OMG. I am so sorry guys. REALLY. This has been my longest update, but I can safely say that it wasn't my fault...I swear! It can mostly be attributed to work, considering that I worked like 15 hours last weekend in total, and that is literally my ONLY writing time. Not to mention the fact that I had college applications and AP Calculus homework. Jeez. I feel like I've been letting all of you down, so I'll try to make this a super-great chapter. No promises though. It is, finally, the mansion! I hope it comes across okay...here goes...


"This shit smells." Dean wrinkled his nose, looking down with his characteristic overly-dramatic expression at the sage he was currently tearing into small pieces and placing in cloth bags.

"I kinda like it," said Sam, shrugging.

"That's 'cause you're a pretty-boy, Sam-o. Always have been. Dude, sage is a chick smell."

"'Always have been'? What do you mean by that?"

"Exactly what I said. I know you like Oprah, and you've always been a little too into all that crap with emotions and letting your feelings out."

"It gets girls."

"Sure," said Dean. "Whatever you say."

"So," said Sam, changing the subject. "What happened to using an albacore shell, like the woman said on that website to burn it in?"

"What IS an albacore shell, college-boy?"

Sam shrugged. "I thought you knew."

"Oh yeah, 'cause that's just common knowledge. I typed it in on Google and all I got were pictures of tuna."

Sam laughed. "Google?"

"Yeah, you got a problem with that?"

"Nope," said Sam, shrugging.

"Good. Now I figure that this is probably better anyway, because cloth burns and it'll release more smoke."

"Sounds logical," said Sam, "but do you really think it'll work? I mean, I know I said it was a powerful spirit repellent and all that, but I think it's meant for cases of like one spirit in a single-family house. Not too sure about a 160-room mansion, but I guess it's worth a shot."

"It's always worth a shot," said Dean, "if it means saving people. Besides, you've still got your whole psychiatrist plan."

"Yeah, but what if this won't work, Dean? What if we can't stop more people from dying?" Sam couldn't keep the hitch of concern from his voice. They'd never really had a job of this magnitude, and even though he tended to have some luck in solving the problems of distraught people, he wasn't so sure about the success he'd have with hundred year-old murderous spirits.

"Oh, we will," said Dean. "Damn straight. There is no friggin' way I'm letting some bitch throw people out of windows, especially you, Sammy. Not gonna happen." Dean stood up from his chair, placing the few cloth bundles he had made into the deep pockets of his brown leather jacket. "Oh, and by the way," he added, "I've decided you're not leaving the first floor."

"Is that right?" questioned an incredulous Sam, laughing at Dean's audacity.

"Yes, it is," answered Dean simply. "Even you can't possibly get into danger if you stay there. Just walk to the center of the room and, I don't know, meditate of something...like Gandhi. Draw the spirits to you with your mind." Dean hummed a bad rendition of the classic "mysterious background music" tune for effect, looking at Sam expectantly for a reaction.

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Are you being serious, man? Meditating? I don't think so. And besides, what good am I to you if I stay on the first floor why you go off to explore? Who's gonna save your ass if Sarah or any of those other ghosts decides to throw YOU out of a window, huh? You've already agreed, we've gotta stay together on this one. In case you haven't noticed, bad things tend to happen when we get separated."

"Bad things...?" began Dean, looking at Sam with a feigned look of confusion on his face.

"Oh, come on!" sighed Sam. We split up to look for the skinwalker, he kidnaps you and steals your body, almost murdering everyone. We have a dumb fight and leave each other in different states, you almost get killed by a homicidal scarecrow controlled by insane townspeople-"

"-I could've gotten out of that," Dean quickly insisted.

Sam continued as if he didn't notice. "-I leave a bar while you go to the bathroom, I get pulled under a car and knocked out by unbathed hicks who want to hunt me for sport..."

"...Okay, I get where you're going," said Dean tiredly. He rubbed his eyes. "It's just...I don't..." Dean seemed unable to find the words for what he was thinking, trying to get his point across while at the same time avoiding his feared chick-flick moment. After a second, he continued. "I don't want something to happen to you, especially when I know I could've prevented it."

"We're prepared, Dean. We've done thousands of hunts, there's always risk involved."

"But this time...we KNOW, Sammy, we KNOW what could happen."

"That doesn't mean it WILL happen, Dean. We'll take precautions, like always. You'll have my back, I'll have yours."

"You sure you don't want a pillow and a helmet?" said Dean casually. Sam, however, could sense that Dean wasn't being entirely comedic with the suggestion.

"I think I'll pass," said Sam.

SPNSPNSPN

Night came quicker than perhaps either of the brothers would have wanted. They spent most of their time idly, Dean polishing his guns while Sam made futile efforts at finding more information on the internet that could possibly help them in their endeavor. The TV was tuned to CMT yet again, although neither Sam nor Dean actually watched it. It was simply background noise, something to cut through the silence in the room. As the sun went down, Sam felt a jolt of adrenaline coursing through his veins. They still had hours to kill until the mansion was finally cleared of all people, tourists and employees, but something about seeing the darkness of the night in which his vision had taken place caused him not to feel scared, as he had partly expected, but exhilarated and determined to end this crap.

"We should probably get some sleep before leaving," said Dean suddenly, looking at Sam from across the room. "We've gotta be at our best for this, and we probably won't get any sleep tonight, if we're out long enough."

"Yeah," said Sam. "You're right." Honestly, he wasn't sure how he could possibly sleep feeling as enthused as he was at the moment, but Dean had a point. Sam's body, if not his mind, was exhausted. He needed to be on full alert, keep all of his senses sharp. It's what a hunter did.

Sam grabbed the soiled blanket and pillow, curling his long body into a ball on the floor. The motel room had gotten cold as the sun went down, strange considering that the night was warm. He really didn't want to know why – the motel was unusual on many different levels.

Dean gathered his own blankets and settled himself on the floor across from Sam, laying in a position that allowed him to keep a full watch on his brother. He didn't know why he felt the need to do this, but he felt that way before any hunt. It was his job to watch over Sam, to protect him, and though he knew that his younger sibling understood this, he knew that Sam could never really comprehend Dean's fears of screwing up in some way, of letting anything happen that he could have stopped. As he watched Sam sleep, he couldn't stop a smile from crossing his face. His brother was curled into a ball, something non-habitual although necessary in the strangely chilly atmosphere of the dank motel room. Sam looked so young, so innocent. Dean focused on the rise and fall of his chest, assuring himself that Sam was going to be okay. He had to be okay.

Although he needed to, he couldn't sleep. He was surprised that Sam had drifted off so easily, considering the circumstances, but then again he had been pretty worn out lately. As Dean lay on the thin carpet, he watched the red, glaring minutes tick by on the alarm clock. 8:00...9:00...9:30...10:00. It was finally time. He stood up and grabbed a dagger as well as a gun loaded with rock salt from the table. He couldn't bring himself to forego it...ghosts didn't have x-ray vision (as far as he knew), and he needed something to give him security. The dagger, well, that was just something he grabbed out of habit. You never knew when you could need one.

"Sammy-boy, it's time to wake up!" yelled Dean, giving his brother a soft kick in the side. "It's hunting time, bro."

Sam woke instantly, already alert and ready. He was relieved that he hadn't yet had another vision about the Winchester Mansion, although he was sure he did catch blurry snippets from the previous two. It was nothing, though. Nothing new. He cleared his mind of any uncertainty, rising to his feet and grabbing his coat from the back of the lounge chair.

"Take this," said Dean, holding out a pistol.

"Dean-"

"No protests, Sammy. Don't take it out unless you need to, just keep it well hidden. You can't go in there with no way to protect yourself."

Sam grabbed the gun without a word, knowing that Dean was right. If worst came to worse, bags of sage and psychological wisdom were not going to help matters.

SPNSPNSPN

In the absolute darkness, the mansion took on a looming form – much different from the previous grandiosity it had projected during the daytime. It was like the night converted its image, revealing the truths of the actual horrors that lied within the walls.

Dean took a deep breath as the house came into view. In truth, the sight had given him a bit of a shock, but he wasn't about to let Sam see his fear. He stepped out of the car, which he parked a safe distance away from the entrance so as to not look suspicious, and took steps towards the entrance, Sam following in his wake. He hadn't looked at the house closely before, as he had been distracted by the arrival of Jake (not to mention Veronica), but it seemed easier to get in than he had thought previously. For one, the gates were almost laughable as an attempt to keep the Winchesters out. They weren't very long nor high, and could be easily jumped. Besides that, he didn't see any other security.

"Come on, psychic-boy," he said with enthusiasm, "this shouldn't be too hard."

The two brothers jogged to the gates, looking briefly around them to make sure that nobody was on their tail. They both jumped over the bars with ease, a skill obtained by years of experience breaking into to various properties with their father. They entered into an immense courtyard, complete with fountains, a huge garden, and rounded hedges.

"People spend way too much time with plants, man," said Dean. "I just don't get the appeal."

Sam laughed, amused as always that Dean, even in such a stressful situation, could crack jokes about a topic that really wasn't even funny.

They approached the front door, standing underneath the awning covering the large front porch.

"Is there security?" asked Sam.

"Probably..." said Dean absently, searching the perimeter of the door for any signs. He knew how to disable alarm systems, if only he could find it...

Suddenly, just as Dean thought he was onto something, the door in question creaked open. It was like the house had been waiting for them to arrive.

"Well, that's not at all creepy," said Dean, slowly walking in.

Sam followed with some trepidation. If the ghosts already knew that they were there, there wasn't much of a chance that Dean would have the opportunity to walk aimlessly around the corridors, burning sage. They'd get to him first.

As the two young men ventured in to the confines of the mansion, they were instantly greeted with a huge room, something Sam would probably call a foyer – although it wasn't like he had much experience in visiting houses of the rich. He was more accustomed to motels.

"Lets just explore the first floor first," said Dean quickly, eager to put off going to the upper stories.

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "That sounds good to me."

Dean kept an almost annoyingly close proximity to Sam as they explored the sprawling first story, straying occasionally only to investigate anything strange he came across.

"Son of a...!"

Sam turned around, his heart catching in his throat. What happened to Dean? He had turned away just for a second, to open one of the doors...he glanced wildly around, only to be confronted with a sight far from the horrible one he expected.

"That hurt," said Dean, rubbing his forehead and walking out of the darkness of the room.

"What happened?"

"Nothing," said Dean, turning away.

"Dean..."

"Fine! I opened one of the doors and walked in, but there was a wall behind it I didn't see."

"So...you walked into it?"

"Sort of."

Sam laughed.

"It isn't funny, Sammy! That door was just cruel."

"Fine, whatever."

"You know, I'm a little disappointed so far. This 'hunt' has been pretty anti-climactic."

"I guess," said Sam. He wasn't about to tell Dean, but the truth was that from the moment he had entered the mansion, he felt weird. He could swear that he heard tools in the background – not nearly as loud as he had in the vision, but more of a slight noise that persisted in his head. His stomach felt uneasy, and his head throbbed. Something more would happen, he knew. But he also knew that it wouldn't be on this floor.

Dean had turned away from Sam, reaching inside of his coat and pulling out one of the packets of sage. He took out a lighter and lit the bottom of the bag, causing it to smolder and let off faint wisps of smoke. He waved it in random spurts around the room, a look of slight embarrassment on his face.

"I don't think this is doing crap, Sam."

Sam had to agree. His feelings of uneasiness were still there, the sage hadn't done anything.

"I think we need to try it on another floor, I just have a hunch that there isn't anything on this level."

"Oh, one of your psychic brain-waves?" asked Dean.

"You could call it that," said Sam.

Dean sighed. He had really been hoping they wouldn't have to leave the first floor, but it looked like they didn't have a choice. "Where's the staircase?"

"I think it's over here..." said Sam, following a narrow hallway that led to a winding stair. He looked up, seeing only darkness.

"Charming," murmured Dean.

SPNSPNSPN

The second floor held nothing. Neither did the third. By this point, Dean had burned all of his sage packets, and was nursing his forehead – the victim of many repeated encounters with walls.

"I think they're drawing us to the top floor," said Sam.

"Good observation, Einstein," replied Dean. "But why are they even targeting us? Do they already know we have guns, or what?"

"No, I think it's something else," said Sam thoughtfully. As they had progressed to each floor, the pain in his head had gotten stronger, as had the construction noises. Dean wasn't at all affected...which meant that only Sam was being targeted, for some reason or another. He was purposely staying away from windows as he and Dean winded through the narrow hallways...the situation was too similar for Sam's liking to the circumstances in his vision.

"What do you think it is?" persisted Dean.

"I can't really explain, Dean, it's just...a feeling. We need to go to the fourth floor. They're waiting."

"That's pretty cryptic, Sam-o, just to let you know. I mean, 'they're waiting?'"

"Well, they are."

TBC


Okay, I wasn't planning to stretch the mansion trip into two chapters, but more kept on coming to my head about what I wanted to write and it became necessary. Now, I know that there are bound to be inaccuracies in this chapter about the rooms in the mansion, as well as the security and how they got in. I hope it's not too off, but it's the best I could do, considering that I haven't actually BEEN there. Do I have to tell you to review? PLEASE! It's the only payment I get for all my hard work.