It was late that night, and the streets were wet from that afternoon's rain. However the sky was so clear you could count the stars. You can't say that about home. Dean thought. Then where is home anyway?
Home is where you hang your coat.
"Are y' sure abou' this?" Alistair asked as the brothers swiftly deactivated the security system.
"You talked us into this." Sam said. "Don't pretend you're giving us the opportunity to back out."
"What can I say? Th' lad's smarter then he looks." Alistair remarked. "Give a shout if y' need help. I'll monitor the cameras."
If Glamis Castle was archaic and slightly creepy in the daylight, now the place was downright frightening. A creature could be lurking behind any piece of furniture, and although the castle ghosts never showed before, you could almost see them creeping up behind you.
The trio headed to the security control room, Alistair leading the way. A bitter taste was in Sam's mouth as the Scotsman picked the lock. I wonder if you've done this for those twenty years? I wonder if you're the one who lead those thirty-five people to their deaths? How does that make you feel when they're dead and you're not?
But there was the small thought at the back of his mind. You know exactly what that feels like.
Alistair pointed to the screens. "I'll watch y' from here. Trust me, don't split up."
"Not going to happen." There was a bulge under Dean's jacket and he was holding a leather-bound book in his hand. Sam could tell by the slight twinkle in his eye that he was exited, but at the same time terrified.
It never gets any easier.
"See you on the other side, Al."
"You too, lad. Oh, and try not t' make too much of a mess."
Dean grinned. Sam just looked sour. Sam followed his brother out, closing the door behind them. "Alright." He said. "I presume you have a plan."
"You presume correctly, poin dexter." Dean said, flipping something out of his pocket. It was a tour map of the castle. "Now, this Dantalion guy is pretending to be the deformed Earl, and by default the Monster of Glamis."
"Right."
"So I'm thinking that we start with these corridors here." He pointed. "'Cause these are the ones closest to the rooms where the Earl was kept."
"Wow. That actually makes logical sense. I'm surprised at you."
"Bitch. Okay, we have until the staff start turning up in the morning. Let's take this sucker down."
Sneaking around the deserted castle was like something out of Scooby Doo. "Y'know, I heard a rumour that in certain rooms, the stones bleed."
"You've been watching too much TV."
"You know we'd cover more ground if we split up?"
"But-"
"I guess if you're chicken…"
"Fine, I'll go this way." Dean said sharply. "You go that way. But don't touch anything."
"Yes, Dad."
In hindsight both Winchesters should have known that splitting up was only asking for trouble.
Sam stepped over the thick, red ropes that cordoned off areas of the castle from the public and walked down the dusty hallway, his sneakers bringing up small clouds of dust with each step. It may have been his idea to split up, but now he could honestly say he was beginning to regret it.
"Damn Dean, damn Scotland, damn job." He muttered. Being angry with his brother and the job took his mind off his other immediate thought.
What if I find it?
The rain was starting up again. Sam could see it cascading past the windows. For some reason it made him feel even more miserable. Give me a bone-dry dust bowl anytime.
In the intervening years before he had caught up with Dean once more, Sam had been busy. He had hunted vampires in Nashville, killed a gargoyle in Montana, and had ridded a casino of the ghost of a high roller still hoping to make a packet. But in all the things he'd done, places he'd been, this was the first time he'd ever had to sort out the stereotypical haunted castle.
Oh, and did he mention he wasn't allowed to hurt the ghosts? Both brothers had been brought up with the strict policy of if it's dead but still walking, get rid of it. But Alistair, who was more or less the same age Dad would have been if he was still alive had a different motto.
If they're not hurtin', chasin' or deliberately scarin' folk, leave 'em be. Makes your job a whole lot easier.
Working the same job in two very different styles. Still not sure which one he preferred. And for not the first time, Sam wished he could go back. Not really to a place, but a time. A time when there wasn't pain, or fear, or loneliness.
Remember how easily that illusion was shattered.
There were footsteps ahead of him and a door banged somewhere in the tower overhead. Suddenly, sobbing reached his ears, sobbing that was somehow above him and ahead of him and outside the window.
Narrowing his eyes, Sam bounded up the spiral staircase, careful not to slip on the chipped stone. You're definitely in the restricted area now. He opened the door of the tower room.
The first thing he noticed were the bars in the window. Then he saw the girl.
She had her back to him, and her pale hands were clutching the bars. Her long, fair hair fell lankly down her back and her dress fell in tatters around her bare feet. The narrow shoulders were shaking with each sob.
"Hello." Sam said cautiously. I guess the ghosts of Glamis Castle weren't a whole lot of crap, then. "Could you… I was wondering whether you could help me." Okay, that numbers in the most stupid things you've ever asked a supernatural entity. "I'm looking for some… thing." Real specific.
She just continued to cry.
"Can you hear me?" Sam asked curiously. "Hey-"
He made a mistake he should never have made then. He automatically reached out for her shoulder, as one would do to a person that was still alive. And she turned to face him.
"Holy crap!" He stumbled back.
Her face was a mass of gashes, long and deep and welling with dark blood. Her mouth was red and Sam surmised that her tongue was gone too. She looked into her eyes and opened her mouth in a silent scream, pulling and pointing at her scarred face.
Sam did what any other person would have done. He fled, slamming the door behind him.
Don't hurt the ghosts. Don't hurt the ghosts my ass! He lent against the wall, catching his breath. And he realised something.
They were claw marks. From something big.
"Oh, Dantalion. How long have you been here, really?"
Dean was not faring much better. He searched a ballroom and the feasting hall before crawling into a small passageway for the servants.
Poor bloody servants.
Pushing aside a dusty tapestry, he emerged into a grand hallway, laid with red carpet and lined with weapons display cases. He stopped to admire a double-bladed axe.
"I will not steal." He automatically repeated the mantra the school counsellor had forced him to memorise when he was caught taking sweets from the swimming students' bags when they were all in the pool. He was six.
After his father had finished laughing, he had said that Dean should know better. If you were going to steal, don't get caught.
God, we were screwed up. Jeez, what am I saying? We are screwed up.
He was halfway down the hallway when a familiar sound reached his ears.
Someone was rolling dice.
Dean had never been fond of the game of dice, perse, because the game was left more up to chance, and therefore harder to be fixed. Not that he was completely adverse against playing it, mind you…
He approached the sound. Gradually he became aware of someone swearing at the top of his lungs, in a thick brogue. Resting his hand against the door, he swung it inwards.
Nothing seemed out of place at first, and there was nothing out of the ordinary. Except the bellowing of swear words which was so loud the person mind have been standing beside him. Dean narrowed his eyes. Squinting, he thought he could see shapes forming.
A black, hooded thing had it's back to him, bending over another quivering shadow. Dean cocked the salt-laden pistol. Maybe Alistair didn't want them to hurt the ghosts, but there was no way he was going to walk in there naked.
"How's it going, dude?" He said. Be fair, what else do you say?
It ignored him. He cocked his head to the side and noticed that it appeared to be whispering.
You made the deal with the Devil, you can't go back now, your choice and yours alone, you said you would play the game, so PLAY THE GAME.
Dean froze. The smaller shape broke away from the cloaked creature. It was a man in a kilt, with wild hair and beard. It didn't seem to be able to see the other ghost.
"Another has come t' th' game." He said. "Will you challenge me?"
He was holding a pair of dice in front of him like some sort of shield. "Th' stakes are high in th' game. P'haps this one has th' soul t' free th' Earl."
Meanwhile the other ghost was still whispering.
Play the game for all eternity, you lost all but the Devil is yet to collect his dues, you play the game for him, each who crosses your path you must best with the Dice, for only then will you be released if you play the game.
"DO YOU CHALLENGE ME?"
"Ah, no." He fired his round into the ghost.
It passed through it and splattered against the stone wall on the other side. There was a hole the size of Dean's fist in its stomach, but it didn't seem to be harmed. If anything, now it was angry.
"Fool." It hissed. "Y' think I don't know who y' are? I saw ye th moment y' stepped onto m' land. Y' made th' deal with the Devil, now y' must play th' game."
How did a ghost know that…? "Buddy, I appreciate the offer, but I really have to head off." Dean backed away. Never take your eyes off your opponent.
The tall, black figure was still whispering. Must play the game, all play the game, all are born playing the game, all die playing the game. Dead, dead, dead, you killed them all with your own hands, everyone plays the game, good and bad, no difference in the end.
"Look, jerk, could you just shut up?" Dean snapped at it. Another first. "I've got to think."
"PLAY THE GAME!"
"Oh, fuck this." And he stepped back, slamming the door behind him.
Sam jogged down the corridor, peering into each door he passed. Time was running out, and they had to find the demon and defeat it by daybreak. But if the demon was as good as it was supposed to be, then there was no way that it was going to let them find it.
He was halfway across another, smaller ballroom when his skull began to prickle. Ignoring it at much as he could, he struggled to the other end of the room. His breathing was heavy as he sank to his knees.
Just lie down and die. No one will miss you. No one will even remember you.
Sam shook his head, trying to dispel the thoughts. Glancing into one of the mirrors set at intervals along the walls, he thought he caught a glimpse of something moving.
No one wants you. No one will even care.
Squinting, he realised that the thoughts were not his at all. He had experienced similar things before, mainly with the Yellow-eyed Demon. Someone was putting them there.
"Dean would. He would care." He growled. It would not break him. "Show yourself, Dantalion!"
The figure crept closer to him in the mirror, but when Sam glanced behind him, no one was there, and he couldn't feel anyone there. In the mirror it cocked its head to the side.
You believe that? You really believe Dean is the saint you always thought he was? You and your daddy made him the screwed up ass he is today, and don't you think that there's a small bit of hate in him for that?
You killed him, you sent him to Hell, and even he knows he's better off without you.
"No…"
You're a murderer, Sam Winchester. You murdered your own brother.
"No…!"
Sam stared into the glass, and the creature came closer. He couldn't see a face, but he could see the eyes. Especially when they glowed a pale, icy blue. Almost white. Faster than he expected, the demon's arm flashed out, claws curling around his skull.
"You played the game. You made a deal with the Devil and it's time for Him to take his due."
Sam didn't even get to scream as he fell into the pit.
Dean shook his head to try and calm his jittered nerves. It didn't work. "Sam?" He called out. "Sam!"
There was a noise and he tensed, preparing to strike. And then his brother walked casually around the corner.
"Jesus, Sam. Are you trying to give me a heart attack… again?"
"No." Sam shook his head dazedly. "Sorry. I've been seeing things, and I'm still kind of out of it."
"Yeah, tell me about it." Dean said. "Spot anything out of the usual?"
Sam just gave him a look.
"I think it knows we're here." Dean continued. "He's throwing these ghosts in our way to slow us down."
"I suppose. We've run into people before who were able to control spirits. Normally through some necromantic charm, though."
"Which means that this demon knows what he's doing." Dean finished grimly. "Time to go, I think." He glanced at his watch. "The first of the staff should be turning up soon."
He kept his little brother in his sights as the duo walked back to Alistair's security room. There was something strange going on, he could sense it. Sam was acting a bit more awkward than usual, and it was beginning to worry him.
Abruptly Dean was reminded of when Sam was being possessed by the Meg-demon, how he would stand like he wasn't quite used to being in his own skin, talking like he wasn't quite used to his own voice.
Time for a little test.
"Christo." Dean whispered.
Sam faltered midstep. And he grinned.
"Finally he's clever."
"Dantalion." Dean hissed. "The possession charm-"
Sam's eyes sparkled a deadly, icy blue. "You really think that something like that works on something like me?"
Now where have I heard that before? "Get out of him." There was barely restrained anger in his voice.
"Or what? You'll kick my ass?" He laughed, and it was Sam's laugh mixed with something darker, crueller. "But Sammy's such a special boy. With such special talents. Pity he refuses to use them."
Dean's finger tightened on the trigger. "Get out." He growled. On the floor below a door opened and he could hear female voices.
Crap.
Dantalion spread Sam's arms wide. "Shoot and hurt your brother. My, what a dilemma. Can't kill him and no time to exorcise him. You wanted the demon, here I am."
There were footsteps climbing the stairs.
"You lost." Dantalion said. "But you have my commiserations. You played well."
He cocked his head to the side and Dean was sent flying back down the corridor, smashing his head against the wall.
The last thing he saw before his vision went red, then black, was Sam, his little brother, walking through a wall.