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Caged	By : Lily1186 Category: Supernatural > Slash - Male/Male Views: 11418 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 9
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Caged

Disclaimer: I still do not own anything Supernatural related.

Pairings: Sam/Dean, Wincest. If you don�t like it then don�t read it! You�ve heard it all before folks, don�t act like you haven�t.
Summary: Dean finally faces off against the Poltergeist with unexpected consequences and Sam arrives in Gorham. Will Sam be able to help Dean or will he only makes things worse?
Author�s Note: I am so sorry for taking so long with this update! I can�t believe that it has been almost 3 months since the last one. Anyways, I hope it doesn�t suck too much, I really tried but there has been so much emotional crap to wade through at my own home that I think I might have added too much of my own emotional state into this. I hope it came out alright anyways, you know what to do about it. REVIEW. I love you all and I am sorry again! Please forgive me! By the way, the title of this chapter was inspired by the song �One Headlight� by the Wallflowers. It�s been my favorite to listen to lately so there you have it. Enjoy�

Through Cemetery Trees
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So this was the source of all of the trouble. Dean almost snorted in disgust. The frat house looked like every other house on the block except for the yellow police tape that was still hanging off from all of the surrounding tree trunks. He took a deep breath before ducking under the nearest yellow streamer and heading straight for the front door. Everything looked relatively calm, but no one knew better than him that looks could be deceiving. This was especially true considering that it had taken him two whole days to find all of the things that would be necessary to exorcise this particular poltergeist.
However, the amount of time that it had taken him also included all of the research hours that Sam would usually do. And, since research had never really been his strong suit (he had always been better at the killing aspect) it had taken longer than he had anticipated.
He had gained some useful information though. For instance, he had learned that his regular rock salt bullets wouldn�t provide the same protection that they usually did. So, Dean had been forced to create silver jackets for the shells and a container that could hold holy water mixed with the rock salt. It had all been very time consuming but he had learned a few things along the way.

For instance, Dean had learned that the poltergeist that was haunting the frat house had been viciously assaulted sometime back in the late 1800�s before being humiliated while the entire town had looked on in amusement. Afterwards, his body had been cremated and his ashes had been thrown onto the land where the frat house now stood.
But that wasn�t the only thing that was different about this particular case. Dean had also learned that after the body�s ashes had been spread a curse had been placed upon the ground and the ground itself had become unsanctified.
What bothered Dean the most though was the fact that he had never been able to locate a reason behind why the man had been killed that way in the first place. Obviously he had done something horrible to piss off so many people but whatever it was, no one had written about it.

Instead, the only information that Dean had found was a couple of clippings about the state of the body and the way in which the remains had been dealt with.
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Dean sliced the evidence sticker along the door frame and silently pushed his way in. The house was empty of course and the only sounds that echoed around the room were the sound of Dean�s own boots making a path across the carpeted entryway.
He loaded his favorite shotgun with the specialized bullets that he had made and cocked it quietly while he made his way through the front of the house. There was no sign of the damn poltergeist though. Dean�s eyebrows knitted together when he heard the front door slamming against the wall behind him.
He took his right hand off of the trigger for a minute so that he could motion behind him. When he realized what he was doing though his hand stopped in midair and he turned around.
No one was there.
For a brief moment he had forgotten that Sam wasn�t there to watch his back. He was all alone this time and the only one keeping his ass alive was him. He sighed heavily and headed back toward the open door being careful not to make any extra noise.

When he was closing the door though he had an epiphany. He had two choices in front of him. He could stay and destroy the poltergeist. After that he would leave and continue on to another town, doing the same thing he had done his entire life. He could save people. He could even convince himself that Sam had moved on and forgotten him. That he would go off and live a normal life somewhere. That Sam was happy. That he was happy.

Then there was the other choice. He could leave, right now, and search for Sam. He could find true happiness. But, in doing so he would be disobeying his father and putting innocent lives at risk by allowing the poltergeist, and countless other evils, to live. �Live� being a relative term of course.
He couldn�t do it. He couldn�t condemn others to death knowing that he might be able to save them. And for that he himself was damned to a life of emptiness and sorrow. For that, he hated his father more than life itself. Hated him for forcing this life on him, hated him for never trying to separate family from demon hunting. Dean hated his father for showing him the ugliness in the world. For never even trying to shield him from it. For throwing him in head first and not bothering to see if he could swim. But the one thing that he hated the most was that, somewhere along the way, he had become him.
And with that realization in mind Dean took one last look outside before closing the door and stepping back.
He brought his shotgun to eye level and started toward the second floor via the stairs. He made sure that every one of his steps was well placed and that he maintained balance on all sides. He kept his eyes constantly searching for motion and took the stairs two at a time.
And by the time he reached the top of the stairs Dean Winchester was no longer the older brother of Samuel. He was the son of John. He was no longer a regular human. He was a hunter.
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Sam was twenty miles out of Gorham, Maine when he felt the shift. At first he had thought that he was about to have another vision. So, as quickly and cautiously as he could, he pulled over to the side of the road and parked the car.
But when five minutes had gone by and the pain in his head and chest had continued to grow and no disgusting images were appearing, Sam knew that something else was very wrong.
That�s when it hit him. Dean. Something was wrong with Dean. Sam didn�t know how he knew, all he knew was that Dean needed his help and if he didn�t hurry then there wouldn�t be a Dean left to save.
So, without a second thought, Sam threw the car into gear and pressed his foot to the pedal as far as it would go.
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Dean had cleared three rooms on the second floor before he found any evidence that the poltergeist was even there.

He made that discovery when he exited the bathroom located in the fourth bedroom and a television remote control connected hard with his left temple. He felt the skin break and the blood start to flow. Instead of dwelling on the pain though he pushed it aside and rose. He brought the shotgun up with him but he was met with nothing more than a wall covered with AFI posters and a nudie calendar with the seventeenth circled in red.

He scanned the rest of the room and wiped some more of the blood from his temple before he headed back out into the hallway. That was where he was greeted with another surprise, a lamp cord around his ankle. Dean remained calm. He stammered sideways into the opposite wall and then took out his 9mm and shot through the cord. He put the safety back on the 9mm before shoving it back into the spot at the small of his back. Then he untied the remainder of the cord as quickly as he could. He readjusted the shotgun before pausing near the top of the stairs.
�Alright asshole, I know you�ve got some issues to work out so why don�t you just show yourself and we can talk about it.� He didn�t get a reply. �Fine, we�ll do things my way then.�
After a full minute with still no sign of activity he started back down the stairs muttering, �Stupid fucking poltergeists.�
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When he got to the bottom he noticed that the front door that he had closed earlier was open again. A couple of leaves from the front yard had even blown in and were scattered near the couch.
Dean made his way along the wall making sure to keep his line of sight clear and his being careful not to make his back a target.
When he reached the door he hesitated. For a moment he couldn�t figure out what was wrong but after another minute he finally pinpointed the problem. It was quiet. And not just the inside of the house, but the outside as well. The wind had stopped blowing and there were no birds or insects sounding anywhere.
So, instead of closing the door, Dean turned back around and headed for the center of the living room. When he got there he pulled a small book out of his left front pocket. �Let�s see who�s playing now, dickwad.�
He thumbed past an incantation to raise the dead and stopped on the page that contained the exorcism ritual required to cleanse the house and the surrounding grounds. After he finished making a circle with his own blood he removed a small vial from his other pocket. It was filled with a mixture of raven�s feathers, holy water, rock salt and blood.
Dean ripped a piece of his shirt off as quickly as he could and tied it around the cut on his hand before starting to chant. Almost as soon as the first Latin phrase left his mouth, all hell broke loose.
First the couch rose almost three feet off the ground and flew at him full force.
Luckily, it was far enough away that Dean had enough time to duck before it slammed into the adjacent wall. Unfortunately, when the wood frame splintered a couple of pieces managed to find there way into Dean�s arms when he hoisted himself back up from the floor.
Then, when he got to his feet he was met with a blow to the stomach care of a glass beer pint. The blow caused Dean to stagger back about a foot which brought him into reaching range of the shotgun. He stumbled forward slightly, fingers open, and grabbed for the handle. That was when he was blinded by a cloud of salt and pepper from a shaker that Dean had seen on the coffee table earlier when he was coming down the stairs.

His eyes began to burn almost immediately and he lost sight of the shotgun when his eyes began to blur from the welling of his tears. To make it a little easier on himself, he fell to his knees and started groping for it. He could hear the rustling of the leaves across the carpeting as well as another sound that he couldn�t quite identify. Then there was nothing but silence. Dean stopped for a second and tried to clear his eyes the best he could. And that was when he heard a sound that made his stomach clench in fear.
Someone had cocked the rifle. The sound that he couldn�t identify earlier was the sound of the rifle lifting off of the carpet. And now someone, or something, had his gun in their possession. This did not bode well.
Dean�s eyes focused in the direction of the sound and what he saw made his stomach fall even farther.
His eyes were still a little blurry but they had recovered enough so that he could make out the shape of a boy that looked about 18 years old. �He�s tall� was the only real thought that made its way through Dean�s brain as he stared down the barrel of his own shotgun.
After that all Dean did was feel. First he felt indignant that the kid was actually smiling at him. Like this kid knew that he had somehow done something that no other person or creature had been able to do. Bring the Great Dean Winchester to his knees.
Then Dean felt angry. Angry that some little poltergeist had gotten the better of him. That he had done everything that he was supposed to do, that he had everything necessary to defeat this stupid thing and all of it was lying no further than 3 feet from his body and he couldn�t get to it. He had killed Wendigoes, Vampires, and even won out against death once or twice, and he was about to be taken out by a mere ghost.
Dean would have laughed his ass off at the situation if he didn�t suddenly feel extremely cold. He frowned slightly at the feeling that was spreading from his left shoulder. It wasn�t really painful, just numb. Like his entire shoulder had just been plunged into an ice bath or something.
So when he felt himself keeling backwards he thought that it was just because he needed to rest for a second. That maybe if he played dead then he could catch the poltergeist by surprise and then he could destroy it and move on with his life.
It wasn�t until he started feeling nothing at all that he became a little worried. It was like a fog was covering his mind. He didn�t feel angry or scared anymore. He didn�t even feel sad or happy or in pain. He just felt empty. Like there wasn�t anything left in him to feel.
So when he heard the front door close his mind merely acknowledged the sound, not any feeling that its closing might bring, like happiness or fear. And when Dean heard a shout and the sound of glass breaking he simply continued to stare at the ceiling and absorb the colors painted there.
He didn�t acknowledge the wind that seemed to come out of thin air or the sound of Latin filling every corner of the room. He didn�t even flinch when a scream so horrible it would have curdled blood erupted from the center of the room where he had drawn his circle.
And when there was silence again all Dean could do was wonder why his jacket suddenly felt so wet and why Sam was standing like a God above him holding an exorcism book and a broken vial.
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Author�s Note 2: I know I am a horrible person for leaving it there but I promise that the next chapter will be well worth the wait! Just for an explanation on the poltergeist thing, I have always heard that spirits and poltergeists are in two separate categories. Poltergeists have the ability to make themselves visible and move objects around, while spirits are more docile and �friendly� I guess you might call them. Also, there will be a little more back story in the next chapter on the poltergeist himself. Oh yeah, and some of the brotherly moments you have all been waiting for. Hope you enjoyed, if you did then don�t forget to review! I love you all!
-Lily1186
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Caged