disclaimer: i'm too poor to own anything this cool
a/n: so chapter four has now arrived. a good thing for no particular reason other than you finally get to 'see' the walsh house. it may seem kind of confusing, though back a while ago when i had no life (err-- less of one than i have now), i made a complete map of the walsh house. so every room that dean mentions, every hallway that he walks down, and every set of stairs he climbs all is there for a reason. ok, so again i was a jerk and left the end of this on a cliffhanger-- slightly worse than the last one. enjoy!
"Sam, bad idea," Dean stated bluntly, his hands still clutched around the steering wheel.
"We tried to get a hold of Bobby, and he didn't answer," Sam rationalized, "It's fair game now."
"You know I'm the one that's supposed to go in guns blazing, not you," Dean argued, "What's up with you lately Sammy?"
Sam remained silent and looked out the window. They were parked in front of the infamous Walsh House, and aside from the temporarily abandoned town construction trucks it looked just like the pictures. An overgrown hedge nearly six feet high went around three quarters of the house, leaving the front open to the view of the hand laid brick house; towering at three stories with a massive wraparound porch. Ivy and other overgrown plants weeded their way through the construction of the house, and Sam could see from there that several of the windows were broken. Two tall, dead trees stood ominously on either side of the broken up cement path leading to the front of the house.
"Sam," this time Dean followed his words with a light hand on his brother's shoulder.
Sam turned around; an odd expression on his face, "Dean, you saw the name. Samuel Colt; the same guy that made the only weapon known to kill the demon."
"We don't even know if it's the same guy," Dean rationalized, "And like you said, we can't get a hold of Bobby, so there's no way to find out."
"Yeah, because there were so many Samuel Colt's around in the early eighteen hundreds," Sam spoke sarcastically.
"Lets just go grab something to eat," Dean said after a moment, "Then we'll see if we can get a hold of Bobby. I just-- have a bad feeling about this place Sam."
Sam suddenly turned towards Dean, a look of pure rebellious determination that Dean had never seen before plastered on his face, "No."
Before Dean could make a move or even a reply, Sam opened up the door and got out; slamming it shut behind him. The shock of his brothers actions only lasted less than a second, but in that small amount of time, Sam had managed to get to the cobblestone walkway. Dean quickly grabbed the rock salt filled pistol that he kept in the glove compartment, turned off the engine and left after Sam. The determination his brother had was evident as by the time Dean rounded the car, Sam was already standing tentatively in front of the porch.
"Sam!" Dean yelled harshly, "Hold the hell up!"
Sam took a quick glance back before walking up the three steps.
"Or keep going," Dean muttered jogging the rest of the way to catch up, "Dude, you got a listening problem or something?"
"Sorry," Sam's words came out heartless as he stared at the old screen door.
"Well if your sorry, then get your ass back to the car until we know more about this place," Dean insisted.
Sam laughed and turned to face Dean, "Man, we know the last hundred years worth of history on this place. There really isn't much more to find out Dean."
"Sam come on," Dean placed a hand on Sam's arm, ready to pull him off down the stairs and back to the waiting car.
Sam paused a moment before speaking calmly and threateningly, "Dean, you know that if you take me back I can easily just leave."
"Are you threatening me?" Dean, too, had a sense of laced anger in his voice.
"No, but I can," Sam stated, "Now lets just check it out for a few minutes."
Without waiting for an answer, Sam pulled opened the screen door, and placed his hand on the old brass doorknob, turning it slightly. The fact that the door was unlocked and easily opened set off a small warning bell inside the older brother, though failed to faze Sam as he walked less than cautiously into the house.
Dean followed Sam into the large entrance hall and looked around. A large staircase leading to the second floor sat just in front of them; open doorways leading to unknown places on either side. The grime which sat thick on the windows let little light in and the dust which had accumulated over the abandoned decades had hardly been disturbed by the demolition crew. Dean reached into his pocket and grabbed the flashlight which he always had on him. With a small click, the beam of light shot out, and he cast it around at the peeling pant on the walls, and the rotting wood on the stairway and floorboards.
"Lets split up," Sam spoke quietly, taking out his own flashlight.
Dean knew that arguing would be futile at that point so wordlessly nodded his approval, and walked cautiously to the right; vaguely aware of his brother heading up the creaking stairs. Dean's first, unaware, mistake was to assume that his brother had a weapon of his own on him; a mistake that, sooner than he'd want to know, would come into play. The room which he walked in to was what formally was a dining hall, and more recently the information room of the once was museum. A long, built in counter sat against the far side and a few old picture of the house still hung on the wall behind it. There were more windows in this room than in the main hall, and so Dean found he didn't need his flashlight as he walked around.
Construction had moved most of the furniture out of the old house, but it was the crystal chandelier that hung down nearly two feet that gave Dean the impression that when the Walsh family lived in the place, this was where the family ate. There was certainly enough room in the medium sized area to hold a table large enough for twelve people, and Dean could almost envision it as he stood on the hand placed planks of wood. The walls were covered in pealing, flowered wallpaper that was splashed with now pale reds and violets. Another door lead off to the right and Dean followed it into a slightly smaller room that was quite obviously a kitchen.
A large gapping hole was in the wall where Dean figured an old, antique stove must have sat before, and laminated counters bordered the wall everywhere else. An old fridge sat at the far end corner which looked as if it hadn't been used in ages; the door ripped off to prevent young children from climbing in. A crate sat on the floor of dust, and Dean was just making his way to a door that was at the end of the room when he heard a noise. The older brother paused in the middle of the long, quiet kitchen and waited.
It came again; a loud 'thump' coming from above him.
"Sam!" Dean yelled; hearing his voice echoing deafeningly off the walls.
The effort was useless as he knew his voice would barely carry into the dining room, never mind wherever Sam happened to be. His heart beat quickening, Dean made his way out of the kitchen and back through the dining area. The small flashlight was immediately turned on, and Dean panned around the dark room; his ears listening for any sign of his brother. Again, within moments of his waiting a loud 'thump' echoed throughout. Though this time Dean wasn't sure whether it came from upstairs, or somewhere else in the house.
"Sammy!" Dean moved in a slow circle, waiting and listening intently for a reply, "Sammy, answer me!"
No reply came except for another sudden 'thump', causing Dean to jump. An idea came to the elder Winchester and he took out his phone; unpleasant memories from the evening before washing through his head as he scrolled down to 'Sam'. This time he didn't hesitate at all before pressing the green dial button, and only waited two rings before the other end was picked up.
"Whoa--" Dean's first reaction was to hold the phone away from his head as loud static came through; that idea quickly left though, as the whereabouts of his brother came into play, "Sam? Hey Sam are you there?"
"…Dean…" the static was thick, but Sam's voice crackled through.
"Sammy, where the hell are you?" Dean asked, his eyes still flashing around the dark room he was in.
The voice was undeniably Sam's, "…Dean… up… can you hear…"
"Sam!" Dean found himself shouting, "Sam, where are you?! Are you ok?!"
"…Dean…" the next words out caused Dean's blood to run ice cold, "… help."
"Sam!" Dean screamed out.
But it was no use. The hollow click sounded the end of the conversation and Dean stared at the ominous stairway. The word 'up' was all that Dean needed to hear to give him the clue that Sam was upstairs, and the word 'help' was all that he needed to bolt up them two at a time; the light bobbing all around. The idea of fear coming from anything other than his brothers well being never occurred to Dean, so when he got to the top of the stairs and was faced with pure darkness, he was caught off guard. His flashlight seemed to do little in the dark thickness that blanketed around him like a cold whisper. In front of him was a wall from the hallway, and to his right and left a seemingly endless, door less passage.
"Sam…" Dean wished his voice was louder as he looked both to his right and left; not sure which direction to go; everything was quiet.
Not surprisingly Dean heard no answer to his feeble call, and he decided on walking slowly to the left. After a few feet he found a door to his left made of solid oak and peeling varnish. The handle turned and with a loud creak the door opened. The flashlight panned around the medium sized room and Dean saw nothing except more dust and a discarded box laying on the floor. His heart beat quickening, Dean continued to the end of the hall where it broke off, again, to the right and left.
"It's like a fricken maze," Dean spoke aloud.
Dean saw a door almost immediately down the hall to his left, so again turned that way and followed the creaking floor to it; locked. His brother instincts told him that Sam wasn't inside the looked room, and so with little thought to it, Dean continued along; his flashing bouncing from the walls which held memories in the form of old pictures. Some were of an older man and woman, but most depicted that of children growing up. Dean followed the pictures to the end of that side of the hall, where it turned at a sharp ninety degree angle to the left again. Two doors were visible with his flashlight on the right hand side, and Dean was just about to, again, start the tedious job of searching rooms when he heard it again.
'Thump'.
This time it was followed by a low moan that gave indication that he was at least on the right floor of the massive house.
"Sammy!?" Dean's voice rung out and bounced across the walls.
The older brother ran straight ahead, and made a sharp left; completing three quarters of the circle that was the second floor.
"Sam?" Dean shone the flashlight around, and almost missed it.
The beam was skinny, but went far; lighting up something in a crumpled heap at the far end of the long hall. With an escaped 'oh God', Dean covered the distance in seconds; vaguely aware that he passed a turnoff to his left; making the figure eight pattern in the halls even more of a confirmation to a mazelike atmosphere.
"Sammy!" Dean shouted out as he got to his brother; laying on the ground, his back to Dean, "Sammy, c'mon."
Briefly holding his flashlight clenched between his teeth, Dean brought his hands down to roll Sam over carefully; fearful of what he'd see. The body turned; Sam's shirt adorned chest falling sideways against Dean's crouched body, and the older brother cradled Sam's head in one hand, turning it to face him.
...to be continued...