was staring at his clumsy entrance. The parents were smiling politely, while their two sons weren't even trying to hide their skeptical stares. Sam shot a glare at Dean as Dean walked in behind him after having just pushed Sam into the room.
"Why'd you have to shove me so hard?" Sam whispered.
"Why'd you have to walk so slow?"
Sam quickly wiped the glower from his face, replacing it with a professional smile as he turned to address the family. "Hi, we're - "
But Dean cut him off. "Sorry about my partner here." He slapped Sam in the shoulder, causing Sam to lurch a little. "He's a klutzy one. Anyway, we're here to inspect the place for rodents. Coz that's what we're here in this town to do – find rats. And kill them. Now would you mind skedaddling out of here so we can do our job and be on our way?"
Sam's smile froze as he fought the urge to kick Dean. They were in the fourth house in the list of five. The other three houses had turned up nothing unusual. Except, of course, an uncanny habit on behalf of the occupants to remain politely distant and avoid talking to Dean as much as humanely possible. And it was getting dark, because thanks to their run in with Mary's father, they'd been roped into checking out every house in between the five on their list – each occupant reacting towards Dean in the same distant fashion. He was obviously getting sick of the unusual attention and had decided to throw politeness out the window – he wanted to see what being rude would accomplish other than further stares. Sam thought it was a stupid move.
Neither Dean nor Sam were surprised, then, when Dean's unprofessional demeanour caused the family's eyes to widen and their faces to grow ashen in colour. One of the sons abruptly stood up. "We'll be in the outside bungalow if you need us." He grabbed his younger sister's hand and pulled her out of the room with him.
Sam almost choked when his eyes met the young girl's. It was the girl from his dreams! He was so distracted by this fact, that he failed to notice the significant look the young man shot his family, forcing them to reluctantly follow him out. Dean noticed though, his eyes following the boy out.
"We have our first suspect right there," he said to Sam once the family was out of earshot Dean looked over when Sam didn't answer. Sam was staring where the family had sat a second ago, mouth gaping slightly.
"Dude, what's up with you?" Dean asked.
Sam turned to Dean. "That was her! The little girl from my dream! We're in the right house, Dean. The ghosts come from here somewhere." He quickly took the EMF meter out of his bag and switched it on. They were finally getting somewhere.
"Really?" Dean said, looking around dubiously.
"Yeah. Why?"
Dean shrugged. "You'd at least think the place would have a few gnarled trees out front. Maybe a row of bookcases leading to a hidden lair. This place looks so…normal."
"Normal can be deceiving." Sam began scouring the living room, letting the EMF meter pass over every inch of the place. He was close to unravelling some of this mystery. He could feel it.
Dean opted for the old fashioned approach. He opened draws and began rummaging through the family's possessions, trying to find some tangible clues to what was going on in this house.
"I take it back - there is something evil brewing here!"
Sam quickly turned towards Dean. "What did you find?" D
ean held up something small and white. "Unicorn statues. They must be stopped."
Sam rolled his eyes and grabbed the statues from Dean's hand, placing them carefully back.
Dean just laughed and threw up his hands. "I'm sorry, Sammy, but this is ridiculous. We just happen to find the place where the damsel in distress from your dreams lives and you honestly expect it's the same place where my see-through attacker lives?"
Just then the lights flickered on and off a few times. Dean and Sam became instantly alert. Dean reached into his bag and removed a shotgun and pistol both filled with rock salt. He handed the former to Sam. "Eating my words," he muttered, gun held out in front of him as he stepped protectively in front of Sam.
"What are you doing?" Sam frowned. "You're the one this town's after, remember?"
"Huh. That's right." Dean backed away from Sam. "Sorry, habit."
Sam frowned, momentarily distracted from the flickering lights. "What do you mean, 'habit'," he asked.
"Oh, you know. Usually you're the one they're after. I'm the one who comes in, guns blazing, to save the day." Dean grinned.
Sam spluttered. "That's not true."
Dean hid a smile, shrugging nonchalantly as he kept a watchful eye ahead of him. "Okay, whatever you say Snow White."
Before Sam could respond, the lights stopped flickering, going back to normal. Sam and Dean kept their guns raised, looking around wearily. When nothing popped out of any corner, Dean slowly lowered his gun, Sam following suit.
"Let's check out upstairs," Dean suggested. Sam nodded. They walked up the stairs in silence, painfully aware of how loud their footsteps echoed in the empty house. Suddenly all the lights switched off, bathing the stairwell in darkness.
"Shit," Sam heard Dean mutter. Sam grabbed onto the banister tightly, listening to Dean rummage through the bag. Finally a bright beam of light cut through the dark as Dean switched on the torch. He swung it towards Sam. Sam blinked as the light hit his eyes. Dean moved it away, reassured that Sam was still behind him. "Let's keep moving."
The torch's beam barely reached the upstairs floor. Was it that high up or just that dark up there?
They reached the top landing and Dean quickly swept it with his torch. Nothing. They proceeded cautiously nonetheless. Dean froze suddenly, causing Sam to bump into him lightly. Dean held up a hand.
"Do you hear that?" he whispered. Sam strained his ears. Yes, he did hear it! It was a scratching noise. But where was it coming from?
"Over here," Dean tugged Sam's jacket, motioning towards one of the doors in the corridor. Sam held up his gun and followed Dean with a stealth only those militarily trained knew how to pull off.
Dean stood on one side of the door, Sam on the other. Dean motioned with his hands. He counted to three, and then flung the door open, bounding inside. Sam was right behind him. But the room was empty. No ghosts or ghouls or running bathwater.
"It's the girl's room," Sam noted.
"No shit, Sherlock," Dean said, lowering his gun once again. He was getting annoyed by all these false alarms.
The room was pink, with frilly pink covers and plastic tables covered in an assortment of dolls and toys.
"Hey, I remember these," Sam said, picking up one of the Strawberry Shortcake dolls. Dean gave him a look. Sam rolled his eyes. "From the girls at my pre-school."
"Sure, sure."
Sam hastily put it back down, noticing that Dean was edging towards the small, pink closet. The closer Dean got, the louder the scratching became. This wasn't a false alarm, there was definitely something in there. Dean grabbed onto the handle and, taking a deep breath, swung the door open. He shouted and stumbled back as a furry creature jumped out, skirting through his legs and out into the hallway.
Sam turned just in time to see a tail disappear into the darkness. He started laughing. "It's their cat."
Dean straightened the bag on his shoulder roughly. "Aren't you just full of insightful… insights today." He strode out of the room, ignoring Sam's amusement.
"Sam!" Dean yelled from out in the hallway. Sam hurried out, only to have to choke down more laughter. Dean was standing rigidly as the cat furled around his legs, rubbing against him.
"What's it doing?" Dean asked, trying to move out of its reach.
Sam smirked. "It's a cat, Dean. It's their way of showing affection."
"Well make it stop," Dean complained. This wasn't the time to become buddy buddy with a stupid house pet.
Sam shook his head. "Trust you to shy away from affection."
"Come here, Prixie," a foreign voice called out from the dark. Dean and Sam both whipped around. Standing at the opposite end of the hallway was the son who'd led his family out of the house. Dean's heart thumped against his chest – how'd he get there without either of them noticing?
Dean quickly sheaved his gun into his belt, having noticed that Sam was hiding his shotgun behind his back. The lack of lights had proved useful in this instance. He doubted the guy had seen the glint of metal since he himself could barely see two feet in front him without the torch.
"The electricity's gone out," the guy said.
"We noticed," Dean replied, a hint of sarcasm breaking through. Why was the guy just standing there? If he wanted to creep them out, it wasn't working. It was annoying Dean…okay, and maybe creeping him out. Just a little.
"I came up here to find some torches," the guy said after a pause, his gaze finding Dean's and holding it without waver. Dean just stared back, unsure of what to make of him. He shone his light in the guy's direction. His hands were empty.
"I couldn't find any," he explained.
"What's your name?" Dean asked suddenly.
The guy hesitated just long enough for Dean to catch it. "Jamie. Palmer. Jamie Palmer."
"Well, Jamie Palmer, we still have a bit of work to do, so…" Dean left the sentence unfinished. His meaning was clear.
Jamie didn't move. Sam looked back and forth between Jamie and Dean. They seemed to have forgotten he too was in the hallway. Their eyes were locked, absorbed in some silent battle.
"Don't you want to come back when the lights are back on?" Jamie asked in a deadpan voice.
"No. No, I think we'll finish up today. We aren't afraid of things that go bump in the night." When Jamie's eyebrows rose slightly, Dean quickly – if unconvincingly – corrected himself. "Rats, I mean. They go bump, we go splat."
Jamie smiled humourlessly. "You sure are dedicated for rat killers."
Dean smiled back with just as much veiled malice. "Well, once we have our eyes on something, we don't stop till the job's done."
Sam stepped up to Dean, taking his elbow. "Maybe we should leave this till another day." Sam didn't like the way Jamie was staring at Dean – there was something glittering in his eyes that sent a chill down Sam's spine.
"What? No." Dean jerked his arm away from Sam. Why would Sam even suggest that? "We don't leave jobs half done. Not when we've come this far…."
Sam glared at Dean, trying to convey to him the strange feeling he was receiving without using any words. He could feel Jamie watching the exchange.
"Do you always talk to your brother like that?" Jamie asked.
"The way I talk to my brother is none of your business. Now, if you don't mind, we'll let you and your family know once we've finished."
Jamie shrugged slightly. "Okay," he said, finally moving. He walked past them, the cat following obediently. "Be careful," Jamie paused at the top of the stairs, turning to Dean, "rats sometimes bite back."
Dean and Sam watched Jamie walk down the stairs until he disappeared into the dark. They then exchanged significant looks.
"Yeah," Dean confirmed out loud. "That kid aint right."
"You shouldn't have baited him like that, Dean."
"He started it." Dean shone the torch down the hall and found the room Jamie had emerged from – the door was still open. He dashed into it and pulled back the dark curtains from a window overlooking the backyard. Sam walked up beside him. A few moments later, both exhaled in relief – Jamie was walking the length of the yard, disappearing back into the bungalow where his family were waiting out Sam and Dean's search.
Dean let the curtains fall back. "That EMF reading anything yet?"
"Not yet," Sam sighed.
But just as he answered, a light popped on from back downstairs. Sam frowned, reaching for the light switch in the room they were currently in, flipping it on. Nothing happened. He tried the light in the hallway – that too was still dead. The only light working was in the lounge room downstairs.
"I bet you five bucks our little Casper is downstairs," Dean said. "You in?"
Sam just rolled his eyes and started walking downstairs.
"What?" Dean called after him. "You aren't betting, then?"
"Surprise, surprise," Dean muttered once he reached the lit living room. "No sign of it."
"Just keep an eye out," Sam said, circling the room cautiously. The hair at the back of his neck was on end.
"As opposed to what, exactly?" Dean countered. "A foot?"
He began circling the room also. "Here ghostie, ghostie, ghostie," he sung out. Suddenly an icy wind hit him in the face and Sam's EMF meter started going off like crazy. "Shit!" Dean exclaimed. "That worked!"
Sam was suddenly hit with another premonition, one so strong that he cried out, falling back against the wall.
"Sam!" Dean yelled, rushing to his side. He dumped his gun and torch next to him and grabbed Sam's face. "Sam! Can you hear me?"
Images were flashing in front of Sam's eyes faster than he could make sense of. Blood and dirt floors and shots ringing out. Girls crying and Dean lying on his side and dark black eyes. Angry yells, Strawberry Shortcake dolls, and that image of Dean dirt-streaked and blood stained, a gun limp in his fingers.
"Sam!" Dean yelled again. The shout cut through the images and Sam's eyes flew open. "It's all going to happen here," he whispered in a moment of clarity, before he gasped at what he saw. Dean was holding his head tightly, but behind Dean had emerged a glowing entity with distorted, rage-filled, features.
"Look out!" Sam tried to warn his brother, but couldn't get the words out fast enough. The thing grabbed Dean from behind and threw him carelessly across the room. Dean landed on the glass coffee table; it shattered under his weight.
"Dean!" Sam yelled, scrambling to get up. But invisible ropes locked around Sam's wrists and legs, yanking him back against the wall, holding him there helplessly. "Dean!" he shouted again, fear clutching his heart as he realized that Dean wouldn't be able to get to his bag of weapons fast enough. Dean was grimacing as he tried to get up, obviously stunned from the fall.
The ghost flew towards Dean's struggling body, its arms stretched out at its sides, lights popping out as that thing drew the energy into its hands. Dean's eyes widened as he saw the ghost approach, electric energy crackling in its palms.
Sam pulled against the invisible ropes. Like some cruel joke, his and Dean's guns lay inches from Sam's feet, but he couldn't reach them. He struggled desperately, but in the end could only watch helplessly as that thing straddled his brother and grabbed the sides of Dean's head.
Dean screamed as the energy flew from that thing's fingers and coursed into him.
Dean's screams cut into Sam, shrivelling his insides. Whatever frustrations or annoyances he'd been harbouring against his brother flew out the window, replaced with a deafening fear and a determination he'd never felt before. "Leave him alone!" he shouted, renewing his struggle.
Dean's back arched and his muscles grew taunt. His jaw clenched against the pain, his arms reaching for the ghost uselessly. His head lolled back against the floor, his eyes roaming the room trying desperately to find something that would get this thing off him. But there was nothing, and the ghost's eyes were quickly appearing from beyond the shadowy blob that marred the rest of its features – they were the same dark, cold ones as earlier. And they were filled with just as much rage.
The thing squeezed Dean's head tighter. The bolts of energy ripped into Dean's consciousness, tearing through his body, rupturing blood vessels, punching into his blood stream and streaking through it. It felt like he was burning from the inside out! Dean writhed in pain, his body convulsing, his leg lashing out and smashing into the couch, causing it to crash across the room.
Sam didn't know what he hated more – the unnatural strength that being in such obvious pain had given Dean, the spasms that racked his taunt body, or the strangled cry getting caught in his throat. "Hold on, Dean!" Sam yelled, though he didn't know if Dean could even hear him anymore. Sam ignored the protests in his muscles and stretched his leg until the tip of his shoe touched Dean's gun. Channelling every bit of strength and concentration he had, Sam used his toe to edge the gun closer towards him. But in a terrifying moment, Sam felt his toe slip against the metal and the gun slide further away.
"No!" Sam shouted. Sweat erupting on his forehead, Sam let the invisible rope cut into him as he stretched further than he thought possible. He clenched his teeth, ignoring the likely possibility that we was going to be an inch taller after this. His foot grappled along the carpet in front of him, until it finally touched the gun. Forcing himself to ignore his panic, Sam slowly pulled the gun forward until it was close enough for Sam to try and kick it towards Dean.
Please, please, please reach him. Sam carefully aimed and kicked it like it were a soccer ball and Dean the goal post. Sam held his breath as the gun slid across the carpet, landing just in reach of Dean's hand. Sam almost cried in relief.
"Pick up the gun, Dean!" Sam commanded, shouting to be heard above the energy zapping around the ghost and his brother. For a second all hope drained out of him as he realized Dean may not be able to defend himself anymore.
But Dean's fingers slithered towards the gun, and wrapped around it tightly. After a second's pause he lifted it and aimed it right at that thing's face, squeezing the trigger just as the ghost vanished. As the blast went off, wedging bits of rock salt into the wall, so to did the sizzling energy remove itself from Dean's body – slithering and sliding out like fingers quickly recoiling from a hot surface – leaving Dean feeling weak but alive.
As the ghost disappeared, so to did the ropes binding Sam to the wall. Sam fell to his knees, but quickly jumped up and scrambled to his brother. Dean was lying on the carpet, panting, his eyes rolling up into his head in an effort to remain conscious.
"Dean!" Sam gently hoisted his brother up from the floor. Blood was trickling from Dean's mouth, nose, eyes and even ears. But it'd already begun to dry. That was a good sign. "Can you say something?" Sam tilted Dean's head up so that he could see his eyes. They were bloodshot and unfocused. Sam also couldn't help notice the blue bruises in the shape of fingers that marred Dean's smooth skin. Sam loosened his grip to inspect the bruises and Dean's head began to fall backwards again.
"No, no," Sam cried, quickly moving to Dean's side so that he could wrap an arm around Dean's shoulders, lifting him upright again. "I've got you, don't worry."
Unsure of what to do, terrified that the ghost had caused serious damage, Sam looked around the room helplessly, trying to find something to prop his brother against so that he could call an ambulance if need be.
"Did you ever know that you're my hero," Dean coughed. Sam whipped back towards Dean, breaking into a smile at the words.
"Since when are you a Bette Midler fan?"
Dean struggled to lift himself further into a sitting position, wincing both at the distinct aftersensation of almost being cooked alive, and the realization that he needed Sam to help him if he had any hope of remaining up right. The world was kind of spinning at the moment.
"Since the day you became my fucking night in shining armour."
Sam's smile didn't reach his eyes. This was a new experience for him also – twice now Dean had almost met his death at the hand of this…angry entity. And twice now it hadn't even tried to touch Sam. What was that thing about third time lucky? Sam prayed he didn't have to find out.
"Come on, let's get out of here," Sam suggested, wrapping Dean's arm around his shoulder and using his other arm to grab Dean tightly around the waist, lifting him from the charred carpet. He really didn't like how limp Dean felt.
Both looked up though, when they heard the side door opening. Shit, of course the family would be drawn by all the noise they'd made. Dean quickly shrugged away from Sam, forcing himself to stand upright on his own.
The family entered the living room, mouths falling open in shock when they saw the holes in the wall, the shattered table, the upturned couch and Dean's bloodied face. Sam was having trouble registering their shock, any emotion being overpowered by the pang of worry that stabbed at his stomach when Dean discreetly leant against him, needing the support to remain standing.
"Dangerous suckers, those rats," Dean himself offered by way of explanation.
"What happened?" the mother asked, tentatively reaching to touch her pocketed wall but pulling back at the last second, unsure.
Dean's eyes slid towards Jamie. "The rats bit back."
"We'll pay for the damage," Sam quickly cut in, wanting to avoid any confrontations.
"The fuck we will!" Dean exclaimed, his hands clutching his sides.
The family's eyes grew even wider, taken aback by his swearing, while Jamie's eyes clouded in anger.
"Watch your tongue!" the father said.
"Fuck no!" Dean retorted, fed up with this whole day and by this whole death-will-become-me scenario. "I was almost been electrocuted – or something ocuted – in your goddam fucking house! I think I deserve to swear as much as I goddam like. I'm not paying for this wall until you pay for that…rat…trying to kill me!" Dean gathered the rest of his energy and limped towards the front door, muttering the whole way: "This whole stupid town owes me one big fat bastard of an apology. Did you hear that, psycho town! I'm swearing! What are you going to do about it?" He slammed the door behind him and trudged to his car, slumping into the backseat.
Sam looked at the family, covering his concern for Dean with an apologetic smile. "We'll be back to fix your rat problem later," he said. Sam then quickly gathered up their things, hastily straightened the upturned couch, and followed after his brother.
"I told him he should've waited until the electricity was turned back on," Sam heard Jamie tell his family. "Bet he's sorry now."
Sam froze.
Bet he's sorry now. The words rang in his head, twirling around and around like a twisted merry-go-round.
Bet you're sorry now.