Chapter Sixteen

Sam carefully balanced the two cups of hot coffee in one hand, holding the small bag of danishes in the other, along with the room keys. Dean startled awake, his hand reaching for the knife he kept under his pillow.

"Morning." Sam said, putting the breakfast on the table. Dean made a little discontent sound, pushing himself off the bed.

"Does it have to be?" he grumbled.

"I brought you coffee." Sam said, smiling, as Dean just sat on his bed, trying to collect himself. Dean shook his head and bee-lined into the bathroom. Soon after, Sam could hear the water running in the shower. "So, I was thinking," Sam said out loud as he took out one of the danishes, "Did you find the grave? The ground's soaked from all the rain, shouldn't be all too hard to dig it up." He took a large bite out of the danish, waiting for Dean to reply. He waited a long time. "Dean?" Sam cried out again.

A few minutes later, the bathroom door opened and Dean got out, clad in a towel. Sam smiled at him as he slowly started to get dressed. "So, what do you think?" Sam asked.

"About what?"

"Did you find out where she's buried?" Sam asked again, and Dean scowled.

"Sam, I already told you, no shop-talk before coffee, unless there's immediate danger!" Dean growled, making Sam grin. Sam handed him his cup of coffee as Dean sat back down on his bed, taking a long swig.

"So, did you?" Sam asked a second later. Dean raised a brow.

"You're like a puppy with a bone, you know that?" he asked, and Sam glared at him. Dean ran a hand over his face. "No, I didn't find out where she was buried. Records don't go all the way back to the 1800's." He said in a sleepy voice. "So, I was thinking," Dean said a second later, "How about a day off?" Sam blinked, and then started laughing.

"Ahh… That's a good one." he said, still laughing, "Thanks, I needed that." Dean gave a quick smile, looking away from Sam. It almost looked as if he were… "You're not serious, are you?" Sam cried.

"Pff! Nah." Dean said, very unconvincingly.

"Dean!" Sam exclaimed. But Dean just took another sip from his coffee, turning away from Sam. "Dean, we're not taking a day off!" Sam cried, getting to his feet.

"I know." Dean murmured, his back still turned to Sam, and for a moment, something in Sam's gut screamed at him that something was going to go wrong. And then Dean turned, smirking. "Made you look." He said, and Sam narrowed his eyes.

"Jerk!"

"Pillow-phobic." Dean shot back. He walked over to the weapons duffle, hoisting it up onto Sam's bed, and started checking the sawed off shotguns and the rock salt supply. Sam went over to help him, noticing Dean was being quiet. Too quiet. And the annoying feeling he had in the pit of his stomach only intensified.

Sam winced, rubbing his head and glaring at Dean. "You did that on purpose!" he accused. Dean didn't even bother looking at him.

"Yeah, well, if we'd still had the Impala I wouldn't have to try and maneuver this piece of crap!" he muttered.

"It's a perfectly good car, Dean." Sam noted, "You're just cranky because I ate the blueberry danish." He said, and Dean muttered something incoherent under his breath, stopping the car at the back of the house. "I told you we should have just come from the front driveway." Sam said as he undid his seat belt. "No one's here anyway, and the Jeffersons said we could go in. We even have the keys." Sam continued as he got out of the car and buried his entire right foot in thick mud. He cursed. Dean smirked at him.

"Now, that was for the blueberry danish." He said mischievously, going over to unlock the trunk.

"Asshole!" Sam huffed, "What, you're not worried I'll mess up your car?"

"It's not my car." Dean said simply. "You killed my car." He added in a small voice, and then punched Sam.

"Ow!"

"I loved that car!" Dean muttered as he took out a shotgun, a handgun and some extra rounds, waddling through the thick mud towards the back door of the large farmhouse, all the while muttering under his breath. Sam shook his head, rolling his eyes, as he took out his own shotgun and the video camera, and closed the trunk. For all the bitching Dean was making about the car, he sure did like the little remote used to lock and unlock it.

Seeing the outside of the house relaxed Sam a little. It didn't look like the place from his vision. Still, caution is always the best course of action...

"Dean!" Unless Dean was involved. "Why the hell'd you do that?" he admonished. Dean looked questioningly at him. "We have the key…" Sam reminded him. Dean shrugged.

"It's open, isn't it?" Sam rolled his eyes.

"You're hopeless." He said, pushing past Dean and walking in. He stared disbelievingly at Dean, who made sure to carefully wipe his shoes before coming in. "You kick the door open, but you wipe your shoes before you get in?" he asked. Dean shrugged again.

"No reason bringing all that mud into the house." Dean said, walking past Sam and taking out the EMF meter. Sam's jaw dropped. Sometimes, he really couldn't understand his brother and his screwed up priorities. Dean let out a low whistle and Sam hurried over from the large kitchen.

"Did you find anything?" he asked.

"Dude, check this out." Dean said, pointing his chin at the pictures on the wall. Different family members at different rock concerts. "My kind of people." Dean smirked. "Aw, dude, wide screen TV! And check that out, an entire entertainment center! Just look at these speakers, man!" he said excitedly as he stepped into the main living area.

"Uh, Dean? The word ghost mean anything to you?" Sam asked dryly.

"Party pooper!" Dean muttered, taking a deep breath. "All right, so… big house, we should split up. What do you want, upstairs, downstairs or the basement?" he asked.

"I'll take the upstairs and the attic," Sam said, "That is, if it's safe to leave you here with the entertainment center." He raised a brow. Dean scowled, pounding his fist to his chest as if he'd been shot.

"I'm offended, Sam. Really. I'm a professional!" he said, and then smirked. "Ooh, you think they have some Black Sabbath CDs? With those speakers, man…"

"Dean!"

"Yeah, alright, alright…"

Sam climbed up the stairs, the soft carpeting muffling his footsteps. He switched the camera to night vision and started scanning the area for any activity, half expecting to hear some rock music blaring out of those speakers. Those really impressive speakers, Sam had to admit. He moved carefully through the rooms. The rooms themselves were carpeted, but there was hardwood floor in the hallways and the small living area. And another wide screen TV. We should have charged for this gig. Sam stopped at one of the rooms – the middle daughter's it seemed – in front of a giant bookcase. There were dozens of books there, most of which he had read. There were the classics, and horror stories, and even some books he'd actually used on occasion, concerning spirits. This girl was definitely into the supernatural. The whole room had a Goth theme to it, but in a tasteful way. There was even a… Sam neared it, just to be sure. Damn! Okay, now he was starting to get jealous. There was a broad sword, a real broad sword in a plastic showcase on the wall, along with some sacrificial daggers and athames, some in better condition than the ones in their own collection.

And then he heard the shot. A single shot. And nothing more. No screams, no shouts, no things breaking against the wall. Just the resonating silence after the shot.

"Dean!" he cried, his heart racing a mile a minute as he ran back down the stairs. Dean was leaning against the basement door, looking wan and even a little green. His eyes were closed, his hand clutching the shotgun. "Dean, you okay?" Sam asked worriedly.

"We need to get out of here," Dean said through clenched teeth. "Now!" Sam gave a slight nod as the two quickly headed out the back door.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt?" Sam asked, his stomach twisting. Dean didn't seem hurt, but he was walking a little stiffly, and he did seem more than a little off.

"No, I'm fine." He said, tossing the car keys to Sam. "You drive." Sure, Dean. Way to prove that you're fine, Sam thought bitterly as they entered the car and hightailed out of there as fast as the mud allowed.

Sam opened the car door, intending to help Dean out, only to be pushed away.

"Dude, I'm not a cripple, and I'm not hurt, now get off me before I make you a cripple!" Dean cried exasperatedly.

"I'm just trying to help you," Sam offered, only to be shrugged off again. Dean got out of the car, successfully avoiding the large puddle that Sam had already stepped in. Damn. A little justice, is it really that much to ask? Sam wondered, following his sibling with his eyes as Dean reached in his pocket, fishing out the keys.

Sam never thought he'd actually be glad to be back in that stuffy, smelly room, but at least it was warm, and the radiator was working. Sam slumped down on one of the chairs, taking his soggy shoes off along with his socks and wiggling his wet toes with a content moan. He caught the pair of dry sox Dean had tossed his way, giving him a small grin of gratitude.

Dean slumped down on his bed, laying back with his feet still on the floor, closing his eyes.

"So what's the plan?" Sam asked. Dean just grunted, making Sam even more sure that the spirit had attacked. The way Dean looked, it was probably quite successful. It wasn't often that he had seen Dean frightened, but he was pretty sure that Dean was more than a little frightened back in that house. "Dean?" Dean pushed himself up.

"I'm thinking Italian. Maybe Chinese. Though I could totally go for some steak and mashed potatoes…" Dean said, a far away look in his eyes.

"I'm being serious here, man."

"Me, too." Dean insisted. Sam sighed.

"Alright. You know what, I'll make you a deal, alright? You tell me what the hell happened back there and I'll go get you the best steak and potatoes I can find, and you won't even have to leave the room. How does that sound?" Sam sighed, his eyes following Dean as he got up from the bed and walked slowly towards the bathroom, filling himself a glass of water. Sam kept watching as Dean shuffled around his duffle, taking his pills out, and swallowing one, grimacing as he did.

"She did something to you, didn't she?" Sam got to his feet, towering over Dean, who went back over to his bed, "She attacked you? Made you see things?" Sam insisted, ignoring the irritated look from Dean. "Dean, I can't help you if you don't tell me what's going on, man." Sam murmured, sitting back down across from his brother.

"Sam, how many times do I have to tell you this? I'm fine! She didn't do anything to me!" Dean snapped at him. Sam snorted.

"Sure you are. That's why you just took a seriously strong painkiller? That's why you let me drive here?" Sam demanded.

"Hey, I don't care if you wrack this car." Dean joked, trying unsuccessfully to hide a grimace, "Just don't do it with me in the car this time." He added with a smirk, earning himself an angry glare. Dean sighed. "Sam, I'm fine, really. I told you, I shot her before she got close enough to do anything." Dean said for the tenth time since they left the Jefferson's house.

"Uh huh." Sam said skeptically.

"Look, I went down to look at the basement, dead chick was right at the bottom of the stairs looking way too pleased with herself, I shot her astral brains out with the rock salt and went back up to the main room. That's it. End of story." Sam tilted his head to the side. Good story. A lie, probably, but a good story. Didn't explain why Dean wanted to leave so badly, though, nor did it explain the driving and pain medication.

"Sam, I answered your freaking question, now stop with the staring and go steak hunting, like you promised!" Dean snapped at him. Sam was about to protest when his own stomach reminded him of how much it liked Dean's suggestion.

"Fine." He grunted. "But this is not over." He promised.

"Of course not. It's not over until the geek boy gets drunk and starts making Village People impersonations." Dean smirked. "Man, what I would have given for a camera back then…" he laughed.

"Shut up!"

"Ooh, and that time I took you to that karaoke place and you had too much to drink and ended up topless on the piano singing… Damn what was it? It's right on the tip of my tongue… Something by Elton John, what the hell was it?"

"You're some piece of work, you know that?" Dean smirked.

"Yeah. A masterpiece. Ain't no other like me."

"Thank God." Sam muttered as he quickly put his shoes on and went out the door, slamming it behind him. And it wasn't an Elton John song, it was a Whitney Houston song!

Dean was out cold by the time Sam had come back with the food. Apparently, a restaurant a few blocks down offered a premium choice of meats, steaks included. Just the smell of that place made Sam's mouth water. He wasn't all that happy sitting at the bar, smelling that awesome smell as he waited for his order to arrive. Man, he sure was hungry. Sam figured, with Dean being out cold and all, he wouldn't mind if Sam went ahead and ate without him. He just couldn't help it.

But before he did, Sam walked over to Dean's bed, sitting down next to his sleeping sibling, watching the rise and fall of Dean's chest. You're going to tell me what's wrong if I have to beat it out of you! Sam promised, exhaling loudly. He pulled Dean to a semi-sitting position, taking off his dirty over-shirt, and wrapping his brother in the thick comforter, letting Dean rest. By the look of him, Dean needed it. Even in his sleep, his brother's brow was creased in discomfort, reinforcing Sam decision to figure out what's wrong, and soon.

Sam sighed in content. The smell wasn't the only thing wonderful about that steak. He patted his stomach, feeling the tag of sleep washing over him. What the hell, it didn't seem like Dean was going to wake up anytime soon, he might as well go to sleep. That way they could finish the job at night and not be dead on their feet.

It was starting to get dark by the time Dean opened a sleepy eye, let out a throaty groan, turned in bed and tried to get back to sleep. Tried being the operative word.

"Hey, you're awake." Sam cried in an extremely annoying cheerful voice. Dean buried his head under his pillow, only to have it cruelly snatched away from him. "Those pills really knock you out, don't they?" Sam chirped, making Dean fanaticize about throttling him. Hey, everything else went after Sam's throat, might as well be family.

"Hey, Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"You okay, man?" Dean asked, "I mean, you know I'm real proud of you, right?" Sam blinked, speechless, and started to stutter as Dean pushed himself to a sitting position, looking up at Sam. "Seriously, little brother. Facing your fear like that, to actually hold a pillow, my pillow… You're braver than I gave you credit for…" Dean finished. Sam glared at him, hitting him in the face with the pillow, which did nothing to help his bed head. Not that Dean really minded, no. Mission accomplished. He had his pillow back. Nice, soft pillow, he thought as he tucked it back under his head and tried to get back to sleep.

"So, I was thinking," Sam started again, cruelly snatching Dean's pillow from under his head, again. Dean grunted.

"You thinking is never a good thing!" he protested, earning another glare from his little brother.

"We should change our tactic tonight." Sam said. Dean scratched his head, blinking a couple of times.

"We should?" he frowned, "What, like, go to a bar, drink, stay out all night kind of change?" he asked, a little confused. Sam made a face.

"No, I'm talking about the gig. I'm thinking we should go at it differently this time." He explained. Dean gave a slight nod, still looking a little confused and rather sleepy.

"We should?" he asked, and then seemed to come to his senses. "Wait, you want to go out there again, tonight?" he asked. Sam shrugged.

"Yes." He said simply. "The sooner we get this job done, the sooner we can go back and warn Lynn." Sam said, checking the shotgun, making sure it was clean. "What?" he asked at the angry glare Dean was shooting him.

"Dude, why don't you just call the chick, tell her she's in trouble and end it?" Dean snapped, getting off the bed. "We're not going back to Armain, and we're not going back out to the house tonight, got it?" he demanded, stomping off to the bathroom and slamming the door behind him, leaving one flabbergasted Sam behind him.

"What? Dean!" Sam cried angrily. He walked over to the bathroom door, waiting for Dean to get out. He had to wait quite a while, which gave him time enough to rethink the past couple of minutes. Okay, so, he probably went about the whole thing the wrong way. Dean did say no shop talk before coffee, and he probably wasn't entirely awake when Sam started poking at him, but then again, he'd been sleeping for ages! And why is he so adamant about not going back? What, does he think I'll leave him for Lynn? That I'd want to stay with her and leave him? Nah, no way he thinks that, Sam thought, hoped. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to relax, and went out to get his brother a cup of coffee.

TBC

A/N: a little sneak preview of the next chapter:

"Dean…" Sam exhaled loudly, staring at the older hunter. He shook his head lightly. "What aren't you telling me?" he demanded again, though he tried to keep his voice as supportive as possible. Dean shook his head, biting his lower lip, and turned away from Sam again.

"Don't ask me that, Sam." He said in a small voice.

"DEAN!" Sam was tired of waiting, tired of excuses. It was time for answers. Dean whirled around, looking irritably at him.

"Fine, dude, you brought it on yourself." Dean hissed through gritted teeth and clenched fists…

Oh, yes. It's time to get Dean to talk. You want more? Reviews are a wonderful way to tell me that ;)