Now onto chapter 5...oh, and just in case anybody was taking this seriously, I want to re-mention the fact that although the Winchester Mansion is real, as well as the history behind it, nobody has ever died in the house. Well, maybe they have, but definitely not because a spirit threw them out a window. (At least, I don't think so...) Well, I won't hold this up any further. Remember: Read and review, or very depressed writing is in your future!
"Ah..." sighed Dean, as he rolled his prized Chevy Impala past the gates of the famous Winchester Mansion. "This is it, Sam." He stopped the car, cranked down the window, and simply gawked at the site that stood before him.
The house was so immense that it seemed almost unreal. Its surroundings were so normal, so unimpressive, that it appeared as if the huge mansion was dropped there by some powerful force. It just didn't fit with the mundane architecture of San Jose, California – with the plain, worn-in asphalt of the parking lots, with the stereotypical strip malls, or with the run-of-the-mill single houses that lined the nearby roads. Dean imagined that, at some point, it had been surrounded by trees, by nature, by winding dirt roads and horse-drawn carriages. Times had definitely changed.
"Come on, Sammy! Let's get a closer look."
Sam moaned. He hadn't been able to sleep since having the nightmare, and had lain awake for hours staring at the ceiling. Things hadn't worked out like he'd hoped. He and Dean were going to go to the house in daytime, shoot some ghosts with rock salt, and get out of there before there was even time for his vision to come true. Dean would never know that Sam had seen himself die – meaning there would be no heated debates between the two brothers as to the wisdom of even continuing on with the case, and no needless worrying and excessive protectiveness from his older sibling.
But of course, nothing was ever that easy for Sam Winchester. No, tickets had to cost $45 and there had to be exceedingly long and dull guided tours. Dean had been mildly put off at these blows, but had reacted in the way he always did: find another solution that works better. Sam was usually fully willing to cooperate with his brother's schemes, but this time...well, he just didn't know. He told himself that the vision already couldn't happen, at least not as he had seen, because then, they had both still been confused about the motives of the spirits – still thinking that construction workers were the only possible targets. In addition, Sam had been surprised in the dream by the noises that plagued him, but if it were to happen again, he'd be prepared-and definitely not walk toward the wall by any window, as he had done in the nightmare.
This is what Sam told himself, over and over again since he had lain on the floor, listening to Dean's steady and relaxed breathing as he slept on his back, a few feet away. He had hoped that, if he thought hard enough, he would rise the next day without any worry. This hopeful strategy hadn't worked.
"Uh, Sam? What are you, sleeping over there? Rise and shine, little bro!"
Sam turned his gaze from the window to look at Dean, situated in the driver's side with a strange grin on his face. Sunlight instantly blinded him, and he winced as his eyed became adjusted. Dean just couldn't wait until dark to visit the house. He had dragged Sam out of bed that morning, stuck him in the car, and driven to the mansion simply to get a look at it. He loved any haunted house, but a haunted mansion? Now that was just too good to wait for.
"Who are you, Dean? Little Miss Sunshine? It's only 6:30 in the morning, dude."
The smile instantly vanished off of Dean's face. "Don't you ever, EVER," he snarled, "...call me 'Little Miss Sunshine' ever again, okay?"
"Fine, man, but you are weirdly hyper."
Dean held up a cup of coffee, as if offering the liquid substance as explanation for his perky mood.
"STARBUCKS? Dean, what happened to cheap gas station coffee?" said Sam indignantly. Starbucks cost more than twice as much as their regular cup of joe.
"This happened, Sam. Now tell me, would you rather drink THIS?" he held up another cup of liquid, having pulled it from the drink holder in the back of the car. The coffee, if you could call it that, was giving off a distinctly foul odor, and, as Sam peered into it, he could see that it was roughly the color of dirt, with strange chunks floating around in it.
Sam winced, holding his nose and turning his face away. "Why did you even keep that, man? You should've just thrown it away when you bought it."
"Well..." said Dean, "I was GOING to, but by that point, I had already decided on Starbucks, and basically figured you wouldn't want to partake in such an expensive cup of coffee. So, I kept it for you. Enjoy!" Dean began laughing hysterically, slapping his knee.
"Oh, that's good, Dean. REAL mature."
"Hey, I couldn't pass up the opportunity, man."
"Yeah, whatever." Sam grabbed the coffee cup and poured it out the window, clearly not amused.
"Oooh, cold." Dean wrapped his arms around his body, pretending to shiver.
"What?"
"It's COLD in here, dude."
"What the hell, Dean? Look around. We're in California, in the middle of the summer. It is NOT cold."
"That's exactly what I mean, Sam. You're giving me the cold shoulder, get it? You haven't been quite as perky as usual today."
Sam sighed. Dean just didn't get it sometimes, just couldn't take a hint. "Look, I'm exhausted. You woke me up at 2 a.m. all excited, I tried to go back to sleep, and then you try and murder me with a pillow. And then, when I finally got comfortable on the floor and fell asleep, I had another nightmare and saw a guy get murdered. Dude, then two hours after that you drag me half-asleep back into the car and drive me here. So EXCUSE ME if I'm not quite as excited about visiting this house right now as you. We can't even go in without paying." Sam knew what he said was the truth, but it wasn't really the reason he was so irritable. The real truth was that he was worried about the impending night, and what he should say to Dean. Going in the daytime was one thing, but at night...
"I guess I get that, Sammy," said Dean, his expression softening, "but are you sure that's it? I mean, come on, you've had visions before, woken up early in the morning, and hell, seen a lot of crap. It's really not that big a deal. Just freakin' tell me, man...I know something's up."
What convinced the youngest Winchester more than anything that he had to tell Dean what he had seen – that is, himself falling out of a window – was the way Dean asked him what was wrong. He had inquired nonchalantly, as if it wasn't a big deal, but Sam could sense that Dean was apprehensive and slightly worried about his brother. Though it was characteristic of Dean to be overprotective of Sam, it wasn't characteristic of him to express concern. Sam couldn't let him wonder as to what was wrong, and definitely couldn't let him worry.
He sighed heavily, unsure of how to start. "Listen, if I told you what it was, do you promise not to freak out on me?"
Dean looked at him uncertainly. Sam could see that he was having some type of inner conflict – he wanted to know what was up, but he wasn't sure if he could guarantee his coolness – he couldn't with anything regarding his Sammy.
"Uh, yeah, whatever. Just tell me." Dean looked at his younger brother expectantly, awaiting an answer.
Sam grimaced, breaking eye contact with his brother and looking out of the window instead. "Um, okay. It was us in the mansion in my vision."
"Us? said Dean with confusion. "I thought you said that there was only one guy, the guy who...wait...oh, God, Sam, one of us fell out of the window? Please, please tell me it wasn't you."
Sam looked down, unable to bring himself to say aloud what Dean had just rightly hypothesized.
"How could you not tell me this? How? It's kind of a huge detail to leave out, Sammy!"
"Dean, come on!" pleaded Sam. "You know that we have to solve this case, get rid of the spirits! People are going to die if we don't. If I told you I saw myself die, you would never let me go in."
"Right as hell I won't! I'm not going to lose you, Sammy."
"I can handle myself, Dean. Plus, I thought we were going to go this afternoon, and since the nightmare was at night I didn't think it was a big deal, but now that the plans changed..."
"Sam, it wouldn't have been that easy. Your visions are always accurate, and hard as shit to stop, no matter what you do. You had to know you just couldn't forget about it."
"I don't know," said Sam, "I guess I did, but after I woke up and told you and we figured out the rest of the story, I realized that it already can't happen as I saw it."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that we still thought that construction workers were the only targets, and I was surprised when I heard the noises."
"Noises?" asked Dean. "You were hearing things, man?"
"Yeah, um...construction noises. You know, sawing, hammering, that sort of thing."
"Well, that makes sense. The workers haunt the house. People have reported hearing stuff like that."
"But there was also gunshots. And that's when it started getting louder, and then my head hurt, and I walked over to the wall..."
"By a window?" said Dean. "Not too smart, considering the circumstances."
"You stood in front of me and held your gun out, but it was knocked out of your hand, and then-"
"Wait a second, dude. It was ME you described as the cocky guy in the ugly coat? You're supposed to be my brother! That's not right."
Sam laughed, relieved that his brother had calmed down enough to revert to his usual humor. "Yeah, Dean." he smiled, thinking of that moment. "I believe you described yourself as a 'smut', if I'm not mistaken."
"Not fair, Sammy. You're description was way off. I'm hot, and you know it."
"Whatever, Dean. Anyway, after the gun was knocked out of your hand this...thing...threw you against the wall. I couldn't see what it was, but then this man's voice said, 'NO GUNS SHALL BE BROUGHT HERE. YOU WILL PAY FOR YOUR ACTIONS." And, and then..." Sam fumbled, unsure of how to say how it ended.
"Yeah, Sammy, I know the rest. You don't have to say it." Dean looked down at his hands, unusually quiet. After a moment, he said "I...I didn't save you, Sammy?"
Sam saw where this was going. "No, Dean, but it was only because the spirit held you back. I could see you, you were yelling and trying to get to me, but you couldn't move." When Dean didn't react, Sam continued. "Anyway, it's not like it matters anyway. Come on, Dean, the vision isn't coming true. If we were walking in that hallway and all of the sudden started having the exact same conversation as in the dream, that would be a pretty good indicator. We'd be prepared, ready."
"Sam, I don't want you going in there," said Dean finally.
Sam groaned, throwing his hands in the air. "See, this is exactly why I didn't tell you! You're being unreasonable! I'm an adult, Dean, I can make my own decisions. We're going to that mansion tonight, no two ways about it. We've done much more dangerous things before, anyway, and we're still here."
"I can go in myself," said Dean quietly.
"No, Dean, you ARE NOT going in there alone! For some reason, the spirits targeted the both of us. Hell, they could have thrown you out the window after they threw me out! We need to stay together on this one, man."
Sam studied Dean's face, trying to decipher his expression. He knew he had made a stronger case, and Dean knew it wouldn't be smart to handle the case on his own.
Dean sighed and looked over at Sam. "Man, I can tell you went to law school. You know how to argue a cause, I'll give you that."
"Does that mean-"
"Yeah, fine, Sammy. We'll go tonight. But I swear, if ANY bitch of a ghostie starts trying to shove you out a window, I'm draggin' you're lanky ass outta there."
Sam smiled, suddenly rejuvenated. "Well, let's go take a look around, see what we're dealing with."
"Alright, dude, let's go."
TBC
Hmmm...it seems as if the actual visit to the mansion keeps getting dragged out. Sorry about that, the story keeps developing beyond my control! I promise, the house will make it's appearance in the next chapter. Please R&R!
