By: Karen B.

Summary: Conclusion.

Thank you for your time.




Sam's yelling had stopped, abruptly.

"Sammy! Come on, man, not a good time to play Houdini. Let me hear that girly scream of yours!" Dean stopped pounding and took a few steps back away from the wall. He did a slow turn, calming himself. Panicking wouldn't help get Sam back. He took in every detail of the velvet wallpaper. Sam was here somewhere, just behind the wall, in what was likely a hidden room. Dean could feel him. "Sam, I know you're here, answer me, bitch." Dean stood rigid, and waited for a response.

Ectoplasm continued to flow clinging to his boots, thick as mud. The intense anger, and the negativity emitting from the substance was like a hard punch to his gut. With trembling hands, Dean opened his duffle. Pulling out a canister of sea salt, he sprinkled the granules from corner to corner, preventing the flow from seeping further into the room.

"Sam?" Dean, dropped the container back into his pack, and strained to listen.

One boot crossing over the other he slowly circled the room. Damn unfriendly Casper was so toast for grabbing his brother. As soon as he found the spirit, that was. The room was empty, save for the chandelier and the furniture stuck to the ceiling. Dean glanced upward, studying every piece. There was a hidden room here somewhere, a hidden doorway. He was certain of it. He didn't need his walkman to tell him that. He could hear a scurrying around inside the walls. Hear a strange almost silent laugh, sending a gust of winter wind through him -- a cold spot. He could feel eyes on him, unearthly and breathless.

"I know you hear me," Dean called to the sinister presence. "You hurt my brother so help me…Sam, answer me!" Dean demanded impatiently. Casper laughed. "You are so friggin' dead -- again!"

A loud rattling and vibrating sound caused Dean to look up just in time to see a large rolltop desk zooming down toward him from the floor above.

"Sonofabitch!" Not enjoying Casper's demolition party, Dean scrambled sideways slipping, his right knee crossing over the salt line just to avoid the falling furniture. "Friggin' ghost snot !" He was up on his feet, plasma dripping off his jacket and stuck in his hair like chewing gum.

Dean darted here and there, playing a sick game of dodge furniture as more pieces shook, unbolted, and crashed indenting and cracking the plaster ceiling/floor around him. A haunted house -- haunted. A room where the laws of physics had changed. A missing baby brother. Who knew 'lame' could be so scary.

The fireplace was next, the mantel vibrating and pulling away from the wall. The mirror above cracked and spider webbed, sending tiny slivers of glass falling like rain. Dean slammed his back against a far wall to avoid the sharp drops.

"Dean." He heard Sam call again, this time louder.

"Sam?" Dean's attention zoomed in on an electrical socket just to his left. The slim dripping from the outlet was thicker than the rest of the ghost snot, and blood-red. He hadn't noticed before as the substance blended with the red velvet wallpaper. "Sammy, talk to me!" Dean demanded impatiently. "Where the hell are you?"

"Hidden, room." Came a near whispered reply, followed by a heavy thud that shook the wall.

"No, really, thought you were in Jersey."

Sam's shrill cry of pain put a cold lump of dread in Dean's stomach and spun him into action.

"You backward, sadistic freak, get the hell away from my brother!" He yelled, instinctively taking a few steps back, then racing forward, crossing over the salt line and ramming his shoulder into the wall. Each time Dean put his shoulder into the wall harder, desperate to get to his brother. He could hear Sam grunting, the wall on the opposite side shaking.

Damn ghost was wallpapering, using Sam as paste.

"Sam, help me out here!" Dean's agitation was growing by the minute. "If you're going to keep letting Casper throw you into the wall…" Dean rammed his shoulder into the wall again. "…Least you can do is…" Another shoulder thrust. "… Put your shoulder into it and get the hell out of there."





Realizing knocking himself senseless, wasn't getting him anywhere, Dean gathered his wits. Slip sliding over to the duffle bag, Dean he dug out an iron bar.

"Why the hell didn't I pack the axe?" he muttered racing back to the wall near the electrical socket he raised the rod high over his head and began a little re-wallpapering of his own. Each blow glanced off the wall like beaded water rolling off a freshly waxed Impala, not leaving so much as a mark.

Dean lowered the weapon, wiping the sweat from his forehead on his jacket's sleeve, his mind spinning as fast as his worry and anger.




"You need to...s' it." Sam's voice faded.

Staying close to the wall, Dean desperately tried to quell his beating heart and held his breath. Sam was trying to tell him something, if only he could hear through the plasma coating.





Dean cringed, remaining frozen, and staring down at his boots; cold, unfeeling, listening only to the words he could pick out in-between his brother's feeble cries.

"Hung him." The weak sound of Sam's voice sent fear tingling down Dean's spine.

It was killing Dean. The short, urgent cries coming from behind the wall doing nothing to help him concentrate.


"D'n…ash the…" Sam cried out.

Dean turned from the wall, staring around the room, suddenly realizing what it was Sam needed him to do.

Without realizing what he was doing, Dean's body reacted before his brain could. Gripping the iron rod firmly, he darted toward the chandelier.

"Ahhhhhhhh!" Dean's war cry stopped abruptly when the rod made contact with the crystals, like a baseball bat smashing a car's headlights.

Ducking inside his jacket, both Dean's arms shot up to cover his head. He waited two seconds before realizing nothing had happened, the glass shower never arriving. Dean peeked out from under his forearm, staring in disbelief as the shattered crystals floated upward.

"Huh." He straightened. "Nothing freaky there."

Maybe Sam was wrong, or he hadn't pieced together his brother's Intel.

Before he could think of another idea, the room shook violently twisting and distorting, turning topsi-turvi. Dean's feet left the floor and he found himself in mid-air, only seconds later to be dumped heavily back on the floor. Once again, he ducked his head inside his jacket as crystal shards rained down on him.

The glass storm ended as abruptly as it began. Dean realized quickly the furniture was placed the way furniture should be -- upright and on the floor. He glanced to the ceiling, the chandelier was gone, only a few sparking wires remained, a bloody rope dangling from its base. Victor's spirit was attached to the place where he'd been killed -- made sense. A quick self-diagnostic told Dean he only had a few small cuts on his hands, crystal shards and ectoplasm residue to clean out of his hair, otherwise he escaped unscathed.

"Shit! Sam!" Dean started to push himself up off the floor when he bumped into a solid form.

"Right here," Sam's voice was loud and clear next to him.

"Sammy!" Dean twisted moving up behind his brother. "Where'd you come from? You okay?"

"Dumped out of the room when the place righted itself, and yeah, good."

Dean looked Sam up and down, slowly at first then quicker. Not a drop of blood on the kid -- good, but quite a few purple bruises on his face, and arms.

"Next time yell louder, bro, I could hardly hear you," Dean said, nabbing Sam's right arm and tugging him upward.

"Gahhhh," Sam gave a sickening moan, and toppled backward

"Whoa, whoa, easy." Dean guided Sam back down. "Dude." Dean narrowed his eyes. "I thought you said you were okay. Let me take a look at you."

"I'm okay, compared to them." Sam squinted, looking toward the half open door leading to the hidden room.

"The kids." Dean followed Sam's gaze, cursing quietly to himself.

This was the part of the job they both hated. Not being able to save everyone. Dean's attension shifted back to Sam.

"Just, let's notify the police and get out of this town, Dean," Sam said, right elbow bent, arm drawn to his chest.

Sam's brow was knitted, his eyes brimming with unshed tears.

Not even wanting to ask what grusome sight lay beyond the door, Dean wrapped an arm around Sam's waist raising him to his feet.

"Not my kind of movie after all," Dean muttered a violent curse, guiding Sam out of the room.


Dean had notified the police via annonomus caller as soon as he'd put a few miles between them and the job. They'd driven in silence, windows rolled down, the wind in their ears half the night before he decided it was time to pull over and take a look at Sam's arm. He guided the car off the road along side a fenced pasture, just as morning's light was breaking the horizon. A gust of wind blew across the tail yellow grass, bringing the pungent smell of cows or maybe it was pigs. A farm boy, Dean was not. He put the Impala in park, and turned to face Sam.

"You going to be okay?" Dean asked.

Sam blinked repeatedly, staring out the front windshield and biting his lower lip.


"Are you ever okay, Dean, when you can't save somebody...in this case... three some-bodies!" Sam opened the car door with his good hand, struggling to get out.

"No." Dean nodded his understanding, not even wincing when Sam slammed the car door too hard.

Dean gave Sam a moment by himself as he fumbled in the backseat for his duffle, and first-aid kit. Peering out the windshield to the nice view of his brother's back. Every time a hunt didn't go as planned it brought them closer to the edge of a cliff, both of them staring down at the jagged rocks below. This life -- it just wasn't fair -- but it was the way it was, their father had taught them that. Dean sighed, exiting the car.

"You look like crap," he said, coming to stand directly in front of Sam.

"Do I?" Sam stared off into the distance.

"Your arm hurt bad?" Dean asked, setting the emergency kit on the ground near his feet and reaching a hand toward Sam.

"Just leave it." Sam batted Dean away with his good hand, and Dean couldn't help but notice the trembling fingers.


"They were pinned to the wall, Dean, what was left of them."

Dean stood silent, there was nothing he could say or do to make either one of them feel any better. Not being able to save those kids or anyone for that matter sucked -- major. He was simply thankful Sam hadn't ended up mounted on the wall next to them. Another gust of wind blew across the field bringing with it the faraway sound of mooing cows.

"Come on," Dean scolded. "Let me take a look at your arm." Dean reached out again.

"Shoulder." Sam sucked in a breath, leaning back further against the car allowing Dean's hand to approach this time.

Dean pursed his lips, probing, kneading, and pawing.

"Ahahaha!" Sam balked, squirming away.

"Hold still." Dean grimaced apologetically, holding firm.

Dean, don't touch --owe…owe…owe…."

"You blew your shoulder out," Dean confirmed, finally pulling his hand away.

"Must have happened when I was putting my shoulder into it," Sam gritted.

"You know what I have to do," Dean said, sadly.

"Could pop back on its own, did once before." Sam cringed, remembering the pain from the last time Dean had to fix the same shoulder -- the same way.

"Not this time, sorry, kiddo."

"Fine, Doctor necessary, just do it, already." Sam shuddered knowing exactly what he was in for.

"Patching you up's getting to be a real hobby of mine, bro." Dean brought his silver flask out of his jacket pocket.


Sam downed the whole flask -- Blackberry Brandy this time, last time was whiskey. He wondered which would work better -- guessing he was about to find out.

"Sam, if you're going to give into the pain, I need a heads up so I can catch you before you hit the ground and screw up the other arm," Dean said softly.

"Shoulder." Sam felt terribly dizzy and his legs shook.

"Ready?" Dean gripped Sam's right wrist -- held it steady.

Sam craned his head looking to the rising sun. Having your shoulder forced back into its socket was like -- Sam didn't know what it was like. Just knew he didn't like it, and it was best not to watch.

"Set." Dean placed his other hand against his brother's injured shoulder.

Sam clamped his teeth down tight.

"Sam?" Dean gave a curt nod, looking directly into Sam's eyes.

"Dean!" Sam unclamped his teeth. "For crap's sake just get it over with all read…"

"Go!" Dean shoved hard, sending Sam's shoulder back into its joint.

"Ahh….g…..awwww!" Sam's scream was piercing as everything went black and limp, his head falling slowly back.

"Sam, hey." Sam was aware enough to feel Dean's hand bracing his neck bringing his head slowly forward. "Sam, look at me, man."

"You suck." Sam flopped forward against Dean's shoulder. His heart hammering five beats per second, body spazing like electric impulses racing through wire, yet he could hear Dean's faint words of encouragement.

"Easy. Easy. Take it easy." Dean rubbed the back of his neck.

Sam could swear he was tumbling around inside a dryer, coins, lighters, knifes hitting and digging into his shoulder. He was hot and could hardly catch his breath.

"Dude! Breathe!" Dean's panicked voice and slight jostle had Sam sucking in a deep breath.

"Gawd, that hurt." Sam opened his eyes, choking and doing a slow slide off the hood of the car.

"You going to make it?" Dean asked, carring Sam down to the ground.

Sam looked at Dean, and shook his head 'no'. "I guess so," he said.

"You always were such a pansy. You didn't pee yourself did you?" Dean leaned Sam awkwardly against the front passenger tire. "Least there were no clowns in that lame attraction. You really would have wet your pants." Dean pulled a long strip of material out of the emergency supply kit and began to fashion the cloth into a makeshift sling.

"Mmmmm." Sam shivered against the hidden fire burning deep in his shoulder.

Dean looked up surveying his brother's pain level -- ten, maybe a twelve.

"Hey let's talk about that time when you were eight, and Dad made me drag your ass along with me and my date, Molly Maxwell, to that haunted house in Freeport?" Dean distracted, lifting Sam's arm.

"Thought you didn't wanted to ever talk about that." Sam's vision swam.

"I changed my mind. So…" Dean prompted, slipping the injured appendage into the sling.

"Soooooo." Sam stiffened.

"So, you cried so hard you really did wet your pants and I had to carry your pissy pants home," Dean laughed, concentrating on gently settling Sam's arm as comfortably as he could in the sling.

"Ahhh!" Sam winced, recalling the fear. "I wanted to see a Disney film."

"You ruined my date, man. Pissing yourself like that."

I suppose you never pissed yourself?" Sam questioned, his free hand gripping the grass next to him.

"No, I have not," Dean stated cockily. "Only pissed me one too many beers, pissy pants," he laughed lightly.

"Dean." Sam rolled his eyes. "I was a kid." He trembled against the throbbing. "A kid who just found out not so long ago that monsters were real, and you take me to a haunted house of all places."

"Leave it to you to get lost in the maze, pissy..."

"Don't call me that, man!" Sam winced again as Dean adjusted his arm against his chest

"What scared you so bad that night, anyway? You never told me." Dean's brow wrinkled knowing his nursing had been brutally painful for his brother.

"It was dark. I panicked," Sam panted. "Just wanted to hide, so I crouched down in a corner." Sam scrunched his eyes shut, feeling as though a giant woodpecker was now drilling its beak into his shoulder.

"And started crying," Dean curled a hand behind Sam's neck, holing up a moment to let Sam catch his breath.

"All I heard was screaming, Dean. And there were these green glowing eyes of some robotic creepy clown with a bloody machete in his hand, staring at me." Sam opened his eyes, swallowed down hard. "Dad had a machete like that. I remember watching him clean the blood and guts off the blade after a hunt. Freaked me out and made my stomach twist into knots." Sam blew out a breath.

"My God, you're a pansy. Lucky for you I pulled you out of there when I did." Dean eased Sam forward slightly so he could tie the sling more securely around his neck. "You might have done more than just pee yourself." He gently eased Sam back, digging in his duffle for a bottle of pills and water. "You never did like Halloween."

"That's because, the whole suspense thing, not knowing what's around the corner or what ugly, freakish, ghoulish monster is going to pop out at you next…" Sam took a deep breath. "Isn't supposed to be real, Dean." He let loose the death grip he had on the grass.

"Sammy." Dean handed his brother two pills. " I wish…" Dean paused biting his lip and opening the bottled water.

"What, Dean?" Sam shakily popped the white tablets into his mouth. "Wha' d' y'u wis'?" he mumbled around the pills sitting on his tongue, taking the water and swallowing.

"I wish you could have grown up not believing in ghosts." Sincerity shone brightly in Dean's eyes.

"We're just plain screwed, aren't we?" Sam sighed.

"We can be just plain screwed together." Dean shrugged. "Okay, pal?" he smiled.

"Okay, Dean.." Sam smiled back.

The end.