Sorry I haven't posted in a while. I've been busy with studies. But I had this idea this afternoon and typed this up in about an hour so forgive me if it isn't perfect.

Just a few chapters in this fic. Hopefully only 3 chapters long. :)

I own nothing unfortunately:(

Sam is 22 Dean is 26. Set sometime during season 1. Any mistakes are my own.

"So what? This Mr Fredricks got some evil vendetta against peroxide?" Dean asked his brother, one hand on the steering wheel as he glanced over at his brother in disbelief. "That doesn't seem a little weak to you?"

"I dunno Dean, I mean it's all we got that link the victims up. Out of all the women who went into that house, the ones he attacked and killed were all blonde." Sam sat in the passenger seat, copies of government official papers piled neatly on his lap, one being held in his hand as he stared at it deep in thought. Papers that were not for the eyes of commoners but meant for those of authority. Or of hunter 'authority'.

"Besides you know how ghosts are, one person from their previous life pisses them off and that's enough for them to go by when it comes to killing someone. Maybe his wife was blonde, who knows? I mean she did kill him with his own gun, the only thing I couldn't find out is why, apparently she never confessed that part." Sam concluded.

"Uh Huh...What'd he do for a living?"

"Umm" Sam dug though the pages until he located the one he was looking for. His eyebrows rising in surprise. "Huh"

"What?" Asked Dean. He knew that tone in Sam's voice. It meant he had found something. Something of use.

"Well, it says here he had his own family business."

"Okay, doing what? Hairdressing." Dean smirked to himself.

"Ha-ha very funny." Sam responded flatly, unimpressed with his brothers timing to be joking around.

"Selling and restoring antique weapons, specialising in guns specifically." Sam glanced over at his brother this time. Providing the look of suspecting something.

"What? You don't think his wife used one of his own weapons to kill him with do you?"

"I mean, it's possible. You've seen the stories in the past. The wife doesn't get the attention she needs or wants from her husband and next minute- "

"She's gone all crazy town?" Dean interrupted.

"Yeh that's one way of putting it I guess." Sam studied the papers in front of him again.

"So this guy buried or you think that maybe he's tied himself to one of his weapons?" Dean asked keeping his eyes on the road ahead continuing to glance over at his brother every so often.

"Says here he's buried in Lakeside Cemetery."

"Okay, we burn his bones tonight. But in the mean time let's check out the house. I wanna see if there's anything worth pawning."

Sam looked at his brother with both a frown and disbelief.

"Dean, isn't that.. I dunno...maybe a little disrespectful?"

"Sammy, he's a ghost. Been dead for 40 years now. And besides, he's killing people. I think he deserves a little disrespect."

Dean pulled the Impala up to a stop onto the side of the road as he and his brother took in the sight outside of the window. An unfamiliar house to them, though one that would most definitely pass as haunted. The grass was severely overgrown and thick, the dark brown paint work on the house was now faded and chipping in several areas as mould and rot began to overtake the wood. The roofing was caving in at the back of the house, spilling into the attic and the glass windows were cracked and smashed, likely from teenagers having nothing better to do on a weekend and throwing rocks into the house. The completely smashed glass windows having wooden boards pinned up to prevent further intruders and damage though it was rendered useless as the house was still easily accessible. They were parked in front of the house, the haunted house of Mr Fredricks.

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Standing either side of the almost broken down door Sam and Dean stood with their weapons at the ready. Dean signalling a gesture with his hands as Sam entered into the decaying house with Dean following closely behind. The hard wooden floor boards creaking as each footstep was pressed onto it.

The house was dark, even with the afternoon sunlight beaming onto the house. Small rays of sunlight crept through the gaps of the windows boardings but not enough to light up the house. Only enough to provide a small amount of dim lighting to see sheet covered objects and small specks of dirt floating around through the air. After scanning the area Sam looked back at his brother. Dean standing a few feet away with his weapon raised and ready. That's when Sam saw it. The ghost of Mr Fredricks standing behind his brother flickering in and out of focus.

Mr Fredricks was an older gentleman, he had to be at least 60. He wore a black scuff stained beige apron over his brown tartan suit. He had a large belly and fine polished brown leather shoes that came to a point at the tips. He appeared to be a finely dressed gentleman once upon a time, minus one grim detail. A large head would producing a gaping hole through the side on the upper back right quadrant of his head. An exit would showing at the bottom left. A large segmented his jaw was missing and his mouth hung open loosely as if unable to control it. His face was barely recognisable. Small patches of white facial hear still intact were mostly stained with blood and chunks of brain matter. A small pair of round spectacles hung on the bridge of his bulbous and reddened nose. Though his golden coated frames hung askew and cracked, the glass filling the frames was also stained with the shade of crimson blood.

To Sam, it was a tragedy. A murderous tragedy. His wounds indicated what they'd suspected. A close range impact wound. Not one that was self inflicted. But one from someone who stood above him. Unawares to what was happening. He'd probably been sitting when it happened. When he was murdered.

Before Sam could speak and warn his brother of the man behind him Dean recognised the look on Sam's face and turned around knowing what was behind him. Dean faced the ghost. He took in the features of the supernatural being and in true fashion scrunched his face up in disgust at what he was looking at.

"Ugh" was all Dean managed to get out before he and his brother were sent flying through the air and landing on opposite ends of the house. Dean slamming into what must have been a covered piano as the impact provided a powerful thud followed by a musical tune that resembled a young untalented child's attempt to create 'music'. Sam was a bit luckier upon impact and hit a smooth flat covered surface. Likely a table. Though the impact was still enough to split it in half down the middle and providing a familiar crunching and snapping of wood once he came into contact with it.

Both dazed by the forceful throw, the boys both reached for their weapons and readied them. Aiming them at the ghost in front of them. Dean pulling the trigger to his salt filled shot gun. But nothing. Once again he tried and once again nothing.

"Sammy, what's going on? Either this is your gun or somethings wrong! You hear me? My weapons don't jam!"

Sam aimed his weapon and he too fired at the ghost. But once again, nothing. He tried again. Nothing.

"Dean, it's not working!" Sam yelled out to his brother in a panic.

"Dammit!" Dean threw his weapon to the floor in frustration. Then his eyes widened in realisation.

"Sammy quick over there!" Dean pointed to an area behind Sam.

It was a fireplace. And fireplaces usually housed items that were iron. Both brothers ran over to the warn down fireplace and gripped their hands onto the iron objects. Sam acquiring the small iron poll and Dean something of which resembled a large hook.

"Really Dean?"

Dean raised his eyebrows excitement, a smile forming on his lips as he held the iron hook in his hands.

"I always loved Peter Pan!" Dean's smile now wider than ever.

The ghost was now standing beside them. Dean swung his weapon into the ghost as he faded away briefly. Now it was just a matter of trying to get to the exit of the house and to burn the bones of Mr Fredricks. It had been a mistake coming to the house, both brothers would surely admit that to each other.

"It's not Peter Pan Dean! That's Captain Hook!" Sam shouted out in response as once again the ghost made itself known as Sam swung his iron poll through the ghosts head. Mr Fredricks ghost faded away.

"Hey Sam? I think I know why the guns didn't work! Mr Hole in the head, he worked with guns right?"

Mr Fredricks now flickered behind Dean.

"Dean, behind you!"

Dean swung around his hook as adrenaline and excitement flowed through his body, his hook once again making the ghost of Mr Fredricks fade away.

"Well, I think he screwed with our guns Sammy. He knows what makes them tick and whats makes them stop."

Both brothers now not far from the front door entrance stood almost back to back. Their iron weapons in hand.

"I think you might be right Dean."

"C'mon, come on out ugly!" Dean widened his hands grip on the hood.

There was nothing, mere seconds passed though they felt like hours to Dean. He was ready, ready to get once last swing in to give he and his brother enough time to get out that door. His heart was beating rapidly in his chest. Adrenaline was running at an all time high. He tightened the grip around the rusted iron hook as he raised it up over his right shoulder, ready to produce a powerful swing through the ghost of Mr Fredricks.

"I said show your face!" Dean yelled out into the expanse of the old house before him.

As if responding the ghost appeared once more. And with all his might Dean swung the hook through the ghost. Only this time it was different. This time he hit something that wasn't just the ghost, he hit something solid.

He turned his focus away from the fading ghost and towards his brother. Sam's eyes widened with surprise as the hook had impaled his lower abdominal right and gone straight through coming out his side.

TBC