It was evening before they made their way over to the house where all the disappearances had occurred.
"Yup, it certainly looks like a haunted house." Dean grumbled, staring over at the wooden structure that had most definitely seen better days. The building was deteriorating, rotting right through. It looked as if one harsh windstorm could topple the whole thing to the ground.
Sam shook his head in exasperation as he came to stand beside his brother at the trunk. Dean looked down into their arsenal, and then over at Sam's vibrating fingers, trying to decide what weapons the kid could handle. The younger man paid him no mind as he grabbed a crowbar and hooked it onto his belt. Next, he grabbed the shotgun and pocketed several extra rocksalt shells.
Dean bit his tongue to keep from questioning Sam about his capabilities. He wasn't sure the kid would be able to grip the large weapon, let alone pull the trigger or refill it – if it became necessary – but he had to trust that his brother knew what he was doing. He knew better than to ever think for a moment that Sam would fail to protect him, but he would be lying if he said he wasn't concerned about the younger man protecting himself.
"I got this, Dean."
The confident statement had the hunter tearing his gaze away from the long trembling fingers and up at Sam's face. He was looking at his big brother, a small smile playing on his lips and his eyes oozing understanding.
"I know." Dean remarked gruffly, grabbing his own choice of weapons before slamming the trunk closed, and heading toward the house.
He heard Sam fall into step behind him, and felt at ease. They had been hunting together for a while now, but his heart still settled when he could sense the younger man at his back. He had grown up accustomed to having his little brother following him, and not only when they were hunting. When the kid had gone off to school, everything had changed. He had missed - not only having someone watch his back - but having someone around who he was in sync with, having someone who trusted him and who he trusted so implicitly in return, having someone who constantly reminded him of who he was and what was important to him.
Dean's own identity was wrapped up so completely in his little brother that without him, he not only lost half of his soul, but he lost his focus, and he lost himself.
Sam kept him in-check, he kept him balanced, he kept him from getting lost in the hunt.
He kept Dean…Dean.
And he did it all without saying a single word.
Damn, he had missed his kid.
"Alright, let's stick together on this one. The police have searched the house several times and never found any of the missing people, so we need to stay together and make sure we don't get sucked into whatever hiding place this spirit has been stashing the bodies." He reasoned.
Sam nodded in agreement. As stubborn as the kid was, he nearly never questioned his big brother when they were on a hunt. During the research and planning, Sam was nothing but inquiries, but when it came to the actual execution of the hunt, he followed Dean's lead without reservation, trusting him to know what was best. It was a trust Sam had never given to their father (or rather a trust the man never earned) it was something the older boy wasn't sure he deserved, but was extremely fucking grateful for.
They crept up the porch, all subtlety ruined by the creak of each wooden floorboard and the scream of the hinges on the front door. They walked in together, their shoulders brushing as Sam watched Dean's back and Dean watched Sam's front.
They searched the house, the main floor first and then they marched up to the top floor. Every corner that they rounded they had their weapons ready and were fully prepared for an attack at any point, but none came.
"Well that was anti-climactic." Dean mumbled as they returned to the first floor.
"I don't understand where all the victims disappeared to." Sam pondered, glancing curiously around the living room.
"Is there a basement or a cellar of some sort?"
"Not on the blueprints for the build." Sam dismissed with a shake of his head.
Dean frowned. "Well maybe we should circle around the house to make sure. Some of the older houses had separate access points to the cellars."
Sam nodded in agreement and they made their way back to the front entrance, only to have the large wooden door slam closed in front of them.
"What the hell?" Dean barked, as they both hefted their shotguns up, ready to take aim at anything that moved.
They spun around at the sound of the large grandfather clock chiming. The strange thing was the hands on the clock hadn't moved since they entered, displaying a time of 2:20, which it was not. The clock proceeded to clang, so Dean slid the handgun out of his waistband and shot three holes in the face of the old time-piece. The room fell quiet and he looked over to Sam, who had sheer amusement painted across his expression.
"What?" The older boy asked.
"Seriously? You just shot a clock, Dean. You a little trigger happy or something?" Sam questioned with a smirk.
"It was annoying." He shrugged dismissively, about to make another comment before an eerie voice floated through the air.
"Two boys come to play? Two boys want to die today?" A high female tone sang throughout the house.
The hunters stood at the ready, looking all around, trying to find the source of the sound.
"Oh, look, they brought toys! It will be all the more fun to kill the boys!"
The second line of the psychotic ballad, was followed by a squeal of manic laughter.
"You seeing anything?" He asked Sam, not failing to notice how the voice was getting louder with each word.
"Nothing." His brother grunted, flinching as the clock began to chime again.
Something that was more than concerning seeing as how Dean had shot the face right off it, there was no way that hunk of crap should be working.
"Hope you both said farewell to your mommies. No one will ever be finding your bodies."
Dean clenched his jaw, unimpressed with the latest lyric, and the gleeful way it was recited.
"Come little ghosty it's time to die, so then Sam can buy me some pie." He sang out. He had his eyes scanning the room for movement, but he didn't fail to notice the smirk that pulled at Sam's lips.
"You're such a child." The younger man cackled, amusement colouring his exasperation.
"She started it." Dean retorted, instinctively ducking as a lamp came flying at his noggin.
"Cruel boys die faster! Bite your tongue or be ready to suffer."
Sam shot a few rounds in the direction where the lamp had come from, but was interrupted by a chair that sailed in from the other side of the room and slammed into his back.
"Sam!" Dean cried out, watching as the tall frame tumbled to the ground, only to scramble back up a second later. "Where the hell is she?" He shouted, shooting off into the kitchen, near the table where the chair had originally been resting.
"No idea." Sam grunted, ducking as a glass plate flew toward his face.
"Hey! Come at me, you bitch!" Dean hollered, trying to get the spirit's attention on him, as another piece or dishware was launched at his brother.
"We need to burn her body." Sam stated, pulling him out of the path of a flying mirror.
"We've got to find the damn thing first." Dean pointed out, shoving Sam around the corner as the kitchen table sailed across the room.
"That's what you want to see? Just dead unimportant little me?"
The house became still at the words. Sam and Dean stood in the middle of the mess, panting from the exertion of dodging soaring objects, weapons raised and ready for battle.
"Yeah that's right, sweetheart. Show us where your bones are." He muttered, more to himself than the psychotically-poetic spirit.
"I must warn you that there is a hefty fee; after all, nothing in life is free."
Before he was able to decrypt the latest line, a nearly-translucent young lady appeared behind Sam, smiling sickly at the older hunter as she grabbed his brother's collar and then they both disappeared from sight. Dean wasn't given even a second to aim and shoot, and he didn't think Sam had even registered the spirit's presence before she grabbed hold of him and they both vanished. Dean stared at the spot Sam had been standing just a moment ago, where only his shotgun and crowbar remained.
"No! SAM!" He shouted, frantically searching for his little brother, listening for any noise that would indicate his whereabouts. "You bring him back here, you, supernatural piece of shit!" He ordered, slamming the butt of his shotgun through the wall, out of sheer fury.
"You best save your breath, or you will join him in death." The spirit rhymed as she appeared a few short feet in front of the remaining hunter.
Dean clenched his shotgun, wanting nothing more than to unload it in the face that was smiling ecstatically, but he needed to know where his little brother was more than he needed to satisfy his mounting rage.
"Where is he? What'd you do with my brother?" He ground out, his jaw clenching in violent ire.
"You can run away from here, or you can join the boy there." She sang out playfully.
"I'm not leaving without Sam." He declared, loud and clear.
"I can take you to your friend, but with him your life will meet a bitter end."
"I don't give a shit, just take me." He demanded, tossing his shotgun to the ground and taking a step closer to the shimmering figure.
The young lady tilted her translucent head to the side, a curious look replacing her previous expression of absolute glee.
"I'm offering to set you free? But with your brother you would rather be?"
"Damn right, you psychotic bitch."
"You will die."
It wasn't a rhyme this time, or a song, or a game. It was an assured statement, both a warming and a promise, a guarantee.
Dean didn't even have to think, not for a moment.
"I don't care. Take me to Sam. I'd rather die with him than walk out of here free and clear." He admitted to more than he had intended to, but it was all the truth.
The spirit appeared perplexed, but it was only a second before the gleeful grin spread sickeningly across her face and she reached out to Dean. He had to force myself not to react as she wrapped her cold ghost fingers around his wrist, fighting every instinct in his body that was screaming at him to fight. He couldn't find Sam without her, and even if there was a chance that he could, it was a risk he wouldn't take, not with Sammy on the hook.
Dean felt a rush of air, and sensed the world twist around him. He closed his eyes, fighting off the nausea that hit, and then – as if nothing at all had occurred – he found himself standing in a dark room.
He glanced next to him in time to see the spirit fade out of sight. He looked around the room. There were bodies littering the small area. Some were nearly skeletal, others were in various stages of decomposition, and two appeared to be recently deceased – they looked very much like the pictures of the latest victims he had seen not long ago. He continued scanning until his gaze landed on a long frame sprawled on its side against the far wall. All facial features were hidden behind a curtain of hair, but he already knew who it was.
"Sam!" He called, rushing over to the younger man.
Unease settled over him at the absence of a reply. He swept the unruly brown locks away and held his little brother's face between his hands. His heart stopped at the cool feeling of his brother's skin, the kid was so pale; the only colour to be found was the red blood leaking down the side of his head. Dean's hand shook as he placed two fingers against Sam's neck, praying to anyone and anything that he would find a pulse.
"C'mon Sammy. Don't you dare leave me." He begged, his voice shaking as he waited to feel the thump of life beneath his fingers.
A sigh of relief rushed from his lungs as he found what he had been pleading for.
"That's my boy." He praised softly, swiping away the moisture that had accumulated in his eyes. He wanted to check him over – knew that he should – clearly the kid had been treated roughly, but he just couldn't tear his eyes away from Sam's face. He slid his fingers off the long neck and placed his palm against Sam's chest, just needing a minute of feeling the beat of his heart, to remind himself that his kid was alright. He kept staring at the younger man's eyelids, willing them to open.
"Wake up for me, buddy, okay? Just for a minute. I just need a second." He begged, combing his hair to the side of his forehead with his fingers, then palming his cheek, to keep his head up. As if Sam could sense how badly he needed him to be conscious, he began to come around.
"De?" He slurred.
"Yeah, Sammy. It's me, I'm right here. Can you open your eyes for me, kiddo?" He questioned, using the sleeve to wipe some blood off Sam's brow, as he gently rubbed his chest.
"De." He sighed, while he reached out blinding in his older brother's direction, his long fingers latching onto the front of his shirt.
"Right here, dude. Now let me see those puppy dog eyes of yours."
A shiver tore its way up the lanky frame. Dean frowned, now noticing how cold it was and knowing he would have to find a way to warm Sam up, but first he needed the kid to look at him.
"Sam! Come on, buddy. Open your eyes." His request was firm this time, letting Sam know that he was serious. He impatiently tapped him on the cheek, prompting a response.
"Stop." Sam mumbled, trying to roll his head away, but Dean wouldn't let him, not yet sure of the extent of all his injuries.
"I will, as soon as you look at me." He compromised.
Sam released an indignant huff, before slowly forcing his eyelids up.
"That's it." Dean praised unable to keep the smile from his face.
"Hey." The younger man rasped, once he could finally focus his gaze.
Before he could reply, Sam's eyes went wide and he gasped out in what sounded like pain, as he curled forward. His fingers pulled at Dean's shirt as he ground his forehead into his big brother's collarbone.
"What? Sam, what is it? Where you hurt?" The hunter questioned, panic rising in his chest as he listened to Sam's strangled breathing.
"L-left l-l-leg." He stuttered out, between agonized inhales.
Dean pulled back as much as the younger man would allow and scanned down his body until he landed on the source of his little brother's pain.
"Fuck." He spat. There was an object protruding from the calf of Sam's left leg. Dean wasn't able to identify the weapon, but whatever it was, it went in one side of the limb, and out the other. It appeared to have been stabbed right through the calf muscle.
"What the hell is that?" Dean muttered, fingers ghosting down the long leg as he did his best to analyze the injury without causing an escalation of agony.
He heard Sam mutter something into his chest.
"What?" He asked, ducking his head closer to his brother's mouth and rubbing his hand soothingly up and down his back, trying to ignore the shivers he could feel coursing through the thin frame.
"Bone." Sam repeated.
Dean squinted in confusion. It looked as though he had been stabbed through the muscle, but perhaps the bone had been broken as well.
"It's broken?"
Sam's head moved from side to side, his forehead pushing harder against Dean's collarbone.
"She stabbed him with a bone." He croaked.
Dean felt bile travel up his esophagus and was forced to swallow a few times before speaking again. "That thing shishkabobbing your leg, that's a bone?" He seethed, his distress morphing into fury.
He felt Sam's head move up and down against his chest.
"Yeah." He confirmed hoarsely. "She snapped it off one of the bodies, broke it in half and used the sharp edge to pierce my leg."
"That bitch!" Dean snapped, glaring over at his brother's bloody leg and the fucking bone sticking out of it. He was pulled from his anger by the fingers that were wound into the front of his shirt, and were tugging him desperately closer.
"Whoah!" He exclaimed as he was nearly pulled off balance.
"Cold." Sam whispered, so quietly that he was pretty sure he hadn't intended for dean to even hear it.
"I know. I got you." He promised, wrapping both his arms around the shivering body and allowing Sam to tuck himself into the larger frame. They remained in that position for a few moments, until Sam was at least a little warmer and had regained his composure. Dean didn't move until the younger man began to pull away.
"You hurt anywhere else?"
"My head is pounding." Sam admitted quietly.
"Yeah, you got a cut up in your hairline, but it's not deep."
Sam nodded minutely at the information.
"What happened?"
"She grabbed me, and then we were here. Before she could disappear again, I grabbed the salt from my pocket and tossed it at her, she didn't like that. Next thing I knew I was airborne, slammed into the wall. I must have been out for a second because when I opened my eyes she was standing over me with the bone in her hand. I watched her break it in half, but before I could do anything, she rammed it into my leg. She said something about how my death would have been more pleasant if I hadn't caused trouble. She said I would die alone."
Sam shivered again, Dean wasn't sure if it was the memory, the thought of dying alone, or the cold, but regardless – he didn't like it.
"I don't remember what happened after that." He admitted.
Throughout his brother's recollection, Dean had been cleaning the blood from his face with his sleeve, placing pressure against the cut until the oozing had ended.
"I'm going to take a look at your leg." He warned him, being sure he was supported by the wall, before moving down closer to the injury.
It looked painful. Really fucking painful. Blood leaked out both the entrance point and the exit. The limb trembled, in what was likely equal parts pain and cold. The shin bone appeared to be intact, but the muscle was obviously perforated. Dean knew that the chance of an old human bone leading to an infection was pretty damn likely, but he also knew that if he were to remove the object than Sam could bleed out. So, for now, the possibility of an infection was better than the promise of death.
Either way, Dean needed to get his little brother some medical attention, and he needed to do it fast.
He slid out of his jacket and then out of his over-shirt. He tore off one of the flannel sleeves and used it as a tourniquet. Sam hissed as the fabric was cinched around his leg. Dean patted his brother's chest in apology, before standing to survey their surroundings.
The walls around them were brick, the floor was made of dirt, and the ceiling high above them was wooden, and there was no apparent exit anywhere. He pulled out his cell, not surprised to see there was no signal. He grunted, shoving the useless device back into his pocket.
"How the hell do we get out of here?" He wondered aloud, taking a closer inspection of the surrounding walls, being sure there was no hidden door.
"Feels like we are under ground. We've got to be beneath the house, in a cellar of some sort." Sam observed.
Dean instantly looked up at the information, searching for anything in the ceiling that looked as though it may be an exit.
"She teleported us in here somehow, but there should still be a manual exit." Sam mused, as he gazed around, inhaling sharply as his attempt at adjusting positions jostled his injured limb.
"Hey! Keep still, dude. The last thing we need is for you make that leg any worse." Dean scolded, not surprised by the irritated look Sam threw his way, but satisfied when he refrained from shifting any further.
The elder hunter turned his attention back to the ceiling above them, it looked as though there was an outline of some sort of square trap door. It was way too high up though, there was no chance of him reaching the damn thing, and nothing that he could stand on to get closer…except, maybe, the bodies. He surveyed the perimeter of the space, counting up the bodies, mentally calculating how high they would be if he stacked them on top of each other.
"Dean, no. That's - you can't." Sam interjected, reading his mind.
"I'm not psyched about it either, but you seeing anything else I can stand on?" At the silence, he continued. "I don't have a lot of options here, kiddo." He glanced back at his brother, who appeared to be all levels of disturbed, but nodded his head in understanding.
The process was nauseating to say the least, dragging bodies across the floor to stack in the middle of the room was nasty enough, but their various levels of decomposition made it all the more repulsive. Every time Dean looked over at Sam, he was either staring sympathetically at him or cringing in disgust at the growing pile of corpses. However, neither of his chosen expressions were capable of hiding the agony the kid was in or how cold he was. The pain lining his brother's face only grew more intense over time, and once Dean had finished constructing the mountain of death – the title he had granted the gruesome structure – he could clearly spot the shivers attacking Sam's thin frame. Dean caught sight of the jacket he left on the ground next to the younger hunter when he was tending to his leg, and shook his head at his own stupidity as he walked toward it. He snagged the coat and crouched down in front of his brother, because of course Sam wouldn't just think to put the damn thing on by himself.
"Lean forward." He ordered softly.
"Dean, it's getting colder, you're going to need that."
Damn, this stupid kid, stabbed in the leg, shaking like a fucking leaf, and concerned for his big brother.
"Nah man, as it turns out, stacking bodies makes you work up quite a sweat."
Sam made a face, but allowed the older man to leverage him forward and slide his jacket in behind him. Dean pulled it over the broad shoulders and waited for Sam to slip his arms into the sleeves, the kid's hands were shaking so violently he had a difficult time lining them up with the holes.
"Fuck, Sammy." Dean cursed, grabbing onto one of his hands as it appeared out the end of the sleeve. His fingers were frozen, you would think they had been in a damn ice bucket or something.
"I'm alright." Sam dismissed.
"We should have brought your gloves." Dean bit out with a frown.
"Too late for any of that now. Couldn't shoot proper with them anyways. I'm fine."
Dean levelled Sam with a disbelieving look, and then glanced down at his leg. "Yeah, you're friggen fantastic." He grunted.
Dean patted his brother's chest before stepping away and turning back to his abhorrent creation. The pile of bodies was high enough that he was going to have to physically climb it to be on top.
"I'm pretty sure this is this is the nastiest thing I've ever done." He grumbled as he began the unsteady ascension.
"What about that waitress in Tampa."
Sam's dry comment caused a surprised burst of laughter to ripple through the older man. He had to make a conscious effort not to look down and smile at the kid, as he did not want to lose his precarious footing.
"That's a close second, but this is worse." He replied, doing his best not to breathe through his nose. Death was a rancid smell, and being in direct contact with a stack of decomposing bodies, made that scent all the more putrid.
Once he was finally atop the mountain of death dean straightened from his crouched position and reached up, only to feel the corpse shift beneath him, threatening to send him to the ground.
"Careful." Sam warned, as he fought to stay on his feet.
The pile was only about six feet tall, but the climb back up would be no fun, so Dean did his best to regain his balance. The moment he was steady enough, he stretched out as high up as he could, his fingers extended as far as possible, and still a good foot away from the wood ceiling.
"Damnit!" He cursed, scanning the ground to be sure he hadn't missed a body, or five.
A gasp sounding from the corner of the room had him looking back toward Sam, his dumbass little brother who was using the wall to leverage himself into vertical position.
"Hey! Cut that shit out!"
Sam stalled, hand against the wall supporting his half-crouch as he panted in pain from exertion. The younger man looked up at him, twitching his head to the side to get his hair out of the way, before he spoke. "I can help."
"Yeah, you can help by not making your leg worse."
Sam shook his head. "No, I can help you reach the trapdoor. I can boost you up."
"Oh really? Because I could just barely climb up here and I have two working legs. And even if you could get up here, you seriously think you'd be able to lift me up high enough to reach the top? And then what? Hoist me onto your shoulders so I can open the door and get out? What are you the Hulk?" He ranted, trying not to lose his balance.
"You can boost me up?" Sam suggested.
"Yeah, sure, should I also carry your eight-foot ass up the pile of shifting bodies as well? Just let me get my cape first." He retorted.
Sam chewed down on his lip in thought, before slowly dropping back down to sit against the wall. "Are you close enough to get a signal?'
Dean raised his eyebrow in consideration of his brother's first reasonable idea. He dug out his cellphone, flipping it open and relieved to see a single bar of service, but his disappointment returned as he watched it flicker.
"Barely, it will probably drop the call after like two seconds." He grumbled.
"Send a text."
Dean rolled his eyes, wondering how he had survived hunting for the last few years without his sasquatch- sized voice of reason. He searched for Bobby, knowing he'd probably only get enough of a signal for one quick text, and he was the only one they knew who would jump into action once receiving it. Heaven knew that John was a lost cause.
"What are you going to say?" Sam inquired, already knowing who it was Dean was going to attempt to contact.
"Sending coordinates. It has to be a short message that can send before the damn cell signal drops off again."
"You know the coordinates of the house?"
"No, stupid. The coordinates of the town. I looked it up on the map on the way here, remember?"
"You did, I never really pay much attention to those." Sam muttered, practically to himself.
Sam hadn't spent the last few years hunting alone with their father, the ex-marine was all about coordinates. Sam understood them just fine, but when speaking of a location he often just mentioned the state and town – like normal people did.
Coordinates were a shorter text, and the wobbling stack of bodies beneath Dean's feet dictated that time was of the essence. Dean had to step up on the tips of his toes to get a signal strong enough to send it. He extended the phone up as far as he could, watching the one bar flicker for a few seconds before the text appeared to have sent. There was no time for celebration, before he could even shut the phone, his human ladder disassembled, and sent him crashing to the ground.
He heard Sam shout his name.
Dean didn't have enough time to orient himself and control his fall. His back slammed into the ground, followed by his head; he felt it connect with something hard and unyielding. Pain shot through his skull and reverberated through his brain. The dismal cellar quickly began to fade away and he could just barely hear Sam's concerned tone past the buzzing in his ears.
'Sam better not fucking move.' Was Dean's last thought as his world went dark.