Lunatic Chapter 2
AUTHOR:Scullspeare 
SUMMARY: In the midst of snowstorm, a stranger runs into an injured and hypothermic Sam. His memory is spotty; he knows that a hunt went sideways and that Dean's in trouble-he just doesn't know where he is. Outsider POV.
RATING: PG-13 for swearing.
GENRE: Gen/Hurt-Comfort
Link back to Chapter 1 Here
LUNATIC - CHAPTER TWO
“Sammy?”
My head snapped around, my heart slamming against my ribs. There was no one there but the voice sounded like it was being broadcast over some kind of radio.
“Damn it, Sam. When we get out of this mess, I am gonna kick your ass every day for a week and not even feel bad about it-not even a little bit. Disappearing like that-not cool. Now pick up the damn radio.”
That had to be Dean-and there was nothing I’d like better than to pick up the radio, but I had to find the damn thing first. I aimed the flashlight beam in the direction of the voice. On the first few passes, I picked up nothing more than the stone floor. Then, disturbingly the light glinted on metal; a gun, a slick-looking piece with a pearled grip, lay just under the lower of the two pipes that ran along the wall. Just beyond it, a walkie-talkie lay on its side; both looked like they’d simply been dropped.
“Son of a bitch.... Where the hell did you go?” The voice sounded both tired and worried. “OK, dude-signing off…save the battery and all that shit. Try again in five-and, damn it, you better be there. I wasn’t kidding about that ass kicking.”
“No…no…damn it. Don’t turn it off.” I scrambled up the tunnel floor, grabbed the radio and clumsily jammed down the talk button. “Hey…is this Dean? Hello? Can you hear me?”
At first I thought I’d missed him, but then the deep voice came back over the radio, worry replaced by suspicion. “Who the fuck is this? Where’s Sam?”
“My name’s Dan…Dan Caldwell. Sam’s with me. You’re Dean, right?”
“Sam OK?”
“He’s…he’s hanging in there.”
“Put him on.”
I grabbed the gun, shoved it into the pack, then pushed myself up and began walking back toward Sam.
“Put my brother on-now!”
I glanced down the tunnel; Sam hadn’t moved. He was still slumped against the wall, his eyes still closed. “He’s got a head injury, Dean. Between that and the hypothermia, he’s kind of out of it.” This was more than a little awkward. “He, um-he thinks I’m you.”
“He what? I know he got dinged but…. Wait-hypothermia?”
“Yeah. He has no coat and was fighting his way through a blizzard to get you help. How you doing, by the way?”
The radio went silent and for a moment I thought I’d lost him. “Dean? Sam said you were trapped. You OK?”
“No.” A sarcastic snort came clearly over the radio. “First my brother goes AWOL, then I find out he’s half frozen and thinks some stranger is me. Oh, and I’ve been stuck under a pile of rock for going on…six hours now, so I’m pretty fucking far from OK.”
Six hours. Damn. “Sam said there was an explosion.”
“He did, huh?” Dean’s response was more wary than tired. “The tunnel caved in. Sam took a chunk of the ceiling to the head. He was out for almost an hour. When he came to, things were a bit…scrambled. You, um, need to take anything he says with a grain of salt.”
Given that Sam thought I was Dean, that wouldn’t be hard. “That’s how you got trapped-in the cave-in?”
“Yeah.” Now Dean just sounded tired. “Sammy tried to get me out but couldn’t…not by himself - especially not running on all cylinders.”
Sammy. That wasn’t the first time Dean had used the diminutive form of his brother’s name; that was definitely big brother privilege at work. “OK. The storm’s screwing with cellphones, but as soon as I get to a landline, I’ll call 9-1-1-get help for Sam and for you. Where are you?”
“You’re not a paramedic?”
I was back at Sam’s side now and fishing the water bottle out of the pack. “Dude, I’m an architect. I was just coming home from work when I ran into your brother-or, technically, he ran into me. He needed help so…here I am.” I glanced down at the walkie-talkie. “What’s the range on these radios?”
“About two miles-give or take.”
Good. That meant he wasn’t too far away. “And you’re in the tunnels?”
“Yeah, on the asylum property. Where are you?”
“In the tunnels, too-but downtown. If Sam was gone six hours, he either got seriously lost or passed out, or-”
“Both. Son of a bitch….. He was headed for the car-right above us. He was gone so long I thought…I thought….”
He thought the worst. “Dean, in all seriousness, what kind of shape are you in?”
Dean’s response was terse. “I’m trapped under a pile of bricks beneath an old nuthouse. I’ve been better.”
And he’d been trapped there for hours, alone and in the dark, not to mention worried that something had happened to his brother. “I need triage information-are you bleeding? Can you feel your arms? Your legs? How’s your breathing?”
“They teach you that in architecture school?”
I was getting the sense that Dean didn’t like opening up to strangers. “I paid for school by working search and rescue. Dude, I’m just trying to help.”
“Yeah…. I know, but…it’s been a bad day.” Dean coughed, then cleared his throat. “Sam pulled some of the crap off me. My arms are free…they’re fine. My legs are kinda numb-mostly from sitting on my ass this long. Think I got skewered by something, though…right side, mid ribs. Pretty sure I’m leaking…but it’s slow, so I’m good-at least for now.”
Fuck. “How’s your breathing?”
“I don’t think whatever spiked me went through a lung if that’s what you’re asking. Look...just take care of Sammy-then have someone come dig me out.”
Apparently Sam wasn’t the only Winchester who worried more about his brother than himself. I reached for Sam’s shoulder and gave him a gentle shake. “Sam, come on-we’ve gotta move.”
Sam jumped at my touch, his eyes sliding open.
“Better yet, once you get Sam help, call Bobby Singer-area code 605-555-2947. He’ll know someone local who can come here, dig me out…leave 9-1-1 to take care of the real emergencies.”
“Real emergencies?” I retrieved my phone from the pocket of the coat Sam now wore, punched the number Dean had just given me into the address book, then turned my attention back to the walkie-talkie. “Dude, we’re in the midst of the biggest storm of the winter, you’re trapped underground, buried under a pile of rubble and by the sounds of it, impaled. As far as emergencies go, that’s about as real as it gets.”
A sardonic laugh came over the radio. “Trust me, I’ve been through worse.”
At the sound of Dean’s voice, Sam’s gaze slid from me to the walkie-talkie and back again. Whether it was because he was warming up, had just heard the real Dean or some combination of the two I couldn’t be sure, but reality suddenly seemed to break through the mental fog that had plagued him since we met. And as he looked at me, seeing a stranger for the first time rather than his brother, a mask dropped into place, veiling previously easy-to-read emotions. “Who the hell are you?”
It was time for a real introduction. “My name’s Dan. You’re hurt, and I’m just trying to get you help. That’s all.” After opening the water bottle, I offered it to Sam. “Drink this-you’re dehydrated.”
Sam never broke eye contact with me, even as he took the bottle and gulped down the contents.
“Whoa, whoa…. You’re just gonna throw it up if you drink too fast. Take it slow.”
“Hey, search and rescue-architect guy-you still there?”
I picked up the radio. “Yeah, Dean. I’m-”
“Dean?” Sam wedged the water bottle between his legs and gestured to the walkie-talkie. “Gimme that?” His shivers were still noticeable but less exaggerated as he snatched the radio from me. “Dean? You there?”
“Sammy…. It’s about fucking time.”
Sam glanced up at me, distrust now clear in his expression, as he continued talking to his brother. “Where the hell did you go?”
“Where did I go? You’re the one who went walkabout.”
Sam screwed his eyes closed. “Dude, you were just here.”
“No, Sam, I wasn’t. I wish I was, believe me, but the asylum kinda fell on me, remember? I’ve been stuck under a pile of bricks since you left.”
“I left? But….” Sam’s face crumpled in confusion; his grasp on reality may have taken a turn for the better, but there were obviously still major gaps in his memory. Again, he stared at me, his brow deeply furrowed. “You were…. I was sure…” His thumb slid off the radio’s talk button and his hand dropped to his lap.
“You got your bell rung-but good-so you’re a little messed up. More than usual that is.” The jibe was a good-natured one, the kind brothers always hurl at each other.“Go with architect guy. Let the docs check you out.”
“No.” Sam struggled to his feet, managing it only with the help of the wall behind him but almost dropping the radio in the process. The recapped bottle of water tipped over, abandoned at his feet. “I’m coming to you…to get you out.”
“Sam-”
“Sam-”
“No.” Sam quickly cut off both our objections. He gave me a glare, making it clear I had no say in this matter, the emphatic tone telling his brother the same thing. “I’m coming to you. Now.”
Dean’s huff of frustration came clearly across the radio. “Newsflash, asshat-you got lost trying to get to the car a few hundred feet away. Now you’re all the way across town. Try to find me and I’d say the odds of you getting lost again are pretty damn high. You-” His rant gave way to a painful cough.
Now Sam looked nauseous, worry more than injury the likely cause. “Dean?”
“I’m…fine.” The weakened voice made it clear he was anything but.
Dean was right, of course; his brother’s place was in the hospital-but if Sam didn’t want to go, there was zero chance of me getting him there against his will. And Dean was in bad shape-no question there; if he stayed buried under that rubble much longer, especially if he was impaled and bleeding out, who knew what condition he’d be in when paramedics eventually got to him. As far as I could see, that left only one card to play. “I can get us to Dean.”
Sam turned so quickly towards me, he overbalanced, the tunnel wall again coming to his rescue and preventing a fall. “How?”
I tapped my watch. “This has a compass and I know where the asylum is. Unless any tunnels are blocked, we should be able to get there pretty quickly.”
Sam nodded slowly. “Good.” He picked up the radio. “The guy I’m with…Dan-he knows the way…he’ll make sure we don’t get lost. We’ll be there soon.”
“Give him the radio-now!”
Sam’s jaw clenched; he offered me the walkie-talkie, then pulled it back as I was about to take it. “I don’t care what he says-I’m gonna get my brother, with or without you.” With that warning, he slapped the walkie-talkie into my hand, turned and began walking drunkenly down the tunnel.
“I’m here, Dean.”
“In case you missed it, my little brother is a stubborn pain in the ass….. Any chance you’ll just knock him out and drag him to the ER?”
Despite the seriousness of the situation, I had to smile at Dean’s attempt to protect Sam. “Your little brother is a big guy-it’d be pretty hard to drag him anywhere he didn’t wanna go.”
“Yeah, yeah….” The fight was gone out of Dean’s voice. “Just…just keep an eye on him. He…he doesn’t know when to quit.”
Yet another thing that appeared to be a family trait. Sam was still moving down the tunnel, his gait unsteady, his right hand on the wall, using it for balance. I grabbed my backpack, slung both it and Sam’s pack over my shoulder, and jogged to catch up with him.
The radio went silent, a lengthy pause that had me worried that either the battery had died or, worse, Dean had passed out. “Dean? You still there?”
“Yeah…I was just…just checking something.” He exhaled audibly. “Look, I’m gonna ask you something-and I need you not to freak out. Does Sam have his gun?”
Overhearing the question, Sam reached behind his back, then stopped in his tracks, scowling first at the radio, then down at the coat he wore. “These aren’t my clothes.”
I shook my head. “No, they’re mine. Yours were soaked. We changed them when we got down here in the tunnels, remember? I did find a gun though. It was with the walkie-talkie. Maybe you dropped it?”
“Dropped it?” That concept didn’t go over well. “No. I wouldn’t just leave it…I wouldn’t….”
I slid his pack off my shoulder and offered it to him. “It’s in here.” I was handing over a gun to man I barely knew, a man with a head injury who just minutes earlier believed I was his brother. Dumb move? Absolutely, but I was totally going on faith.
Sam’s frown deepened as he took the proffered pack. “Why the hell would I-”
“Hey! This thing still working?”
I clicked the talk button on the radio. “Yeah, Dean. Sorry…. Sam didn’t have a gun with him, but I found one on the tunnel floor. He’s got it now.”
“He left the damn thing behind? Son of a….” There was nothing accusatory in Dean’s reaction just the same worry that I still saw on Sam’s face.
It was clear that in his right mind, Sam abandoning his weapon was unthinkable. Like Dean, he’d been playing the I’m fine card, but the lost gun was just more proof he was anything but.
Sam used the wall to keep himself upright as he opened the backpack, his expression still stony-faced as he withdrew the gun and dropped the pack to the floor. I knew a little about handguns but the way Sam handled the weapon, checking the chamber and the clip, suggested its use was second nature to him.
“That a Beretta?”
Sam shook his head. “Taurus PT-92, nine millimeter-based on the Beretta M92, though.”
OK; there was zero hesitation recalling that information, those details obviously well-entrenched in long-term memory and unaffected by the head injury. Reflexively, Sam reached behind his back, attempting to slide the gun into his waistband but was quickly stymied by the thigh-length coat he now wore. He cursed under his breath, clicked on the safety and jammed the gun into his pocket.
My curiosity got the best of me. “Um…you guys are cops, right?”
I had my thumb on the talk button of the radio as I asked the question so it was Dean who answered.
“FBI.”
That was a surprise. So was the sawed-off shotgun Sam next pulled from the pack. “So two armed federal agents are crawling around tunnels underneath an old asylum investigating a vandalism case?”
Dean snorted. “Let’s just say that me and Sam-we don’t always play by the rules. That gets us the cases no one else wants-and crawling around sewer tunnels looking for a firebug? Not a lot of hands went up for that one. How you doing there, Sammy?”
Sam looked up from the pack, his open palm now displaying a few shotgun shells. The shivering had diminished at least to the point where he wasn’t throwing the shells all over the floor; that was a good sign. He straightened up, cracked open the pistol-grip shotgun, fed in the shells, then snapped it closed. The remaining shells went into his pocket. “Good to go.”
Despite that assertion, the effects of his injury quickly became apparent again when he stooped again to pick up the pack; he overbalanced and crashed to his knees. I moved forward to help but as he lifted his head, a glare clearly told me to, ‘Back off, I got this.’ Sam exhaled slowly, transferred the shotgun to his left hand and reached for the wall with his right, using it to help haul himself to his feet. Once upright, he leaned back against the wall, then gestured for me to give him the radio. He lowered his voice when he spoke into it but in such close quarters, it was impossible not to overhear. “Dean…. What the hell are we hunting? I’ve got nothing, man.”
It was hard to reconcile the man who could handle weapons so expertly, who could recall details about them without hesitation, with the one who couldn’t recall simple facts from earlier in the day. But Sam’s fall and confusion were just more reminders that he was a long way from healthy and we needed to get him help-ASAP. Ditto for his brother.
Dean tried jogging his brother’s memory. “Think, Sammy. What happens when a century’s worth of crazy people suddenly have no place to call home?”
The question made no sense to me, but for Sam the meaning seemed clear. “Son of a bitch….”
“Yeah. So heads up when you cross onto the asylum property, capice? The explosion should’ve…closed the door, but it went off too soon. I have no clue how many are still on the loose.”
“Um….” I walked up to Sam. “Am I allowed to ask-”
“No. We’re on our way, Dean. Hang in there.” Sam slipped the walkie-talkie into his coat pocket, pushed himself off the wall and resumed his unsteady walk down the tunnel.
The guarded nature of their exchange was obviously because of my presence. Fine; I could understand that certain aspects of FBI business were confidential, but if something or someone was still on the loose down here, and Sam needed a gun to protect us from it then, damn it, I needed to know what the hell it was. “Sam, I-”
“So you know where we’re going?”
Apparently, Sam’s head was clear enough to know what I was about to ask, and cut me off. “Yeah. See that?” I pointed to a name sprayed onto the wall below one of the lights, the white paint of the block letters peeling badly.
Sam squinted at it. “It’s barely legible. What is that-ABBOTT?”
I nodded. “Yeah, that’s the street above us and that tells me we’re going in the right direction. The asylum’s northeast of here on Sanatorium Road. Let’s just hope there are enough of those street names still clear enough to confirm we’re on the right track.”
Sam pinched the bridge of his nose, wobbling slightly as he screwed his eyes closed.
“Hey, you-”
“I’m fine.” He cleared his throat, then again set off down the tunnel. “Stay close.”
I fell in step beside him. “Any chance you remember where you were when the tunnel caved in?”
Sam’s jaw muscle twitched. “Under the asylum. You know that.”
“I mean exactly where. Look, I know you have some…memory issues, but the asylum’s massive. There were east and west wings, each made up of five buildings, there was a south wing and several ancillary buildings. The tunnels connected all of them. We could spend hours searching that place if we don’t know exactly where Dean is.”
“And Dean doesn’t have hours. Fuck.” Sam shook his head, anger and frustration over his inability to remember easy to read in his expression. “Dean’ll know…. We’ll ask him.”
I nodded then motioned to the pack slung over his shoulder. “Let me carry that.”
Sam again shook his head, more emphatically this time. “I got it.”
“Yeah, tough guy, I get that. But if it’s all the same to you, if whatever you need that shotgun for shows up, I’d just as soon you had both hands free to deal with it, keep us both in one piece.” Not to mention lightening his load might make his waning strength last just long enough to get us to his brother. I’d much sooner carry his pack, than him.
Sam stared at me, stubbornness wrestling with the logic of my argument; eventually he nodded reluctantly. He handed over the pack, then fished the radio from his coat. “Yo, Dean-still awake?”
“What’s up?”
“Where exactly are you-on the asylum site, I mean? I’m…drawing a blank.”
“Right about where ‘C’ block would have been….” Dean’s voice was noticeably weaker, like the sudden call from Sam hadn’t given him time to slip back into his I’m fine pretence. He cleared his throat, now sounding a little stronger. “Toward the east end.”
Sam glanced at me, eyebrow raised, and I nodded. “I can find that.”
“Good.” Sam turned his attention back to the radio. “Any signs of company?”
“Not for the past hour. But a leak from the ceiling is kind of eating away at my protection, if you catch my drift, and I’ve got three shells left. Number four’s gonna show up at some point so just…haul ass, alright?”
“You got it-hauling ass.” Sam slid the radio back into his pocket before shooting a glance at me that clearly said we needed to pick up the pace. “You seem to know a lot about the asylum.”
I shrugged. “I’m an architect-it was a beautiful building.”
Sam snorted. “What happened inside it was anything but beautiful. Danvers Asylum-the birthplace of the frontal lobotomy.”
“So they say….” Yet another curious piece of trivia Sam’s battered brain had held onto.
“And god knows how many experiments they got wrong before eventually getting that little procedure right.” Sam suddenly went on high alert, gun raised, as we rounded a corner, relaxing only slightly when he confirmed the way was clear.
Exhaling in relief, I followed him around the corner. “Look, there were a lot of questionable practices at that asylum, at any asylum at the turn of the century, but there was a lot of good work, too. And the building itself was impressive. It was a landmark in this town for a long time, and deserved to be saved.”
Sam’s brow furrowed. “But you didn’t-save it, I mean?”
I shook my head. “No. By the time it went up for sale, most buildings had gone without any regular maintenance for years-decades even. Restoration costs would have been in the tens of millions. No one was willing to put up that kind of cash so-”
“They destroyed it.” Sam’s eyes narrowed. “And all the tortured souls trapped inside, all the angry spirits of a century’s worth of mental patients suddenly had nowhere to call home-except these tunnels.”
“Scuze me?”
Sam ignored the question. “The asylum-how did they demolish it?”
“They imploded the main buildings, bulldozed the smaller ones, then hauled away the debris. The clean-up took months.”
Sam nodded as he mulled that information. “The intense heat from the explosions would have taken care of some of them. Hauling away debris gives some of them a new home, making them another problem for another day, and today’s explosion should’ve locked up the rest, but….” He came a halt, then unsteadily turned towards me. “Look, you’ve been dropped in the middle of this-it’s only fair you know what’s going on.”
As much as I wanted-no, needed-to know what the hell was going on, something told me that I wasn’t going to like whatever it was Sam was about to tell me.
Sam kept moving, constantly surveying the tunnel as we walked. “There’s a good chance you’re gonna see some…some stuff down here-stuff you’ll find a little hard to swallow.”
I frowned. “You think the…the vandals are still here?”
“In a manner of speaking.” Sam’s jaw muscle twitched as he glanced over at me. “The vandals-they’re ghosts. More specifically, angry spirits.”
“Ghosts?” I couldn’t help myself; I smiled. “Now I know you have a concussion.”
“Trust me, there are plenty of days when I wish I could blame what I was seeing on a blow to the head.” Sam chewed his bottom lip. “Look, when someone dies, their spirit, their soul, their…essence-whatever you wanna call it, is supposed to move on-to Heaven, to Hell, to Valhalla, to its next life-whatever your belief system suggests. But some get stuck…between this world and the next-especially if they died a violent death or were wronged somehow. And the longer they’re stuck, the more violent they become.”
My frown deepened. “Sam, I read ghost stories too when I was a kid. But that’s all they are-stories. You…you can’t seriously believe they’re real?”
“I do…and they are.” Sam’s right hand was back against the wall, steadying him as he walked; we weren’t even halfway to the asylum and he was clearly exhausted. “Hunting them down, that’s what my brother and I do.”
Until this point, Sam had simply been confused, not…crazy. What the hell was I supposed to think now? “So, you hunt ghosts? With a gun?”
Sam almost smiled. “Sounds nuts when you put it like that, but yeah. The bullets, the shotgun shells, they both hold rock salt-it’ll get rid of a ghost, at least long enough for you to get out of its way.”
It was more crazy talk, but spoken with such earnest conviction it was hard not to buy into it. “Sam, I-”
“Look, I know how all this must sound and I’m not expecting you to take it as gospel on my say-so.” Sam picked up the pace, but his gait was increasingly unsteady. “Hey, if we’re lucky, we won’t see any spirits. Then, after we get Dean out, you can head on home, safe and sound, believing you rescued a complete nutjob. I’m fine with that. But since the only luck Dean and I tend to get is the crap kind, you need to be ready. Ever handle a gun before?”
I nodded, still struggling to fully comprehend what Sam was telling me. “For target shooting with my grandpa-that’s all.”
“Good enough.” Sam shoved the shotgun into my hands, then yanked his Taurus from his pocket. “Just think of them as moving targets. You see anything that’s not me or Dean, you shoot it.”
I stared at Sam incredulous over his directive but said nothing. I mean, what could I say? This man I’d just met, a man with a serious head injury, had just told me that ghosts were real, that I would likely see one before the day was over and that I’d probably have to shoot it. Not exactly how I’d seen my day playing out when I’d stepped off Harry’s bus.
But there was no point in arguing with Sam; he clearly believed what he’d just told me to be fact. My best plan was still the original one; find Dean and then get both brothers help. I’d do whatever it took to get us to that end goal.
We walked for close to a half hour; Dean may have been less than two miles from us as the crow flies but the tunnels took numerous twists and turns that almost doubled that distance. No wonder Sam had gotten lost.
Every five minutes or so Sam checked in with his brother. Dean put up a good front but he wasn’t fooling either one of us; the man was in pain.
As we crossed onto the asylum property, the peeling paint of the words SANITORIUM ROAD, confirming the fact, Sam gave me the heads up sign, then called his brother again.
“We’re here, Dean-should just be a few minutes more.”
There was no answer.
Sam came to sudden, unsteady stop. “Dean?”
For an agonizing few seconds, there was still nothing. Then came a burst of static.
“I’m…good.”
I jumped as the sound of a shotgun blast came over the walkie-talkie.
“It’s fine…. But I’m down to my last shell.”
“Fuck.” Sam took off in sprint, with me close on his heels. He’d covered about fifty yards before his pace slowed to a jog, then an erratic walk. He stumbled, slammed into the tunnel wall, then crashed to his knees, his gun flying from his grasp and skittering along the brick floor.
“Sam!”
He pitched forward and puked, chest heaving as he threw up water and bile. When he had nothing left to throw up, he collapsed back against the tunnel wall. Eyes watering, still breathing heavily, he dragged the back of his sleeve across his face. “Son of a bitch….”
I was on my knees at his side, dragging my gym towel from my pack and pouring some of the water onto it. I handed it to Sam, who took it wordlessly and scrubbed it over his face.
“Maybe running isn’t such a hot idea-you know, for a guy with a concussion.” I offered a sympathetic smile. “I think what we need here is more tortoise, less hare-know what I mean?”
Sam did, but he obviously didn’t like it. He wanted to get to his brother as fast as possible, and who could blame him for that? He took a sip from the water bottle. “How close are we?”
I glanced upwards, trying to picture the asylum property above us. “Near as I can tell, we’re around where the main building stood. Depending on the number of detours, I doubt he’s more than…ten minutes away. I-”
“Grab the gun!” Sam’s eyes widened, his face suddenly illuminated by a cold light.
My head snapped around as I reached the shotgun on the floor beside me. It felt like someone had tightened a vise around my chest; I couldn’t breathe…I couldn’t believe what I was seeing…
Walking drunkenly towards us was something out of childhood nightmares: a tall, painfully thin man, dressed in a hospital gown and open robe, the untied belt dragging along the tunnel floor at his side. His head was shaved, stitches crossing his skull, his skin pale and sickly, and his eyes sunken and wild. He lurched towards us, semi-transparent and flickering like a television signal shorting out. As he moved closer, studying Sam then me, his face darkened with rage.
I jumped when the shotgun was wrenched from my hand. In one smooth move, Sam raised the weapon, pumped it and fired, the spirit dissipating with a scream. The cold light disappeared with him and the tunnel darkened, again lit only by the dull yellow lamps along the wall.
I looked at Sam in shock, my heart still slamming against my ribs.
“Told you our luck was crap.” Sam’s arms collapsed to his sides, the shotgun dropping into his lap. “But we see another ghost, you can’t hesitate, man. That one was slow-most aren’t. You see one, you shoot-capice?”
I nodded numbly.
He smiled. “You can do it. You’ve got good instincts-just follow them.”
Suddenly our roles were reversed; since we’d met, I’d been Sam’s crutch to lean on. But with this abrupt entry into the nightmare world that Sam and his brother apparently lived in, now he was mine.
“Now let’s go. In case you haven’t figured it out, my brother’s not a patient man.” Sam clapped me on the shoulder, pressed the shotgun back into my hands, then began the struggle to get up. With my help and the wall’s, he made it. This time though, when I’d gathered our stuff and returned Sam’s Taurus to him, I slung his arm over my shoulders and wrapped an arm around his back without asking.
He didn’t object, which clearly said he knew that his gas tank was pretty close to empty, and that if we were going to make it to his brother, he needed the help.
This last stretch was completed in silence, Sam channeling every ounce of his remaining energy into simply putting one foot in front of the other, me still struggling to process what I’d just seen. And I kept seeing it…that ghost-God, it was hard to even think that word in relation to the events of a few moments earlier-as if it was on some loop in my brain. Sam wasn’t nuts; ghosts were real-and just how batshit crazy was that?
As we rounded yet another corner, there was a noticeable drop in temperature. Sam’s breathing rate escalated, each labored exhale frosting over. He tensed, peering into the darkness up ahead. “Head’s up. When a spirit breaks through, it takes a lot of energy…. Sucks all the heat from…. No…no, it’s not spirit. We’re here.”
I was still scanning the tunnel nervously, expecting to see another ghost of a mental patient, when Sam lurched forward, pulling away from me. Just ahead, there was a large black hole in the ceiling, the bricks and mortar that had once covered it now forming a pile of rubble in the tunnel below.
Sam smiled. “Dean!” His deep voice raised to a booming shout startled me.
“And the c-cavalry’s here.” The voice from just up ahead was weak but characteristically caustic, at least as I’d come to know it. “Bout f-fucking time-you take the s-scenic route?”
This time, Sam’s smile was genuine. “Yeah, but we took pictures. Wanna see?”
“Shut up. Just…just get me the hell outta here.”
Sam was still smiling as he stumbled toward the cave-in and his brother.
I squinted into the dim light, scanning the brick pile as I followed Sam. It suddenly clicked that I had no idea what Dean looked like. Only as we got closer was I able to pick out the head and shoulders of the man whose voice I’d grown so familiar with, whose personality was so obviously larger-than-life but whom I had yet to officially meet.
And then I saw him. He was covered in dust and dirt, his face streaked with blood and partially hidden in shadows but, even beneath all that, I could make out a family resemblance. Dean’s hair was much shorter than Sam’s but the intense hazel eyes were the same. He was clearly cold, exhausted and in pain, but his gaze was locked on Sam, tracking him as he moved closer, assessing his condition. He obviously didn’t like what he saw; when he forced a smile, it didn’t reach his eyes. “You look like crap, Sammy.”
The same concern now clouded Sam’s expression. “I should get you a mirror.” He turned to me and waved a hand towards his pack. “Check in there…there should be a canister of salt. Use it to fix that line across the tunnel floor…fill in any gaps. That’ll keep the spirits away while we get Dean out.”
Dean raised an eyebrow. “Listen to you-and you c-call me bossy.”
“It’s fine-I got it.” I glanced down to where Sam had gestured; a thick, haphazard line of salt stretched the width of the tunnel, although dripping water from the tunnel ceiling had dissolved the salt in three places. I had no idea how a salt line kept ghosts away but after what I’d seen earlier, I wasn’t questioning Sam’s directive. If he said it kept out ghosts, that was good enough for me. I found the salt and created a new solid line.
Just in time, too. I was shoving the canister back in the pack, when I heard an electrical buzzing. My head shot up to see a cold blue light once again fill the tunnel and an apparition form on the far side of the salt line, not five feet away from me. This one was female, her long pale hair half shaved on one side and matted with blood. She had the same hollow eyes as the first spirit. She stared at me for a moment, head cocked to one side, flickering in and out-then charged at me. Startled, I lurched backwards but when she hit the line, it was like she’d hit a brick wall. It stopped her cold. Her face darkened with rage and she screamed, a bloodcurdling sound that chilled me far more than the temperature.
But she couldn’t cross that salt line. Still screaming, she vanished. I turned back to Sam and Dean, chest heaving, shock obviously painted across my face.
Sam nodded at me. “Like I said, salt works-so keep an eye on that line.”
I didn’t trust my voice so I just nodded.
Dean was lying on his back, half propped up against the pile of bricks behind him, his head resting on a makeshift pillow-a jacket that was likely Sam’s. That explained why Sam had been wandering around in the storm without one. Only Dean’s head, shoulders, and arms were visible, the rest of him hidden beneath a huge slab of old bricks that had fallen from the ceiling in one piece. The sleeves of his denim jacket were torn and bloody in places, but there was nothing at first glance to suggest any major injury to his upper limbs. A shotgun similar to the one I now held lay on top of the rubble by his right hand, the walkie-talkie was by his left; he’d used both during our trek over here. But as for his torso and lower limbs, we’d only know the extent of any injuries once we freed him.
Dean raised his left hand as Sam dropped to his knees beside him, and Sam grabbed it in an unspoken greeting. Sam scowled the moment their hands connected. “Dude, you’re freezing.”
“I’ve been warmer.” Dean glanced upwards. “T-temperature dropped p-pretty quickly after th-the roof caved in.” The forced smile was back. “It’s k-kinda like s-sitting in front of a fridge with the d-door open.”
Like Sam, I squinted into the dark chasm where the brick ceiling had once been. We obviously weren’t under one of the new buildings currently under construction; above us was nothing but dirt-dirt frozen solid by three months of winter. That explained the drop in temperature; the moment the ceiling caved in, the insulating seal of the bricks was broken and the outside temperature started seeping in. Now hypothermia was a concern for all three of us, Dean most of all. “Damn.”
“Yeah.” Dean dropped his head back, his focus still on the open ceiling above him. “Been k-kind of expecting it to c-cave in on me for the last s-six hours.”
I shook my head. “I actually think luck is on your side on this one. This far into winter, the ground’s frozen solid-pretty much has the density of concrete. As long as it’s stable, it should stay where it is.”
“As long as it’s stable.” Now it was Dean’s turn to study me. “S-so you’re architect- search-and-rescue guy?”
I smiled. “That’s kind of a mouthful. Call me Dan.” I watched Sam pull off his glove, check Dean’s pulse, then press his hand flat against Dean’s chest, assessing the rise and fall. “How is he?”
“He’s fine.” Dean’s jaw set stubbornly. “But I’ll be a lot f-finer when you get me out f-from under this crap.”
“I think fine is a bit of a stretch….” Sam looked puzzled. “But your breathing’s a helluva lot better than it should be-just like your pulse.” Sam sat back on his heels and studied the rubble pile. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but how are you not-”
“A pancake?” Dean swallowed, worry again evident in his expression as he studied his brother. “You already figured this out, Sammy…the first time you tried to get me out.”
Sam’s eyes widened, another crack in his I’m fine façade revealed. “I don’t….” His fingers subconsciously traced the gash on his forehead. “I don’t remember.”
“And you’re giving me grief?” Dean turned to me. “How’bout you fill me in on how Sammy here’s really doing?”
“Dean-”
“I’m asking Dan.” Dean gave me a look that demanded an answer.
“His body temperature was definitely rebounding-at least until we landed in this deep freeze. But, like you, he needs a doctor and a hospital, not a part-time SARTech in an old sewer tunnel. As for the head injury-”
“Obviously, that’s a problem.” Dean raised an eyebrow at Sam, as if daring him to deny it.
Sam’s jaw set stubbornly. “I’ve got a headache, you’re bleeding under a ton of bricks-I know which problem we need to address first.”
“Sam-”
“Look, we get you out, we both get outta here. Where’s the flaw in that plan?” Sam was still studying the rubble pile. “Now, fill me in-why aren’t you shortstacked?”
Dean shot Sam one of those brother-patented ‘We’ll talk about this later’ looks. “Underneath this big hunk of rock, there’s a smaller piece.” He closed one hand into a fist, then gestured to the rubble on top of him “This big piece is on top of it.” Dean placed his other hand flat on top of his fist.”
Sam nodded. “Keeping some of the weight off you.”
Dean nodded. “What we need to do is tilt the top piece up.” He raised his flat hand to a 45-degree angle. “Shove something underneath to keep it raised-”
“Then pull you out.” Sam glanced to his right, then his left, staring at two largish pieces of rubble, sitting in front of the giant piece trapping Dean. “These things….”
“Yeah…you rolled those into place, ready to hold up this piece on top of me.” Dean’s worried expression was back as he stared at his brother. “You just couldn’t lift it by yourself-not and move those others into place at the same time.”
“Well, now there’s two of us…but before we move anything….” Dean had mentioned earlier he had been skewered by something and was bleeding. Looking at him now, he was pale, but seemed far stronger than he would be had he been bleeding out for six hours. “You said something had stabbed you…that you were bleeding. You feeling woozy…light-headed?”
“Never-unless I’ve been roofied.” Dean glanced up. “Here, I’ve just been…roofed.”
Sam’s frown deepened. “Whatever stabbed you-did it get you from above or the side.”
“Side…. “Dean grunted in pain as he shifted slightly. “Oh yeah. Definitely the side.”
Sam nodded. “That’s good.” When Dean shot him a WTF look, Sam raised an eyebrow. “Dude, think-if you were impaled from above….”
“You’d yank it out of me when you lifted the rubble.” Dean scrubbed a hand down his face. “And that would hurt, wouldn’t it?”
Sam glanced up at me. “You ready?”
I nodded and dropped to my knees at Sam’s side. “We both lift, then I hold it up while you slide those smaller pieces into place?”
Sam looked doubtful. “You think you can hold-”
“I don’t see that we have another choice” Given Sam's current state, I was the stronger of the two; that put the heavy lifting on me. “. Let’s just do it.”
“OK.” Sam gave me a curt nod. “On three-two…three.”
There was a collective grunt as we lifted. Fuck, it was heavy. I was aware of Dean yelling, of a curse from Sam, but the rush of blood to my head gave those sounds a weird, distant echo. When the rubble was shoulder high, I shifted my body to allow my back and shoulders to take the weight.
Sam glanced over at me, his face also showing the strain. “You-”
“Go.” I nodded curtly, giving him the signal to release his hold. “And make it quick.”
Sam let go. I groaned audibly as the full weight of the rubble was transferred to me. I screwed my eyes closed, hissing out breaths between clenched teeth; I could hear Sam moving around, sliding the supports into place but didn’t dare look, needing every ounce of concentration to keep the rubble suspended.
“OK.” My eyes snapped open to see Sam scramble back to my side and again take a share of the weight. “OK, lower it-slowly.”
I felt like I was being crushed as we lowered it into place, but suddenly the supports, not me, were carrying the weight.
Sam was studying the supports suspiciously, like he didn’t really believe they’d hold. “You first-let go…back away.”
Breathing heavily, I let go with my left hand; the rubble didn’t move. I let go with my right and sat back on my heels. Sam then did the same.
For a moment, none of us moved, none of us spoke, each fearing the worst, but the supports held.
Dean was the first to break the silence. “Still stuck here, fellas. You wanna quit admiring your work and finish the damn job.”
That made Sam smile. He dropped onto his stomach and army-crawled under the suspended rubble. “Before we do anything we need to know what skewered you.”
Dean groaned as he shifted his left leg. “Look…never mind-I can get myself out.”
“Whoa, whoa….” Sam grabbed Dean’s arm, preventing him from moving. “If whatever is stabbing you is attached to something, you could bring all this down on top of you.”
Dean exhaled loudly in frustration. “Son of a-”
“Just hold tight. Won’t be much longer-I promise.” Sam turned to me, then motioned to his pack. “Outside pocket…there should be a-.”
“Flashlight? Yeah, I’ve seen it.” I grabbed the pack, quickly found the small Mag-light that had helped me find the radio earlier, then handed it to Sam.
Sam wriggled further under the rubble. I moved to his right and also lay on the floor so I could see and reach Dean. I pressed my fingers to his neck, checking his pulse; it was sluggish but not in the danger zone. “How’re your legs? Any pins and needles?”
Dean nodded curtly.
“Try moving your feet a little, just up and down.” I shifted to see past Sam; Dean’s feet moved slowly up and down. “Any pain?”
“Nothing I can’t handle.” The look on Dean’s face told me he was well aware of the risk of compression injuries. His scowl darkened when he turned his attention back to Sam. His brother was now arched over Dean’s legs, pulling rubble from his right side. “This is a bad idea, Sammy. You suck at Jenga.”
Sam snorted, and kept tossing aside rubble. “The last time we played Jenga, I was, what, five?”
“So you suck and you’re out of practice. How is that good?”
“Shut up.” A few more rocks came rolling out from under the rubble as Sam tossed them out. “OK, I see it. It’s a piece of rebar. But it snapped off a larger piece so it’s not attached to anything.”
“It’s attached to me.” Dean groaned as Sam inspected the wound.
“Yeah.” Sam carefully backed up. “But the good news is we can pull you out.”
Dean, breathing heavily, stared at his brother suspiciously. “When there’s good news, there’s usually bad.”
Sam slid out from under the rubble and sat up slowly, screwing his eyes closed until he regained his equilibrium. “It looks like it got you good. It’s in pretty deep. If we pull it out here and it’s done any major damage-”
“I could bleed to death before we get topside.” Dean’s jaw muscle twitched. “So we don’t take it out.”
Sam scrubbed a hand down his face. “Then we risk infection.”
“You’re a real buzzkill, Sammy.” Dean huffed impatiently. “Just get me the hell out.”
Sam turned to me. “Thoughts?”
I leaned in to study how Dean was lying. Before we started moving him we needed to rule out any spinal injuries. “Any pain in your back? Your neck?”
“No.” Dean’s patience had clearly worn out. “This piece of metal is a pain in my side, and you two are a pain in my ass. Other than that, I am just cold and tired and really need a drink. So if you two don’t get me out in the next five seconds, I’m gonna rescue myself. We clear?”
"Crystal." I turned to Sam. "I lift his head, you pull him towards you?"
Sam nodded. "Then once he's clear of this support, we can pull him out the front.
Of course, the reality was a tad more complicated. Pulling Dean down the rubble that had served as his backrest sent an avalanche of pebbles and dust with him, leaving us all coughing. More worrisome, there were some ominous sounds as we worked that suggested the big piece of rubble we’d hoisted off Dean was not quite as stable as we’d hoped. Sam and I exchanged a glance which clearly said, “We need to speed things up and get us all the fuck out of here.”
Once Dean was flat on the ground, I slid an arm under his shoulders and Sam took hold of his legs. As quickly as we dared we backed up, pulling Dean with us.
And then, it was done. Dean was free.
Sam barely had chance to smile at his brother before a rumble behind us snapped our attention back to the rubble pile. The small piece that had kept the weight of the ceiling rubble off Dean slid forward. The larger piece on top of it dropped at the back, dislodging the two support pieces Sam had wedged at the front and the entire thing crashed to the floor, sending up a cloud of dust.
In my peripheral vision, I saw Sam dive forward, throwing himself over Dean. He was pelted by pebbles and showered with dust as the rubble pile collapsed but when, quite literally, the dust had settled, he pushed himself up, seeming dirtier but otherwise no worse for wear.
Ditto for Dean, although he seemed even more pissed. “You were right, Sammy.” He grimaced as he stared down at the piece of metal protruding from his side. “Asylums really don’t like us. They are officially off my to-do list.”
I sat up slowly, spitting to the side to clear the dust from my mouth, and wondering what the hell else could happen. Fate, the cruel bitch that she is, quickly showed me.
An electric buzz and crackle cut through the dust that filled the tunnel, a cold blue light illuminating all the particles still swirling through the air. Right behind Sam, an apparition appeared-this one a fifty-ish man in a lab coat wielding an ancient-looking scalpel. He grabbed Sam by the hair, yanked him away from Dean and drew the blade across his forehead.
Sam’s yell was quickly muffled by a gunshot; Dean had somehow got his hands on Sam’s Taurus and easily dispatched the spirit; it vanished with a scream and Sam crumpled to the ground. Barely had he hit the floor when another ghost materialized behind Dean; this one was the woman I’d seen earlier, a demented smile now on her face. She was behind Dean, and Sam had no weapon, so this one was up to me. I grabbed the shotgun, aimed high and fired. She dissipated as she was reaching for Dean’s head.
How the hell had they gotten to us? My attention snapped to the salt line and the answer became obvious; when the rubble collapsed, several pieces had slid through the salt, breaking the line. I scrambled to my feet, grabbed Sam’s pack and the salt within it and quickly restored our protection. The irony didn’t escape me; only an hour earlier I’d been questioning Sam’s sanity when he’d told me ghosts were real; now here I was shooting them and laying down salt to keep them at bay without question or hesitation.
Sam, now back at his brother’s side, dragged a hand across his forehead, smearing the blood from this latest injury, then nodded his thanks. “You’re a quick study.”
“And a decent shot, thank god.” Dean made an exaggerated show of brushing salt from his shoulder, then winced as Sam ripped open his shirts to assess the wound in his side. “You owe me a new shirt, Sammy.”
“Put it on my tab.” Sam glanced up at me and gestured to his pack. "There's a first-aid kit in there. Grab it, would you?"
I quickly found the kit and cracked open the tin box. Sam pulled out a square of gauze and after pouring the last of the water on Dean’s side, began cleaning away blood from the wound site.
I dropped to my knees beside Dean and opposite Sam. After rechecking Dean’s pulse and breathing, I examined his legs, searching for any evidence of internal bleeding or broken bones. Miraculously, there was none, the only obvious damage being a slightly swollen left knee. “I’d say that’s a sprain but-”
“Get me on my feet and let’s find out.” Dean started to push himself up.
“Dude, seriously.” Sam placed a warning hand on his brother’s arm. “You can’t be walking around with a piece of rusty metal stuck in you.” He was still studying the wound, obviously not liking what he saw. He glanced up at me. “It’s infected. So…take it out, and risk bleeding out or leave it in and risk the infection taking hold?”
“Hey, talk to me.” Dean’s scowl deepened. “It’s stuck in me, so whatever the hell we do-my call,.”
I leaned in to look at the wound; the skin around the puncture was red and puffy, the rust and dirt from the rebar obviously feeding infection. That danger was real. Bleeding out was a possibility, maybe even in a probability, but which was the lesser of two evils? “You have a pressure bandage in that kit of yours? Antiseptic?”
Sam nodded.
I turned to Dean. “Then I say we take out, flush it again and bandage it. That will help keep the infection in check-I don’t like how fast it’s progressing. And if you stay still, we should be able to control any bleeding. Sam here can keep an eye on it, and you, while I go for help, then-”
“No.” Dean shook his head. “You leave, we leave. I’m done with this place.” He started to sit up.
“Dean, stop.” Sam again held him down. “You’re in no shape to hike out of here….” He suddenly looked exhausted, all the events of the past few hours finally catching up with him. “And neither am I. I…I think Dan’s right-we stay, he’s goes for help.”
Dean’s eyes narrowed as he studied his brother. Sam admitting weakness was clearly out of character and an obvious ploy to get Dean to stay put. But it was a ploy based in truth; adrenaline had kept Sam going while we rescued Dean, but that was waning rapidly. Beneath the blood and grime that covered his face, he was disturbingly pale and his hands shook with cold and exhaustion as he worked on Dean’s wound.
None of this escaped Dean’s attention, and from what I could tell, was the sole reason he gave up the fight. These brothers seemed hard-wired to look out for the other. Not surprising, I suppose, if what we’d been through this day was just another day at the office for the two of them.
“Whatever….” Dean dropped his head back, staring up at the ceiling. “Just…get it over with.”
Sam looked over at me, his glance an unspoken request to distract his brother.
I nodded. “The, um, spirits…. Think there are any more of them to worry about?”
Dean shrugged. “More than likely. We didn’t shut the door like we wanted to.”
"Yeah, about that…." I was still a little unclear about the series of events that had caused the cave-in. "The explosion-what caused that?"
"We did."
OK. “Why? How does that get rid of ghosts?"
“It doesn’t-but it puts’em on lockdown. A few lines of salt, a few well-placed charges and we keep the spirits in and potential victims out.” Dean snorted. “Kinda like what Sammy’s doing here-stop the bleeding until we can deal with the bigger problem. A full-scale clean-up was gonna take more than the two of us. We-” He winced as Sam wrapped his hand around the rebar. “Son of a bitch. Would you just-argh!”
Dean’s yell echoed through the tunnel as Sam yanked out the rebar.
“Sorry.” Sam tossed aside the metal rod. “And this is gonna be even less fun.” He poured antiseptic into the wound.
Dean’s back arched, muscles cording in his neck as he bit back another feral groan. By the time he slumped to the floor, completely spent, Sam already the pressure bandage over the wound and was taping it in place.
Dean’s eyes stayed screwed shut, his hands curled into fists, knuckles white. It seemed like another distraction might be called for. “You said full-scale clean-up. So you can you get rid of them for good-the ghosts I mean?”
Dean hissed between clenched teeth, then shot a glance at his brother. “Your turn, Sammy. I’m kinda busy here, trying not to pass out.”
Sam smoothed the last piece of tape into place. “The only sure way to free a spirit is to salt and burn their bones. But for that we need to know who they are, where they’re buried-and it not to be winter.” He grabbed a square of gauze and began wiping Dean’s blood from his hands. “We called in a few favors, have got hunters lined up to torch their way through two graveyards and an illegal body dump behind the asylum in spring.” He glanced around the tunnel. “This was just a stopgap, but should allow construction to continue without anyone else getting hurt.”
It was all so hard to process, a kind of covert military operation but with ghosts as the target.“Look, I’ve seen you two in action…. If you don’t mind me asking-how the hell did the spirits get the drop on you?”
Sam shifted uncomfortably, then began packing away medical supplies. “I’m a little fuzzy on that.”
Dean’s eyes narrowed. “How fuzzy?”
Sam pulled a face at Dean. “Fuzzy…as in I don’t remember.”
“How much don’t you remember?”
Sam exhaled slowly. “I remember why we came here…. I remember researching the case…. Then…then I remember waking up in the tunnels with Dan.”
Dean didn’t like that answer. “You skipped a few steps.”
"Yeah, I get that." Sam closed the lid on the first-aid box. “So how did they get the jump on us?”
“Swarmed us-and don’t change the subject.”
“Dean, I got dinged. Wasn’t the first time, won’t be the last.” Sam blew on his hands, then rubbed them together to warm them up. “I’ll be fine.”
“With medical attention you will be.” I pushed myself up. “Which means I need to get going.” I frowned as Dean gave an involuntary shudder. “And as much as I’d rather not move you, the temperature here is doing neither of you any favors. If we go a few hundred feet down the tunnel, away from this cave-in, you’ll be a lot warmer.”
Dean glanced up at Sam. “A bit further than that and we’re off the asylum property. You up for that?”
Sam had picked up his gun and was checking the clip. “Would now be a good time to mention we’re almost out of ammo?”
Dean raised an eyebrow at his brother. “So that’s a yes.”
It didn’t take long to gather up their stuff; the trickiest part was getting Dean on his feet without doing further damage to the hole in his side and his sprained knee. He wasn’t happy about being supported between the two of us but he was also well aware that moving under his own steam just wasn’t happening.
With Sam on his right and me on his left, his arms pulled over our shoulders and each of us with an arm wrapped around his waist, Dean hobbled up to the salt line. “Son of a bitch, let’s get this show on the road. The sooner I see the ass-end of this place, the better.”
We stepped over the salt line and, right on cue, a spirit appeared in front of us-more specifically, in front of me. It was the woman with the blood-matted hair I’d seen earlier and if possible, she seemed even more pissed than before. Eyes wide and wild, she plunged a spectral arm right into my chest just as the deafening sound of a gunshot filled the tunnel. Sam, his right hand free and tightly gripping his Taurus, took her out.
He shook his head and shoved the gun in his pocket. “OK-now we are officially out of ammo.”
My left hand was still on my chest; it felt like someone had just jabbed an icicle straight into my heart and it was freezing me from the inside out. It was like nothing I’d ever experienced before-and nothing I ever wanted to experience again.
As I turned to nod my thanks to Sam, shock obviously still painted across my face, Dean winked at me.
“It happens to the best of us. You can’t really say you’ve been hunting until you’ve been bad-touched by a ghost.” He groaned as he limped forward. “Now do I lead this parade solo or are you two coming with me?”
It was slow going but we reached the edge of the asylum property without any more attacks. There, we lowered Dean to the floor, then Sam slid down the wall to sit beside him. There was enough salt left to lay down a thin line in front of the brothers-just in case-and then I was ready to take off. I glanced from one to the other worriedly. “You good?”
Dean snorted. “No. When I’m outta here, I’ll be good. When there’s a glass of scotch in my hand, I’ll be even better. So go.”
“I’ll be back as fast as I can.” I nodded at Sam, then took off down the tunnel.
Behind me, I could hear the brothers’ voices.
“Ow-leave me alone.”
“I need to check your side…check the bleeding.”
“It’s fine.”
“The hell it is.”
“It’s as fine as your head.”
“That kind of proves my point, Dean.”
“Shut up.”
I smiled as the brotherly squabbling faded from earshot. It would be a while yet before both Sam and Dean were truly safe, but for the first time since I’d collided with Sam, it actually felt like everything was going to be OK.
Continued in Chapter 3
SUMMARY: In the midst of snowstorm, a stranger runs into an injured and hypothermic Sam. His memory is spotty; he knows that a hunt went sideways and that Dean's in trouble-he just doesn't know where he is. Outsider POV.
RATING: PG-13 for swearing.
GENRE: Gen/Hurt-Comfort
Link back to Chapter 1 Here
LUNATIC - CHAPTER TWO
“Sammy?”
My head snapped around, my heart slamming against my ribs. There was no one there but the voice sounded like it was being broadcast over some kind of radio.
“Damn it, Sam. When we get out of this mess, I am gonna kick your ass every day for a week and not even feel bad about it-not even a little bit. Disappearing like that-not cool. Now pick up the damn radio.”
That had to be Dean-and there was nothing I’d like better than to pick up the radio, but I had to find the damn thing first. I aimed the flashlight beam in the direction of the voice. On the first few passes, I picked up nothing more than the stone floor. Then, disturbingly the light glinted on metal; a gun, a slick-looking piece with a pearled grip, lay just under the lower of the two pipes that ran along the wall. Just beyond it, a walkie-talkie lay on its side; both looked like they’d simply been dropped.
“Son of a bitch.... Where the hell did you go?” The voice sounded both tired and worried. “OK, dude-signing off…save the battery and all that shit. Try again in five-and, damn it, you better be there. I wasn’t kidding about that ass kicking.”
“No…no…damn it. Don’t turn it off.” I scrambled up the tunnel floor, grabbed the radio and clumsily jammed down the talk button. “Hey…is this Dean? Hello? Can you hear me?”
At first I thought I’d missed him, but then the deep voice came back over the radio, worry replaced by suspicion. “Who the fuck is this? Where’s Sam?”
“My name’s Dan…Dan Caldwell. Sam’s with me. You’re Dean, right?”
“Sam OK?”
“He’s…he’s hanging in there.”
“Put him on.”
I grabbed the gun, shoved it into the pack, then pushed myself up and began walking back toward Sam.
“Put my brother on-now!”
I glanced down the tunnel; Sam hadn’t moved. He was still slumped against the wall, his eyes still closed. “He’s got a head injury, Dean. Between that and the hypothermia, he’s kind of out of it.” This was more than a little awkward. “He, um-he thinks I’m you.”
“He what? I know he got dinged but…. Wait-hypothermia?”
“Yeah. He has no coat and was fighting his way through a blizzard to get you help. How you doing, by the way?”
The radio went silent and for a moment I thought I’d lost him. “Dean? Sam said you were trapped. You OK?”
“No.” A sarcastic snort came clearly over the radio. “First my brother goes AWOL, then I find out he’s half frozen and thinks some stranger is me. Oh, and I’ve been stuck under a pile of rock for going on…six hours now, so I’m pretty fucking far from OK.”
Six hours. Damn. “Sam said there was an explosion.”
“He did, huh?” Dean’s response was more wary than tired. “The tunnel caved in. Sam took a chunk of the ceiling to the head. He was out for almost an hour. When he came to, things were a bit…scrambled. You, um, need to take anything he says with a grain of salt.”
Given that Sam thought I was Dean, that wouldn’t be hard. “That’s how you got trapped-in the cave-in?”
“Yeah.” Now Dean just sounded tired. “Sammy tried to get me out but couldn’t…not by himself - especially not running on all cylinders.”
Sammy. That wasn’t the first time Dean had used the diminutive form of his brother’s name; that was definitely big brother privilege at work. “OK. The storm’s screwing with cellphones, but as soon as I get to a landline, I’ll call 9-1-1-get help for Sam and for you. Where are you?”
“You’re not a paramedic?”
I was back at Sam’s side now and fishing the water bottle out of the pack. “Dude, I’m an architect. I was just coming home from work when I ran into your brother-or, technically, he ran into me. He needed help so…here I am.” I glanced down at the walkie-talkie. “What’s the range on these radios?”
“About two miles-give or take.”
Good. That meant he wasn’t too far away. “And you’re in the tunnels?”
“Yeah, on the asylum property. Where are you?”
“In the tunnels, too-but downtown. If Sam was gone six hours, he either got seriously lost or passed out, or-”
“Both. Son of a bitch….. He was headed for the car-right above us. He was gone so long I thought…I thought….”
He thought the worst. “Dean, in all seriousness, what kind of shape are you in?”
Dean’s response was terse. “I’m trapped under a pile of bricks beneath an old nuthouse. I’ve been better.”
And he’d been trapped there for hours, alone and in the dark, not to mention worried that something had happened to his brother. “I need triage information-are you bleeding? Can you feel your arms? Your legs? How’s your breathing?”
“They teach you that in architecture school?”
I was getting the sense that Dean didn’t like opening up to strangers. “I paid for school by working search and rescue. Dude, I’m just trying to help.”
“Yeah…. I know, but…it’s been a bad day.” Dean coughed, then cleared his throat. “Sam pulled some of the crap off me. My arms are free…they’re fine. My legs are kinda numb-mostly from sitting on my ass this long. Think I got skewered by something, though…right side, mid ribs. Pretty sure I’m leaking…but it’s slow, so I’m good-at least for now.”
Fuck. “How’s your breathing?”
“I don’t think whatever spiked me went through a lung if that’s what you’re asking. Look...just take care of Sammy-then have someone come dig me out.”
Apparently Sam wasn’t the only Winchester who worried more about his brother than himself. I reached for Sam’s shoulder and gave him a gentle shake. “Sam, come on-we’ve gotta move.”
Sam jumped at my touch, his eyes sliding open.
“Better yet, once you get Sam help, call Bobby Singer-area code 605-555-2947. He’ll know someone local who can come here, dig me out…leave 9-1-1 to take care of the real emergencies.”
“Real emergencies?” I retrieved my phone from the pocket of the coat Sam now wore, punched the number Dean had just given me into the address book, then turned my attention back to the walkie-talkie. “Dude, we’re in the midst of the biggest storm of the winter, you’re trapped underground, buried under a pile of rubble and by the sounds of it, impaled. As far as emergencies go, that’s about as real as it gets.”
A sardonic laugh came over the radio. “Trust me, I’ve been through worse.”
At the sound of Dean’s voice, Sam’s gaze slid from me to the walkie-talkie and back again. Whether it was because he was warming up, had just heard the real Dean or some combination of the two I couldn’t be sure, but reality suddenly seemed to break through the mental fog that had plagued him since we met. And as he looked at me, seeing a stranger for the first time rather than his brother, a mask dropped into place, veiling previously easy-to-read emotions. “Who the hell are you?”
It was time for a real introduction. “My name’s Dan. You’re hurt, and I’m just trying to get you help. That’s all.” After opening the water bottle, I offered it to Sam. “Drink this-you’re dehydrated.”
Sam never broke eye contact with me, even as he took the bottle and gulped down the contents.
“Whoa, whoa…. You’re just gonna throw it up if you drink too fast. Take it slow.”
“Hey, search and rescue-architect guy-you still there?”
I picked up the radio. “Yeah, Dean. I’m-”
“Dean?” Sam wedged the water bottle between his legs and gestured to the walkie-talkie. “Gimme that?” His shivers were still noticeable but less exaggerated as he snatched the radio from me. “Dean? You there?”
“Sammy…. It’s about fucking time.”
Sam glanced up at me, distrust now clear in his expression, as he continued talking to his brother. “Where the hell did you go?”
“Where did I go? You’re the one who went walkabout.”
Sam screwed his eyes closed. “Dude, you were just here.”
“No, Sam, I wasn’t. I wish I was, believe me, but the asylum kinda fell on me, remember? I’ve been stuck under a pile of bricks since you left.”
“I left? But….” Sam’s face crumpled in confusion; his grasp on reality may have taken a turn for the better, but there were obviously still major gaps in his memory. Again, he stared at me, his brow deeply furrowed. “You were…. I was sure…” His thumb slid off the radio’s talk button and his hand dropped to his lap.
“You got your bell rung-but good-so you’re a little messed up. More than usual that is.” The jibe was a good-natured one, the kind brothers always hurl at each other.“Go with architect guy. Let the docs check you out.”
“No.” Sam struggled to his feet, managing it only with the help of the wall behind him but almost dropping the radio in the process. The recapped bottle of water tipped over, abandoned at his feet. “I’m coming to you…to get you out.”
“Sam-”
“Sam-”
“No.” Sam quickly cut off both our objections. He gave me a glare, making it clear I had no say in this matter, the emphatic tone telling his brother the same thing. “I’m coming to you. Now.”
Dean’s huff of frustration came clearly across the radio. “Newsflash, asshat-you got lost trying to get to the car a few hundred feet away. Now you’re all the way across town. Try to find me and I’d say the odds of you getting lost again are pretty damn high. You-” His rant gave way to a painful cough.
Now Sam looked nauseous, worry more than injury the likely cause. “Dean?”
“I’m…fine.” The weakened voice made it clear he was anything but.
Dean was right, of course; his brother’s place was in the hospital-but if Sam didn’t want to go, there was zero chance of me getting him there against his will. And Dean was in bad shape-no question there; if he stayed buried under that rubble much longer, especially if he was impaled and bleeding out, who knew what condition he’d be in when paramedics eventually got to him. As far as I could see, that left only one card to play. “I can get us to Dean.”
Sam turned so quickly towards me, he overbalanced, the tunnel wall again coming to his rescue and preventing a fall. “How?”
I tapped my watch. “This has a compass and I know where the asylum is. Unless any tunnels are blocked, we should be able to get there pretty quickly.”
Sam nodded slowly. “Good.” He picked up the radio. “The guy I’m with…Dan-he knows the way…he’ll make sure we don’t get lost. We’ll be there soon.”
“Give him the radio-now!”
Sam’s jaw clenched; he offered me the walkie-talkie, then pulled it back as I was about to take it. “I don’t care what he says-I’m gonna get my brother, with or without you.” With that warning, he slapped the walkie-talkie into my hand, turned and began walking drunkenly down the tunnel.
“I’m here, Dean.”
“In case you missed it, my little brother is a stubborn pain in the ass….. Any chance you’ll just knock him out and drag him to the ER?”
Despite the seriousness of the situation, I had to smile at Dean’s attempt to protect Sam. “Your little brother is a big guy-it’d be pretty hard to drag him anywhere he didn’t wanna go.”
“Yeah, yeah….” The fight was gone out of Dean’s voice. “Just…just keep an eye on him. He…he doesn’t know when to quit.”
Yet another thing that appeared to be a family trait. Sam was still moving down the tunnel, his gait unsteady, his right hand on the wall, using it for balance. I grabbed my backpack, slung both it and Sam’s pack over my shoulder, and jogged to catch up with him.
The radio went silent, a lengthy pause that had me worried that either the battery had died or, worse, Dean had passed out. “Dean? You still there?”
“Yeah…I was just…just checking something.” He exhaled audibly. “Look, I’m gonna ask you something-and I need you not to freak out. Does Sam have his gun?”
Overhearing the question, Sam reached behind his back, then stopped in his tracks, scowling first at the radio, then down at the coat he wore. “These aren’t my clothes.”
I shook my head. “No, they’re mine. Yours were soaked. We changed them when we got down here in the tunnels, remember? I did find a gun though. It was with the walkie-talkie. Maybe you dropped it?”
“Dropped it?” That concept didn’t go over well. “No. I wouldn’t just leave it…I wouldn’t….”
I slid his pack off my shoulder and offered it to him. “It’s in here.” I was handing over a gun to man I barely knew, a man with a head injury who just minutes earlier believed I was his brother. Dumb move? Absolutely, but I was totally going on faith.
Sam’s frown deepened as he took the proffered pack. “Why the hell would I-”
“Hey! This thing still working?”
I clicked the talk button on the radio. “Yeah, Dean. Sorry…. Sam didn’t have a gun with him, but I found one on the tunnel floor. He’s got it now.”
“He left the damn thing behind? Son of a….” There was nothing accusatory in Dean’s reaction just the same worry that I still saw on Sam’s face.
It was clear that in his right mind, Sam abandoning his weapon was unthinkable. Like Dean, he’d been playing the I’m fine card, but the lost gun was just more proof he was anything but.
Sam used the wall to keep himself upright as he opened the backpack, his expression still stony-faced as he withdrew the gun and dropped the pack to the floor. I knew a little about handguns but the way Sam handled the weapon, checking the chamber and the clip, suggested its use was second nature to him.
“That a Beretta?”
Sam shook his head. “Taurus PT-92, nine millimeter-based on the Beretta M92, though.”
OK; there was zero hesitation recalling that information, those details obviously well-entrenched in long-term memory and unaffected by the head injury. Reflexively, Sam reached behind his back, attempting to slide the gun into his waistband but was quickly stymied by the thigh-length coat he now wore. He cursed under his breath, clicked on the safety and jammed the gun into his pocket.
My curiosity got the best of me. “Um…you guys are cops, right?”
I had my thumb on the talk button of the radio as I asked the question so it was Dean who answered.
“FBI.”
That was a surprise. So was the sawed-off shotgun Sam next pulled from the pack. “So two armed federal agents are crawling around tunnels underneath an old asylum investigating a vandalism case?”
Dean snorted. “Let’s just say that me and Sam-we don’t always play by the rules. That gets us the cases no one else wants-and crawling around sewer tunnels looking for a firebug? Not a lot of hands went up for that one. How you doing there, Sammy?”
Sam looked up from the pack, his open palm now displaying a few shotgun shells. The shivering had diminished at least to the point where he wasn’t throwing the shells all over the floor; that was a good sign. He straightened up, cracked open the pistol-grip shotgun, fed in the shells, then snapped it closed. The remaining shells went into his pocket. “Good to go.”
Despite that assertion, the effects of his injury quickly became apparent again when he stooped again to pick up the pack; he overbalanced and crashed to his knees. I moved forward to help but as he lifted his head, a glare clearly told me to, ‘Back off, I got this.’ Sam exhaled slowly, transferred the shotgun to his left hand and reached for the wall with his right, using it to help haul himself to his feet. Once upright, he leaned back against the wall, then gestured for me to give him the radio. He lowered his voice when he spoke into it but in such close quarters, it was impossible not to overhear. “Dean…. What the hell are we hunting? I’ve got nothing, man.”
It was hard to reconcile the man who could handle weapons so expertly, who could recall details about them without hesitation, with the one who couldn’t recall simple facts from earlier in the day. But Sam’s fall and confusion were just more reminders that he was a long way from healthy and we needed to get him help-ASAP. Ditto for his brother.
Dean tried jogging his brother’s memory. “Think, Sammy. What happens when a century’s worth of crazy people suddenly have no place to call home?”
The question made no sense to me, but for Sam the meaning seemed clear. “Son of a bitch….”
“Yeah. So heads up when you cross onto the asylum property, capice? The explosion should’ve…closed the door, but it went off too soon. I have no clue how many are still on the loose.”
“Um….” I walked up to Sam. “Am I allowed to ask-”
“No. We’re on our way, Dean. Hang in there.” Sam slipped the walkie-talkie into his coat pocket, pushed himself off the wall and resumed his unsteady walk down the tunnel.
The guarded nature of their exchange was obviously because of my presence. Fine; I could understand that certain aspects of FBI business were confidential, but if something or someone was still on the loose down here, and Sam needed a gun to protect us from it then, damn it, I needed to know what the hell it was. “Sam, I-”
“So you know where we’re going?”
Apparently, Sam’s head was clear enough to know what I was about to ask, and cut me off. “Yeah. See that?” I pointed to a name sprayed onto the wall below one of the lights, the white paint of the block letters peeling badly.
Sam squinted at it. “It’s barely legible. What is that-ABBOTT?”
I nodded. “Yeah, that’s the street above us and that tells me we’re going in the right direction. The asylum’s northeast of here on Sanatorium Road. Let’s just hope there are enough of those street names still clear enough to confirm we’re on the right track.”
Sam pinched the bridge of his nose, wobbling slightly as he screwed his eyes closed.
“Hey, you-”
“I’m fine.” He cleared his throat, then again set off down the tunnel. “Stay close.”
I fell in step beside him. “Any chance you remember where you were when the tunnel caved in?”
Sam’s jaw muscle twitched. “Under the asylum. You know that.”
“I mean exactly where. Look, I know you have some…memory issues, but the asylum’s massive. There were east and west wings, each made up of five buildings, there was a south wing and several ancillary buildings. The tunnels connected all of them. We could spend hours searching that place if we don’t know exactly where Dean is.”
“And Dean doesn’t have hours. Fuck.” Sam shook his head, anger and frustration over his inability to remember easy to read in his expression. “Dean’ll know…. We’ll ask him.”
I nodded then motioned to the pack slung over his shoulder. “Let me carry that.”
Sam again shook his head, more emphatically this time. “I got it.”
“Yeah, tough guy, I get that. But if it’s all the same to you, if whatever you need that shotgun for shows up, I’d just as soon you had both hands free to deal with it, keep us both in one piece.” Not to mention lightening his load might make his waning strength last just long enough to get us to his brother. I’d much sooner carry his pack, than him.
Sam stared at me, stubbornness wrestling with the logic of my argument; eventually he nodded reluctantly. He handed over the pack, then fished the radio from his coat. “Yo, Dean-still awake?”
“What’s up?”
“Where exactly are you-on the asylum site, I mean? I’m…drawing a blank.”
“Right about where ‘C’ block would have been….” Dean’s voice was noticeably weaker, like the sudden call from Sam hadn’t given him time to slip back into his I’m fine pretence. He cleared his throat, now sounding a little stronger. “Toward the east end.”
Sam glanced at me, eyebrow raised, and I nodded. “I can find that.”
“Good.” Sam turned his attention back to the radio. “Any signs of company?”
“Not for the past hour. But a leak from the ceiling is kind of eating away at my protection, if you catch my drift, and I’ve got three shells left. Number four’s gonna show up at some point so just…haul ass, alright?”
“You got it-hauling ass.” Sam slid the radio back into his pocket before shooting a glance at me that clearly said we needed to pick up the pace. “You seem to know a lot about the asylum.”
I shrugged. “I’m an architect-it was a beautiful building.”
Sam snorted. “What happened inside it was anything but beautiful. Danvers Asylum-the birthplace of the frontal lobotomy.”
“So they say….” Yet another curious piece of trivia Sam’s battered brain had held onto.
“And god knows how many experiments they got wrong before eventually getting that little procedure right.” Sam suddenly went on high alert, gun raised, as we rounded a corner, relaxing only slightly when he confirmed the way was clear.
Exhaling in relief, I followed him around the corner. “Look, there were a lot of questionable practices at that asylum, at any asylum at the turn of the century, but there was a lot of good work, too. And the building itself was impressive. It was a landmark in this town for a long time, and deserved to be saved.”
Sam’s brow furrowed. “But you didn’t-save it, I mean?”
I shook my head. “No. By the time it went up for sale, most buildings had gone without any regular maintenance for years-decades even. Restoration costs would have been in the tens of millions. No one was willing to put up that kind of cash so-”
“They destroyed it.” Sam’s eyes narrowed. “And all the tortured souls trapped inside, all the angry spirits of a century’s worth of mental patients suddenly had nowhere to call home-except these tunnels.”
“Scuze me?”
Sam ignored the question. “The asylum-how did they demolish it?”
“They imploded the main buildings, bulldozed the smaller ones, then hauled away the debris. The clean-up took months.”
Sam nodded as he mulled that information. “The intense heat from the explosions would have taken care of some of them. Hauling away debris gives some of them a new home, making them another problem for another day, and today’s explosion should’ve locked up the rest, but….” He came a halt, then unsteadily turned towards me. “Look, you’ve been dropped in the middle of this-it’s only fair you know what’s going on.”
As much as I wanted-no, needed-to know what the hell was going on, something told me that I wasn’t going to like whatever it was Sam was about to tell me.
Sam kept moving, constantly surveying the tunnel as we walked. “There’s a good chance you’re gonna see some…some stuff down here-stuff you’ll find a little hard to swallow.”
I frowned. “You think the…the vandals are still here?”
“In a manner of speaking.” Sam’s jaw muscle twitched as he glanced over at me. “The vandals-they’re ghosts. More specifically, angry spirits.”
“Ghosts?” I couldn’t help myself; I smiled. “Now I know you have a concussion.”
“Trust me, there are plenty of days when I wish I could blame what I was seeing on a blow to the head.” Sam chewed his bottom lip. “Look, when someone dies, their spirit, their soul, their…essence-whatever you wanna call it, is supposed to move on-to Heaven, to Hell, to Valhalla, to its next life-whatever your belief system suggests. But some get stuck…between this world and the next-especially if they died a violent death or were wronged somehow. And the longer they’re stuck, the more violent they become.”
My frown deepened. “Sam, I read ghost stories too when I was a kid. But that’s all they are-stories. You…you can’t seriously believe they’re real?”
“I do…and they are.” Sam’s right hand was back against the wall, steadying him as he walked; we weren’t even halfway to the asylum and he was clearly exhausted. “Hunting them down, that’s what my brother and I do.”
Until this point, Sam had simply been confused, not…crazy. What the hell was I supposed to think now? “So, you hunt ghosts? With a gun?”
Sam almost smiled. “Sounds nuts when you put it like that, but yeah. The bullets, the shotgun shells, they both hold rock salt-it’ll get rid of a ghost, at least long enough for you to get out of its way.”
It was more crazy talk, but spoken with such earnest conviction it was hard not to buy into it. “Sam, I-”
“Look, I know how all this must sound and I’m not expecting you to take it as gospel on my say-so.” Sam picked up the pace, but his gait was increasingly unsteady. “Hey, if we’re lucky, we won’t see any spirits. Then, after we get Dean out, you can head on home, safe and sound, believing you rescued a complete nutjob. I’m fine with that. But since the only luck Dean and I tend to get is the crap kind, you need to be ready. Ever handle a gun before?”
I nodded, still struggling to fully comprehend what Sam was telling me. “For target shooting with my grandpa-that’s all.”
“Good enough.” Sam shoved the shotgun into my hands, then yanked his Taurus from his pocket. “Just think of them as moving targets. You see anything that’s not me or Dean, you shoot it.”
I stared at Sam incredulous over his directive but said nothing. I mean, what could I say? This man I’d just met, a man with a serious head injury, had just told me that ghosts were real, that I would likely see one before the day was over and that I’d probably have to shoot it. Not exactly how I’d seen my day playing out when I’d stepped off Harry’s bus.
But there was no point in arguing with Sam; he clearly believed what he’d just told me to be fact. My best plan was still the original one; find Dean and then get both brothers help. I’d do whatever it took to get us to that end goal.
We walked for close to a half hour; Dean may have been less than two miles from us as the crow flies but the tunnels took numerous twists and turns that almost doubled that distance. No wonder Sam had gotten lost.
Every five minutes or so Sam checked in with his brother. Dean put up a good front but he wasn’t fooling either one of us; the man was in pain.
As we crossed onto the asylum property, the peeling paint of the words SANITORIUM ROAD, confirming the fact, Sam gave me the heads up sign, then called his brother again.
“We’re here, Dean-should just be a few minutes more.”
There was no answer.
Sam came to sudden, unsteady stop. “Dean?”
For an agonizing few seconds, there was still nothing. Then came a burst of static.
“I’m…good.”
I jumped as the sound of a shotgun blast came over the walkie-talkie.
“It’s fine…. But I’m down to my last shell.”
“Fuck.” Sam took off in sprint, with me close on his heels. He’d covered about fifty yards before his pace slowed to a jog, then an erratic walk. He stumbled, slammed into the tunnel wall, then crashed to his knees, his gun flying from his grasp and skittering along the brick floor.
“Sam!”
He pitched forward and puked, chest heaving as he threw up water and bile. When he had nothing left to throw up, he collapsed back against the tunnel wall. Eyes watering, still breathing heavily, he dragged the back of his sleeve across his face. “Son of a bitch….”
I was on my knees at his side, dragging my gym towel from my pack and pouring some of the water onto it. I handed it to Sam, who took it wordlessly and scrubbed it over his face.
“Maybe running isn’t such a hot idea-you know, for a guy with a concussion.” I offered a sympathetic smile. “I think what we need here is more tortoise, less hare-know what I mean?”
Sam did, but he obviously didn’t like it. He wanted to get to his brother as fast as possible, and who could blame him for that? He took a sip from the water bottle. “How close are we?”
I glanced upwards, trying to picture the asylum property above us. “Near as I can tell, we’re around where the main building stood. Depending on the number of detours, I doubt he’s more than…ten minutes away. I-”
“Grab the gun!” Sam’s eyes widened, his face suddenly illuminated by a cold light.
My head snapped around as I reached the shotgun on the floor beside me. It felt like someone had tightened a vise around my chest; I couldn’t breathe…I couldn’t believe what I was seeing…
Walking drunkenly towards us was something out of childhood nightmares: a tall, painfully thin man, dressed in a hospital gown and open robe, the untied belt dragging along the tunnel floor at his side. His head was shaved, stitches crossing his skull, his skin pale and sickly, and his eyes sunken and wild. He lurched towards us, semi-transparent and flickering like a television signal shorting out. As he moved closer, studying Sam then me, his face darkened with rage.
I jumped when the shotgun was wrenched from my hand. In one smooth move, Sam raised the weapon, pumped it and fired, the spirit dissipating with a scream. The cold light disappeared with him and the tunnel darkened, again lit only by the dull yellow lamps along the wall.
I looked at Sam in shock, my heart still slamming against my ribs.
“Told you our luck was crap.” Sam’s arms collapsed to his sides, the shotgun dropping into his lap. “But we see another ghost, you can’t hesitate, man. That one was slow-most aren’t. You see one, you shoot-capice?”
I nodded numbly.
He smiled. “You can do it. You’ve got good instincts-just follow them.”
Suddenly our roles were reversed; since we’d met, I’d been Sam’s crutch to lean on. But with this abrupt entry into the nightmare world that Sam and his brother apparently lived in, now he was mine.
“Now let’s go. In case you haven’t figured it out, my brother’s not a patient man.” Sam clapped me on the shoulder, pressed the shotgun back into my hands, then began the struggle to get up. With my help and the wall’s, he made it. This time though, when I’d gathered our stuff and returned Sam’s Taurus to him, I slung his arm over my shoulders and wrapped an arm around his back without asking.
He didn’t object, which clearly said he knew that his gas tank was pretty close to empty, and that if we were going to make it to his brother, he needed the help.
This last stretch was completed in silence, Sam channeling every ounce of his remaining energy into simply putting one foot in front of the other, me still struggling to process what I’d just seen. And I kept seeing it…that ghost-God, it was hard to even think that word in relation to the events of a few moments earlier-as if it was on some loop in my brain. Sam wasn’t nuts; ghosts were real-and just how batshit crazy was that?
As we rounded yet another corner, there was a noticeable drop in temperature. Sam’s breathing rate escalated, each labored exhale frosting over. He tensed, peering into the darkness up ahead. “Head’s up. When a spirit breaks through, it takes a lot of energy…. Sucks all the heat from…. No…no, it’s not spirit. We’re here.”
I was still scanning the tunnel nervously, expecting to see another ghost of a mental patient, when Sam lurched forward, pulling away from me. Just ahead, there was a large black hole in the ceiling, the bricks and mortar that had once covered it now forming a pile of rubble in the tunnel below.
Sam smiled. “Dean!” His deep voice raised to a booming shout startled me.
“And the c-cavalry’s here.” The voice from just up ahead was weak but characteristically caustic, at least as I’d come to know it. “Bout f-fucking time-you take the s-scenic route?”
This time, Sam’s smile was genuine. “Yeah, but we took pictures. Wanna see?”
“Shut up. Just…just get me the hell outta here.”
Sam was still smiling as he stumbled toward the cave-in and his brother.
I squinted into the dim light, scanning the brick pile as I followed Sam. It suddenly clicked that I had no idea what Dean looked like. Only as we got closer was I able to pick out the head and shoulders of the man whose voice I’d grown so familiar with, whose personality was so obviously larger-than-life but whom I had yet to officially meet.
And then I saw him. He was covered in dust and dirt, his face streaked with blood and partially hidden in shadows but, even beneath all that, I could make out a family resemblance. Dean’s hair was much shorter than Sam’s but the intense hazel eyes were the same. He was clearly cold, exhausted and in pain, but his gaze was locked on Sam, tracking him as he moved closer, assessing his condition. He obviously didn’t like what he saw; when he forced a smile, it didn’t reach his eyes. “You look like crap, Sammy.”
The same concern now clouded Sam’s expression. “I should get you a mirror.” He turned to me and waved a hand towards his pack. “Check in there…there should be a canister of salt. Use it to fix that line across the tunnel floor…fill in any gaps. That’ll keep the spirits away while we get Dean out.”
Dean raised an eyebrow. “Listen to you-and you c-call me bossy.”
“It’s fine-I got it.” I glanced down to where Sam had gestured; a thick, haphazard line of salt stretched the width of the tunnel, although dripping water from the tunnel ceiling had dissolved the salt in three places. I had no idea how a salt line kept ghosts away but after what I’d seen earlier, I wasn’t questioning Sam’s directive. If he said it kept out ghosts, that was good enough for me. I found the salt and created a new solid line.
Just in time, too. I was shoving the canister back in the pack, when I heard an electrical buzzing. My head shot up to see a cold blue light once again fill the tunnel and an apparition form on the far side of the salt line, not five feet away from me. This one was female, her long pale hair half shaved on one side and matted with blood. She had the same hollow eyes as the first spirit. She stared at me for a moment, head cocked to one side, flickering in and out-then charged at me. Startled, I lurched backwards but when she hit the line, it was like she’d hit a brick wall. It stopped her cold. Her face darkened with rage and she screamed, a bloodcurdling sound that chilled me far more than the temperature.
But she couldn’t cross that salt line. Still screaming, she vanished. I turned back to Sam and Dean, chest heaving, shock obviously painted across my face.
Sam nodded at me. “Like I said, salt works-so keep an eye on that line.”
I didn’t trust my voice so I just nodded.
Dean was lying on his back, half propped up against the pile of bricks behind him, his head resting on a makeshift pillow-a jacket that was likely Sam’s. That explained why Sam had been wandering around in the storm without one. Only Dean’s head, shoulders, and arms were visible, the rest of him hidden beneath a huge slab of old bricks that had fallen from the ceiling in one piece. The sleeves of his denim jacket were torn and bloody in places, but there was nothing at first glance to suggest any major injury to his upper limbs. A shotgun similar to the one I now held lay on top of the rubble by his right hand, the walkie-talkie was by his left; he’d used both during our trek over here. But as for his torso and lower limbs, we’d only know the extent of any injuries once we freed him.
Dean raised his left hand as Sam dropped to his knees beside him, and Sam grabbed it in an unspoken greeting. Sam scowled the moment their hands connected. “Dude, you’re freezing.”
“I’ve been warmer.” Dean glanced upwards. “T-temperature dropped p-pretty quickly after th-the roof caved in.” The forced smile was back. “It’s k-kinda like s-sitting in front of a fridge with the d-door open.”
Like Sam, I squinted into the dark chasm where the brick ceiling had once been. We obviously weren’t under one of the new buildings currently under construction; above us was nothing but dirt-dirt frozen solid by three months of winter. That explained the drop in temperature; the moment the ceiling caved in, the insulating seal of the bricks was broken and the outside temperature started seeping in. Now hypothermia was a concern for all three of us, Dean most of all. “Damn.”
“Yeah.” Dean dropped his head back, his focus still on the open ceiling above him. “Been k-kind of expecting it to c-cave in on me for the last s-six hours.”
I shook my head. “I actually think luck is on your side on this one. This far into winter, the ground’s frozen solid-pretty much has the density of concrete. As long as it’s stable, it should stay where it is.”
“As long as it’s stable.” Now it was Dean’s turn to study me. “S-so you’re architect- search-and-rescue guy?”
I smiled. “That’s kind of a mouthful. Call me Dan.” I watched Sam pull off his glove, check Dean’s pulse, then press his hand flat against Dean’s chest, assessing the rise and fall. “How is he?”
“He’s fine.” Dean’s jaw set stubbornly. “But I’ll be a lot f-finer when you get me out f-from under this crap.”
“I think fine is a bit of a stretch….” Sam looked puzzled. “But your breathing’s a helluva lot better than it should be-just like your pulse.” Sam sat back on his heels and studied the rubble pile. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but how are you not-”
“A pancake?” Dean swallowed, worry again evident in his expression as he studied his brother. “You already figured this out, Sammy…the first time you tried to get me out.”
Sam’s eyes widened, another crack in his I’m fine façade revealed. “I don’t….” His fingers subconsciously traced the gash on his forehead. “I don’t remember.”
“And you’re giving me grief?” Dean turned to me. “How’bout you fill me in on how Sammy here’s really doing?”
“Dean-”
“I’m asking Dan.” Dean gave me a look that demanded an answer.
“His body temperature was definitely rebounding-at least until we landed in this deep freeze. But, like you, he needs a doctor and a hospital, not a part-time SARTech in an old sewer tunnel. As for the head injury-”
“Obviously, that’s a problem.” Dean raised an eyebrow at Sam, as if daring him to deny it.
Sam’s jaw set stubbornly. “I’ve got a headache, you’re bleeding under a ton of bricks-I know which problem we need to address first.”
“Sam-”
“Look, we get you out, we both get outta here. Where’s the flaw in that plan?” Sam was still studying the rubble pile. “Now, fill me in-why aren’t you shortstacked?”
Dean shot Sam one of those brother-patented ‘We’ll talk about this later’ looks. “Underneath this big hunk of rock, there’s a smaller piece.” He closed one hand into a fist, then gestured to the rubble on top of him “This big piece is on top of it.” Dean placed his other hand flat on top of his fist.”
Sam nodded. “Keeping some of the weight off you.”
Dean nodded. “What we need to do is tilt the top piece up.” He raised his flat hand to a 45-degree angle. “Shove something underneath to keep it raised-”
“Then pull you out.” Sam glanced to his right, then his left, staring at two largish pieces of rubble, sitting in front of the giant piece trapping Dean. “These things….”
“Yeah…you rolled those into place, ready to hold up this piece on top of me.” Dean’s worried expression was back as he stared at his brother. “You just couldn’t lift it by yourself-not and move those others into place at the same time.”
“Well, now there’s two of us…but before we move anything….” Dean had mentioned earlier he had been skewered by something and was bleeding. Looking at him now, he was pale, but seemed far stronger than he would be had he been bleeding out for six hours. “You said something had stabbed you…that you were bleeding. You feeling woozy…light-headed?”
“Never-unless I’ve been roofied.” Dean glanced up. “Here, I’ve just been…roofed.”
Sam’s frown deepened. “Whatever stabbed you-did it get you from above or the side.”
“Side…. “Dean grunted in pain as he shifted slightly. “Oh yeah. Definitely the side.”
Sam nodded. “That’s good.” When Dean shot him a WTF look, Sam raised an eyebrow. “Dude, think-if you were impaled from above….”
“You’d yank it out of me when you lifted the rubble.” Dean scrubbed a hand down his face. “And that would hurt, wouldn’t it?”
Sam glanced up at me. “You ready?”
I nodded and dropped to my knees at Sam’s side. “We both lift, then I hold it up while you slide those smaller pieces into place?”
Sam looked doubtful. “You think you can hold-”
“I don’t see that we have another choice” Given Sam's current state, I was the stronger of the two; that put the heavy lifting on me. “. Let’s just do it.”
“OK.” Sam gave me a curt nod. “On three-two…three.”
There was a collective grunt as we lifted. Fuck, it was heavy. I was aware of Dean yelling, of a curse from Sam, but the rush of blood to my head gave those sounds a weird, distant echo. When the rubble was shoulder high, I shifted my body to allow my back and shoulders to take the weight.
Sam glanced over at me, his face also showing the strain. “You-”
“Go.” I nodded curtly, giving him the signal to release his hold. “And make it quick.”
Sam let go. I groaned audibly as the full weight of the rubble was transferred to me. I screwed my eyes closed, hissing out breaths between clenched teeth; I could hear Sam moving around, sliding the supports into place but didn’t dare look, needing every ounce of concentration to keep the rubble suspended.
“OK.” My eyes snapped open to see Sam scramble back to my side and again take a share of the weight. “OK, lower it-slowly.”
I felt like I was being crushed as we lowered it into place, but suddenly the supports, not me, were carrying the weight.
Sam was studying the supports suspiciously, like he didn’t really believe they’d hold. “You first-let go…back away.”
Breathing heavily, I let go with my left hand; the rubble didn’t move. I let go with my right and sat back on my heels. Sam then did the same.
For a moment, none of us moved, none of us spoke, each fearing the worst, but the supports held.
Dean was the first to break the silence. “Still stuck here, fellas. You wanna quit admiring your work and finish the damn job.”
That made Sam smile. He dropped onto his stomach and army-crawled under the suspended rubble. “Before we do anything we need to know what skewered you.”
Dean groaned as he shifted his left leg. “Look…never mind-I can get myself out.”
“Whoa, whoa….” Sam grabbed Dean’s arm, preventing him from moving. “If whatever is stabbing you is attached to something, you could bring all this down on top of you.”
Dean exhaled loudly in frustration. “Son of a-”
“Just hold tight. Won’t be much longer-I promise.” Sam turned to me, then motioned to his pack. “Outside pocket…there should be a-.”
“Flashlight? Yeah, I’ve seen it.” I grabbed the pack, quickly found the small Mag-light that had helped me find the radio earlier, then handed it to Sam.
Sam wriggled further under the rubble. I moved to his right and also lay on the floor so I could see and reach Dean. I pressed my fingers to his neck, checking his pulse; it was sluggish but not in the danger zone. “How’re your legs? Any pins and needles?”
Dean nodded curtly.
“Try moving your feet a little, just up and down.” I shifted to see past Sam; Dean’s feet moved slowly up and down. “Any pain?”
“Nothing I can’t handle.” The look on Dean’s face told me he was well aware of the risk of compression injuries. His scowl darkened when he turned his attention back to Sam. His brother was now arched over Dean’s legs, pulling rubble from his right side. “This is a bad idea, Sammy. You suck at Jenga.”
Sam snorted, and kept tossing aside rubble. “The last time we played Jenga, I was, what, five?”
“So you suck and you’re out of practice. How is that good?”
“Shut up.” A few more rocks came rolling out from under the rubble as Sam tossed them out. “OK, I see it. It’s a piece of rebar. But it snapped off a larger piece so it’s not attached to anything.”
“It’s attached to me.” Dean groaned as Sam inspected the wound.
“Yeah.” Sam carefully backed up. “But the good news is we can pull you out.”
Dean, breathing heavily, stared at his brother suspiciously. “When there’s good news, there’s usually bad.”
Sam slid out from under the rubble and sat up slowly, screwing his eyes closed until he regained his equilibrium. “It looks like it got you good. It’s in pretty deep. If we pull it out here and it’s done any major damage-”
“I could bleed to death before we get topside.” Dean’s jaw muscle twitched. “So we don’t take it out.”
Sam scrubbed a hand down his face. “Then we risk infection.”
“You’re a real buzzkill, Sammy.” Dean huffed impatiently. “Just get me the hell out.”
Sam turned to me. “Thoughts?”
I leaned in to study how Dean was lying. Before we started moving him we needed to rule out any spinal injuries. “Any pain in your back? Your neck?”
“No.” Dean’s patience had clearly worn out. “This piece of metal is a pain in my side, and you two are a pain in my ass. Other than that, I am just cold and tired and really need a drink. So if you two don’t get me out in the next five seconds, I’m gonna rescue myself. We clear?”
"Crystal." I turned to Sam. "I lift his head, you pull him towards you?"
Sam nodded. "Then once he's clear of this support, we can pull him out the front.
Of course, the reality was a tad more complicated. Pulling Dean down the rubble that had served as his backrest sent an avalanche of pebbles and dust with him, leaving us all coughing. More worrisome, there were some ominous sounds as we worked that suggested the big piece of rubble we’d hoisted off Dean was not quite as stable as we’d hoped. Sam and I exchanged a glance which clearly said, “We need to speed things up and get us all the fuck out of here.”
Once Dean was flat on the ground, I slid an arm under his shoulders and Sam took hold of his legs. As quickly as we dared we backed up, pulling Dean with us.
And then, it was done. Dean was free.
Sam barely had chance to smile at his brother before a rumble behind us snapped our attention back to the rubble pile. The small piece that had kept the weight of the ceiling rubble off Dean slid forward. The larger piece on top of it dropped at the back, dislodging the two support pieces Sam had wedged at the front and the entire thing crashed to the floor, sending up a cloud of dust.
In my peripheral vision, I saw Sam dive forward, throwing himself over Dean. He was pelted by pebbles and showered with dust as the rubble pile collapsed but when, quite literally, the dust had settled, he pushed himself up, seeming dirtier but otherwise no worse for wear.
Ditto for Dean, although he seemed even more pissed. “You were right, Sammy.” He grimaced as he stared down at the piece of metal protruding from his side. “Asylums really don’t like us. They are officially off my to-do list.”
I sat up slowly, spitting to the side to clear the dust from my mouth, and wondering what the hell else could happen. Fate, the cruel bitch that she is, quickly showed me.
An electric buzz and crackle cut through the dust that filled the tunnel, a cold blue light illuminating all the particles still swirling through the air. Right behind Sam, an apparition appeared-this one a fifty-ish man in a lab coat wielding an ancient-looking scalpel. He grabbed Sam by the hair, yanked him away from Dean and drew the blade across his forehead.
Sam’s yell was quickly muffled by a gunshot; Dean had somehow got his hands on Sam’s Taurus and easily dispatched the spirit; it vanished with a scream and Sam crumpled to the ground. Barely had he hit the floor when another ghost materialized behind Dean; this one was the woman I’d seen earlier, a demented smile now on her face. She was behind Dean, and Sam had no weapon, so this one was up to me. I grabbed the shotgun, aimed high and fired. She dissipated as she was reaching for Dean’s head.
How the hell had they gotten to us? My attention snapped to the salt line and the answer became obvious; when the rubble collapsed, several pieces had slid through the salt, breaking the line. I scrambled to my feet, grabbed Sam’s pack and the salt within it and quickly restored our protection. The irony didn’t escape me; only an hour earlier I’d been questioning Sam’s sanity when he’d told me ghosts were real; now here I was shooting them and laying down salt to keep them at bay without question or hesitation.
Sam, now back at his brother’s side, dragged a hand across his forehead, smearing the blood from this latest injury, then nodded his thanks. “You’re a quick study.”
“And a decent shot, thank god.” Dean made an exaggerated show of brushing salt from his shoulder, then winced as Sam ripped open his shirts to assess the wound in his side. “You owe me a new shirt, Sammy.”
“Put it on my tab.” Sam glanced up at me and gestured to his pack. "There's a first-aid kit in there. Grab it, would you?"
I quickly found the kit and cracked open the tin box. Sam pulled out a square of gauze and after pouring the last of the water on Dean’s side, began cleaning away blood from the wound site.
I dropped to my knees beside Dean and opposite Sam. After rechecking Dean’s pulse and breathing, I examined his legs, searching for any evidence of internal bleeding or broken bones. Miraculously, there was none, the only obvious damage being a slightly swollen left knee. “I’d say that’s a sprain but-”
“Get me on my feet and let’s find out.” Dean started to push himself up.
“Dude, seriously.” Sam placed a warning hand on his brother’s arm. “You can’t be walking around with a piece of rusty metal stuck in you.” He was still studying the wound, obviously not liking what he saw. He glanced up at me. “It’s infected. So…take it out, and risk bleeding out or leave it in and risk the infection taking hold?”
“Hey, talk to me.” Dean’s scowl deepened. “It’s stuck in me, so whatever the hell we do-my call,.”
I leaned in to look at the wound; the skin around the puncture was red and puffy, the rust and dirt from the rebar obviously feeding infection. That danger was real. Bleeding out was a possibility, maybe even in a probability, but which was the lesser of two evils? “You have a pressure bandage in that kit of yours? Antiseptic?”
Sam nodded.
I turned to Dean. “Then I say we take out, flush it again and bandage it. That will help keep the infection in check-I don’t like how fast it’s progressing. And if you stay still, we should be able to control any bleeding. Sam here can keep an eye on it, and you, while I go for help, then-”
“No.” Dean shook his head. “You leave, we leave. I’m done with this place.” He started to sit up.
“Dean, stop.” Sam again held him down. “You’re in no shape to hike out of here….” He suddenly looked exhausted, all the events of the past few hours finally catching up with him. “And neither am I. I…I think Dan’s right-we stay, he’s goes for help.”
Dean’s eyes narrowed as he studied his brother. Sam admitting weakness was clearly out of character and an obvious ploy to get Dean to stay put. But it was a ploy based in truth; adrenaline had kept Sam going while we rescued Dean, but that was waning rapidly. Beneath the blood and grime that covered his face, he was disturbingly pale and his hands shook with cold and exhaustion as he worked on Dean’s wound.
None of this escaped Dean’s attention, and from what I could tell, was the sole reason he gave up the fight. These brothers seemed hard-wired to look out for the other. Not surprising, I suppose, if what we’d been through this day was just another day at the office for the two of them.
“Whatever….” Dean dropped his head back, staring up at the ceiling. “Just…get it over with.”
Sam looked over at me, his glance an unspoken request to distract his brother.
I nodded. “The, um, spirits…. Think there are any more of them to worry about?”
Dean shrugged. “More than likely. We didn’t shut the door like we wanted to.”
"Yeah, about that…." I was still a little unclear about the series of events that had caused the cave-in. "The explosion-what caused that?"
"We did."
OK. “Why? How does that get rid of ghosts?"
“It doesn’t-but it puts’em on lockdown. A few lines of salt, a few well-placed charges and we keep the spirits in and potential victims out.” Dean snorted. “Kinda like what Sammy’s doing here-stop the bleeding until we can deal with the bigger problem. A full-scale clean-up was gonna take more than the two of us. We-” He winced as Sam wrapped his hand around the rebar. “Son of a bitch. Would you just-argh!”
Dean’s yell echoed through the tunnel as Sam yanked out the rebar.
“Sorry.” Sam tossed aside the metal rod. “And this is gonna be even less fun.” He poured antiseptic into the wound.
Dean’s back arched, muscles cording in his neck as he bit back another feral groan. By the time he slumped to the floor, completely spent, Sam already the pressure bandage over the wound and was taping it in place.
Dean’s eyes stayed screwed shut, his hands curled into fists, knuckles white. It seemed like another distraction might be called for. “You said full-scale clean-up. So you can you get rid of them for good-the ghosts I mean?”
Dean hissed between clenched teeth, then shot a glance at his brother. “Your turn, Sammy. I’m kinda busy here, trying not to pass out.”
Sam smoothed the last piece of tape into place. “The only sure way to free a spirit is to salt and burn their bones. But for that we need to know who they are, where they’re buried-and it not to be winter.” He grabbed a square of gauze and began wiping Dean’s blood from his hands. “We called in a few favors, have got hunters lined up to torch their way through two graveyards and an illegal body dump behind the asylum in spring.” He glanced around the tunnel. “This was just a stopgap, but should allow construction to continue without anyone else getting hurt.”
It was all so hard to process, a kind of covert military operation but with ghosts as the target.“Look, I’ve seen you two in action…. If you don’t mind me asking-how the hell did the spirits get the drop on you?”
Sam shifted uncomfortably, then began packing away medical supplies. “I’m a little fuzzy on that.”
Dean’s eyes narrowed. “How fuzzy?”
Sam pulled a face at Dean. “Fuzzy…as in I don’t remember.”
“How much don’t you remember?”
Sam exhaled slowly. “I remember why we came here…. I remember researching the case…. Then…then I remember waking up in the tunnels with Dan.”
Dean didn’t like that answer. “You skipped a few steps.”
"Yeah, I get that." Sam closed the lid on the first-aid box. “So how did they get the jump on us?”
“Swarmed us-and don’t change the subject.”
“Dean, I got dinged. Wasn’t the first time, won’t be the last.” Sam blew on his hands, then rubbed them together to warm them up. “I’ll be fine.”
“With medical attention you will be.” I pushed myself up. “Which means I need to get going.” I frowned as Dean gave an involuntary shudder. “And as much as I’d rather not move you, the temperature here is doing neither of you any favors. If we go a few hundred feet down the tunnel, away from this cave-in, you’ll be a lot warmer.”
Dean glanced up at Sam. “A bit further than that and we’re off the asylum property. You up for that?”
Sam had picked up his gun and was checking the clip. “Would now be a good time to mention we’re almost out of ammo?”
Dean raised an eyebrow at his brother. “So that’s a yes.”
It didn’t take long to gather up their stuff; the trickiest part was getting Dean on his feet without doing further damage to the hole in his side and his sprained knee. He wasn’t happy about being supported between the two of us but he was also well aware that moving under his own steam just wasn’t happening.
With Sam on his right and me on his left, his arms pulled over our shoulders and each of us with an arm wrapped around his waist, Dean hobbled up to the salt line. “Son of a bitch, let’s get this show on the road. The sooner I see the ass-end of this place, the better.”
We stepped over the salt line and, right on cue, a spirit appeared in front of us-more specifically, in front of me. It was the woman with the blood-matted hair I’d seen earlier and if possible, she seemed even more pissed than before. Eyes wide and wild, she plunged a spectral arm right into my chest just as the deafening sound of a gunshot filled the tunnel. Sam, his right hand free and tightly gripping his Taurus, took her out.
He shook his head and shoved the gun in his pocket. “OK-now we are officially out of ammo.”
My left hand was still on my chest; it felt like someone had just jabbed an icicle straight into my heart and it was freezing me from the inside out. It was like nothing I’d ever experienced before-and nothing I ever wanted to experience again.
As I turned to nod my thanks to Sam, shock obviously still painted across my face, Dean winked at me.
“It happens to the best of us. You can’t really say you’ve been hunting until you’ve been bad-touched by a ghost.” He groaned as he limped forward. “Now do I lead this parade solo or are you two coming with me?”
It was slow going but we reached the edge of the asylum property without any more attacks. There, we lowered Dean to the floor, then Sam slid down the wall to sit beside him. There was enough salt left to lay down a thin line in front of the brothers-just in case-and then I was ready to take off. I glanced from one to the other worriedly. “You good?”
Dean snorted. “No. When I’m outta here, I’ll be good. When there’s a glass of scotch in my hand, I’ll be even better. So go.”
“I’ll be back as fast as I can.” I nodded at Sam, then took off down the tunnel.
Behind me, I could hear the brothers’ voices.
“Ow-leave me alone.”
“I need to check your side…check the bleeding.”
“It’s fine.”
“The hell it is.”
“It’s as fine as your head.”
“That kind of proves my point, Dean.”
“Shut up.”
I smiled as the brotherly squabbling faded from earshot. It would be a while yet before both Sam and Dean were truly safe, but for the first time since I’d collided with Sam, it actually felt like everything was going to be OK.
Continued in Chapter 3