12: Meet the Winchesters

Fandom: Supernatural

Category/Rated: R for violence

Year/Length: 2008/~8490 words

Pairing: Sam and Dean

Disclaimer: No profit was made off this. The characters belong the originators of Supernatural. Was all in pure fun.

Warning: Wincest

Summary: Sam patted the pocket in which he'd put the EMF that Dean had created from the old Walkman he'd cannibalized. "Dude, you know that it was a medium that told Sarah Winchester to build this place?" "Medium, like in Jennifer Love-Hewitt? Man, how come I can't meet mediums like that?" He was looking around the room as he spoke. "Better use the earbuds, or everyone will hear that thing going off." Moving away from Sam, he began to count window panes. "Dude, she sure liked the number thirteen. Hey, you think she could be a very distant relative?"

Series: Supernatural Virtual Slash Season 3

Beta: ailurophile6 for which much thanks.

Dean could be such a geek at times when it came to true haunted houses. Stories of the Winchester Mystery House had been floating around his ears for years. Whenever they were near California, Dean had asked his father if they could go by it, see it. John would always tell him that maybe next time they would, or that they didn't have time just now. Sam really didn't care. He wasn't interested in haunted houses unless they needed exorcising, but when his brother pouted he'd back him up. However, John's answer was always the same.

This time, though, John wasn't there. Dean was driving. Sam was sitting shotgun, looking through a pamphlet he'd picked up about the house. "She built this house with over 160 rooms. She believed that if she ever stopped building the spirits that were killed by her husband's creation, the Winchester rifle, would kill her. She never allowed building to stop, working through holidays to three hundred and sixty-five days a year, twenty four hours a day. She even had to have a railroad track built up to her property to unload all the supplies they needed to keep on going." He looked over at his brother.

Dean just nodded, "Neat."

"Neat? Just neat?" Sam shook his head. "Thought you would be more giddy that that. Geekish in fact."

"Oh, I'm excited all right. It's a real haunted house, with all the legends and tales that surround it. The ghosts could even be our relatives in fact. I hear doors open into nowhere, and stairs go up into nothing. You've gotta love that." Dean flashed a grin at his brother.

Sam made a face as he nodded, "Okay, so you're just toning the geekboy thing down then?"

Dean chuckled, "I can get a lot more geeky if you want. Bounce off the walls and really irritate you."

"No, please, be your reserved self." Sam shook his head. He glanced out the window, catching his first glimpse of the huge house. "Wow, that's huge."

"Jealous?" Dean teased.

Sam rolled his eyes. As Dean parked the Impala, he got out, watching as other people in groups made their way through the grounds towards the house. Dean seemed calm for once, and he walked alongside his brother, both of them gazing about at their surroundings. Things were changing, Sam could feel it inside. Maybe Dean was right. Maybe it was him. Perhaps he wasn't the same as he had been, and something had happened to him when he'd come back. He was denying it, covering it, but he was going to continue to do so 'til he figured things out. He wasn't gonna scare his brother.

Dean approached the entrance and went inside, looking about in awe of the hall. "Dude." He glanced over at Sam. "We so have to spend the night here."

"Not sure how we'd do it," murmured Sam, looking around himself with his jaw dropped. "You can bet that there are guards and security patrols and all of that stuff, because otherwise thieves would go through it like a dose of salts. I think it'd be interesting to go over it with the EMF though, don't you? We hear so many things about this place, but the opportunity to actually see it all happen would be very cool."

Sam patted the pocket in which he'd put the EMF that Dean had created from the old Walkman he'd cannibalized. "Dude, you know that it was a medium that told Sarah Winchester to build this place?"

"Medium, like in Jennifer Love-Hewitt? Man, how come I can't meet mediums like that?" He was looking around the room as he spoke. "Better use the earbuds, or everyone will hear that thing going off." Moving away from Sam, he began to count window panes. "Dude, she sure liked the number thirteen. Hey, you think she could be a very distant relative?"

"She was nuts enough, wasn't she?" nodded Sam, putting an earpiece in and surreptitiously flicking on the EMF. "It was set up as a maze to confuse the spirits of the people killed by her husband's invention." He grinned. "I wonder if it works. If we find any hopelessly confused spirits as we go round, we'll have to write an article for Psychics Monthly or something."

They had each been handed a map in order to go on the self-guided tour, and as they entered the house Sam surreptitiously admired his brother who was beaming, excited to be exploring this strange place. He'd lightened up a lot since choosing to live and accepting the crystal from Sam, and Sam couldn't get enough of the brilliant smiles and light-heartedness that had transformed his brother. He loved Dean - had always loved him, but never more than now. Conscious of the oppressive atmosphere of the weird building they were about to explore, Sam followed Dean in. "Lead on, dude. If the spirits are gonna get one of us, it ought to be you, because you're the oldest."

"And the hottest. Don't forget that!" Dean smirked back at him. "But don't worry, I'm sure the little girls need another playmate." He smacked Sam's arm and started up some stairs." He bounded up, glanced at the map and then motioned down a hall, "Let's go this way. You know, we should have brought a digital recorder to see if we can pick up some EVPs, or something?"

"We can always come back, if we find anything with the EMF," said Sam in soothing tones as he followed Dean dutifully. "I think that if there are any troubled spirits around, you can bet that one of them will turn out to be Sarah Winchester. She was more fixated on this house during her lifetime than on anything else, and it's entirely possible that she would find it hard to let go and move on."

"Huh, does that sound familiar?" Dean glanced back at his brother, thinking of their father. "Hey," he stopped and turned to meet his brother's eyes. "Do you remember that show we watched, ,you know, that dumb one... Most Haunted with that silly chick, Yvette what's-her-name?"

"Fielding?" Sam filled in.

"Yeah, whatever, her so-called psychic tried to get Sarah to move on. If we really are related to her, do you think she would have moved on? That was such a funny show. I think we laughed nearly the whole time. People staying they saw movement and crap, when it was the trees moving outside the windows 'cos it was storming like hell that night. Wigging out about hearing noises. Funny! I think I about spewed beer and peed my pants!"

"The one I liked was Red Rose... I still remember the bit where the corridor ate that guy. I've often wished I had a house that would do that to people." Sam paused, grinning at the memory of Dean in paroxysms over the cheesy ghost story. "Hey, do you think you could get the Impala to do that - ingest people we don't like and get rid of them?" He stopped, gazing at a staircase that seemed to go straight up into the ceiling. "Check this out," he said. "Thirteen steps. That's just nuts."

"She seems to have an affection for that number." Dean climbed up some of the stairs so he could feel the ceiling above. "Dude, the Impala can already do that with me behind the wheel, and my foot depressing the gas." He grinned down from his perch. "I guess she stopped here, figuring the ghosts would know what to do when they got this far," he said as he came back down to where Sam stood.

"Well, so far the EMF is as quiet as a mouse," said Sam, tapping the ear that contained the ear-bud. He smirked at Dean who was busily opening a door that seemed to lead nowhere. "It says here that there are a few stairways like that, and a bunch of doors that lead straight into walls." He turned to go along a passageway that led out of one corner of the room. Ahead of him he could see a family, mom, dad and a kid of about 10 who was skipping in front of them, facing away from where he was going as he talked to his parents. He turned back to Dean to call him on, and when he turned around again the family was gone, seemingly vanished.

"Whoa! Cool. They just disappeared," he said, grinning.

"Huh?" Dean turned back to Sam, leaving behind the door to nowhere that he'd been opening and closing. He leaned to look down the hall, following Sam's incredulous gaze. "They who?" He hadn't noticed the family, but if Sam said he'd seen something, then he'd know it was true. "Did the EMF go off?"

"No, nothing like that." Sam gave him a smile. "Just a cool effect. They must've gone around the corner out of sight or something," he added, making for the place where he'd seen them last. "This is so weird." There was no door, no passageway there to explain the family's disappearance, and as Sam moved swiftly down the corridor, the EMF began to squeal.

"Dude," he called. "Got something."

Dean followed, but backed up to look in a room, swearing he'd seen movement. Sam called to him again, and he rushed to join his brother, while he was still in his sight. "Where?" He asked, looking around himself. Turning to look behind them to where they'd just been, he frowned. Something wasn't quite right.

"Was right here, just a second ago," murmured Sam, pressing Dean back for a moment, fingers splayed against his brother's chest as he listened. "Now it's gone. Really weird." He gave Dean a baffled look and shrugged. "Maybe it was an illusion, and they're in another corridor or something, but I could have sworn..."

The EMF gave a sudden burst of sound and the air in the corridor became cold. "Okay, there's definitely something here," growled Sam, turning around in a circle. "We'd better stay together."

All of a sudden, Dean could see his breath. He turned as Sam did, "Let's keep moving." He placed his hand upon Sam's back to move him along. He didn't like this at all. For some reason he'd gone off the whole idea of exploring the house that bore their name.

They walked along further and finally arrived at a set of ornate double doors. Pushing them open, half expecting to find a wall right behind, they were startled to discover that it led to a huge room with a ceiling several storeys high. There were galleries set in around the edge of it, and for a moment Sam thought he could see a large gathering of men and women in old fashioned ball gowns. He jumped back, and then as he looked again they were gone, leaving behind only the empty room.

Dean had seen the ghostly throng and started as well, but he didn't jump back the way Sam had. Instead, he stepped in front of his brother in a protective move. "Whoa." He whispered. He walked in further, glancing down at the map and then back at the room. "Dude, this room is clear across on the other side of the house from where we came in." He pointed to the map, completely baffled. "We were here."

"How the hell...?" Sam peered at the map Dean was holding. "That's just wrong." He spun around in a circle, scratching his head. "Maybe we came in at a different door from the one we thought," he said, looking around him. "This seems to be all turned around."

Making his way to the center of the room, Sam darted suspicious glances around, wondering just what the scoop was about this place. As he reached the middle, he heard a woman's low laugh and spun again, trying to find out where the sound was coming from.

Dean had been looking about, but he quickly followed his brother, not wanting to be separated from him if the house had moved itself the he thought it had. "I don't think we did." He heard the laugh as well and stiffened as he moved with Sam. He felt like he was in some kind of scary movie, and was half convinced that at the next spin he would find himself face to face with something horrific.

"Was that Sarah?" He raised an eyebrow at Sam.

"You heard it too?" Sam looked slightly relieved. "Good. I'm not going nuts." He fumbled for Dean's hand, feeling silly but at the same time letting a thrill run through him at Dean's touch, warm, alive, his. "We should keep together," he murmured. "Those folks in Red Rose kept wandering off alone. Fatal!"

He was wondering which way to go next when the sound of a piano came to his ears. It was badly in need of tuning, and the melody that was being played was suffering for that. He turned to Dean. "Bet that's her," he said. "She used to play the piano all the time; it says so in the guidebook."

Dean looked at Sam, spotting how nervous his brother was and squeezing his hand as he tried to reassure him. "Well, let's not be rude; let's give her an audience to play to." He started walking, pausing to make sure Sam was behind him, before he headed for the next hall and room. As he wandered, he thought he saw shadows moving behind the curtains.

There was another strange, creaking groan from the house, and as they moved along the passageway it shuddered. A moment later, they pushed open another pair of doors to find themselves back in the large, high ceilinged ballroom. "Dude!" Sam looked faintly annoyed. "The house obviously didn't want us to go there. I wonder where it does want us to go."

The sound of the piano was louder now, and this time it seemed to be coming from somewhere above them. Sam raised his eyebrows at Dean and indicated a set of stairs that led up to a gallery on the second floor. "We need to go up," he murmured, slipping his hand into his pocket to fondle the small packet of salt there.

Dean was getting annoyed and frustrated. He grumbled loud enough to let the house know and then did a double take to Sam, who seemed to be wanting to make his way straight to the heart of the danger. His eyes shifted to the stairs, and he reached behind his back, comforted by the knowledge that his gun was there. "Okay. Up we go," he said, moodily. He started for the stairs, making sure he was in the lead as he slowly mounted them. "I wonder why up here," he asked under his breath as he reached the top, keen eyes scanning, checking to see their escape route before moving into the room.

The room seemed pretty much like any other they'd seen - wooden paneling gave way to a window that looked into yet another room that seemed to have no doors. Peering in, Sam gave a short laugh. "Good job nobody lives here," he said, pointing at the sight.

His words produced an immediate effect. The piano music stopped, and there was a scream of rage. The sound seemed to come from all around them, and Sam was quick to backpedal. "I'm sorry," he said, softly. "I should have said, "Good job nobody who needs furniture lives here."

Dean had spun around, looking about, simmering, half-angered. "Hey! Don't you get angry with us. You're the one who built this place for them to live in. Your husband built something good. It wasn't his fault that man put it to bad use, because, believe it or not, some of us do - me and my brother for example." Dean left a hand on his brother, making sure nothing would happen to separate them. He devoutly hoped he hadn't pissed her off with his outburst.

There was a silence that seemed loaded. The air turned cold, and a wind blew from nowhere, swirling around their legs and plucking at their clothing. Sam folded his arms and stood waiting. "We use your guns to save people," he said. "We don't just kill. I know that a gun can be used to kill people, but so can pretty much everything you could possibly think of, if you want the person dead hard enough."

Dean stood his ground alongside his brother. "You can check my gun, Sarah; it's a Colt. You've heard of Samuel Colt, haven't you? Well this gun of mine is loaded with rock salt, and you know why? Your medium never told you this, I'll bet. Salt wards off spirits. Keeps them away. It could have helped you stay safe from them. Guess that we can still help you, if you want."

There was a creaking sound, and a door that had previously been concealed at the far end of the room jerked open, to stand invitingly. The space beyond was unlit, black and menacing, and Sam lifted his eyebrows at Dean. "I think we've been invited to proceed," he murmured, voice tight as he stepped forward. "Might as well go - it's why we came, after all."

Dean stared into the darkness and then moved to follow his brother thinking that the door had better not slam shut on his nose, or he was going to be really, really pissed. "Don't get too far ahead of me," he said to Sam, anxiety coloring his voice. he fumbled into his pocket, pulling out his mini flashlight. "Here, take this."

"Hey, dude, you're not staying behind. I said before, we stick together on this one, because I need to protect you." Sam snickered as he spoke, but he took Dean's flashlight and nodded his thanks as he made for the open door. He waited until Dean was with him before he stepped into the darkness and flicked on the flashlight. As the two men stepped over the threshold, the door behind them closed with a hollow, final thud.

Sam looked back over his shoulder at his brother and shrugged then moved forward to where another flight of stairs awaited them. Casting the light upwards to verify that it wasn't a dead end, Sam nodded, gave a short laugh and then began to climb.

Well, at least one of them thought this was funny. Dean, on the other hand, was twitching. The short hairs on the back of his neck prickled as he started climbing alongside Sam. "I hope this is not another one of those dead end rooms. Or if so, I hope there's hot chicks and beer waiting."

"More likely to be Sarah and her piano," said Sam. "I get the impression that she's interested in us for some reason. I don't feel any threat, do you?" They reached the top of the stairs and followed the passage. As they went, the house gave yet another lurch, and a light appeared at the end of the passageway. "Dude, we're inside some weird, giant Rubik Cube, you know that?"

Dean shook his head, "Dude, I swear if we are I'm gonna scream." He started toward the light as he spoke, the frown deep on his forehead as he went. "I'm gonna swear a line of profanity." Slowing up as he got closer to the light, he wondered if Sarah would appear. And then he heard the music again. "I hope her interest isn't because of you ... you know," he murmured, glancing at Sam.

"No, I don't know. What do you mean?" Sam turned to stare at Dean, his chin at an aggressive angle. "I'm not the one that ghosts fall in love with. I'm not the one that was getting romanced on the top of Mount Rushmore in a snowstorm. I'm just the one that has to stand and watch you throw yourself into danger." He put his head around the door of the room where the light was shining and paused. In the center of the room was an old piano.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Never mind, sorry I even mentioned it." He moved into the room, looking about. "Besides, you have a short blonde in New Orleans who loves you." He headed for the piano. He walked around it, then crouched to look under it, finally standing back up. "Sarah?" he called out thoroughly cranky now. If she wanted them there, well she had them.

"I've got a tall brunet right here that loves me too," smirked Sam, moving over to press his arm against Dean's. As Dean called Sarah's name, he looked sharply at his brother. "Okay, Sarah," he murmured. We're all Winchesters here. Come and chat!"

Dean jerked his head around when the piano started playing again. He looked at Sam with a roll of his eyes and then moved around to stand by the bench and gaze down at it, frowning as he watched the keys apparently playing themselves. They looked as if invisible fingers were depressing them, and he made a little 'huh' sound.

"Didn't you ever consider getting that tuned?" asked Sam, wincing. He sat down on the edge of the piano stool and watched the keys do their musical dance, finally reaching to play an out of tune version of Chopsticks. "And I bet that Dean can play that thing better than you, too, so come on, show yourself and let's talk."

A girlish laugh filled the air, apparently amused by the comments Sam had made.

"Well if that was Sarah, you made her laugh." Dean didn't sit down the way his brother had. Instead, he choose to stand. He moved around the piano again and came to rest next to Sam. "C'mon, Sarah, we really would like to talk. We can help you." Dean tried a softer way to get her to appear - the one that was usually Sam's approach, since Sam seemed to be taking his.

The air seemed thick and chilly, and a breeze ruffled Sam's unruly hair. The woman, when she did materialize, was small and dark haired, her hair parted neatly down the center and drawn up behind in a bun. She peered at them from where she sat beside Sam. "What are you doing in my house?" she asked. "Nobody should come here. This is mine."

Sam had stiffened a little as she appeared, but gave her his best smile. "Hello," he said. "You must know that the house attracts a lot of people. We were really interested to see it."

Dean leaned upon the piano, "And after all, didn't you build this for all the spirits that your husband's gun killed to come live? Of course, people are gonna come." He glanced over to Sam. "Besides, we had to come see. After all," he said, making a gesture that encompasse both himself and Sam. "We bear the same name."

She gave a cunning smile. "You're called Sarah?" she said, one eyebrow archly raised. "How very progressive of your parents."

Laughing out loud, Sam punched Dean on the shoulder. "She got you, Sarah! I should tell her about your fight to become a real boy, shouldn't I?"

Dean made a face, "You're the one whose name is Samantha, Sammy." That should get him, he thought. "And you wear your hair long enough to look like a girl, too." He turned back to Sarah. "Last names, sweetheart, last names. I'm Dean and that's my girly brother, Sam, and we're the Winchester boys."

The ghostly woman's eyes widened. "You're the ones," she whispered. "He said you would come." She hit the keyboard with a crash, causing a cacaphony of sound as cracked notes complained under her careless hand.

"Who did?" Sam felt a chill run through him at her words.

"The one that put the black handprint in my cellar," she whispered. "He told me not to drink alcohol any more. He said it was evil. He told me you would come, but I didn't believe him." Her eyes turned crafty. "I had the cellar bricked up so only he could drink the wine."

Dean pushed up and stared at her. "Black handprint? What did he look like? He have yellow eyes? Red eyes? Black eyes? Tell us everything Sarah. What did he say about us?" Dean moved closer to his brother.

"He said you would come looking for a way through. I would know you because of your name. He told me that the way through my cellar was his, and that he should be the only one to know it." The little ghost flickered for a moment before settling back down. "I closed the way so that nobody could come through it again. I knew that he was black through and through, and he scared me." She gave a soft moan. "If only the guns hadn't killed so many I would have been safe."

Meeting Dean's eyes, Sam made a face as if to say that he thought she was a little crazy, then turned to her. "Where does the way lead, Sarah?" he asked, gently.

"I don't know. I think it's somewhere bad," said the little ghost and then faded for a moment.

Dean stood staring past them both. Her words echoed through his mind, reverberated, fighting for the same volume as his father's. He swallowed, then looked at the man and the ghost beside him. "Hell, Sammy. It's a way into hell." He looked to Sam. "If I... go ... it would be your way in and out."

"Not gonna happen, Dean," said Sam, smiling fondly up at his brother. "But duly noted anyway. Sarah here will hopefully show me the way. You will, won't you?" He turned back to the spirit, which was flickering in and out of visibility like a bad signal on the TV. "I'd owe you."

He reached out a hand to touch hers, wondering if there would be any substance at all, and jumped when he felt solid flesh beneath his. The ghost squeaked and vanished, winking out of existence like a soap bubble. Sam looked devastated. "Damn. I offended her."

"No, I think you scared each other. What did you feel?" He asked.

"She felt real," murmured Sam, gazing at his fingertips as if they might fall off any minute. "Just like she was really there."

"I am really there." The woman's voice came from behind Dean. "Why do you need to go to the bad place? I had it bricked up, you know."

Dean shrugged, "There are evil things out there, down there, and it's our job to take care of them. So we have to go to that bad place to see what you boarded up and then do the job right."

"You want to protect me?" The little woman shimmered, suddenly appeared much older than before. "You are a dear boy, but there are things you don't know - dangerous things." She leaned forward and suddenly was right beside him, gazing earnestly up at him. "There are demons, you know. You aren't safe. They want you too much."

Dean nodded, "That I know already. And we know about demons. How to stop them. How to kill them." He looked at her. "And yes, you need protection. We all do. That's what we do."

"Brave boy." She was flickering again, strobing between young and old, and she reached to pat Dean's cheek. "So young and brave. I would trust you with the rifle, because you would treat it with respect." Turning to Sam, she looked him up and down. "And you, young man, what do you have to do with all this? Do you kill demons too?"

Unsmiling, Sam nodded. "I send them back to hell, if I can. I exorcise them, but I have killed one."

"Or two," Dean put in. "Sarah, it's what our father trained us to do. To save lives. Just, well, let's go see that basement. We'll take care of that demon down there, and, Sarah, you need to rest." Dean nodded.

"Rest?" She frowned. "I don't need to rest. I am happy here in my house. It's so much nicer now that I can see who comes in."

Sam had looked at Dean sharply, wondering if he was thinking of salting and burning Sarah's remains. "Dude, we need to go carefully here. We need to find the way into this cellar place and do something permanent about it. It sounds really worrying."

Dean bit his tongue, and he nodded. They would still have to put Sarah to rest. If she continued, who knew what she would eventually become? "I meant like in sleep," he said, hastily. "But hey, let's take care of that demon for you. Make your house safer, so more people will come to see you." He nodded, flashing her one of his most charming smiles. "So, you want to lead the way?" he suggested, hoping his flirting had done the trick.

She seemed to take the bait, and her image flickered again. The house gave another groan and seemed to lurch, and she pointed to a doorway behind the piano. "We need to go through there," she murmured, rising to her feet and slipping her hand inside Dean's arm. "I like you," she said. "You still remember your manners."

She turned, pointedly waiting for Sam to stand up and then grabbed his arm too. "There. Now I feel like a princess."

Dean had shot Sam a look as if to keep him from commenting about his manners. He smiled down at Sarah. "As you should," he nodded and reached forward to open the door for them. "Sarah," he said as they traversed the halls, "What else can you tell us about this demon?"

"Black!" She was trembling, Sam could feel it. "He was black. He traveled like smoke, and he put a handprint on my wall. He told me that I shouldn't go down to the wine cellar any more."

She led them past a window that was set in the floor, but which, astonishingly, seemed to look out onto the front of the building. Sam could see cars pulling into the parking lot in the distance and people walking towards the house. "Jesus, that's weird," he whispered.

He had little time to look. Sarah turned them towards a staircase that seemed darker than anywhere they'd yet been. "We need a candle," she said, lifting her hand as one appeared. "There. That's better."

Dean reached into his jacket, producing a mini flashlight. He twisted and aimed it toward the stairs. "Flashlight," he informed her, interpreting the curious look with which Sarah had gifted him. He stopped, suddenly and turned to face Sarah. "Look, does this lead down to the basement? Because if it does, maybe you should stay up here. We can take it from here."

She gave him a sudden, sly smile. "Oh, I do like you," she said. "But you won't find my passage without me. Only I know." Her voice became a singsong as she resumed her downward progress. "Only I know... only I know."

Sam looked back at Dean and shrugged helplessly. "Only she knows, dude. Better let her show us."

"Okay, you lead the way, lady." Dean motioned to her as she was lifting her dress to make her descent. He fell in behind her with Sam alongside him. "Whatever this thing is, we put it to rest. We send it back to hell or to death. And then we seal that room back up so nothing else can get out."

They proceeded down, the little lady with her candle, her skirts held high to prevent the dust from touching them, Sam and Dean following. The stairway seemed endless, but finally leveled out into a long, brick lined passage at the end of which was a green, wooden door. She paused around three quarters of the way down and slyly pointed to what appeared to be a random paint splatter on the wall. "This is how I know," she said. "I made that mark myself so I would be able to find it again if I wanted."

Dean looked at the marking then down at the door. "Is that the door? Did you brick it up on the other side?" He asked as he dug into an inside pocket to come up with a flask full of holy water. He handed it over to Sam, and he reached for the Colt, just in case. He frowned as he looked at the wall. If they had to break the brick down, they were going to need some tools. He was beginning to think they might have to come back later to get at it.

"Oh, no," she said, laughing softly. "That's the door to the garden. I bricked up the whole cellar. You would have to knock down this wall right here where the paint is."

Sam nodded, then reached to pat her hand. "We can do that. Perhaps you'd welcome us back into the house later, so that we can? We'll make it safe for you." He strode over to the green door and opened it cautiously, to find himself looking out onto a walled kitchen garden that had rows of herbs and vegetables growing. "Cool. We could come back in this way later."

Dean studied the wall, checking out the brick work, then he nodded. "Yeah, we can do that." He glanced over at Sam and then back to Sarah. "He's such a girly girl. He likes those kind of things." He made his way over to the door and looked out himself, quirking an eyebrow. He stepped out into the garden, "Wow, this is rather ..." He looked back towards the others. "You know, we could just hang out here till night." He pointed over to a pick and shovel, "There's some tools to get through the brick right there."

"We're gonna need salt, aren't we?" asked Sam. "Or are you going to do a devil's trap and the full banishing ceremony? Either way we need to get some stuff from the car." He went over to take hold of the tools that Dean had spotted, bringing them back inside the house. "Don't worry, Sarah, we'll make your house safe. We'll keep the demons out of it for you."

The ghost had stepped back to watch, apparently not wanting to get sunlight on her skin. She smiled. "Such good boys. I think I'd like you to stay."

Dean moved at last, following Sam. "Okay, we 'll go out to the car and get what we need. Then we come back and banish this demon." He looked over to Sarah. "Will you meet us at the door? Open it for us so we can get in?" He placed the pick where he wanted it. "Okay, shall we head out, Sammy?"

The little ghost stood watching, her face flickering between young and old as she watched them. "You must hurry back," she murmured. "I can wait here."

At the car, Sam turned to Dean. "Dean, you really think that this is a gateway into hell? There's a weird kind of pattern here. Samuel Colt locked up a gateway, and now here's one at the Winchester house. Are we going to need a special rifle to secure it? And are we going to have to go find where Derringer's gateway is, and... and anyone else that's involved in gun crafting? I sure hope not."

"Dude, the only pattern I see is Winchester. We opened one gate, now we're gonna close one. I think it's here, because of all the spirits Sarah attracted. High energy caused something like a hole, a leak for them to get out, and this is a place where this sonofabitch demon can come and go as he pleases. So we put up a devil's trap, floor, ceiling and all walls. That way we catch it for sure and any others that try to get out." He loaded up his bag then slung it over his shoulder, "So, shall we?"

"Yeah. Let's go do it," replied Sam. "We need to find out where Sarah is buried, too," he added. "Because she may be sweet and easy to deal with right now, but as time goes she's going to build into something pretty damned scary if you ask me."

He grabbed the salt container and turned to follow his brother, frowning as he mentally planned a devils' trap that would successfully block the way to hell and wondered yet again why it had fallen to his brother and him to perform these tasks.

Dean stopped and studied Sam. Had he really said that? Was his brother agreeing with him. It was what Dean had intended all along, but to hear Sam say it... Dean gave a nod. "What I was thinking. Dude, since when do you read minds?" He started walking again, back to the garden. The little green door was locked and bolted, and he frowned. "Guess she didn't wait," he said. "Come on. Let's go demolish some brickwork." He turned away, and this time they picked a back entrance, trying to avoid tourists leaving. Night was drawing close, and people were heading out.

Dean let Sam lead the way, passing through halls and down stairs, down long passages, weaving around rooms. They got lost once or twice but finally found the darkened staircase they'd descended earlier. "Sarah?" Dean called out.

There was no sign of the little ghost as they reached the part of the passageway that ended in the green door. Sam could see the pick and shovel that he'd brought in, and picked it up to carry back to the part of the wall that was spattered with paint. "Here we go," he said, raising the pick.

A sudden chorus of whispering voices assailed them, surrounding them as if they were bees in an orchard. He could feel little touches to his arms and shoulders as he readied the pickaxe. "Dean?" he murmured. "You think this'll be okay?"

Dean turned his head, hearing the voices, feeling the touches. He took the shovel in his hands and looked at Sam, "Has it ever been okay?" he asked before ramming it against the brick to try and create a hole.

"Good point." Bringing the pickaxe down against the wall, Sam put all the anxiety and aggression he'd ever felt into the blow. There was a dull thud, and he struck again and again, until finally the wall cracked, and the old cement crumbled away. He kicked at the broken area, shoving the bricks out and behind the wall into the dark void beyond. "A few more strikes now, and we're through," he commented. "Why do I feel like I'm excavating some ancient tomb?"

"More like a grave if you ask me," Dean grumbled, sweat dripping from him. He pushed the brick through till it was wide enough for him to step cautiously inside. Lighting up his flashlight, he set it down so that he could take a look around. "Bring the chalk," He called as Sam stepped in after him.

Sam followed him in, lugging the salt and Dean's pack at the same time. "Here," he murmured, fumbling out a piece of chalk for Dean and then taking another for himself. Together they began to set up the defenses that were needed against the things that dwelt on the other side. Devils' traps and other symbols of protection were inscribed on walls, ceiling and floor, and Sam laid a thick line of salt across the ground to contain anything strong enough to get past the other protections.

Finally he stood back and nodded. He shone the light around, and caught sight of something. There was a black handprint on the wall, just as Sarah had said, the fingers slightly too long and the palm too thin to be human. "Look, dude. That's what She was talking about."

Dean finished up his part, putting the last symbol on his part of the wall. He turned his head and crossed to take a look, playing the light from his flashlight on the hand print. It didn't seem to reflect light. He tipped his head to one side as he inspected it. "Eww, that is just freaky. Reminds me of tales people tell of aliens or such." He shook his head, "Like that movie, Alien. Dude, I remembered you cried like a little girl when you saw that." He laughed at the memory.

"Did not!" The protest was instant. "I just... the movie wasn't what I expected, okay? That bit where it jumped out of John Hurt's stomach startled me and made me drop my popcorn, okay?" Sam collected their things together and began to stow them away in Dean's backpack. "It's one of those things I never want to think about happening to me, having something eat its way through my stomach and out into fresh air."

"Dude, some of the stuff you ate as a kid, I swear I thought that was what was gonna happen. Eww." Dean stowed his stuff, and then he was ready. "Okay, so what do we do now? How do we summon this ... this thing?" He looked about. "YO! Ugly! Want to come out and play?"

The whispers that had surrounded them earlier rose again, the volume getting louder and louder. There were shrieks and groans now, and as the sound rose there was a dull red glow from far back in the darkness beyond their barrier. Sam elbowed his brother. "Check it out. Something certainly seems to be rising to the bait."

Dean turned, looking into the red glow of eyes that had no pity and narrowed his own. "Aww, what's wrong? Scared of us little boys? C'mon, I'll even let you have the first punch," he jeered.

"Dean Winchester..." The voice, when it came, was rich and deep, and Sam hissed in a breath, because it sounded just like their father. "How very pleasant to see you, Dean. Are you looking for a way down to me when your time falls due? It isn't long now, is it?"

"He's not coming. He's safe from you," growled Sam. "You can try and take him, but you won't get him."

"Oh, just like your kind. Taunt from a distance. Scared to show yourselves." Dean started to pace. "Sam's right, I'm not going to hell. Not gonna see you there, so you might as well come out now and face me. Face to face. Or are you scared of us?"

The red eyed thing that stepped out of the shadows wore the face of John Winchester, and it was smiling as it looked Dean up and down. Sam cleared his throat and stepped forward, poised in case the creature turned out to be able to cross the barrier they'd made. As it turned to stare dismissively at him, he fixed it with a level stare. "Dean's mine. There's no way you will ever have him, so you might as well stop trying."

It studied him. "Sammy?" it said, tears rolling down its cheeks and into the beard that was so like his father's. It dropped to its knees. "Sammy, how could you? How could you defy your poor dad that way? What did I ever do to you?"

"You are not our father," Dean snarled. "Show your real face, bastard! Because our father wouldn't act this way. EVER!" He pulled the Colt out and pointed it at the demon.

"Sammy?" The thing spoke again. "Tell him to shoot me, Sammy. Kill the demon. Don't mind that it's me. Don't worry about your dad. I'd rather die than let it get hold of you."

Sam studied it for a moment, cold fury in his eyes, and then he turned to Dean. "Kill it," he said harshly. "Get rid of it once and for all. It's not Dad."

Dean's smile was determined. "With pleasure." He aimed the gun at the demon but then paused. He tipped his head then handed it to Sam, "You do it."

Looking a little perplexed, Sam took the gun and cocked it. "You got it, bro," he murmured and fired.

The demon's likeness to John Winchester ended at the moment the bullet hit. It slowly crumbled in on itself with a sound like a thousand souls in torment. When it was finally gone, there was no body remaining on the ground, and it was as if the being had never existed. Sam handed the Colt back to Dean and smiled at him. "Wonder if that was the bastard that had your contract, or if there's another one we'll have to kill."

Dean just stared at the blank area and wondered if he'd done the right thing, or if he'd pushed Sam closer towards what he was fated to become. He turned to Sam, taking the gun and placing it back behind him in the waistband of his jeans. "I somehow doubt it. I imagine it would have given us a harder time if it had been, and somehow, I don't think our pretty traps," he motioned around, "Would hold him." Dean slapped Sam's arm. "Let's go take care of Sarah. You wouldn't happen to know where she's buried, would you?"

"Nope." Sam had stepped back through the hole they'd made and was now attempting to replace the bricks they'd dislodged. "I'm sure that we'll find the information once we start looking though." He shook his head as he surveyed the mess they'd made. "Some well meaning idiot is going to come along and investigate this, aren't they? And then they'll clean it up and it'll be open to the hordes of hell all over again." He paused. "I get the feeling that the way isn't known to all of them, or there'd be nobody left in Hell."

"Well, if anyone ties to come out, the devil's traps and the salt will keep them in. Hopefully they'll miss the one on the ceiling." Dean started to help Sam as he began to put the bricks back in place. It was a few hours later before he stepped back from their work, dirty, tired and cranky. "Sorry, Sarah, for the mess." He shrugged. "C'mon, Sammy, I could use a drink. And you know, if problems happen, well, we'll just have to come back." Nodding, he hefted their bag and headed out.

As they made their way to the green door, Sarah finally appeared. "You are leaving me," she said. "You protected me, but now you're leaving."

"Sarah," murmured Sam, turning and bending his neck to look into her soft brown eyes. "We have to go. There's a demon after my brother, and we need to find a way to break him free. We'd stay if we could, wouldn't we, Dean?" He gave his brother a speaking glance and then looked back at her. "We'll come back for a visit once we've got Dean free."

Dean stood there looking at the small woman, then nodded as he caught Sam's glance, "Yeah, hey, after all, we are family. Same last names and all. We'll come back to visit. Heck, we still need to see the rest of the house, right?" He smiled, one of his most devastating smiles. He thought that it might work on the younger version of her but the older ... that was yet to be seen.

She glided towards him. "Well, aren't you the sweetest boy?" she murmured, standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. "You must be careful. Hell is real; it will eat you up and spit out your bones if you don't take care."

Sam cleared his throat. "Yes, well, thank you, ma'am," he murmured. "I'm watching out for him too. One way or another we'll beat this thing." He was anxious to leave, although he couldn't quite say why, and turned to go through the green door to replace the pick and shovel they'd been using. "We'll see you later, okay?"

Dean gave a sad little smile to the woman, "I don't plan on seeing it ... now. Sam is right. We are gonna beat this thing. Besides, it's my duty to take care of him. He's still getting used to his legs. Someone has to pick his tall butt up when he falls." He started following Sam. "Sarah," He stopped in looking back to her, "Don't let it get to you. Keep what you have. And you know," he had to make the effort, "You can just ... move on. Your husband must be waiting for you. Missing you. And your child too. Every little girl needs her mom." Dean knew he wished he had his mom back again. "It's okay to move on. Maybe ..." He gave her a sad look, "You can tell my mom, we miss her." I miss her.

He gave her one last smile and turned to follow Sam. "Let's go. Now I really need a drink."

Striding through the garden towards the gate, Sam felt his eyes prick with tears. He'd heard his brother's last comment to Sarah, and it had made his heart lurch painfully. He wanted so much for Dean to see Mary again, and he thought that his brother wouldn't ever be truly healed until that had happened.

Turning at the gate to wait for Dean, he gnawed at a thumbnail and pondered ways that he could make it happen. "You okay, man?" he asked as Dean arrived. "Guess we go look for her bones and salt them, right?"

Dean glanced back one more time before drawing a breath, "Maybe when we find out where they laid her to rest." He closed the gate behind him and headed for the car. "All I know is that if someone goes down there, they are gonna be pissed, demon or no demon. Wish we knew if we are truly related. I'm just not sure I want to look in Dad's family history." He moved to the car's trunk and popped it open, dumping their bag inside, and then turned and slapped Sam's arm, "Let's go get a room. I'm tired, and I need a shower and a drink." He coughed, waving his hand to waft away the dust that he'd knocked loose from Sam's jacket.

"You got it, dude." Sam nodded as he put the salt back into the trunk and turned to go to the passenger's door. "Oh, jeez. Looks like I'm carrying a whole bunch of that cellar with me," he growled, pulling off his jacket and shaking it to dislodge some of the dust and rubble he'd accumulated while knocking down the wall. "And I could use a beer myself."

Dean nodded with a smile. "Well then, what are we waiting for."

Back: Episode 11 –|– Next: Episode 13

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