Chapter 6:

He took the mixture into the palm of his hand and spread it on the door reciting the chant he had memorized. With a silent prayer he tried the knob. It opened easily. Cautiously with gun drawn and holy water within reach in his pocket, he stepped through the threshold. It was quiet. Too quiet. The boys were not in sight. He stepped a little further in and the door slammed shut behind him. He turned quickly and tried to re-open it, but it was to no avail. Damn it! Obviously the spell only worked one way. Wish someone would have told me that!

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Sam flew back into the attic. He scanned it quickly. When there was no sign of the ghost or his brother he headed out. His mind was whirrling with worry. There were so many rooms in this place and three floors. He only prayed he could find Dean before it was too late.

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Dean opened his eyes slowly. His vision was blurry, but he could make out that he was in a bedroom. And he was laying on a bed. He didn't remember any bedrooms on the first floor. He figured he must of been up on the second or third. How the hell did he get up there? His eyes continued to scan, looking for any sign that his brother was with him. He saw nothing. Peering to the window he could see that the sun was down now, only slight remnants of light remained, but they would be gone in a few minutes. Letting out a frustrated sigh he tried to sit up, and was unpleasantly surprised to find his hands tied down. He looked at both of his wrists and found them wrapped in rope that led to under the bed. He couldn't move them. He looked to his feet and found them tied too. Just fucking great , he thought. He wondered what happened to Sam. Please be all right, he thought. I'm sorry I failed you. He felt his eyes begin to close again.

But as was inevitable, and just the Winchester luck, Mr. Wells was suddenly standing over Dean, looking down at him with those wild eyes. Dean suddenly laughed, bringing a look of confusion to the ghost's face.

"What do you find so funny young man?"

Dean laughed harder, "You're not even fucking real. I'm laying here looking at your eyes, and they aren't even real. You're dead you stupid bastard. And you don't even get how not real you are." He laughed again. He figured he was delirious, but he didn't care. It was ironically funny.

"You won't be laughing for long. We have some unfinished business."

"And that would be?" Dean asked with a hint of sarcasm.

"You need to atone for your sins. I am here to help you find the right path."Dean rolled his eyes. "You young man have broken every law of the Bible and the ten commandments."

Dean released a small laugh. "Yeah, cause you should be talking about the bible. You murdered your own fucking family. You murdered strangers. And you're going to hell." Dean smiled his evil smile, "And I'll be sending you there."

Mr. Wells laughed at this, "Let's begin." He began to walk back and forth from each side of the bed to the other. "I don't think I've ever met anyone who's been as full of sin as you. Where to begin?" He stopped and stared straight at Dean, "How about lying. You're an excellent liar. Having a forked tongue comes so easily to you."

"Yeah, it's called survival." Dean spit out.

"My dear boy, haven't you learned anything yet. You will be punished for your sins until you ask for forgiveness." With that Dean felt that familiar agonizing jolt. His body arched against the bed, his jaw clenching. But fortuneatly for him, it didn't last long. His body slumped deeper into the bed. "Do you have something to ask for young man?"

"I could really go for a beer." Dean spat back.

Mr. Wells shook his head and backhanded Dean across the face. "You will learn respect." Just as Dean thought another jolt was coming his way Mr. Wells turned his back on him and faced the door. He stood still for a moment as if listening to something. Then he turned back to Dean, "I'll be right back. I need to take care of something first."

He disappeared. Dean knew he was probably going after Sam. He tried with everything he could to move, but his body just wouldn't obey his commands. He felt the sudden urge to close his eyes and allow the darkness to take him. He wanted to fight, but he just couldn't.

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He felt the rush of cold air. He knew it was coming. He reached into his pocket and withdrew the holy water and uncapped it. He was prepared for what it was going to throw at him. He knew all about this bastard. Just as the light appeared and the outline of Mr. Wells took form he doused it with holy water and said the memorized latin words. The ghost hissed and disappeared. He smiled. That didn't kill it, but it would keep it away for a good long while.

As he was about to turn his attention back to the door he heard a familiar voice.

"Dean! Where are you!"

It was Sammy. Forgetting about the door he headed up the rickety stairs towards the youngest's voice. The darkness had finally decended on the house. He pulled out his flashlight and shined it ahead of him. When he found himself at the landing to the second story he stopped to listen again. He heard Sammy's voice again calling for his brother. And he heard his footsteps. He was on the floor above him. It had to be almost pitch black up there, how the hell could he see anything?
He headed up the next flight of stairs.

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Sam had frantically been throwing open every door along the hallway screaming for his brother. "Dean!" The fucking silence was killing him and the darkness was making his search almost impossible. He had to actually enter every room to see if his brother was there. It was taking too much time. Time he feared Dean didn't have. He came back to the beginning of the third floor and stood at the landing. He wasn't sure if he had checked behind every door this floor had, but he had been calling for Dean and got no answer. He decided to take a chance and head down to the second floor.

He took the steps in easy strides, skipping some as he went, but fearing the creaking noises that came every time he put his weight down on one. He had suddenly realized just how long the stairs were. This was an old house, and a very tall house. All of the stairs were long and steep. They didn't make houses like this anymore, he thought. Just as he was halfway down he heard a shuffling noise. He was tempted to call out for his brother, but he bit down on his lip. There was every possiblity it wasn't Dean. He stopped and ducked down when he saw a large beam of light coming his way. The light made it's way to the bottom of the stairs, and then suddenly it was shining right on him. It was bright. So bright he couldn't see what was behind it. But then he heard the voice.

"Sam?"

He looked up, his eyes as wide as they could be in surprise. Could it really be?
"Dad?"

"Sammy, are you okay?" John asked as he headed up the few steps towards him. He reached his youngest son and reached out to embrace him, which totally shocked Sam. This was so unlike his father. Not that the man never showed them affection, but he usually wasn't that forthcoming with hugs. But Sam was so tired and mentally drained he was thankful, and he didn't hold back.

That was until his Dad tried to pat his back. "Ow!" Sam yelled and flinched back.

Immediately John was alarmed, but he kept his cool. "Where are you injured?" He asked shining the light directly on Sam.

Sam looked down, embarrassed by showing his weakness in front of his father. "It's nothing. I'm fine. Really. Just a little sore."

"Don't lie to me Sam. I need to know how bad you are injured."

Sam sighed, it was no good to lie to his Dad. He would be able to see right through him, and he wouldn't let it go until Sam spoke up. Sam smiled, Dean was a lot like him. "I hit my head earlier, but it's just throbbing a little. My back is a little worse."

"Let me see it."

"Dad, it'll keep until we can get out of here."

"Don't make me ask again Sam." His father replied, with that familiar military stern voice.

"Fine." Sam relented. He turned around and lifted up his jacket and t-shirt.

John hissed at the sight of his child's back. "Damn it Sam." Although he wasn't really blaming him. "You may need stitches. " He gently put Sam's clothing back down. "Where's your brother?"

Sam's gaze fell to the floor. Quietly he said, "I don't know."

"You don't know? Explain."

"The ghost took him. I looked on the third floor." He shook his head, "I'm sure I missed a few places, but I don't think he's up there."

John could sense his younger son's frustration and worry. "Don't worry about Dean. He'll be fine. He always is." He gently touched Sam's shoulder and started to lead him down the stairs.

"Dad, how did you get in, and why are you here?"

"Long story Sammy. I'll tell you later. Where's your flashlight? We're gonna need more light."

"I don't have one." Sam admitted, bracing for the lecture he knew was about to come.

"What do you mean you don't have one." John stopped and looked Sam over again. "And where the hell is your stuff. All I see is one shotgun. Where's your supplies?"

Sam sighed, "We didn't bring in anything but a couple guns. We weren't planning on staying. We were just gonna check it out and come back tonight. We didn't expect it to turn out like this."

A stern look came across John's face. "You didn't expect? You came in here unprepared! What the hell did I spend all these years teaching the two of you!"

"Dad...can we not do this right now..."

"Don't Dad me! I told you, always be prepared! Always! Damn it! Dean knows better than that!"

"Don't start assigning blame Dad!" Sam took a step back and mentally counted to ten. They didn't have time for this shit. "Look, yell at us all you want later. Right now, can we please go find Dean, and then leave!"

John huffed and started down the stairs, leaving Sam to trail behind him. "Right now we are getting out of here and go out back to salt and burn the damn bones."

Sam stopped abruptly. "What! I'm not leaving here without Dean!"

John turned to face his son. "Look Sam, I got rid of old Mr. Wells for the time being. But he will be back, and he will try to keep us from getting out. The only way to help your brother is to get rid of that son of a bitch!"

Sam was furious, he really wished he could deck his father right now. He was bringing back all of the old memories of what made Sam leave in the first place. "Do you even care that your son might be dying somewhere in one of these rooms!"

"Dammit Sam! Of course I care! But wasting time right now is not going to help him! The ghost is out of the picture for now, we need to get rid of it permanently! Then we'll be able to help your brother. And right now you are wasting time acting like a child throwing a tantrum!"

Sam stood tall and faced his father with a face of stone, "You listen to me Dad. I am no longer a child who needs to obey your orders. Dean and I have been just fine this last year without you. You may care more about the job than us, but that isn't how we play the game. I will not leave here without him. Do you understand that?"

John was a little taken back. He and Sam had always clashed, ever since the kid knew how to talk. But his son had just stood up to him in a way he never had before. Like a man. And although John was mildly impressed, he was at the same time furious. They were wasting precious time standing here arguing. And if Dean was hurt, they could be costing him minutes. But his little spell would only repell that damn ghost for so long. He sighed a large frustrated sigh. As much as the marine in him told him to get the job done quickly and then help the wounded, the father in him couldn't let his sons' down. Again. He looked Sam in the eyes, and saw the anger boiling. "All right Sam. We make this fast."

Sam nodded. "Good. Like I said, I checked upstairs and the attic. Let's start on the second floor."

John agreed but before they headed out he reached into his pack. He pulled out a vial of holy water and another gun and handed them to Sam. "I plan on repeating a few of the basic rules as soon as this is all over."

Whatever, Sam thought, but he didn't vocalize it. He was just glad they were going to find Dean first. His Dad could be a prick sometimes, but even though they argued, Sam knew that deep down his Dad loved them. He was just too emotionally challenged to show it.

Dean slowly opened his eyes. At first he thought maybe he was blind, and for a moment he began to panic. But then he realized that it was just that the sunlight was gone. His head was spinning and there wasn't an inch of his body that didn't hurt, from the inside out. His mind was fuzzy and he was having trouble remembering everything that had happened to him. But there was one thing he couldn't forget. The electricity. God he was tired of electricity. How much more could his insides be scrambled? Oh well, he thought, at least I'm still breathing.

Slowly he tried to sit up and that's when he remembered he was tied down. Shit! Slowly and deliberately he began to twist his wrists. The rope was tight and it quickly started to rub his wrists raw, but he had to ignore the pain. He wasn't sure how long he had been out, and he had no idea where Sam was. Or if Sam was alive. That last thought got him even more motivated. He wildly fought at his restraints. He felt the rope become slick with his blood, but he kept pressing on.

After what seemed like an eternity he felt the right rope loosen. "About time" he said aloud. He was a little surprised at how hoarse his voice was. He suddenly realized how thirsty he was. He swallowed and his throat was so dry. He pushed those thoughts away. No time to think about yourself idiot. With one final hard tug he managed to slip his right wrist out of the rope. He reached over to his left and undid it, then moved to his feet. His wrists were dripping blood but he ignored it as he heaved himself off the bed. When he first tried to stand upright his jello-like legs wouldn't hold him and he crashed to his knees. Gasping for breath he steadied himself and tried to stand again. This time he succeeded in staying upright. Slowly, with his hands out in front of him, he shuffled his way around the room looking for the door. When he finally found it he cautiously tried to open it. It opened with ease. "Finally something is going right."

He made his way to the dark hallway. He wasn't sure what floor he was on or where the stairs were. He took a chance and headed to the right. But halfway down his body once again betrayed him. His joints and muscles were on fire and his limbs simply did not want to work right. He leaded back against the wall and let himself fall to the floor. He told himself he was only going to sit there long enough to get his breath back and then head out in search of his brother. But his eyes began to involantarily close. Before they closed all the way however, a light caught his attention. It was heading his way, bouncing all over the walls. It was a flashlight. "It's about time Sammy." He whispered.

They headed down the second hallway on the floor. So far they had no luck in locating Dean. Sam was going crazy with worry, barely able to control his emotions. His dad however, was the picture of calm. How did he do it, Sam wondered. He only prayed that they found Dean quickly, before his Dad decided to give up the search and finish the job. And just as those thoughts crossed his mind the light from the flashlight found a form slumped over in the middle of the hallway.

"Dean!" Sam screamed and ran to his brother. He knelt before him. Dean slowly opened his eyes. Sam could see how unfocused they were. "Dean, say something." Sam pleaded.
Dean smiled and hoarsely said, "Where the hell have you been?"

"Me? You're the one who disappeared!" Sam tried to let a laugh escape, but it was more like a sob.

"You okay?" Dean asked.

"I'm fine Dean. Come on, let's get you up."

Dean was about to try and resist Sam's help, but he figured since he did really want to get out of there, it was best to let him. As Sam placed his hand under Dean's left arm he put his right arm against the wall to help. He almost let out a yell when he felt someone take his right arm. He jerked back and looked to the figure now standing beside him.

He couldn't believe his eyes. He must be hallucinating, he thought. "Dad?"

"Hello son."

-TBC-

Thanks again for reading. Please (and I hate to beg) but, review!