Chapter 2

"I'm telling you Sam, something feels off about this place," Dean said in a low voice as the two brothers descended the dark, rear stairwell leading to the castle's wine cellar. He directed the beam of his flashlight toward the large wooden door, shuddering slightly as he briefly wondered if they were heading into an actual dungeon. Judith had given them free reign to inspect the entire castle, but for some reason it didn't reassure him.

Sam followed closely behind his brother and fished the EMF meter out of his jacket pocket. "Yeah, my spidey senses are tingling too bro', but we're going to need to find out more about the victims and what they were doing before they died. Right now, we've got nothing to go on. This place may not even be the key to the deaths. We need to know more history."

"Unless the answer just jumps out at us," Dean said hopefully as he tugged on the heavy door, which opened with a loud groan. The boys' eyes adjusted to the dim lighting as they entered the cavernous room. The walls were lined with wine and whiskey barrels.

"Wow, I'd say this is an alcoholic's nirvana." Dean rapped his knuckles on one of the barrels. "I think these are all full, Sam."

The younger Winchester directed his flashlight beam along the rows of barrels, awestruck at the sheer volume. "There's got to be thousands of them down here."

A sound behind them alerted the brothers just in time for Dean to find a gun barrel aimed directly at his head. An angry looking older man held the rifle tightly with both hands, his index finger caressing the trigger. As a conditioned response, Sam immediately pulled his gun from the waistband of his trousers and aimed it at the man.

Dean cleared his throat and laughed nervously. "Huh, looks like we have a standoff here."

The man grabbed Dean by the neck and slammed him roughly against a wine barrel, scraping the side of his face against the old wood. "No we don't." He addressed Sam. "You drop that gun boy, or your friend here is going down."

Sam hesitated. He had to keep Dean safe, but he didn't know if he could trust the guy to back off. "Look, mister, we have permission to be down here. Mrs. Conroy gave us permission. We're with the Centers for Disease Control."

The man pressed the rifle barrel firmly into Dean's kidney, eliciting a hiss of pain from the young hunter. "Well, I'm MISTER Conroy and you don't have my permission. The CDC has already been here. Everything checked out fine. Who the hell are you two? You aren't CDC agents; that's for damn sure. They don't usually carry guns and they don't go sneaking around in wine cellars. Now, I warned you. Drop the gun."

Sam slowly lowered his handgun, exchanging a worried look with his brother. Dean attempted to lift his head to say something, but Mr. Conroy slammed him back against the vat. Dean winced as his head hit the metal band on the barrel, opening a gash on his forehead. Sam moved forward to help his brother, but was quickly stopped when Conroy aimed the gun at him. Sam raised his hands and directed his most sincere, puppy-dog eyes towards the man.

"Please, Mr. Conroy, we have identification, I can prove we are from the CDC. We're investigating new information in the case."

"Let's see it."

Carefully pocketing the EMF meter, which he hadn't had a chance to switch on, Sam pulled his fake ID out of his wallet and handed it to the man, who inspected it, scrutinizing Sam and returning the card to him. Chagrined, he lowered the rifle and released Dean. Sam immediately moved to his brother's side, holding his shoulders and inspecting the bleeding wound on his forehead. Dean, as usual batted Sam's hand away, but accepted the support his brother offered as he felt the room tilt suddenly. He closed his eyes, willing the dizziness to pass. Sam held his shoulders more firmly, concern etched on his face as he watched his brother.

"Dean? You okay?"

Sam watched as his older brother pressed his lips together tightly, biting back pain.

"Yeah, just give me a minute."

"Look boys, I'm sorry. I've had some strange things happen down here in the cellar recently, some break-ins and vandalism. I thought you . . . "

Dean held up his hand. "S'okay Mr. Conroy. We should have shown you our IDs right away."

Sam frowned, still angry at the rough treatment his brother received, but didn't push it. He was just glad the guy stood down. He adopted his "official" voice and addressed the older man.

"Look, Mr. Conroy. We are going to need to interview you. This is the first we've heard of break-ins and vandalism. That could be significant. We also will need to know more about this castle and this wine cellar, in particular," Sam told the man, still supporting his brother, whose head wound was bleeding profusely. "But first we need to get my, uh, Mr. Whitman's wound cleaned up."

"Please, call me Kendall, Mr. Waters. I apologize again. Let's get him upstairs, Judith has a first aid kit. Head wounds bleed a lot, but it doesn't look too deep."

Dean reached out and patted the man on the shoulder. "No worries, Kendall, I've had worse." Sam inwardly grimaced, knowing just how true that was.