Note: I wrote this way back in season one - one of my very first fics. Thought I'd preserve it on AO3!
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"Aha! You must be the famous Winchester twins. I've heard so much about you!"
Blinking in the light streaming through the doorway, the new arrivals froze as their host greeted them in a voice so loud it would have stunned a bat at twenty paces. Dean opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again. Sam, on the other hand, turned on his million-watt smile.
"Uh, no… we're not twins, just brothers," he pointed out. "I'm Sam and this is Dean. It's nice to meet you, Mrs Templeton."
"You're the older one, right?" the old lady declared, peering at him through the glasses perched delicately on her nose. She was small, immaculately dressed in a twin-set and pearls, her silver hair gleaming in the light from the chandeliered hall. "Of course you're the oldest. Look how tall you are! Why, I practically have to stand on a ladder to look you in the eye!"
Sam felt an elbow in his side and heard Dean say, "No, ma'am. I'm the oldest. Sam got the height in our family. I got the brains and the good looks."
Sam elbowed him back. Hard.
Mrs Templeton waved her hands in the air. For a moment it seemed as though she was batting away a moth; then they realised she was pretending to be staggered. As far as old dears went, this one was obviously a bit of a character.
"Well, I'll be. I'd never have known. You're such handsome lads, too! Your father must be very proud. He said such good things about you boys, about how you'd be able to help me. I really don't know who else to turn to! I still can't quite believe my son managed to find him. Isn't the internet wonderful? Don't understand it myself, all those buttons and pages; it's nonsense to an old fool like me. But thankfully Stephen knows how to look in chat-malls or whatever they're called and found John straight away."
Dean and Sam glanced at each other, the same thought in their heads: how come John Winchester could answer her phone call and not theirs? All they got were coordinates or, in this case, an address and a brief description of the trouble by text message. Sam watched Dean clench his jaw, feeling his stomach flip in familiar anger. However, now wasn't the best time for sulking. Mrs Templeton gestured for her guests to follow her into the house, talking non-stop as they came to a halt in the palatial hallway.
"I mean, honestly, if anyone had ever said to me when I was younger, 'Martha, you'll be tripping over ghosts one day,' I'd have thought they were soft in the head. But they're here! I see them all the time, flitting here and there. Like little comets, they are. Three whole weeks now. And the cold spots! The noises! Why, I've barely slept. Father Prendergast was no help whatsoever. I swear, he was looking me up and down, thinking I needed to be carted off to the funny farm, and he said he performed an exorcism but that same night I felt something run across my bed and then there was this terrible screeching… I could have died. I really could. I don't know how I haven't yet. My poor heart just stops and starts. It's unbearable."
Sam tried to listen but his eyes were scanning the impressive staircase before them, taking in the gallery of paintings hung on every spot of wall space. An ancient ivory cabinet sat at the foot of the stairs, next to an enormous palm tree in a pot that looked far too expensive to have soil in it. The mansion was newly built but already had the feel of an old house, stuffed with furniture and antiques and smelling faintly of mothballs. Old things, he thought. They all had a history. And this was just the hallway; there were at least another twenty-five rooms, all piled high with items that could stir up the spirit world, resonating with their pasts.
One thing was for sure: this made a change from their usual hunts, which usually took place in abandoned buildings or ruins. They wouldn't be burning this house down to exorcise a ghost - it had to be worth millions. If he so much as saw Dean pull out a lighter he'd jump on him.
"So, ah, could you identify what you've seen?" Dean asked, cutting off the old lady's twitterings. "Man, woman, child?"
"Oh no, all I see are streaks of movement, nothing solid," Mrs Templeton replied. "Flashes, if you will. Very fast. But they're always under my feet and I keep tripping over them. It's like they race each other around the house."
"Have any objects been moving around?" Sam queried, thinking of poltergeists.
"No, no, nothing's been broken. And I'm grateful: I own some priceless antiques." She wagged a finger in the air. "I'd like you to remember that during your stay, boys. If you break anything… well, that comes out of your own pockets."
The brothers nodded like naughty schoolkids, unsure of how else to react. Sam wondered how they were going to get rid of anything without a shotgun. Why was rock salt so damned messy?
"Good, I'm glad we got that cleared up. Now, I'm staying with a friend tonight because sleeping here has become impossible. I know, it's strange, allowing two complete strangers to have free rein to wander around my home while I'm out!" She giggled, sounding younger than her years. "Lord knows what my friend Clara would say. My son will pop by later to check how you're getting on, by the way, but he's a surgeon and he's working for most of tonight. He's a little worried about you being here, as I'm sure you can understand."
"Perfectly," Dean agreed, his eyes darting from one expensive painting to another.
"Doesn't want you stealing anything, that's all he's worried about. But I trust you: your father vouched for you and he sounded like good people, so I'm sure you are too. I'm usually a very good judge of character. But while you're alone here, don't go through my underwear drawer, alright?"
Sam noticed she looked right at Dean when she said that. He blushed and shook his head earnestly. "No, ma'am."
"I'm only joking, don't worry!" She giggled again. "Right, let's show you to your rooms. I've put you in the guest wing but I don't expect you'll be sleeping much tonight. Too much going on! You'll be amazed, you really will. If you don't believe in ghosts you certainly will after tonight."
"I'm sure it'll be an eye-opener," Dean muttered, wryly.
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They ate that night in a kitchen so huge Dean spent ten minutes jumping in and out of the enormous walk-in freezer, making lame gags about it being "cool", until Sam threw a bagel at him and told him to grow up. As promised, Mrs Templeton's son, Stephen, dropped by at ten o'clock. He stared at the brothers shrewdly for a while, sussing out Dean in particular. Sam was starting to wonder if his brother was giving off an "I'm an underwear-sniffer" vibe. At least his own face appeared to stir up no suspicion.
"My mother's very impressionable," Stephen Templeton was explaining. "I thought she was imagining things until I saw one of them myself. Freakiest goddamned thing I've ever seen. That's when I started asking around online, trying to find out what to do about it. Your father contacted me and said he'd send you along. I don't know if you guys can help, but my mother's so freaked out we'll try anything at the moment."
"Do you live here too?" asked Sam, trying not to bristle at the way his father had offered them up, as though his sons lived to do his bidding.
"On and off. I have a place by the hospital for when I'm working."
"Who built this house?" Dean queried.
Stephen removed his glasses and cleaned them, hunching up slightly and looking surprisingly like his mother. "I did. After my father died I used his inheritance to buy up this land and build a family home. Want to raise my own kids here someday." He grinned. "If ever I actually meet someone. Being a surgeon really messes with your social life."
"Try doing what we do," Sam murmered, and he felt Dean give him a sympathetic look.
"Clark Howson University was here before the house," Stephen supplied, helpfully. "They moved downtown in 2003 and I built this place a year later."
"Any idea what was here before the university?" Sam was already typing its name into Google.
"None." Stephen shook his head. "Reckon this is an old Indian burial ground or something? Have we stirred up some old Native American tribe?"
Dean stood and poured another mug of coffee. "No idea. Guess we'll be hitting the library tomorrow, unless research boy here can find anything online."
Stephen stared at them for a long moment before asking, "So you guys really do exorcise houses? No shit?"
Sam looked up from under his bangs and gave him a half-smile. "No shit."
"Oh." Stephen looked nonplussed. "Uh, how's that working out for you?"
"Late nights, piles of weaponry, lots of grateful chicks," Dean spelled out. "How's being a surgeon?"
"Um, just the late nights, really."
Sam scratched his neck and pointed at his laptop. "Okay, I've found some stuff about the university, but it doesn't look promising." His fingers clicked on the keyboard. "Not much about its history, except that it was established in 1957." He looked up at Dean. "If it's not the site, maybe it's something in the house. An object of some sort."
"Has your mother bought any antiques recently?" asked Dean. "Say, around the time this started happening?"
"I don't think so," Stephen frowned. "She's been doing a lot of work for charity at the moment and that's where all her money's been going." He looked down at his watch. "It's getting late; I'd better go. I have to biopsy a lung in an hour."
"And you think our life is strange," Dean grimaced. He pulled their homemade EMF meter out of his pocket and poked Sam on the shoulder with it. "Okay, dude. Reckon we should take a look around this place and see what gets this thing juiced. Time to flush out some ghosties..."
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It was 3am before anything happened. The brothers checked room after room, marvelling at how much old stuff could be piled into a new house, finding it strange to flick on lightswitches instead of hunting by torchlight. They'd just finished their second sweep of one of the upstairs bathrooms when they heard it. A soft mewing sound, like a small child keening, or an animal gently calling for its mother. It was coming from downstairs.
Sam felt the familiar buzz of adrenaline spreading through his system as he followed his brother along the hallway and down the impressive staircase. They approached the noise and the EMF meter in Dean's hand lit up spectacularly.
"It's coming from in there," he whispered, pointing at a drawing room. Sam nodded, took a step forward…and nearly tripped as something brown and amorphous flitted by his feet. It shot through Dean's legs and vanished into the room, gone as quickly as it came.
"Woah," Sam breathed. "Did you see that, man?"
"Hmm. 'Like little comets,'" Dean repeated, grinning. "She wasn't too far off with that description. Damn, that thing could move!"
They investigated the drawing room but found nothing: the noise stopped the instant they crossed the threshold and the EMF meter slipped back to normal. Perplexed, Sam was about to speak when a loud thumping reverberated through the house. Without a word they headed back up the staircase and towards the source.
"There," hissed Dean, nodding towards one of the mansion's few unused rooms. They'd inspected it earlier and found it filled with junk, undecorated, awaiting a metamorphosis into another guest room or a second office or whatever kind of space this house had left to need. The door was shut, which was ominous, because Sam remembered leaving it open.
Another thump. "Sounds like someone's moving furniture around," Sam said, shotgun at the ready. "Remember, Dean, we can't aim at anything valuable."
"I think you'll find that I'm more than capable of shooting a Ming vase or two if something tries to suck my face off," Dean muttered. "Okay, let's go."
He booted open the door and they piled into the room… just as the noise stopped. Compared to the warmth of the hallway, the air was freezing. Their breath plumed as smoke from their mouths. Sam shone his torch around, seeing nothing untoward, then looked at Dean. The EMF meter in his brother's hand was spiking furiously.
"It's definitely in here," Dean said. He flipped on the light, but it didn't work. "Great."
The bulb shining through from the hallway illuminated a pile of boxes, an old wardrobe and some cabinets. Nothing moved. The curtains were drawn and the furthest corner of the room remained in shadows.
Dean licked his lips. "I think we need to… OUCH!" He clutched at his leg and began to hop, his face grimaced in pain. "Something clawed me!"
Sam looked down and saw blood seeping through the jeans fabric at his ankle. Sweeping his torch beam across the floor in search of the attacker, he felt his own legs start to twitch, already anticipating another strike. "Did you see it?"
"No, but I damn well felt it." Dean followed him as he moved, cursing softly. "Little bastard," he grumbled. "Why my ankle, of all places? What is this thing, anyway? Chucky?"
"Shhh!" hushed Sam. He listened intently and then flicked his torch over towards the furniture. "I think there's something in that wardrobe."
Dean pocketed the EMF meter and pulled out his gun. Holding their weapons stiffly before them, they came to a halt just before the doors. Something was definitely moving inside; they could hear a soft rustling.
"One… two… three!" mouthed Dean, and he yanked open the doors as Sam aimed his gun.
There was a bestial screech and something dark and billowy launched itself from the interior of the wardrobe, slamming into Dean and knocking him off his feet. He yelled, dropping his flashlight and the gun. "Sam!" he shrieked. "Get it off me!"
Sam couldn't shoot without hitting him and so, without a second thought, he reached down and yanked the thing upwards as hard as he could. It was furry and light and he tossed it back into the wardrobe with ease. Then he slammed the doors shut and leaned back against them, breathing hard.
"Dean? Are you okay?"
His brother's expression was thunderous. He struggled to his feet and snatched up his gun and torch, wiping an arm over his face. "Bastard tried to smother me," he snapped. He coughed, spat on the ground - Mrs Templeton wouldn't have approved - and then shook himself. "It tasted of mothballs."
"On three again?" asked Sam, indicating the wardrobe. "I think we can get it this time…" He stopped. "Is it my imagination or has it just gotten warmer in here?"
Dean sniffed and reached into his pocket for the EMF meter. It was dead. He gave Sam an angry look and beckoned him out of the way. "Let's see if it's really gone, shall we?"
Sam nodded, then tugged the door open.
Nothing happened. Dean peered inside, cautiously. He shot Sam a puzzled look and pulled something out into the torchlight. "Uh…"
Sam stared at it for a few seconds, feeling a smile twitch at his lips.
"Man, you got attacked by a fur coat. That's just dumb."
"It was moving," Dean pointed out, miffed. "It tried to kill me!"
Sam chuckled. "Try it on, dude. I think it goes with your eyes."
"Shut up!" Dean threw the offending piece of clothing back into the wardrobe and closed the door. "That was an EVIL fur coat," he said, firmly. "It was freakin' possessed. You saw it!"
The light above their heads suddenly blinked into life, dazzling them. Dean looked at it, exasperated, and then peered down at his bloody ankle. "What the hell is going on in this house?" he asked the universe in general.
"No idea," answered Sam, truthfully. "But I have a feeling it's over for tonight. Come on, let's get you cleaned up. Unless you want to snuggle with your furry friend again."
Dean narrowed his eyes. "Those kids would never have made it to Narnia if their wardrobe had been filled with coats like that."
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