Dean can't remember the last time he has felt this happy. With the credits of Rush Hour scrolling across the screen, empty pizza boxes and the equally empty cake box laying abandoned on the table, wrapping paper deserted on the floor, a carefully placed, and clearly adored pile of gifts sitting on the recliner, and a sleeping, exhausted, but content little brother cuddling into his side, giving Dean months' worth of fuel to mock him with, Dean thinks this might just have been the very best day of his life. Eating junk food with Sammy, watching the best action movies of the last decade all evening and hotly debating where they rank on that list, and just seeing the pure delight on his face at his gifts, especially the spare key to the impala that had been Dean's own fourteenth birthday gift, has given Dean such a warm, overwhelming sense of peace and pleasure that he honestly can't think of a single way today could have been any better. Pulling the couch's quilt up more to better cover Sammy, he looks down at the kid, smiling slightly. Despite officially entering the later half of his teens, he still looks like a kid. Dean smirks, as he studies Sam's baby face, his innocent puppy dog eyes currently closed, but the cherubic cheeks, thick eyelashes, and girlish chocolate curls falling around the youthful face no less dangerous, and enthralling because of his unconsciousness. His poor baby brother will probably be photo I.D'd at every bar and liquor store he goes to until his late twenties. Maybe even into his thirties. And he definitely is going to be pulled over by a few cops, even if Dean took him to get a legitimate driver's license to replace the fake one he already has. Maybe Dean should hold off on the whole letting Sam drive Baby thing, just until the kid grows a bit more out of his looking-like-a-kid phase. Chuckling to himself, Dean slowly eases out from under his brother, gently helping to ease Sam properly onto the couch before he gets a crick in his neck from sleeping upright. After doing this for most of his life, Dean gets Sam settled comfortably against the pillows, tucked securely under the quilt, without him stirring even once. Smiling smugly at his superior big brother skills, Dean crosses the room, turning off the television, silence filling the room as he gathers up the garbage from their birthday dinner, and the discarded wrapping paper, throwing it all out. Yawning, Dean starts to make for the bedroom, figuring he'll take advantage of Sam's poor decision to fall asleep on the couch, when he trips over Sam's forgotten backpack. Sighing, Dean leans down to pick it up, frowning as he sees the book Baron Mikail gave to Sammy earlier. His eyes drift to the odd author. C.O.M. A small chill rolls down his back as he studies the letters, getting an uncomfortable feeling that, whoever or whatever they belong to, they aren't just some friendly, innocent local historian. And since his hunter's instinct is rarely wrong when it comes to stuff like this, Dean decides to trust his gut, turning instead for the kitchen table and all of Sam's notes on their maybe-haunted house. While he hadn't been about to make Sammy hunt on his birthday, the truth is they still have a case here to figure out. But more and more, Dean is doubting that it has anything to do with ghosts or even poltergeists. Especially when he reads through A History of Moses Lake. Which, the more Dean reads, should be retitled to A History of This Random Mansion in Moses Lake. Everything he reads has to do with Michael Manor. It being built, the various members of Michael Adam's family who owned it, up until the Adam named died out, and the Davidson's took over. And then, of course, the murders that supposedly started the hauntings. The various testimonies of the witnesses over the years, describing pretty much every single haunting Dean has ever experienced to a T, minus the dropping bodies. Even theories that Colton Davidson buried the bodies of his family in the basement of the mansion, and that he himself is buried in the backyard in a shallow grave. Honestly, it is everything they could need to know about the case, served up on a silver plate, and isn't that just a little bit suspicious? Dean compares it to the weeks' worth of research that their father and Sammy have done, everything lining up neatly, perfectly, but almost… too perfectly. Normally the witnesses contradict each other, or the facts vary according to the source, and it takes a lot more effort to sort out the truth from the exaggerations. But here, every detail Dad and Sam found, is laid out perfectly in this book, exactly the same. Almost as if they came from the exact same sources. Which, Dean supposes, on its own may not be too out of the realm of possibility… but still. Exactly the information they would need? Dates, times, people, places? All in one convenient place? And from Mr. Mikail of all people. Dean frowns, thinking of their conversation this morning. The strange intensity to the man, the overly familial concern about Dean and his interests, and the… peculiar way he had questioned Dean about Sam, and his guardianship of the kid. Dean thinks of Sam's insistence that there was something off about him, that the man disliked him, and Dean can't help but agree. Although he had somewhat complimented Sam, there had been a healthy dose of… something, behind the words he used. He had called Sam polite, gifted and bright. But he had done it in the same way that Sam lists off facts of monsters. Like a vampire is super strong, has heightened senses, and has fangs. All true, but spoken with a wary, almost reluctant respect. And, the more Dean thinks about the conversation, the way Baron had looked as they spoke about Sam, the more he can't help but compare it to a hunter's debrief of a dangerous creature. Dean frowns more, looking over at his sleeping brother, and starts remembering how other people in this town have been acting. The waitress last night, for one. Though Dean had been delighted by her attraction to him, and had been tempted to see about getting her number, he had also noticed the chilly way she spoke to Sam, even looked at him when she thought Dean wasn't looking. And there was the fact that Rodney had made several comments to Dean over the course of his brief employment about how much better his life would be if he didn't have his little brother trailing after him all the time. Although the comments had made him bristle, he had attributed it to Rodney being an only child who had no clue about the things that Dean and Sammy have been through over the years. Now though, a disturbing pattern is unfolding in Dean's head. Everywhere he and Sammy have gone, he seems to get nothing but respect, and warm greetings. Rodney offering him the job on the spot, when Dean had walked into the shop, and then, without any argument, agreeing to advance his pay cheque. The waitress, pretty much throwing herself at Dean, looking at him like he had made her night simply by walking into the restaurant. The teacher, caring far more about Dean's wellbeing and happiness than he had any right to, considering they were strangers. The clerk at the grocery store smiling warmly every time he goes in, the chick who runs the motel that Dean had briefly stopped at to grab some pamphlets on things to do in town spending half an hour with him talking about Baby, the librarian gushing over him when he had come to pick up Sammy one afternoon… More and more examples fill his head, as he really thinks about their two weeks in Moses Lake. And, on the flip side, he thinks about how those same people have seemed to respond to Sammy's presence. Mr. Mikail's dislike, the waitress' icy attitude, Rodney's annoyance. He knows Sam has picked up on it to, although most of the people have tried to at least hide the negative reactions. While Dean has been around, at least. Discomfort settles over him as he looks down at the book he had been reading. He thinks Sam is right, that the haunting itself is fake, but something else is up with this weird town. Something that seems to be focusing itself on him and his brother. He taps the table, frowning thoughtfully as he tries to decide what to do. Call his dad? Tell him what has been happening? But their father will want more information. Will be expecting them to have more to go on, other than sometimes friendly, sometimes hostile locals. Dean's eye is drawn towards the cover of A History of Moses Lake again, the house, and he taps it gently. It may or may not actually be haunted, but Michael manor still seems to be the best place to start.
"Dean?" His head snaps up at the sleepy voice calling his name, and he sees Sammy blinking at him from the couch, yawning widely as he sits up and rubs his eyes.
"Hey tiger. Thought you were sleeping." Dean grins easily at him, hoping to hide the worried thoughts from his brother. But, eagle-eyed as always, even half asleep at what Dean's watch is shockingly telling him is one-thirty in the morning, Sam's expression changes from confused to concerned.
"What's wrong?" He asks immediately.
"Nothing's wrong." Dean says quickly. Sam snorts, running a hand through his hair and making the already hilarious bed-head a thousand times worse.
"Tell that to your face." Sam says drily. He pushes off the quilt, stumbling towards Dean and the table, frowning as he looks down at the papers surrounding Dean. "What are you doing?"
"Just… thinking." Dean admits, running a hand through his hair. He can see the stubbornness setting into Sam's expression, and he knows the kid isn't going back to sleep unless Dean answers his questions. He points to the C.O.M book. "I don't think we are dealing with a haunting, but I think someone, or some people, want us to think that we are."
"Why?" Sam slides into the chair next to Dean, his face turning thoughtful and focused. "Tourism?"
"No." Dean shakes his head. "I don't mean we, as in, people in general. I think the haunting was faked to draw us in specifically. Or at least, hunters, specifically." Not that Dean believes that this isn't directly focused on him and Sammy at this point, not with the patterns revealing themselves to Dean inside his head the longer he focuses on the people of this town and what they have found so far.
"You mean, you and me." Sam says softly, displaying his annoying knack of being able to read Dean's mind. "You think the house is a trap?"
"I think… someone wants us there." Dean says slowly. He looks at the book. "I think your history teacher is involved, somehow. This book… it answers every single question we ask on a ghost hunt. It's like a giant neon arrow pointing us to exactly where we need to go. The only thing I can't figure out yet is if it is a helpful arrow, or, like you said, leading directly towards a trap." The split personalities of the townsfolk, helpful and eager, and warm to Dean, while suspicious and cold towards Sam, don't help clear anything up. In fact, they just make Dean more cautious. He has half a mind to just load Sammy up in the impala, and drive them both out of town until their father arrives. But, of course, they are Winchesters, and, hating hunting or not, Sammy isn't going to just walk away from a case they have already started.
"Maybe we should follow it then." Sam says, meeting Dean's eyes, his expression grim and serious. Dean frowns, watching some of the youthful innocence that had been dominant on Sammy's face all day disappear again, replaced by the solemnness of a young, but experienced hunter. "We won't know if Mr. Mikail gave me this book to help or to hurt us until we check out the house itself. It seems like we already have all the information we are likely to find from researching the place. Maybe its time to see it for ourselves. Michael Manor is only about ten minutes from here, and we already have pretty much everything we could need. I can be ready in five minutes." Dean raises his eyebrows at his brother's ready expression.
"What, you want to go check this out tonight?" He asks.
"Why not?" Sam shrugs. "We are both awake. It is late enough that we should be able to break into the place without getting caught. Besides, if it is just a violent, but non-murderous spirit, we can figure out which spirit is haunting the place and burn the bones, and get this entire hunt over with." Sam suddenly grins at Dean. "Besides, I know how restless you have been. Maybe tonight you can finally get a chance to shoot something again, stop the hunting withdrawal." He jokes. Dean scoffs.
"Are you saying you think I am addicted to hunting?" He demands. Sammy, the little shit, just grins.
"If the shoe fits." Sam leaps up and out of the way before Dean can grab him and teach him some manners. "Come on Dean… this weird house definitely has something going on… maybe if we go there, we can figure it out. Besides, just because no bodies have dropped yet, doesn't mean that can't change at a moment's notice." Dean frowns, unable to argue with his brother's logic.
"Alright." Dean reluctantly agrees. "We'll go tonight. Bring the usual, salt and iron, and salt-rounds for the shotguns. But I want you to also bring your Taurus and that new knife from Dad. If this isn't actually the ghost of Colton Davidson, or someone from his family, then we don't know what is trying to draw us there, so it is best if we are prepared for anything. And I want you to stay with me the entire time. No splitting up to sweep floors separately."
"Dean-" Sam starts to protest.
"No, Sam, this is non-negotiable." Dean says seriously. "You know I am in charge of hunts, when Dad isn't here." Dean recognizes the flare of anger and bitterness in his brother's eyes, the same look his father deals with constantly when the three of them hunt together. But, fortunately, Dean knows how to diffuse it, because he knows where the anger comes from. Sam has no problem with obedience, as long as he understands why he needs to do something. Dean has long ago learned that, if he gives Sam a reasonable explanation for his orders, Sam will usually go along with his plans, no problem. It was a lesson that their father hasn't learned yet, unfortunately, but Dean is determined to make Sam feel like an equal, instead of an insubordinate. After all, he and Dean are partners in this hunt, and Sam is entitled to understand where his orders are coming from. "Look, we both have seen how oddly people in this town are acting, right? Like your teacher?" Sam frowns, and as Dean expected, the anger leaves his expression. "There is a very good chance that what we are walking into is a trap that they set. I want you with me, so that way they can't pick us off on our own. We have a better chance of reacting to whatever might happen if we are covering each other's backs, right?"
"Right." Sam nods, his expression clearing as he realizes Dean isn't saying that he doesn't trust Sam, but rather wants the backup covering his six. It will take longer to clear the house, sure, but just knowing Sam will be in his line of sight helps Dean breathe a little easier.
"Alright then. Go get ready, we roll out in five." Dean says. Sam stands up, and quickly gathers his gifts, before disappearing into the bedroom. Dean frowns down at the papers, hoping he isn't making a mistake, but knowing Sam is right. They know everything they can get from a distance, now they need to take a look at the house up close. Trap or not, whatever information they are missing, on who is behind this 'haunting', or what they want, or why the town seems to be reacting so differently to each of them, it is all in that manor. Besides, the brat was also right that Dean is itching to get into the field. As much fun as he has been having working at the shop, and as necessary as the research portion is to the hunt, Dean's real job, his preferred job, is out there, in the field, with a gun and a blade in hand, taking out the monsters of the world. And he knows for Sam, the amount of questions this case has raised is just driving him insane. He is desperate to solve this puzzle, and figure it all out in the same way that Dean is desperate to burn some bones, or shoot a ghost. At least Dean's desperation makes him cool, unlike his nerdy brother. Smiling a little, as the usual pre-hunt adrenaline starts to burn in his veins, Dean gets moving, gathering up his own supplies from the house, the rest already in the impala's trunk. Once he is ready, he waits for Sammy, who emerges from the bedroom in fresh, but sturdy hunter's gear- boots, jeans, flannel shirt under his new jacket from Bobby, his new backpack slung across his back- and wearing his Taurus and his new knife strapped to his belt. Dean grins as Sam also pulls out his new lockpicking kit.
"Dibs on picking the front door." Sam says gleefully.
"Decided to break everything in all at once?" Dean jokes, even as delight fills him. Getting Sam to hunt at all these days can be like pulling teeth, so seeing him so excited to put his new gear to use is honestly refreshing. Sam shrugs, but the grin stays in place.
"Gotta put it all to the test at some point, right?" Sam smirks and leads the way out the door. Dean smiles, content. Maybe this is the key to getting Sam to hunt, he muses. Maybe it is something that needs to be just him and Sammy. As much as Dean loves his father, and he knows Sam loves him, Dean knows that Sam isn't the same kind of hunter as he and Dad are. The boots on the ground, grunt soldiers who take on the dirty work, no questions asked. Sam is different. No less skilled, but his strengths lie in research, and strategizing, and planning. Figuring out solutions to the problems. Looking at the bigger picture, rather than the smaller details. His need to understand, to question everything, is Sammy's greatest strength, but Dad just sees it as a weakness. A liability, because he thinks obedience and instant response to a situation is much more important in a hunt. And neither of them are wrong, but their inability to see where the other is coming from is leading to more and more fights, and more tension that leaves them all vulnerable in the field. And since Dad always does more solo hunts anyways, Dean can talk to him about letting him and Sammy take on some more hunts just the two of them. At least until the tensions settle down between the two of them, and both can get a little bit more perspective on how the other hunts best. Thinking hard, Dean follows Sam out to the impala, locking the house up behind him, and joining his brother at the trunk. Sam is already loading shotguns with rock-salt shells, and filling his new backpack with iron bars, more salt, and a flask of holy water. He also adds an iron knife to the small arsenal at his waist, before handing Dean a belt sheath, also with an iron and a silver dagger, which Dean quickly fastens around his waist, adjusting his holster with his preferred M1911, before he grabs his own go bag of hunting supplies, not unlike Sam's backpack, and one of the shotguns Sam has prepared, letting Sam close the trunk. Setting their supplies in the backseat, Dean moves to climb into the driver's seat but Sam hesitates at the passenger side door. "Hey Dean…" He speaks softly, though it feels louder in the quiet of the night air. Dean looks over to see a cautious, hopeful smile on his brother's face. "Can I drive?" Dean hesitates, a small smirk on his face. It wouldn't be the first time Sam has driven the Impala, but it would be the first time he had driven it to a hunt. Desperate to encourage this newfound excitement for the family business, and figuring that, with practically no traffic at all at this hour, there is a much lower risk of Sammy damaging the car, Dean nods, stepping back from the car.
"Sure." He agrees. "Just remember, if you scratch my baby, I'll beat you into next month." Sam smiles widely, excitedly and practically runs around the car. Dean chuckles, heading to the passenger side, and sliding into the seat as Sammy sits in the driver's seat. Closing the doors, Dean watches carefully as Sammy starts up the impala, and expertly pulls them out of the driveway, turning the car towards the outskirts of town where the goal of the midnight quest is waiting. Dean laughs at Sam's wide, delighted smile as he drives perfectly, treating Baby with all the reverence and gentleness that she deserves. Dean pats his brother's shoulder approvingly, and Sam glances at Dean, eyes filled with joy and excitement. You would never guess from his expression that it is almost two in the morning.
"It's like I'm you!" Sam says excitedly. Dean's heart warms considerably, as he takes in the hero-worship in his brother's eyes, that has faded almost completely since Sammy turned fourteen. Returning now, in full force, Dean feels the same way he did when Sammy was six, and fixed his skinned knee, or when Sammy was four and he was reading his comic books to Sam. The love, and happiness radiating from Sam makes Dean feel invincible, like he can do no wrong. Still, there is no way he can actually let Sammy know how much his excited, genuine words have affected him, so Dean just snorts.
"No, it's not." Dean teases. "Gotta work on your coolness for a while before you even get close to me kiddo." Sam rolls his eyes, but the teasing doesn't diminish the pure joy on his expression, and the lightness that has surrounded both boys since Sam's birthday party keeps them both relaxed and ready as they drive out of the main part of town. They sit in comfortable silence, the rumble of Baby's engine the only noise. Normally Dean would throw on a tape, some kind of classic rock, but tonight he is content to just focus on the drive, sitting side by side with his little brother. His little brother, who, obnoxiously, insists on growing up way too fast. And speaking of too fast, all too soon Sam is slowing the car down, as a massive, imposing stone wall appears alongside the road, easily fifteen feet high. "I never understood how rich people could make even rocks seem expensive." Dean complains, studying the magnificent structure. Sam snorts.
"It's all in the craftsmanship." Sam answers. Finally, a drive appears, with a heavy, intricate wrought iron fence blocking the path. Sam pulls the impala over, parking her and turning off the ignition.
"Perfect landing, kiddo." Dean smiles proudly. Sam grins back happily, climbing out of the car with Dean. Together, they fall silent and move over to the gate to study it, but luck is with them. The gate, while beautiful and clearly luxurious, is old. Old enough to probably be original, which means no electronic locks, or fancy security systems. Giving the wall itself a quick look, just to confirm the lack of any modern cameras or security, since they had been burned more than once by hidden ones, Dean turns back to the gate, studying the lock and smiling at the simplicity of it. Fancy, but more for show than actual functionality. A deterrent for most, but something any Winchester can pick with absurd ease. "You're up tiger." Sam smiles, pulling out his new kit and gets to work, the lock snapping open less than a minute later.
"Done." Sam says, a note of pride in his voice. Dean grins, clapping Sam's shoulder appreciatively.
"Good work. Hell, I think you just set a new Winchester record Sammy." Dean praises, and Sam beams. "Come on, lets get the car up the drive, and away from any possible prying eyes." Sam returns to the impala while Dean slides the gate open, standing aside to let Sam drive through. He closes the gate again behind her, making it look as if the gate is still locked, before he gets back into the car. Sam drives up the long, winding driveway, darkness impressing all around them and hiding what Dean is positive is probably a sweeping, beautiful estate, since, from everything they had read, the town regularly upkeeps the manor because of its historical significance. Except in May, where it is all but abandoned for a month, until the hauntings die down. After a few minutes, Sam finally pulls them up to the manor itself, and both hunters let out a low, appreciative whistle at the mansion that is rising above them. Although most of the vastness is hidden, thanks to the darkness of the cloud-covered sky, what is illuminated by the impala's headlights screams wealth. White, flawless marble, grey stones with that uber rich look that comes from, as Sam says, the craftmanship, massive wooden double doors, and extensive panes of glass windows greet them, and Dean almost thinks that the word manor is underselling the place. Sam once again turns off the car, and for a moment, they both just sit and stare at the luxurious, old house that had been a part of the founding of the city. Dean is watching it appreciatively, but Sam is speculative. "What is it?" Dean asks cautiously.
"This house is… elaborate." Sam says slowly. Dean raises his eyebrows.
"Yeah. And?" He says slowly. Sam glances at him.
"And, Moses Lake wasn't exactly the Promised Land when it was founded." Sam says, as if stating the obvious. "This house seems a little… excessive, for a small town, doesn't it?"
"It was the mayor's house." Dean points out, frowning.
"Yeah, but most mayors didn't waste money building a goliath like this." Sam counters. "Sure, their houses were bigger, but they didn't give the freaking White House a run for its money."
"So? Maybe Michael Adam came from wealth." Dean suggests. Sam frowns thoughtfully.
"Maybe… or maybe this manor was more than just a family house." Sam says reflectively. "Maybe it was meant to be something more important. I mean, even with generational wealth back then, it would have been difficult to pay for something like this. But, if there was maybe a group, or a community putting in money towards it…"
"So, what, you thinking line a Knight's Templar, Freemason's thing?" Dean asks, studying his brother, impressed as always with the way he can absorb and analyze things that would never even have crossed Dean's mind. Sam shrugs.
"No idea. But, whatever happened to the Davidsons, whatever is going on with the people in this town… I think this house is more involved than we thought previously. Like it's the epicenter of whatever is going on, built specifically for whatever is going on." Dean glances back at the imposing façade, considering Sam's theory.
"You know, for someone who hates hunting, you have a hell of a knack for it." Dean says. Sam blushes.
"Shut up." He mutters, climbing out of the car. Dean smirks and follows his lead, grabbing their bags and the shotguns from the back seat, and handing Sam's things off to him, before shutting the car's doors.
"Alright. Let's go." Dean orders. "Remember, stay with me. Keep your eyes and ears open."
"Got it." Sam nods, and together they set off for the front door, quickly climbing the pale marble steps of the front porch. Sam hands Dean his shotgun and starts on the door's lock. Although it takes slightly longer than the front gate, Sam easily gets it open as well, and he gently pushes the door inwards. It goes without even the hint of a squeak, and unease floods through Dean. The lack of resistance means that the building is a lot more upkept than they had expected, which means there is more likely to be security, personnel, or other obstacles to them getting in and out easily, and unnoticed. Still, it isn't the first time they broke into an inhabited, or semi-inhabited building. It just means they have to be more careful about how they move, and more cautious about leaving any signs of their presence. Putting his kit back in his pocket, Sam takes his shotgun back from Dean, and steps back, letting Dean lead the way into the hall. Dean steps forward, onto what feels like solid marble, and Sam slips in behind him, shutting the door as silently behind him as he had opened it. Darkness settles around them as they both hold their breath, waiting to see if their presence has disturbed anything, but when nothing happens, Dean pulls out his flashlight, flicking it on. The beam of light shows a massive entryway, as big as the entirety of their current house, if not bigger. Three massive doorways lead off of the entry way, one directly ahead of them, and one to each side. Framing the doorway ahead of them, marble spiral staircases lead up to a balcony, that branches off to hallways leading to other sections of the manor. Old artwork hangs on the wall, and a chandelier about the same size as Baby dangles from the ceiling about fifteen feet above their heads. Dean glances back, exchanging a stunned look with Sam. Having grown up in cheap motels, and sometimes in Baby herself, living off of canned food and diner food, being surrounded by such lavishness is almost overwhelming. Sam drifts towards one of the walls, studying the painting, and Dean follows, shining his light on a picture of an angel, raising a flaming sword into the air. The one beside it shows a similar angel, at the head of a host, its brethren kneeling at the angel's feet. "Heh." Sam snorts. "Kinda looks like you, Dean." Dean glances at the angels. Blonde hair, flowing around their necks, long and loose and way too girly. Square jawed face, freckles, bright, fierce green eyes… huh. Cut the hair a little, and Dean can sort of see Sam's point.
"Nah." Dean says, refusing to concede to his brother's comparison of him to a dude in a robe with a serious need for a haircut. "Not nearly awesome enough." Sam snorts softly again, and together they start moving up the stairs. Usually, when searching a premises, one person starts in the basement and the other starts at the top of the house, and they work to meet in the middle. But, given the size of this place, and Dean's decree that they won't be separating, they both instinctively move to start at the basement, before making their way up through the rest of the house. Dean leads the way forwards, keeping his shotgun in his dominant hand, finger on the trigger as he shines the flashlight around the too big, too cold halls of the first floor, Sam moving like a shadow at his back. Dean frowns, his uneasiness growing. Something about the place seems… off. Like it is missing something. He just can't explain what, since every room they pass and glance into is filled with beautiful, antique looking furniture. They pass a living room, a parlor, a kitchen, a dining room, a billiards room, and even a room that looks like it is just dedicated to holding art. And still, that lingering sense of wrongness, of absence, keeps bothering Dean.
"Dean." Sam whispers, as Dean finally pulls open a door, leading to a set of hard, marble stairs descending down into pitch blackness. Dean glances at him curiously, raising his eyebrow. "Do you notice what's missing?" Dean frowns, grateful that he isn't the only one who noticed that something was off, and annoyed that Sam seems to have figured it out before him. He starts descending the stairs, shotgun at the ready, and tries to figure out what Sam is talking about. No cold spots, or flickering lights, or flying objects, not that they really are expecting any at this point, since they both don't believe it's a haunting anymore, so Dean doesn't think that is what Sam is referring to. He stumbles slightly on one of the steps, his hand flying out to the smooth, wooden handrail to catch himself and he braces himself to slip on the dust, tightening his grip automatically. Except… Dean shifts, shining the light on the railing, frowning at the polished surface. He reaches the bottom of the steps, Sam half a step behind him, and he turns to meet his brother's wary hazel eyes.
"There's no dust." Dean says softly. Sam nods once, expression grave. Immediately, the unease that Dean has been feeling turns into worry, knotting in his stomach. This isn't a museum, or an open house. Historical, maybe, but it has, supposedly, been closed for years. It should be covered in dust. And just like that, Dean remembers how easily the door had opened upstairs. Remembers thinking how it meant this place was more kept than they expected. And if someone is taking the time to dust… Dean is still looking at his brother, so he sees when Sam's eyes, staring past him now, widen in shock, and a little bit of fear.
"Dean!" He calls sharply, and Dean spins around, just as the lights to the room turn on. Shutting his eyes quickly against the blinding light, Dean drops his flashlight, and raises his shotgun, stepping protectively in front of Sam.
"Dean Winchester." A warm, kind voice greets them, and fear and worry pulse even faster through Dean's veins as he forces his eyes open, blinking in surprise as he sees a dozen people, all in silver robes, standing in the large basement space. Unlike the polished, luxurious upstairs, the basement is all cement, floors, wall and ceiling. Ancient, weird looking symbols are carved into the walls, and a stone alter stands at the other end of the room, under a carving of what Dean thinks is a flaming sword. And, causing Dean's stomach to try and revolt against him, there is a metal cage against the wall beside the alter, complete with authentic, medieval looking manacles and chains. Dean takes in the entire room in the span of a few seconds, before his eyes flicker back to the voice that spoke. Lowering his hood, Baron Mikail smiles at Dean, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "Welcome home." Dean steps back, arm thrown out to protect Sammy, but a quick, startled gasp has him spinning around. His eyes widen as he sees another figure in a silver robe standing behind Sam, having snuck up on them both, and holding a wicked looking silver blade to Sam's throat. He meets his brother's wide, scared eyes, trying to look reassuring, and send a silent promise that everything will be okay. But Sam's expression only gets more terrified, and a second later, something pinches Dean's neck. He frowns, reaching up towards the source of the sudden pain, and his hands find something hard and smooth. He frowns deeper, pulling it from his neck, and he looks down to see a small, but sharp looking dart.
"Son of a bitch…" He murmurs, before darkness washes over him, and all he feels is the sudden sensation of falling.
