Chapter Five

It was 7am before Dean came out of the bathroom, although Sam had heard the shower on long before then. Sam said nothing has he handed a towel-clad Dean his clothes and left the motel room, having taken care of the gouge on his cheek left by the succubus long before.

Dean got dressed slowly and laid down on the bed. Shivering again, he closed his eyes and tried to block out the images that floated to the surface. He didn't want to remember last night. He shouldn't have let it happen. Sam shouldn't have had to come to his rescue; he was the big brother, the protector.

Dean was so involved in his thoughts that he didn't notice Sam slip back into the room until he was standing over him with a coffee cup in hand.

"There better be one of those for me," Dean said, but without his usual playful tone.

Sam noticed this but wisely didn't comment. "There is. If you sit up, you can have it."

Dean sat up without a word and silently took the cup, cautiously sipping it as to not scald himself with the hot liquid. After moments of silence, Dean looked up from the cup to Sam who had moved from the bed to the table and was looking at the screen of his laptop.

"Did you find anything out about the house?"

Sam looked over the top of his laptop to Dean, "Yeah… did you want to talk about what happened last night?"

It didn't take long for Dean to blow, "No I don't want to talk about what happened last night! I want to forget it ever happened, figure out whatever's happening at The Winchester Mystery house, fix it and then get the hell out of dodge!" Dean sat on the edge of the bed, vibrating with anger.

Sam gulped and looked back to his laptop, "Alright...I'll just tell you what I found then."

"You'd better," Dean said, though his voice held none of the bite it had moments before.

"When I was out getting the coffee I asked a couple of people about it. The house itself was built by Sarah Pardee, widow of William Wirt Winchester part of the father/son duo that was responsible for the Winchester rifle. After her daughter died in 1866 and husband died in 1881, she sought out a psychic who told her that her husband said she was cursed. She spent that time until she died building the house, a place where she and the spirits of the people killed by a Winchester Rifle could live."

"Sammy?" Dean said, putting down his coffee cup, "Could you get to the point please?"

"Huh? Yeah. Sorry. Anyway, the stories of the ghosts went unfounded; there wasn't any evidence. Lately, the past couple of months, people on tours through sections of the house and have been reporting more ghostly images and feelings of cold then in the houses' history. There have been accidents, too. Five people have been either injured and two have been killed."

Putting his shoes on, Dean asked, "Killed how?"

"One was found at the bottom of a flight of stairs and the other found in an empty room. No cause of death found as of yet for the second one, it only happened two days ago."

"And the first, cause of death injuries from a supposed fall?"

Sam nodded, "Yup, we going to the house."

Dean pulled on his coat, "Uh-huh, let's go."

Sam called out before he could leave, "Oh, Dean. It's a really, really big place."

Dean turned back to Sam, "How big?" When Sam didn't answer, he started to get nervous, "Sam, how big?"

"Um at last count, there were 160 rooms, two ballrooms, 47 fireplace, 17 chimneys, two basements and three elevators." Dean blinked and Sam threw one more thing in, "Oh and stairways that lead to nowhere."

"Great," Dean said sarcastically, "Well, then, we had better get going." He turned and they both went out to the Impala.