As they made it down the stairs and to the front door, Dean felt the buzzing get worse, and he heard a voice again, this time he knew it wasn't Sam talking. He was about to tell something to his brother but decided he would just ignore it and hurry up in getting this over with.

They made it to the car and Dean opened the trunk. Sam rummaged through the many guns and tools until he found an axe, he turned around and showed it to Dean and then walked back to the house. Before closing the trunk, Dean saw a familiar silver gun, he looked at it for a few moments, lost in some sort of trance. He was bolted out of it by his brother calling his name. Dean hesitated for a moment before taking it and tucking it in the back of his jeans. He closed the trunk quickly and ran after Sam, entering the house.

They went up the stairs and entered the main bedroom again. Between the two of them they pushed the extremely heavy bed aside, Sam understood in that moment why the old bed was still there. Dean walked a few steps back without saying anything and leaned against the wardrobe, crossing his arms over his chest. Sam stared at him for a moment and, taking the hint, turned back to the floor beneath him and started breaking it while muttering something angrily under his breath.

Dean stood there watching, all the while the buzzing in his ear increasing in volume. He could almost make out the words from the voice he had been hearing. He was getting anxious watching Sam make a hole in the floor, but didn't really know why. Dean's mood got worse and worse with every board that came out, and he was glaring at his brother's back watching him work when Sam suddenly stopped, turned around and said something. "What?" Dean asked, damn, he couldn't make out his brothers words over all the voices. It wasn't until then that he realized he had been listening to a chorus of voices speaking while his brother broke open the floor. "I said: 'Bingo'." Sam repeated, giving him a strange look. Dean pushed himself off the wardrobe, walked to the hole in the floor and looked in.

Baker's body lied inside a wooden box, Sam had broken and taken the lid off, Baker's skull had the left side crushed. Sam looked at the body with a pitiful look. He could understand why Claudette had killed him. The man beat her on a regular basis and she couldn't go to the police. But to bury him under her bed?. That was just sick. He didn't feel so bad for her anymore.

Dean was staring at Baker's body with a strange fascination, but was snapped out of his trance when Sam suddenly started pouring lighter fluid over the body.

Dean could hear the voices clearly now. 'Kill him.'. He stood silently, listening carefully. 'He hates you. He left. Tried to kill you.'. Dean felt his anger raise, but did nothing, he just kept listening. 'Doesn't want to be here. He thinks you're pathetic. He'll leave again. Kill him.' Dean shook his head sharply, and covered his ears with his hands. Sam was done with the lighter fluid and was now pouring salt over the body. He put down the salt bottle and patted his pockets looking for a lighter. "No!" Dean yelled. Sam turned around quickly giving his brother a questioning look. Dean was holding his head in his hands and had his eyes shut tightly.

"Dean?" Sam asked, concern evident in his voice. "Dean, what's wrong?" He took a few steps towards his brother, but stopped when Dean raised his hand, gesturing for him to stay away. "Dean, say something, what's going on?" Sam tried again.

"Run, Sammy..." Dean said in a low growl, it looked like it had taken a lot to get the words out. Sam just stared at him, confused. "What?" Sam asked, starting to worry a little.

'Kill him. Hates you. He Left. Wants to kill you. Kill him.' The whispers came in rapid successions of words, Dean could make each one out clearly, but couldn't pay attention to a particular one for they were spoken too fast. They seemed to be dancing around him, mocking him, the voices came from everywhere and nowhere at the same time, it was making him dizzy. They were annoying, but he wasn't really concerned about them. What really scared him was the darkness he could feel creeping into his head. This foreign evil thoughts that mixed with his own and made him feel confused and very, very angry. He knew they would soon overcome his mind.

Sam suddenly realized what was going on and felt stupid for not noticing earlier. "I SAID RUN!" Sam was startled by his brother's shout and knew he had to act quickly. He ran next to Dean, who was now kneeling on the floor holding his head with his eyes closed, and crouched in front of him. Sam started patting Dean's jacket, frenetically looking for the lighter, and found it in his front pocket. He reached his hand out to take it, but suddenly Dean let go of his head and caught Sam's wrist with his left hand in an iron grip. Sam looked up, his mouth open in protest, but closed it when he saw his brother's face.

Dean stared back at him, his face empty of any emotion. Dean started getting up, bringing Sam to his feet too, he hadn't let go of his wrist. They held each others gaze for a few seconds, before Dean spoke.

"How hard is it to fucking run if I say 'run' ?" He didn't wait for an answer before speaking again. "Does it physically hurt if you do as I say?" Dean sounded mad now, it seemed like he was trying to keep from raising his voice. Sam was staring at him wide eyed. "DOES IT?" Dean yelled and shoved Sam back with the same hand with which he held his wrist, suddenly letting him go. Sam wasn't expecting it and stumbled backwards, landing on his ass in the floor, at the foot of the bed.

Dean approached him, walking slowly, he had his hands behind his head and was looking at the ceiling in an exasperated manner. "But then again, you never could follow orders." He said, still not looking at him. "Maybe it really was physically impossible for you to do as you were said." Sam just stared quietly at his brother while he kept talking. "Maybe that's why I had to save your ass every time we told you to stay in the car and you disobeyed." Dean finally looked down at Sam, and stopped talking, apparently caught in a memory of some time Sam had ignored an order and Dean had to save him from getting killed because of it. Sam took the moment to try and calm his brother down.

"Dean, there's something in this house, it's messing with your head. That's why we came here, remember?" He spoke slowly watching Dean's every move cautiously. Dean gave him an outraged look and answered him in an annoyed tone. "I hate it when you talk to me like I'm a fucking retard. Of course I remember." He talked with his teeth clenched, shaking slightly. Dean was angrier than Sam had ever seen him before, he had to think of something quick.

"But you always were the smartest one. So you need to speak slow and clear so I'll understand, right?" Dean continued, Sam didn't answer. "RIGHT?" Dean yelled and Sam jumped where he sat. "You were the smart one, that's why you got to go to college, have a normal life, right? And I had to stay." Dean stopped for a moment, taking some shaky breaths before continuing. " I could have had a life too, you know? You think I'm a loser because I stayed. You think I stayed because I was dad's good little soldier?. That I stayed to make him see I was the good son?" Dean turned to look at Sam and stopped, waiting for an answer. Sam was still quiet. This was their eternal fight, and he didn't know what to say to calm his brother down. There was no correct answer.

Seeing Sam at a loss for words, Dean went on. "I stayed because I loved him! I stayed because I know what's hiding in the dark, and unlike you, I couldn't just choose to ignore it." His face was now a mixture of anger and sadness. "But you could." He scoffed. Sam noticed Dean was holding a gun. He couldn't tell when had Dean gotten a gun, but it was there now. "You could just pretend that there was nothing to be afraid of. And you went and got your apple pie life." He stopped for a moment and added with a cruel smirk. "How did that work out?" Sam's eyes widened. Evil spirit or not, Jessica was off limits. He began to get up. "Oh, come on Sammy, you know you can't take me." Dean said with an amused look. Sam stopped. He knew his brother was right. Dean always won their sparring sessions when they were kids. He had thought that maybe Dean's advantage was gone now that they were both adults and in even conditions. But the shape shifter had made him realize that Dean was still stronger. He could attribute his losing to having been tied up and beaten before the fight. But then the incident at the asylum gave no room for doubts. Dean had been the one lying on the floor after being shot in the chest with rock salt, Sam standing over him, pointing a gun to his face, and Dean had beaten him anyway. Sam knew he had no chance against a totally unharmed Dean holding a gun.

Dean saw Sam's defeat in his eyes and laughed. "Aww." He pouted mockingly. "At least, try." He said. His face suddenly serious before speaking again. "Where's the fun in killing you if you wont even fight back?" Dean's tone was death serious and Sam knew he wasn't just bluffing. He thought of the previous owners of the house, and suddenly saw their mistake. They had both been cautious of Sam being possessed, being he was the spirit magnet, as Dean called him. But Baker's spirit didn't take just any random inhabitant of the house. He went for the stronger one, the father, the husband... the big brother. What would have been the point in taking one of the Jenkins kids? Baker wanted to be sure everyone in the house died.

Sam was brought back from his thoughts by the click of the gun. He looked up to see Dean was pointing it to him. Sam realized at that moment that after killing him, Dean would kill himself, like the others had done. Without even thinking it, Sam flung his legs out, kicking both Dean's feet from under him simultaneously. Dean was caught off guard and fell forward, hitting his forehead above his right eye on the end of the bed. Sam stood up quickly and hesitated for a moment between getting the lighter and burning Baker's body or running out the door. His decision was made for him, as Dean began getting up not a second later. There was a string of blood running from a small gash where he hit the foot of the bed. Sam ran out of the room, getting down the stairs as fast as he could. He wasn't sure but he thought he heard his brother crack his neck from the bedroom.

Dean had gotten the habit of cracking his neck as a menacing gesture after seeing it in a movie as a teenager. Sam would laugh at him at first, whenever he did it, but when he had seen it actually work, he had stopped. Either chasing a Wendigo through the woods, or right before a fight in a bar, Dean cracked his neck and Sam could always see a glint of fear pass his enemies eyes.

He felt that same fear just now. Dean was going to hunt him down, like they did any supernatural thing, and kill him. He couldn't remember a single time in his life where he had been afraid of his brother, being really afraid that Dean would hurt him.

Sam stopped before the front door for a moment. What did he exactly thing he could do?. The car was closed, Dean had the keys. So getting any sort of weapon from the trunk was out of the question. Even if he managed to somehow get to the car and pop the trunk open before Dean caught up to him and shot him, what was he going to do?. Get a shotgun and kill Dean?. He didn't want to hurt his brother. The only way to help Dean, was to finish the job and burn Baker's bones. The only problem was, Dean had the lighter.

All this thoughts crossed Sam's mind in a split second before he turned to his left and entered the kitchen. He crouched between the counter and the kitchen's exit, his back against the wall, panting heavily twice, before he remembered his training, and held his breath. He remembered his first impression on the size of the house and decided he had been wrong. This house was way too small. He wished there were more places to hide.

Dean walked calmly down the stairs.

"Saaaaaaamy." Dean called in a singing manner."Come on, we're a little old for hide and seek, don't you think?." He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, and began looking around. Sam didn't move a muscle, except for his heart that was trying to pound out of his chest. He stood there, holding his breath, listening carefully for his brothers moves.

Suddenly there was a loud crashing sound, and Dean yelled. "Oh god! SAAM!". Sam caught himself in the middle of getting up, his first reflex was to run to his brothers aid, he cursed to himself and crouched back down. Dean was playing with his mind. After a few seconds Dean spoke again.

"Oh, so you won't come and help me?." He laughed. "What if I had fallen down the stairs and broken my neck?". He asked. Sam heard Dean's voice nearing him. He couldn't hear his steps. They both knew how to walk silently. After a few seconds, Sam turned to see Dean was already inside the kitchen, looking around, he still hadn't seen him. Sam got up and ran across the room to a door leading out of the house. Dean shot and failed twice. A bullet hitting the top of the counter, and the other hitting on the wall next to the door as Sam ran out.

Sam looked around for a place to hide, but the house was in the middle of what had been the cotton fields. The land was dry and eroded, and went in all directions for about a mile. Except for the occasional tree, there was nowhere to hide. He turned left and ran around the house. He still didn't know what he was going to do. As he surrounded the house, he noticed Dean had missed him twice. He wondered if somewhere deep down, Dean was fighting to gain control, or if he was just playing with him like cats did sometimes with lizards, catching them and letting them go, before finally eating them. He really hoped it was the first.

Sam stopped before a door leading to a room on the back of the house that they hadn't seen when they where searching for the bones. There was a large rectangular window along the outer wall of the room, the glass too dusty and stained to clearly see inside. He opened the door and closed it quietly behind him. He locked the door and crouched next to it, under the window. The light from the full moon entered through the window, passing just above him and landing on the floor in front of him. He looked around to what seemed to be a carpenter's room. There was a long table against the wall in front of him, with some tools on top. In the wall above the table, there were a few shelves with some cans and some more tools. On the right corner of the room, next to the table, was a big wood burning stove. The old stove sat in four short legs, about two inches above the floor. There was some more stuff around the messy room, but those were the main things in there.

Sam was suddenly startled from his inspection of the room by Dean's shadow on the floor. From the shadow the full moon provided, Sam could make out his brother's silhouette. Dean was standing on the window, his hands on the sides of his face, trying to cover the moon from reflecting on the filthy glass, that apparently kept him from seeing into the room.

Sam almost jumped when the doorknob next to him jiggled violently. The jiggling stopped and he saw Dean's shadow on the window again, trying to see through the glass. The shadow suddenly stepped back from the window and Sam let out a sigh of relief. He knew he needed a plan. He couldn't keep running away from Dean. He needed that lighter. He was going to have to ambush Dean somehow, take him by surprise and get the lighter. Sam was trying to think of how he was going to do that when suddenly he heard the sound of the window breaking. He felt some shards of glass land on top of his head and looked up to see Dean's hand holding the gun, using the cannon to remove the remaining pieces of glass that stuck to the frame of the window. Dean's hand began searching for the doorknob and Sam saw his chance. Dean still hadn't seen him.

In a single, swift motion, Sam grabbed Dean's wrist with his left hand, and the underpart of his upper arm with his right. Sam pulled with all of his strength, making Dean pass through the window, Sam stood up at the same time. He flipped Dean's body over his back, taking advantage of his height, and threw his brother against the opposite wall of the room.

Dean crashed hard against the shelves on the wall, before falling painfully over the work table with the tools in it. The old and rotten table broke down, and lifted a cloud of dust and mold. Pieces of glass fell all around them. It had all happened in a split second.

Sam covered his face with his arm and held his breath while the cloud of mold and dust dissipated. He stood there taking in the mess around him when he heard Dean cough and moan slightly. He ran to Dean's side and saw the gun lying next to him on the ground. He kicked it under the old wood burning stove where it would be out of reach, he couldn't really be sure Dean wouldn't take it from him if he grabbed it.

Dean sat up, his back to Sam, looking around a little stunned. Sam threw himself over him and grabbed him in a head lock. Wrapping his right arm around his neck, and holding that arm with the left, putting his left hand behind Dean's head. Sam began counting in his head. 1, 2, 3 . . .

Dean's stunned state lasted only a moment more before he suddenly stood up, lifting himself and Sam's weight effortlessly. Dean lifted his arms behind his head, grabbing Sam's shirt and tried flipping him over himself, like Sam had done to him just some seconds ago, but Sam was a step ahead and had wrapped his legs around Dean's waist. 25, 26, 27 . . .

After failing to flip Sam over and getting free. Dean turned around, and ran backwards, slamming Sam against the wall. Sam got the wind knocked out of him, but didn't let go, he couldn't afford to lose. 42, 43, 44 . . .

Dean was beginning to feel dizzy, Sam was cutting his air supply with his arm wrapped around his neck. He began pounding his elbows back into Sam's ribs. Sam groaned at the pain he felt on his sides, but still didn't let go. He only had to hold on a little more. He could do this.

78, 79, 80 . . . Dean felt his strength leaving him. He stumbled to his knees, still hitting his brother with his elbows, but not half as hard. His vision began to close up, leaving him with the sensation of seeing through a tunnel. 96, 97, 99 . . . Finally, Dean passed out.

Sam held on a few seconds more, to make sure Dean wasn't faking before he let go. He turned Dean on his back and, after confirming that he was breathing, picked him up and flung him over his shoulder. He cursed quietly and muttered something about 'a diet' before heading out of the room. He walked quickly around the house to the car, he didn't have much more time. He set Dean down carefully and searched his pockets for the car keys and the lighter. He opened the trunk and took out a rope, closed the trunk and turned to his brother who just lied there breathing softly. He turned Dean on his stomach, and tied his hands behind his back. He then tied his hands to his ankles. Even without the use of his hands, Dean was dangerous. Dean didn't even stir. Sam made sure the ties were tight and that his brother wouldn't be able to get free. He looked down at him for a second and smirked. He would tease him later about kicking his ass and tyeing him like a yearling calf in a rodeo.

He turned to the house and took a couple deep breaths. Baker's spirit would be pissed. He walked to the front door and peeked inside. He took the lighter in his hand and sprinted across the main room to the stairs.

The moment he entered the house, he felt Baker's presence. It wasn't the subtle whispers Dean had heard any more. As he ran up the stairs, different objects around the room began flying towards him. The spirit knew what he was up to. Sam covered his head and ducked as much as he could while running to cover himself from the flying picture frames that flew from the walls. He lifted up his head and was greeted with the sight of a lamp flying through the corridor leading to the bedroom, towards him. Sam ducked his head, barely dodging the lamp right before it hit him square in the face, and kept running. He got to the room and stood next to the hole he had done on the ground. He lit up the lighter and was about to throw it in when the heavy wardrobe in the corner moved across the room and pinned him against the wall. Sam's cry was choked as the wardrobe slammed him to the wall and the air was pushed painfully out of his lungs. The wardrobe covered his view from the hole in the floor and Baker's body. Sam pushed the wardrobe with all of his strength but it didn't move, not even an inch.

Sam's mind was racing. The wardrobe was pressing him harder and harder against the wall. He would be crushed if he didn't do something quick. Taking a hasty decision, Sam mentally calculated the location of the hole in the floor, lit the lighter again and taking his arm out between the wall and the wardrobe threw the lighter.

He heard the lighter fall down in the general direction he thought Baker's body was. Sam closed his eyes waiting for something to happen. For a moment, nothing did, but after a few seconds the wardrobe stopped moving. He opened his eyes, and saw a faint yellow, flickering glow on the wall. He pushed the wardrobe again and was surprised it wasn't has heavy as it looked. He got out from between the wall and the wardrobe and looked at Baker's body burning. He watched for a moment longer before turning around to leave the house. So much for an easy, haunted house job.

Author's note: So? Was I right? It was a little more exciting than the last chapter right? Please let me hear what you think.