Disclaimer: Sigh Not mine. If they were, Dean would have told Sam the truth several episodes ago.

This chapter is completely unbeta'd as Jubilea is still recovering from surgery. Get well soon, Jubilea!

I would have waited to post, but I have an overwhelming need to finish this story prior to Thursday. I have a feeling we'll be losing Sam as we know him for at least awhile this season, and I want this done before that happens.

Hell Hath no Fury

"Margaret first appeared in the dining room," Dean conceded. "We should start there."

"Yeah, okay," Sam agreed slamming the trunk lid closed. "Let's go."

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Once more Dean easily picked the lock into the mansion. Stashing the pick set into one of his coat pockets, Dean pulled out the EMF scanner out of another. Sam slapped Dean's arm, and headed to the right towards the living room. Dean quickly caught up to Sam, and stopped him.

Dean pretended to be checking the settings on the scanner. "What happened in there?" He asked nodding towards the living room.

"Not much in the living room," Sam replied shining his flashlight into the large room. "A fire started by itself in the fireplace." The light from Sam's flashlight glinted off one of the painted portraits on the far wall. Sam was beginning to really dislike the décor in the mansion.

Dean nodded in response. Pulling out his flashlight from yet another pocket in his green coat, he stepped into the living room ahead of Sam. Dean gave a cursory glance at EMF scanner on his way to the fireplace. "Anything happen before the fire started?" Dean asked.

"Ah," Sam stopped walking, and stood by the fireplace beside Dean. "I think I felt something?"

Dean looked up at Sam. "Was that a question?" he asked.

"Not really," Sam replied sheepishly.

"Care to be a little more specific?" Dean asked.

"Just a cold breeze," Sam replied with a shrug. He looked away from Dean, and back towards the fireplace. Sam wiped his wet bangs off his forehead, and brushed them back with one hand.

There was the 'tell' of Sam's classic evasion technique. "It's no wonder I always beat him at poker," Dean thought.

"And?" Dean prompted.

Sam sighed heavily, and mumbled something intelligible.

"I didn't quite catch that," Dean replied.

"I said," Sam started with a quiet tone. "It didn't feel the same as Margaret."

"Jeez Sam, don't make me drag this out of you one sentence at a time," Dean said exasperated. He did not like pushing Sam, but he did not have time to coddle him right now. They had less than an hour before sunrise, and frankly, Dean was sick and tired of the Drumsfields.

Sam looked back at Dean with a look of apology in his eyes. "You know," Sam said. "It didn't feel like the same presence. It wasn't angry. It was more like an overwhelming sadness, and guilt."

Now Dean understood Sam's reluctance to share. Anything that brought Sam's abilities to the front and foreground made Sam uncomfortable. Dean knew it was not the abilities themselves that made Sam hesitate, as much as it was the possible ties to the demon. Dean rested his hand reassuringly on Sam's shoulder for several seconds before returning to the task at hand.

"That could have been David," Dean suggested. "He felt guilty for killing Margaret."

"Or, not stopping Joseph in time," Sam finished softly, remembering Margaret's words to him earlier. His hazel-brown eyes regained some of the haunted expression they had worn for months last year.

Dean did not answer. Dean did not feel he could lecture Sam about letting go of the guilt he felt for Jessica's death anymore. He still believed Sam should not feel guilty, but to say anything now seemed too hypocritical. That was Dean's classic evasion technique; simply ignore that which you don't want to talk about.

Dean was spared any more of the awkward silence by the sudden, shrilling beeps emitted by the EMF scanner.

Dean's flashlight flickered out followed closely by Sam's. As the brothers stood adjusting to the near complete darkness, a gust of cold breeze shot between them out of the chimney. The half moon chose that moment to break away from the cloud cover it had been hiding behind all evening.

A small shaft of silver light illuminated the wall and floor near the far window of the living room. Hovering partially in the shadows was David Drumsfield's spirit. Without hesitation Dean pulled out his gun, and stepped between Sam and David. Whatever else happened here tonight, the supernatural entities roaming this estate were done messing with his little brother.

David's form was only loosely formed. His edges were soft, as if someone had partially erased a charcoal sketch. He flashed, and disappeared. Seconds later, he reappeared marginally closer than before. Another flash, he was gone. Two beats later, he appeared a few steps closer to the brothers. Dean tightened his grip on the gun, and solidified his shooting stance. He pulled back slightly on the trigger.

"I left her once. I can't leave her again," David said.

"She's gone," Sam replied.

Dean cast Sam a quick, incredulous look. What did Sam think he was doing? Trying to reason with a ghost?

David flashed out again. When he reappeared he was standing inches from the barrel of Dean's gun. He looked directly at Sam completely ignoring the threat Dean posed.

"I left her once. I can't leave her again," David repeated.

"Oh man," Dean complained. "That is getting old."

David turned slowly to look at Dean then turned his attention back to Sam. He moved slightly in Sam's direction and two loud pops from Dean's gun later, David was gone.

Dean whirled around, and walked the short distance to the fireplace. He reached into his coat pocket to retrieve the flashlight he had discarded in favor of his gun. Pocketing the gun, he switched on the flashlight, and was rewarded with a strong beam of light. "At least the flashlights are working again," he said.

Sam watched as Dean walked towards the far window where David had appeared, pointing his light on the ground, apparently looking for something. Sam had no idea what Dean may be looking for now, but he hoped it would mean they could wrap this up, and head out. He was chest and stomach ached from Margaret's attack. He could feel the weariness he had experienced last time settling on his bones, and he knew he would not be able to keep up the pretense of being fine much longer.

"Here," Dean said. He kicked up the edge of a tasseled throw rug with the toe of his muddy boot. Sam looked where Dean was shining his flashlight. A small, faint, brown mark marred the hardwood floor. "This is where it happened."

"David was killed here?" Sam asked.

Dean did not look up, but continued to sweep the floor, as he headed for the dining room. He looked back once to make sure Sam was following him, but resumed his scan of the floor immediately. Dean continued into the dining room, and walked around behind the long dining room table leaving a trail of intermittent muddy footprints in his wake.

Sam hovered hesitantly in the doorway briefly before joining Dean in the dining room. "Dean, what are you looking for?" Sam asked.

Dean ignored Sam's question, but moments later responded, "And here." Dean pulled one of the high-backed chairs away from the table and shined his light on the chair's upholstered seat. More difficult to see on the chair than even the hardwood floor, was a brown stain that blended with the floral patterned upholstery.

As if that explained it all, Dean pushed in the chair, and breezed past Sam on his way back out to the living room.

"Dean, wait," Sam said. He was having trouble following Dean's logic with the pounding in his head. "What happened?"

Dean stopped, and gave Sam an appraising look. He had not missed the pinched sound in Sam's voice. Opting to ignore it for now in favor of wrapping up this whole ordeal, Dean pointed his flashlight into the dining room.

"Margaret was obviously getting ready for the infamous no-show dinner party," Dean stated. "She and David probably had an argument because David found out about the affair, and he left. Joseph and Margaret then argued, and Joseph shot Margaret in there."

Dean walked over to the spot where he had flipped up the throw rug and continued, "I think Joseph stuffed Margaret in that shipping crate, and buried her shortly after he shot her. By the time David returned, Joseph was headed out. David confronted Joseph, so he shot David." Dean kicked the corner of the throw rug back over so the blood stain was barely visible on the floor.

He walked towards the fireplace, as a puzzled Sam followed. "Joseph was tired, and he's getting a little worried that the guests, or the hired help are going to start showing up, so he opted for a quick stash n' dash."

Dean stooped low, and pulled the remnants of blackened wood from the hearth. "The cops thought the snooty Drumsfields pulled up stakes because they were humiliated by the failed party. They didn't have the know-how to find the clues left behind, and they didn't believe there was anything to find in the first place," he theorized.

Dean shined his flashlight up the chimney, and craned his neck upwards. "So, no one found the stinking, rotting corpse stuffed up the chimney."

"The bones should have fallen out of the chimney as the body decayed." Sam stated attempting to peer around Dean. "He could not have possibly jammed it up there tight enough to keep it up there all this time."

Dean was now standing in the fireplace, half his body hidden in the chimney. Sam could hear Dean's muffled cursing, and in a puff of soot and clanking bones, David's remains fell out of the chimney. Dean emerged from the chimney, coughing. After a few moments, he straightened, and wiped a sooty hand along his sweaty face leaving a trail of grime across his forehead. "His ribs were stuck in the mortar," Dean explained.

After a brief heated discussion about the importance of not splitting up, Dean arranged David's bones in the fireplace, while Sam went out to the Impala for the salt tin and the lighter fluid. The need to move quickly, and avoid a third appearance from David out-weighed the risk of a lone confrontation during the brief separation. Dean hated sending Sam outside to retrieve the supplies when he knew he was hurting, but if David was going to reappear, Dean felt it would be in the house.

Dean inwardly sighed in relief when Sam arrived carrying the salt tin, and the back-up can of lighter fluid. He could tell Sam was favoring his mid-section, and he looked exhausted. He returned his thoughts to the task at hand, and grabbed the salt tin from Sam's grasp. "Let's get this done, and get going," he said. "I've had enough of these two for one night."

"Morning," Sam corrected with a stifled yawn.

Dean grinned at Sam, and grabbed the can of lighter fluid. He did not want Sam to fall over before he could get him back to the Impala. Sam was thin, but he was tall, and all muscle. Dean had carried Sam before, but Sam was no light-weight. It was better to get this done quickly, and be done with it.

Sam shivered; he was freezing from being out in the cold air. The temperature must have dropped at least ten degrees between the last burn, and this one. The wet clothes sticking to his skin did not help matters either, and he shivered again.

This time when Dean started the lighter, no spirits appeared.

Sam was so surprised at the lack of activity that he shined his flashlight around the room looking for anything out of place. "Are you almost done there, Dean?" Sam asked.

Dean started David's bones on fire in reply. He picked up the salt tin and the lighter fluid, and turned towards Sam. "Let's go," he said not stopping on his way out of the mansion, and to the car, knowing Sam would follow.

Sam stopped with Dean by the trunk of the car. "Think we can catch a few hours of sleep at the hotel before we head out?" he asked.

"Yeah, sure," Dean replied with a grin. "If that gi-normous cup of coffee you drank on the way up has worn its way out of your system by now."

Sam threw him a weak smile, and climbed into the front of the Impala. "I could sleep through a train wreck," he said.

Dean sat down behind the wheel, and pointed at Sam's boots. "What did I say about not wearing those things in my car?"

"I don't know," Sam replied closing his eyes. He leaned his head on the cool side window, and folded his arms across his stomach. "Something about something, and not doing something else. It's hard to say, you tend to talk about your car a lot."

"Don't," Dean chastised severely. "Joke about the upholstery."

Sam only smiled slightly in response. Within moments, he was well on his way to sleep.

With a roar of its engine the Impala made its way down the tree-lined hillside as the sun slowly rose from behind the mountains.

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Just a small wrap-up epilogue chapter to go before it is finished. Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed. The alerts were not always working, but I did reply to everyone. If you didn't receive a reply, please blame the site, not me! Bg.

Nana56, I believe I fixed the oversight you caught with a small revision to chapter 2 (at least as well as I could). Thank you for the feedback!