Chapter 5
Dean halted his black '67 Chevy abruptly at the end of what appeared to be woods and checked his map again.
"Well that's just great!" he groused as he glanced up at the next stop on their list.
Spread out before them was a property of multiple acreage, flat as tin foil and completely void of anything except dead grasses bent over kissing the dusty landscape.
"This is gonna be impossible to approach without being seen," Sam commented unnecessarily.
"Ya think?" Dean quipped back.
"Don't think it's occupied anyways," continued Sam as he pointed to the condition of the property.
"Yeah, well, what we're looking for might not bother to trim the hedges and plant flowers in the garden, Sam."
"Just stop at the end of the driveway-we can walk up from there." Sam suggested.
Dean hesitated, eyeing the long gravel driveway that meandered up to the farmhouse which had obviously been abandoned for years.
"Yeah, okay," Dean agreed, "but keep sharp." He was clearly uncomfortable with the situation. Sam was right; there was no way to approach the house without being seen. Parking near the bottom of the driveway, if you could call it that, would at least offer them a more quiet entry, drawing less attention then pulling up to the front door with his baby rumbling loudly. Besides, chances are, if anything were inside expecting them, it probably already knew they were there.
Dean parked his baby and popped open the trunk. The boys loaded their weapons, released the safeties, and, with guns in hand, approached the farmhouse.
"Well?" Dean asked as they stood several yards away from the front of the fifth house on their list. "Anything?"
Sam sighed as he studied the broken down house that barely stood before them practically begging to be put out of its misery.
"I don't know, Dean. I don't recognize it, but I'm not sure I would, even if it were right in front of me. The vision was sketchy at best," he added wearily.
"Well, let's give it a once over, huh?" Dean spoke reassuringly. "Can't hurt." He glanced over at Sam when he noticed his little brother was rubbing his forehead.
"You okay?"
"Yeah," Sam replied softly.
"Vision?" Dean asked feeling a panic beginning to well up inside him. He always got that feeling when Sam rubbed his temples- that, 'Oh, shit!' kind of feeling that gets your heart pumping and gives you an adrenaline rush. This time, however, Dean had mixed emotions. While on the one hand, he would do absolutely anything to prevent his little brother from having to suffer from yet another vision, he also desperately wanted to know exactly what was ahead in order to be damn sure their hunt did not end in Sammy's death. Either way, he clearly recognized that the worst thing he could do would be to take Sam into a hunt feeling less than one hundred percent. He knew all too well that his little brother had absolutely no chance of defending himself once a vision grabbed hold of him. As much as he longed to know more, one thing was for sure, now was definitely not the right time for one and the 'Oh, shit!' feeling won out.
"Just a headache."
"You sure!" Dean stated firmly wanting clarity before continuing.
"Yeah," Sam repeated.
Truth was it didn't feel like either. The onset seemed too sudden to be a headache, yet it didn't increase in pain or intensity like a vision normally did. And no images were forming in his head, either.
Dean suggested Sam take a minute and he obliged. A few minutes later he visually checked his brother over and asked, "Sam, you good?"
Sam nodded. What ever it was, it hadn't gotten any worse.
Dean couldn't resist the urge to caution his brother one more time. "Let's go. Just stay close and…"
Sam interrupted rolling his eyes, "and if I see anything familiar or get my Sammy sense, let you know."
"I always knew you were the bright spark in the family, Sammy." Dean teased trying to cheer his little brother up a bit. His tone changed as he focused at the task ahead, "But seriously, Sam, keep your eyes open."
Sam spoke, attempting to ease his brother's concerns, "I'm with you, remember? My vision had me dying… ." Sam paused as the reality of his vision bubbled back up to the surface along with his fears.
"Alone. I know, Sam, and it's not happening. We're gonna stick together and make damn sure of that, okay?
"Yeah, I guess." Sam replied looking at Dean with his big brown eyes searching for some reason to believe his brother.
"No 'I guess', Sam. Sure, damn sure! You got that?"
"Yes, Sir!" Sam offered humorously.
"Cute." Dean quipped. "Dad would be proud if you used it on …him… once in a while…" Dean's voice trailed down as did his head as he realized what he had just said.
Both boys paused for a moment. Dad. Neither one had planned on bringing up that topic. Dean had spoken in the present tense. It sounded so normal to speak of John in the present. But in fact, John would never have the chance to hear Sam's "Yes, Sir," again. Both struggled with their father's death and had almost, by their silence in regard to that issue, formed an unspoken agreement not to go there. Too painful. Sam, on the one hand wished sometimes they could talk about it, about Dad. Dean on the other wouldn't go near it. Sam wondered if he really needed to talk whether Dean would allow the conversation but he decided that part of the reason his brother was going on was because he wasn't looking back and Dad was back. Sam wanted to allow Dean to keep the wall up for as long as he needed to, knowing that when he was ready to let Sam in, he would and Sam would be there ready to catch Dean if he should fall. It was the least he could do. Dean was always catching Sam.
After a moment of awkward silence, Dean nodded to Sam and disappeared inside the old house with Sam close behind him. Once inside, they assumed their positions: back to back, connected, guns readied, once again in fluid motion. If Sammy even breathed differently, Dean would have known instantly.
The place had been pretty stripped. The plaster on the walls was chipped and cracked; some pieces lay shattered on the floor. Most of the windows were broken and all of the furniture had been removed years before, though the worn paths in the floor boards hinted as to where the furniture might have been.
The floor of the old place creaked under the heavy footsteps of the experienced hunters. They had taken up their typical back to back formation, weapons raised on full alert. They traveled room to room on the first level without so much as a concern. The boys arrived at the staircase and glanced upwards. It looked pretty much the same. Dean glanced back at Sam.
"Anything?"
Sam shook his head. The motion aggravated the pain in his head and it briefly increased. Then, Sam sensed something. He couldn't quite tell what it was, but somehow he couldn't help but feel that this place was familiar. It wasn't so much that anything looked familiar, although he had seen the place mostly from a backwards perspective since Dean insisted on facing forwards, it was more that feeling you get when you know you aren't in a good situation but are unable to determine why. Dean interrupted Sam's unproductive scattered thoughts.
"Let's try upstairs," the older sib whispered, "I'd rather check the whole place out and cross it off, if we can."
Dean cautiously began his ascent up the staircase with Sam covering his back. The stairs were rickety at best and begged to be repaired or turned into firewood. Dean cautioned Sam about the third and seventh stairs by gesturing downward. Sam gladly stepped over them, his long legs a clear advantage in this situation. Unfortunately, Dean's attention to Sam's safety caused him to misjudge the eleventh step. As he placed his full weight on the presumably sturdy step, it suddenly gave way. He began to pitch right falling towards the rickety railing which easily gave way to clear a path straight down for Dean.
"Dean!" Sam hollered and grabbed for Dean's jacket with his free hand attempting to try to prevent the disaster unfolding before his eyes. Dean teetered on the edge for only a moment before the force of Sam's pull yanked him back to safety. He slid down one step landing practically on top of Sam while Sam attempted to ease his brother's descent. The end result was Dean sitting in Sam's lap.
Dean quickly recovered and couldn't help but take advantage of the situation by humiliating his little brother. "Sam, I know ya love me, but…"
Sam snorted and pushed his brother off his lap half grinning and half shaking his head that he had given his brother the opportunity to once again get the better hand in the situation.
"You wish." Sam teased back.
"Oh, and by the way, if anyone or anything had any doubts that we were here. I'm sure they're completely gone!" he said sarcastically. Between the splitting and falling wood and Sam, hollering Dean's name, the opportunity for stealth had long gone by. (Good thing John wasn't there to see his expert training fall to pieces.)
Suddenly, both boys were startled by the sound of a truck pulling up into the gravel driveway.
"Great." Dean barked as he looked back at Sam. "Police, maybe? That's all we need."
Both boys began to make their way back down the staircase carefully avoiding the steps that looked ready to give way. Dean peered out the small broken window at the bottom.
"Son of a Bitch," Dean exclaimed, "Denton." His eyes immediately went dark as he grabbed Sam's jacket and protectively pulled him back away from the window. "The bastard must have followed us here."
Sam glanced at Dean and could see the wheels turning furiously in Dean's eyes.
"Stay here. I'll get rid of the bastard." Dean commanded.
"I thought the plan was to stay together?" Sam questioned, half afraid of Dean going out to face this maniac by himself, and half uncomfortable about being alone. They had pretty much checked out the place and he was fairly convinced that if anything had been there, their commotion would have stirred it into action. Still, he had a nagging feeling that something wasn't quite right and then there was the pain in his head.
Dean frowned, his face taking on that all too familiar half angry, more worried look. He was between a rock and a hard place. Leave Sam alone to possibly fulfill the vision or parade him in front of an experienced hunter who had boldly declared Sam to be his prey.