Part 4: Haunted

The biggest insult to injury was that once again Dean had been confined to the backseat of his car. Mainly because it was considerably difficult to drive while holding an icepack to his severely swollen and recently dislocated shoulder.

Sasha was in the back with Dean while Sam drove them on their way to Ellsworth, Maine. Dean hissed as he pulled the icepack away so Sasha could get a look at his shoulder again, running gentle fingers over the bruised skin to check if the swelling was going down or not. Dean was chilled to the bone what with it being the dead of winter outside, having his shirt off, and the presence of the damn ice.

"Geez, Sammy, turn up the heat, will ya?" Dean grit out, hissing again when Sasha took the icepack from him and held it back on his shoulder more firmly.

"Stay still, Dean," Sasha said, looking annoyed, "I can't believe you didn't ice this last night. It's bruised all to hell, the swelling's barely going down. You're a mess. Why didn't you tell me Lindsey dislocated your shoulder?"

"Yeah, coz that would have made everything so much better," Dean grumbled, taking at least some small comfort in the burst of warm air that started filtering into the backseat, "Forgive me if I was a little preoccupied."

A huff rose up from Sam and Dean saw his brother shake his head. "You still know better, Dean. It's your right arm. What if we're wrong and we're dealing with a creature instead of a cursed spot when we get to Maine? You won't be much use in a fight."

"Says who?" Dean dissented. He'd fought tooth and nail with less useful limbs before. And he resented that they were giving him such a hard time over forgetting to ice his shoulder. Of course Dean had meant to. He was going to fill a towel at the ice machine and take care of things before going to bed last night.

Dean couldn't be blamed for forgetting though, not after what he had seen in Sam's room. But since he couldn't exactly tell the others that, he had to put up with the bullying for awhile. Dean knew it was foolish to keep the incident to himself but a part of him still believed he could dismiss it. A part of him had to believe it hadn't been real.

Everything about Sam lately—other than the freaky powers—was just so Sam. Even the pout and furrowed brow of concentration the kid had been wearing since that morning was about as Sam-like as things could get. Dean empathized with the expression because he had been pretty upset that morning too when Sam tried to summon the demon they had sent after the contract holder only to get no response. No sign. Nothing. It was as if she no longer existed. So much for plan B. Or was it plan C now? Dean had lost track.

"We'll want to explore the Animus house in the morning," Sam said, staying in case mode—also normal, "So I say we set up shop when we get there, visit the victims for some ground work, and then get some rest tonight. Should help your shoulder too, Dean. We can hit the house tomorrow."

"In broad daylight?" Dean said incredulously. The Animus Historical Museum was currently in lockdown and was being watched by the police ever since those crazed squatters were found on the grounds. Dean therefore couldn't help seeing flaws in Sam's plan.

"The police have only been sending a detail to watch the house at night," Sam countered, "And when I say morning—"

"You mean 'sun's not even up yet' morning," Dean broke in. He should have figured. "We have any way of protecting ourselves against this cursed spot before we go charging in? I'd actually prefer not to spend my last few months as a vegetable, thanks. Ow!" Dean's head snapped to Sasha who had pressed the icepack a little too hard onto a particularly tender spot.

Sasha blinked innocence. "Sorry."

"The police have already been through the house," Sam was saying, "Only one officer was found later in the same condition as the squatters. Report says he went up to the third floor alone. I'm guessing our trouble's up there, and the clues we need will be along the way. I could fill you in on what I know about the deceased owner, but nothing I've found so far has told me anything interesting. Ellsworth has a history of incidents like these though. Other years. Other people turning up like our victims. Right, Sasha?"

Sasha nodded, his hands more caring again as he held the icepack in place for Dean. "No real pattern though as far as time or types of people. The building only used to have private tours led by the curator himself. One woman who didn't come out a vegetable said…well…" Sasha chuckled to himself, "She said she saw her dead husband. No other accounts of ghosts besides that so I'm thinking it was a fluke."

"What about other witnesses?" Dean questioned. Didn't anyone know what really went on in this place?

"Most people who went on those private tours," Sam said, solemn and steady of voice, "either tended not to remember anything—so they said—or…ended up in psychiatric wards."

Ding, ding, ding. We have a winner. "Sounds like our kinda place all right," Dean said, "How many recent victims?"

"There were three squatters," Sasha replied, "I doubt we'll be able to get much out of them even if 'vegetable' isn't quite the best word for what they're like right now. But I still agree with Sam that we should start there. We'll get to Ellsworth around four o'clock if we stop for lunch."

"If? What's this 'if' crap?" Dean jumped right in, fairly gaping at the incubus, "I don't know what fantasy world you're living in, but I'm gonna need some food. Now can I put a shirt back on already? I'm frickin' freezing here," Dean added with a shiver, wanting to further his point by wrapping his arms around himself but his right shoulder hurt too much for him to do that.

Again Dean caught sight of Sam shaking his head at him from up in the driver's seat. Sasha just chuckled though and pulled the icepack away to give Dean room. "You could have put one on about twenty minutes ago actually. Doesn't mean I was gonna say anything."

Sam laughed then too.

Real funny. Dean pushed at Sasha with his good arm, scowling around a smile as he reached for the zip-up he had borrowed from Sam. It was hard enough pulling on a shirt with a recently dislocated shoulder; Dean didn't want to deal with the pain of pulling one over his head. Sasha helped him, fitting the icepack underneath the sweatshirt so it would still rest on Dean's shoulder. It would seep water through the fabric eventually but if Dean just leaned back and closed his eyes it wasn't so bad.

Truth be told, Dean was exhausted. He hadn't slept a wink all night what with Sasha curled possessively around him and Sam haunting his thoughts. Well, not Sam. Just the yellow eyes.

Suddenly, Dean was running through a large house he didn't know with thousands upon thousands of rooms all blocked by closed doors. He knew that if he could just find the right door then he would be safe. Free. But every door Dean tried, every room…held Sam, grinning at him the way Yellow Eyes used to grin and with Yellow Eyes' god damn stare.

When Dean finally found an empty room, he tried to hide in it. But the walls had eyes too, so many eyes, and they were all yellow, all staring, watching Dean and waiting to devour some secret part of him. Dean tried to block it all out, huddled in a corner on the floor of that empty room. He felt like he was five years old having another dream about the fire and Dad wasn't there. Why wasn't Dad there?

It was Sasha's voice that called to Dean in the dark, close beside his ear form behind. But that shouldn't be possible because there was a wall there. Dean could feel it at his back.

Hush now baby don't you cry…

Too strong arms grabbed Dean from behind, completely encasing him and smelling of Sasha. Why Sasha? Why Sam? Why did even the darkness look and feel like them? Dean couldn't really see anything, but he could feel their hands, their arms, and hear that awful laughter like it was the first time.

No, Dean thought frantically. No, no, no!

"Dean."

Dean jolted awake with a gasp. Sasha was shaking his good shoulder and grinning in his face. The car was stopped. Sam was looking back at Dean from the front seat.

"I thought someone said he wanted lunch," Sasha teased, "We only have a few hours to go after this. Let's take a break, okay?"

Yeah, Dean thought idly, nodding and willing his pulse to return to normal. A break. At some point he deserved a break from all this, didn't he? At least his shoulder was feeling better. Wet. But better. The swelling must have finally gone down.

They ate in a diner that reeked of its deep fryer but the food was good enough. Dean ignored the occasional worried glance from Sasha. He had to pull himself together so Sasha wouldn't pick up on his emotional turmoil. They had a case. That alone made Dean feel better. As long as he could do his job then he could forget about everything else. At least for a little while.

The three victims of the Animus house were all being held at the Maine Coast Memorial Hospital in the psychiatric ward. Even though none of them had been able to walk or control the majority of their basic motor functions since their arrival, nothing was physically wrong with any of them. The doctors had no lead as to the cause, something they readily told the handsome young detectives and their redheaded criminal psychologist when the group came calling. It was as if the victims' brains had simply restarted from zero.

The two male squatters were completely unresponsive and gave Dean and the others nothing more than they already knew, but they went to see the third victim anyway.

She was a young Jane Doe runaway with a tender face who stared at Dean with too wide brown eyes like he was the most fascinating thing in the world. She wouldn't even look at Sam or Sasha, though she did tilt her head at the incubus' red hair for a moment.

"Hey," Dean said since she was at least responding to him, "My name's Dean," he said slowly, "These are my partners. We're gonna figure out what happened to you okay? Do you…do you understand me?" The doctors had left them alone and they were encased in curtains, not a private room.

The girl smiled large and toothy at Dean. She tried to reach for him and Dean took it as a good sign, leaning further over her in the bed. She reached right for Dean's pendant that he hadn't bothered to tuck beneath his shirt. The necklace hung a little misplaced against his tie and the girl fingered it fondly. At least some motor functions still worked.

"Yeah. That's pretty cool, huh?" Dean said, carefully searching the girl's eyes for some sign of actual understanding. The most he could pick up from her was the obvious 'ooo, shiny' she was thinking about his pendant. "You have no idea what I'm saying, do you?"

The girl didn't even look up. Strike three and they had learned absolutely nothing. Well, not nothing.

"They're not crazy," Dean said as they left the three victims behind in the psychiatric ward, "It's like they're…I don't know…"

"Children," Sam supplied.

"More like newborns," Dean said, "What kinda thing could do this?"

Neither Sam nor Sasha said anything as they left the hospital but things were definitely pointing towards some kind of curse. They drove past the Animus house on their way back to their motel. It looked like most historical buildings—big old house, freshly renovated and kept up—not imposing or spooky really. There would be a lot of rooms to search tomorrow and Dean did not deny being wary of that third floor.

They ordered in pizza for dinner to keep things simple and to give them more time to go over what they knew. Bill Hollander, the owner and curator for the last fifty years died about a month ago. He had inherited the building from his father but had no close relatives to pass it down to himself, save a distant cousin that wanted nothing to do with the place.

Everything pointed to the house itself, so even if the boys didn't find any useful information inside, they could still sanctify the grounds and hopefully break the curse. Whether or not that would help those already affected was always a crap shoot. Dean hoped it would help though. That girl's brown eyes haunted him almost as badly as Sam's yellow ones.

Dean laid back on one of the beds, relaxing his shoulder while Sam and Sasha went over the research again to make sure they were at least as prepared as they could be. It made Dean feel like a useless lump just lying there. Dean didn't like dealing with curses either. They were too unpredictable when you didn't know the rules, and lack of any discernable pattern with the victims over the years didn't help matters.

The private tour part was what got Dean thinking. The people who went into that house when Hollander was alive knew exactly what they were getting into, Dean was sure of it. Too bad none of the people who had come out of Animus house the same way they went in were alive anymore. It seemed those tours had been open only to the elderly.

"You don't suppose it's some crazy fountain of youth gone wrong, do you?" Dean mentioned casually, partially because he was bored having to just sit there and rest. The others had asked him not to turn on the TV until they were done.

Sasha gave Dean a thoughtful look but Sam just pursed his lips. "No one's ever come out of that house younger, Dean. Only mentally if our guess is right."

"That's why I said 'gone wrong'. Pay attention, will ya?"

A sigh. "Dean…"

"I'm just trying to be useful."

"Well you're not."

"Yeah," Dean had to grimace, "What else is new."

Getting up out of bed still favoring his right shoulder Dean slipped his shoes back on and went for his coat. He was tired of being the third wheel. How was that even possible anyway—him being the third wheel? He was one half of a pair of brothers, one half of a couple, and yet he was the one who felt left out.

It was kind of hard to put his usual skills to use when superpowers got everything done easier. And there was also the little fact that Dean kept getting seriously injured.

"Where are you going?" Sasha asked, sounding concerned.

Dean was sick of being babied too. "I'm going for a walk." He slid his leather on slowly, willing himself not to let the others see how much that still hurt.

"It's below freezing," Sasha said, "And snowing."

"I'm just walking across the street to the gas station, okay?"

"But why do you need to—"

"Dude," Dean finally said in exasperation, halfway to the door, "It's just a sore shoulder. I haven't been shot for several weeks, remember? No one's after us. We're not even looking for a thing in this town. We're dealing with a house. A damn building is not going to sneak up and get me. I do know how to take care of myself without either of you around, ya know. And I'm not mad," Dean threw in, since he knew Sasha would be thinking that, "I'm just…" Dean sighed, "Just let me know if there's actually anything useful I can do at some point. It'd be a nice change."

Dean fully recognized that he was being a petulant child and that he would probably have to answer for all of that later, but right now he just wanted to get away. Being injured was one thing; Dean had been dismissing these feelings of inferiority for a lot longer.

But that was stupid too, Dean thought, shivering against the cold and snow as he made his way across the street to the gas station. The amount of times Dean had saved the other two without aid of superpowers was just as much if not more than the other way around. It just didn't feel that way, not with how powerful Sam was getting. Not when Dean couldn't help wondering whether he'd be able to even do anything if Sam ever…

A great shake freed Dean of his covering of snow and also reminded him that oh yeah, I dislocated my fucking shoulder last night! Dean wanted a soda. Or maybe some coffee. Of maybe just a god damn donut. Dean just had to remind himself that they had a case that did not require any heavy lifting or mojo. Dean was still needed. Dean could still fix this. He was the only one who could fix this…

Sam and Sasha didn't bring up Dean's minor outburst when he got back to the room totting three bottles of Coke. They were watching The Producers on TV. The new musical one. Sasha handed Dean the last slice of pizza and said, "I love the songs but Matthew Broderick's no Gene Wilder," and everything shifted back to normal.

They sat up watching the movie, all of them sprawled together on Sam's bed with barely enough room to breathe let alone laugh at the jokes without tangling limbs. Once again the threat of yellow eyes and 'what ifs' seemed far away for Dean. He liked that. He liked the brief glimpses of a real happy life that seemed to happen more often when the three of them were together.

By the time they went to bed, Sam alone in his and Sasha and Dean in other, Dean had forgotten to fear falling asleep. That was fine. But he should have worried more about waking up.

It was some ungodly hour in the middle of the night when Dean felt it. He couldn't have described the feeling as anything more than just that—a feeling. Dean's intuition, even while asleep, had always been exceptional, aptly honed by years of 'protect Sammy' playing like a recording in his head. Night was always the hardest time because Sam was the most vulnerable then, especially back when they were kids and Dad would leave them on their own so often.

This time Dean woke up with the same thought as always—Sam. Where's Sam? Is Sam okay? Did something happen to Sam? Waking like that almost always meant those questions were warranted, even if all that was wrong was that little Sammy had had a bad dream.

Dean opened his eyes and felt panic grip his heart. Sasha was lying on the side of the bed closer to Sam, so Dean had to lift up to look over and see if his brother was okay. As soon as Dean did that though he realized how unnecessary it was. "Sammy…" Dean whispered into the dark, "What are you doing?"

Sam was standing between the beds, still as anything. It took Dean a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dark but when they did he saw that Sam's eyes were closed, like maybe the kid was sleep walking or something. Dean noticed something else too. Sam was shaking, so subtly it almost wasn't noticeable. Just like last night.

"Sam," Dean said more firmly though still a whisper, not wanting to rouse Sasha and therefore have to explain things. But there was no easy fix to this, not like Dean wanted to believe so badly. At the sound of Dean's voice Sam responded, and in the very last way Dean wanted.

Mottled yellow eyes opened wide, their color clear in the dark. At first they just stared forward, but then they began to shift and Sam's head shifted with them, changing his gaze from distant to down at Dean and Sasha's bed. But Sam didn't look at Dean. Instead his attention moved directly to the sleeping incubus who was currently spread out on his stomach with one arm hanging over the edge of the mattress. Sam stared at Sasha with those eyes, those horrible eyes, and a moment later his hand was reaching out.

"No!" Dean gasped, his reflexes faster than this slow, calculating Sam as he sat up completely and grabbed Sam by the wrist before his brother could do what he intended.

Sam wasn't shaking anymore, but Dean sure as well was. Those yellow eyes slowly refocused onto Dean, looking right at him and making it unmistakable now that this was very real. The blank unfeeling color of those eyes made Dean tremble.

What made it all so much worse was that as Sam looked at Dean his expression started to change for the first time. It had been so blank before but now…now Sam smiled, wide and dimpled as if Dean had said or done something wonderful. It was awful. Because it was so Sam. It was Sam…

The tall form of Dean's baby brother gave a slight convulsion then and his eyes closed. Suddenly, Sam's whole body went limp and Dean had to let go of Sam's wrist or risk being dragged right over the bed as Sam fell to the floor. Dean immediately jumped out of bed and went around to see what had happened. Sam was shaking again, all over under his skin like he was having some kind of seizure. Dean fell to the floor beside him and reached his own shaky hand to Sam's forehead. Sam didn't feel warm or cold. He felt normal.

Sam's eyes sprung open then and Dean held back a cry. Hazel. They were hazel. And Sam was no longer shaking. "Dean…?" he said in a sleep-roughened and very confused voice, "What…?" Sam looked around, realizing just where he was and that it wasn't exactly normal to wake up crumbled on the floor in the middle of the night, "Did I fall out of bed?"

That was Dean's out. Sam had just given it to him and it was so tempting to take it. Dean could just keep on pretending this wasn't happening, pretending something wasn't waking within Sam whenever he slept and threatened to…well, Dean didn't know what, but he knew he was afraid. Too afraid to lie.

"Dean?"

The words "It's okay, Sammy" danced on Dean's tongue, but he couldn't say them. It wasn't okay. It was as far from okay as things could get. "Sam…" Dean tried, just sitting there on the floor in the dark as Sam sat up next to him and looked on imploringly, "Do you know what's happening?" Dean decided on saying. He didn't know if it would make him feel better or worse if Sam said 'yes'.

Sam's brow creased. "Happening? What's happening? Did I…" Sam glanced frantically around the room, finally returning his wide hazel stare back onto Dean, "Did I sleepwalk again?"

Again. Dean swallowed deep in his throat. "How long have you been sleepwalking?"

"I…" Sam's eyes darted down and Dean knew before Sam spoke that keeping things about this a secret from each other went both ways, "I don't know. I guess…a while now. But it's no big deal. I just…I wake up…sometimes…out of bed. But never too far. The farthest I've ever been was the bathroom. I think I just have too much on my mind, that's all."

"Do you remember anything from when it happens?" Dean pressed on. He needed to know now. It was too serious. Too real.

Again Sam looked sheepish and hesitant like there was so much he wasn't saying even before he opened his mouth. "I don't…remember really. Just…what I dream. And that's vague too. It's…it's nothing." Sam started to get up. Put his hands underneath him and started to push.

Dean reached out with his good hand and forced Sam back down to stay on the floor with him. "You gotta tell me, Sammy. You gotta. This isn't…this isn't just sleepwalking. I think you know that too."

The silence that followed was all Dean needed to know he was right. "It doesn't mean anything," Sam said again, but his tone told Dean different, "The dreams are just…just me, like…like I'm drowning but there's no water, just darkness everywhere and I'm trying to find some kind of surface, some kind of…light, but I can't. And I can almost see…almost tell what I'm doing, what's going on, but I…I can't…I just…I don't know. It's like some kinda veil keeps me just outta reach from really knowing, and I…I just don't know."

It was almost a comfort to Dean that Sam seemed just as afraid as he was. It made it easier for Dean's hand on Sam's shoulder to move up to Sam's face and just hold there for a moment. Then he pulled away, took a breath and tried to think how to finish the conversation. He had to tell Sam now. He had to tell him what he had seen.

Sam just had to go and look at him like that, all big dark puppy eyes filling with water like he was going to cry. This shouldn't be happening. Sam was…Sam was his, damn it. He didn't belong to those demons.

"Dean…? Sam?" called Sasha's voice from above them in the bed, foreign and quiet against the silence that had overtaken them, "What's going on?"

It was four in the morning and they were nowhere near ready to head back to sleep. Dean was sitting next to Sasha on the edge of their bed, and Sam was sitting across from them on the edge of his. All of them were in boxers, bare chests open to the cold of the room since it was near blizzarding outside. None of them had said anything for a solid minute, and a minute that tense always felt more like five. Like ten. Like an hour.

"This was…this was the third time?" Sam finally started to say, too loud for the middle of the night. Dean was glad they had turned on the bedside lamp. "You saw me like that three times, Dean, and you're just telling me now?"

"Hey, for one thing the first time doesn't count," Dean protested, "I could have just imagined that one. It wasn't like the other two. Last night and tonight you were…you were shaking first, like…like you were trying to fight it maybe. Probably like what happens in your dreams. And I didn't…I didn't say anything last night or this morning because I…I don't know. I thought…maybe I'd imagined that too."

"Dean," Sam said with a snarl on his face, "You tell me anyway! You tell me! You don't lie right to my face! I don't…I don't care if you wanted to convince yourself it wasn't real, you should have told me."

"Like you told me about your dreams or all this sleepwalking?" Dean shot right back, "Pot," he said pointing at Sam, and then pointed back at himself with a firm, "Kettle. So shut up. We're both idiots. The end. Now can we get back to the issue here? What the hell is going on, Sammy? What else aren't you saying? Are you…are you losing yourself to these powers or what? Coz if you think—"

"It's not…it's not like that," Sam tried to say with confidence but ended up sounding like a frustrated child, "I don't…I've never…I've never really ever given in. I'm always keeping my powers in check, just a step away so giving myself over to them completely never happens. If I thought I was losing that control, Dean, even a little, I'd…I'd tell you. Immediately. Of course I would. And god, I'd stop. I'd push them out and never use them again."

A humorless laugh fell from Sasha's lips. He didn't look at all ashamed for releasing it either when Sam and Dean turned to look at him. "Push them out?" the incubus said skeptically, "Sam, these powers aren't something you can turn off anymore. You've opened yourself up to them and now they're apart of you. I couldn't read people's emotions from birth, ya know, but I couldn't just suddenly stop now no matter how much I might want to sometimes. They're in you, Sam. And maybe…maybe trying so hard to cap them is what's manifesting these dreams and episodes while you sleep."

Silence fell between them again. Dean had thought of that as well. He knew Sam wasn't allowing his powers to expand as much as they could. As far as they knew there was no cap, and for Sam to limit himself purposefully after opening the dam, well…maybe there was only so much pressure his mind could take.

"Red eyes are always seen as evil," Sasha went on, his voice softer, gentle, "But they're just eyes. Why should yellow be any different. It's part of your powers coming to life inside of you. Does that have to be bad?"

"Yes!" Sam said, standing suddenly from the bed and staring down at them both angrily, "Because they're his. I wasn't born with them. He gave them to me. Gave me these powers. Made me this…this…" Sam's hand gestured wildly like he was trying to dig the word he wanted right out of the air.

Sasha looked on humorlessly and just said, "Monster. That's the word you want, isn't it? Because that makes it easier to say it isn't you. It's some foreign thing inside you, is that it? Well guess what, Sammy. I don't think so. Like it or not, this is you now. That demon blood you hate so much has been apart of you for almost twenty-five years and you think it's still something separate? It's you."

"Shut up!" Sam growled, lunging for Sasha suddenly like he meant to strangle him.

Dean dove between them without even thinking, catching Sam's arms and bringing himself up onto his feet too to make it easier to push Sam away. "Back. Off," Dean warned, looking Sam square in the eyes, "You need to calm down. You think fighting each other is going to make any of this easier? He's not wrong, Sam," Dean said quietly, still holding Sam's forearms like he was afraid to let go, afraid to even loosen his grip, "This is you now. You chose to conquer this, to conquer these powers so you could be stronger for it, strong enough to help me and get rid of these damn demons once and for all. That does not mean you're a god damn monster. It doesn't mean Yellow Eyes is in you."

"You don't know that," Sam said miserably, all the fight drained from him and replaced with that horrible anguish, "You don't know that."

"I believe it," Dean said firmly, "Just because this is you doesn't mean you aren't still Sammy."

"Dean…"

"You're still my brother."

"Dean."

"Sam," Dean said with just as much warning because he knew what was coming, he knew what Sam was going to do.

The misery on Sam's face didn't waver as he said very clearly, "Tell the truth."

Dean couldn't not tell him then, much as he tried. "I'm terrified of you," he said, falling prey to Sam's control even though his hands gripped Sam tight still in support, "I think you were going to hurt Sasha tonight and I don't know why. You don't even know what's happening, and we can't stop it, and you can't control it, and I'm so scared that one day they'll be those damn yellow eyes and no you and I don't know how to fix it." A lump rose in Dean's throat as he finished that, hating that those words were in him to say at all, forced out of him as they were.

Sam pulled his hands out of Dean's hold and just sagged back down onto the mattress like his sentence had been given and that was it. He was doomed.

"Damn it, Sam," Dean said, his eyes as wet as the hazel ones in front of him, he could feel it. He wanted to get angry with Sam for mojoing him again but he couldn't. In a like situation, he would have done the same.

Slowly, Dean went over and took a seat next to Sam, right beside him so that their legs touched. He could still show in some small way that even if he was afraid he wasn't giving up. Not even close.

"You don't get to choose when it's too late," Dean said, knowing there was no point in trying to take back any of what he had said, "Only I get to do that. Yeah, I'm afraid. I'm afraid of a lot of things lately. Go figure. But right now you're still Sam and I gotta believe you can keep it that way. But if you don't believe it, Sammy, if you don't believe it then it's already over. And I just can't accept that."

Sam closed his eyes, squeezing tears free that streamed hot and fast down his face. "What if I can't do it, Dean?" Sam choked out, "I don't know anymore if I should give in to stop the sleep walking or push harder to hold the powers back and risk having yellowed-eyed me come after you at night. You really…you really think I was going to hurt Sasha tonight?" Sam peaked his eyes open and glanced frightened to the side.

It wasn't a powered question but Dean still planned to tell the real truth. "I don't know," he said honestly, lifting his eyes to look at Sasha who was still sitting on the other bed, very still and blank in his expression, "You had yellow eyes, for crying out loud, of course that was my first thought," Dean tried to grin, "But all you did was reach for him. And when I stopped you and you smiled at me…it wasn't…sinister or anything. I don't know. You don't…have any urge to hurt Sasha now, do you?" Dean asked, only half serious.

Eyes wide and searching again, Sam stared forward at Sasha and a few more tears streamed down to follow the lines made by the first. "No. God, I…I'm so sorry. I'd never…you know I'd never…" Sam couldn't quite get the words out, tears falling faster now, but his gaze met with true blue and Sasha smiled back at him.

"I'm sorry too," the incubus said, "Sorry I push you on all this. I just…well, you know how I can't stand you chalking all your powers up to evil just because they scare you sometimes. Either of you," he added with a look at Dean, "I've lived with abilities my whole life, and sure, being born with them makes it different, but I stand by what I said a long time ago. No matter what gets inside you, unless you're full on possessed by a demon, which you're not, only you can make the choices of what to do with what you're given. And I'm with Dean. I don't see you choosing evil, Sam. And I certainly don't see you wanting to hurt either of us. You love us. You sorta can't hide that from me." Sasha grinned a little wider.

And miraculously it did the trick, at least enough for Sam to calm down a little further, turn to see that strong resolve in Dean's eyes too, and finally nod his head. "Can we…maybe get back to sleep then? I'm really tired," Sam said, rubbing a hand across his wet eyes like a little kid.

How any of them actually got back to sleep after that, Dean really couldn't say. He just knew that when they woke up barely two hours later to hit the Animus house before the sun came up, they all looked the same amount of not quite rested. Better than looking like they hadn't gotten any rest at all. They still had a case to solve and a curse to break if Dean had any say in the matter.

With not even a little light on the horizon and no cars on the streets, the three hunters headed for their quarry to find out just what kind of sinister magic was going on inside.

Breaking in was easy. Dean felt a swell of nostalgia that his lock-picking skills were needed this time, since busting down doors was sort of a bad idea when they didn't want anyone to know they had been there. If they had to burn the house to the ground, they were prepared for that. If it was simpler though then they were ready to just sanctify the grounds without the pyrotechnics and leave without a trace.

They had flashlights for now but they figured the sun would be up before they were finished. The entryway of the Animus house—since they had just gone through the front door—seemed normal enough. Sam found no EMF readings, though that wasn't a surprise since they hadn't expected this to be a haunting. Sam kept the meter out anyway, just in case.

Otherwise the entryway was large and led to a spiral staircase that allowed entry to the second floor. There were also doors on either side of the entryway that led off down separate hallways. The hunters had already agreed to search floor by floor so they knew they would stay on ground level for now, but they weren't exactly sure what they were looking for. Signs of some kind to point to what kind of curse this was but there was no guarantee of finding anything. The curse could have been built into the foundation for all they knew.

"Do we split or stay together?" Dean questioned, gesturing to both hallways.

"Stay together," Sam offered, "At least until we get a feel for the place."

Dean nodded and so did Sasha. They headed left without discussing it, but as they came to the doorway Sam stopped them. He had been sweeping with the EMF meter but it didn't look like it was going off. "What?" Dean said.

"Look," Sam lifted his flashlight and shone it over the top of the doorframe where some kind of writing had been carved into the wood very neatly. It took Dean a moment to recognize it as Latin, but the meaning clicked into place as Sam read it aloud. "Here begins your beginning." Without pausing to think over what the greater meaning to that might be, Sam ran over to the other door and shone his light above that one too. "Your path begins elsewhere," Sam read with a slight laugh, "Okay…I guess we chose the right door the first time. We still heading left?" Sam glanced back at the others who were still by the first door.

"Don't see why not," Dean said.

"I mean, we wouldn't want to do the tour an injustice," Sasha snarked, "Besides, it may be our best bet for figuring things out if we follow the house's instructions."

So they did. Sam returned and the boys continued into the hallway at the left. The feeling that something supernatural was going on was unmistakable once they entered that first hallway. There was no way it was possible for the house to look as it did on the inside with how they had seen it from the outside. This side of the house was just one long hallway that finally curved off to the right and probably connected back around to the other door. Along the walls were open doorways, maybe six or seven evenly spread out.

They came to the first open doorway and peered inside. It was just an empty white room. A little eerie, but it didn't tell them much.

"Well that's anti-climactic," Dean grumbled.

Sam pointed his flashlight above this new door and once again found Latin. "Yourself without one?" he said skeptically, not trusting his translation, "Yourself losing one? Yourself minus one? I don't know what this means."

"Well we're not going to find anything out with just window shopping." Dean took a step inside the room and Sasha was right behind him. Sam came in just after them too and they started looking around the room. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

Sam tossed his EMF to Dean and Dean swept for readings while Sam and Sasha used their flashlight to look for anymore writing. None of them found anything.

"Well this is exciting," Dean said, "Room number two?"

They went to the next room and again Sam checked above its door first. This door had the very same inscription except that instead of saying 'one' it said 'two' like the rooms were counting up. Or counting backwards in some strange way since it seemed to be saying 'minus', or 'without', or 'losing', or whatever.

They entered the second room together again and came up with the same plentiful bounty of absolutely nothing. The rooms looked identical from the inside, and for once there was actually good reason in Dean's mind that the police had found nothing in their search too.

"Keep checking this one," Dean said, heading for the doorway, "I'm moving on to number three. If this keeps up it'll take us way too long one at a time."

"Be careful," Sasha called after him.

"And don't move on any further than one room," Sam said, "I don't think we should let ourselves get too far apart. We still don't know what's going on."

Dean nodded as he left. He agreed with that; he just didn't want to spend the whole frickin' day looking at white walls for markings and EMF readings.

Before entering the third room, Dean used his flashlight to check above the door again, just to be sure. It said what he expected, the same thing as the others but with the number 'three'. Dean also had the EMF meter so he started using that as soon as he stepped over the threshold. It immediately went wild.

Dean turned back towards the door to call after the others, but as his eyes lifted from the meter, he found that his voice fell away. Dean was no longer standing in a plain white room. The very walls were shifting and changing around him into some other place. It was darker suddenly, but Dean couldn't help feeling that he recognized the décor of this new room, like maybe he had been in it before.

"Guys!" Dean called, looking around the room carefully to take stock of everything. This room was larger than the white room could hold, filled with furniture but all old and ratty like no one lived here. Dean still couldn't shake that it looked familiar but it was too vague for him to really remember.

Turning back towards the door he was about to call for the others again when he came face to face with whatever was making the EMF go crazy.

Now Dean knew this was familiar. The ugly hag he was suddenly staring at was a spook he knew he had seen before. At first Dean wondered if it was Marisol from Danville, but these memories were older. And this ghost was older too, ancient with clothing from a more distant time. Dean took a step back.

"Sam!" Dean called, "Sasha!"

"Dean!"

Dean had expected a replied call but not that one. It came from behind him for one, and Dean knew that Sam and Sasha would have to come through the door. The voice was also very different from Sam or Sasha's and so impossible that it made Dean's blood run cold to hear it.

Completely ignoring the ghost hovering before him, Dean turned around, looking back into the dark room that shouldn't exist. He saw a man behind him who raised a sawed-off shotgun at the spook. "Dean, look out!" the man, the hunter called.

But Dean couldn't move. "Dad…?"

tbc...

A/N: Just over a week, BARELY, and I feel like I've betrayed you all for taking so long! For the record, I am less than two months from my wedding, and my boss was gone last week so I had a lot of extra work, and still do since my coworkers are slackers and have both been gone this week. Anyhoo, here we go for another round of what the hell! Reviews? Thoughts, my dearest dears? There's a lot of new people with us, woohoo, so please feel free to share with the class.

Thoughts on the season finale? I'd love to hear some. Dean's swan song of Bon Jovi made me so happy. And look at me being all right about Sam. Damn straight. I know some of you doubted me but I arise triumphant. Now how the hell am I supposed to make it until next Sept/Oct? How are any of us? Well, I guess that's what fanfics are for.

I've gotten a teaser of deangirl1's next chapter. And hooboy, what a doozy. Can't tell you anymore than that though. Love you all!

Crim