And We Are Ashes: Chapter 4, Part 3

[thecatevari]

7212 / 50000 words. 14% done!

Today's Word Count: 2,069
Current Total Word Count: 7,212
Estimated Total Word Count: ~100,000
What's bad: I couldn't focus most of today and didn't get nearly as much done as I'd like. Also, my ? key is doing weird things and not always closing italics tags when I need it to.
What's good: That I still more than made my word count. I am AWESOME.
What pleases me: Dean's note—and the words Don't look for me, and the deep silence that follows them—prickle her like a bug bite, endlessly itching, impossible to be ignored and keeping her scratching until she draws blood. Dean's always been private; a boy who drew hidden pictures on the backs of doors, a boy who didn't speak for nearly a year after his father died, a teenager who would walk six miles back to the car before passing out from blood loss, her first indication he was even wounded. But through those carefully held walls of privacy, Mary's always known that Dean was with her, that Dean trusted her, that he would follow her to the gates of Hell and back if she asked him.

---

Just touching the EMF meter gives Mary pangs. She's enjoying traveling with Sam more than she ever thought possible, but he's not Dean and he's never going to be. Not that she wants Sam to be his brother.

"Getting readings?"

The meter chirps and clicks like a tickertape machine. "Oh, yeah."

Sam pans the video camera across the hallway. "This place is orbing like crazy."

Mary cranes to look at the display, momentarily disgruntled that Sam got so tall when she wasn't looking. Several white balloonlike orbs float around the viewfinder like a giant ghostly game of Pong. She decides Sam won't properly appreciate the reference.

"If there's as many bodies as you think, there's probably multiple spirits out and about. Just gotta find them and burn them."

"Yeah, well…only thing worse than a pissed off spirit is the pissed off spirit of a psycho killer," Sam comments. "So let's both of us be careful, okay?"

Mary's not sure whether she feels or hears something behind her, but when she turns—Sam pivoting at the same time, like he heard or felt it too—there's nothing there. "I really hate asylums," she mutters again.

"I'm not real fond of them myself," Sam remarks, kicking aside a discarded doll, one of the really old ones, with a heavy sandbag body and plastic limbs. The face is torn off, leaving only one glazed blue eye and the corner of a terrifyingly placid smile.

The EMF keeps up a steady chatter of spectral presence, a whitewash of ghosts, no presence stronger than any other. Mary steps carefully through the detritus, thinking of her own ghosts and wondering why Dean directed them here.

As the days of Dean's absence have stretched out into months, she's given up the notion that this is something simple—a girl or Dean's long-overdue teenage rebellion or even a hunt. Yet, and still, their life is relatively uncomplicated, which means this is most likely something to do with the family or the demon.

Dean's note—and the words Don't look for me, and the deep silence that follows them—prickle her like a bug bite, endlessly itching, impossible to be ignored and keeping her scratching until she draws blood. Dean's always been private; a boy who drew hidden pictures on the backs of doors, a boy who didn't speak for nearly a year after his father died, a teenager who would walk six miles back to the car before passing out from blood loss, her first indication he was even wounded. But through those carefully held walls of privacy, Mary's always known that Dean was with her, that Dean trusted her, that he would follow her to the gates of Hell and back if she asked him.

And now…not so much.

It's an unpleasant feeling. And one that only deepens her sense of worry, her sense of unease. At the same time, she trusts Dean. That wasn't just lip service for Sam. She's never say it to Sam's face, but Dean is probably the one person in the world she trusts unequivocally. Which means if he sent them here, it must be for a reason. And Mary can only think of one reason Dean would send them on a hunt, especially if he's involved with the McCoys or the demon. It must be something about the Colt.

"Mom!" Sam's yelp snaps Mary from her thoughts, cursing herself for getting so lost in her own head. When she looks up, Sam's not even in the same room. She drops the EMF in favor of the shotgun of rock salt. "Mom! Salt gun!"

Sam looms nearly a foot over the ghost's head, but his eyes are wide and frightened as he backs away. Mary's heart lurches into fast forward and she sweeps forward, bringing the barrel up to bear. "Sam, down!" There are some orders Sam still follows without question; the moment he gives her a clear shot, Mary pulls the trigger, the shot booming like thunder in the enclosed space. The ghost wisps out.

"That was weird."

Mary shuts her mouth on angry words (Where is your goddamn gun? and Weren't you paying attention?), adrenaline turning her hands shaky as she cracks the barrel and lets the spent shells fall out, replacing them with two more. "Weird's one word for it." She clicks the barrel shut and goes after the fallen EMF meter, hoping it's not broken. Probably not; Dean made the thing pretty sturdy.

"No," Sam protests, following her, "I mean it's weird she didn't attack me."

"It."

"What?"

"It didn't attack you," she corrects him tautly, picking up the meter and shoving it deep in her pocket. From her waistband, she pulls the Smith and Wesson and presses it into Sam's hand. "It's not a 'she' anymore. And it looked pretty aggro from where I was standing."

Sam puts a hand—the one not holding the gun—on her sleeve, drawing her gaze up to his. He's so damn earnest; was she ever this sincere? Ever? "She didn't hurt me. She didn't even try." Mary shakes him off and continues down the hall, Sam dogging her footsteps. "So if she didn't want to hurt me, then what did she want…?"

There's a sound, sharp and vaguely metallic and both their heads jerk toward the doorway on their left. Like most of the other rooms, the furniture's been overturned, scorched, rusted, peeling. Sam shines the flashlight through the doorway and Mary steps through first, shotgun at the ready.

There's a shape crouched behind an overturned table. Mary glances at Sam and jerks the shotgun. Sam sidles sideways and the flashlight beam picks out a flash of what Mary thinks is a girl. Sam ducks low and jerks the table away.

A girl, huddled and with her back to them, swings around and flattens herself to the wall, panting and wild eyed.

"It's all right," Sam says, hastily flicking the light out of her eyes. "We're not going to hurt you. It's okay." He puts out his hand and helps her to her feet. She gets up slowly, shoulders hunched and her body half turned away. "What's your name?"

"Katherine. Kat." She wraps her grey sweater-coat more closely around herself

"Okay. I'm Sam. This is…Mary."

Mary's eyebrows quirk, but she doesn't comment, more concerned about what the hell Katherine-Kat's doing here. "What're you doing here?"

"Um." Nervously, she runs her hands down her slacks, still round-shouldered and evasive. "My b-boyfriend. Gavin—"

Oh, lord. "Is he here?" Mary cuts in.

"Somewhere." Mary and Sam exchange a look, Sam concerned, Mary disgusted. "He thought it would be fun to try and see some ghosts."

Impatience spurts in Mary's chest and she feels yet another headache coming on. "Is he an idiot?"

Katherine just looks at her, glassy-eyed. Behind her, Sam bitchfaces. "I thought it was all just, you know, pretend. But… I've seen things. I heard Gavin scream, and—"

Mary sighs. "Come on, Sam."

Sam straightens a little, putting his hand protectively on Katherine's shoulders. "We can't just leave her here."

"We can't?"

"Mo-Mary, no." Sam looks shocked that she would even suggest it. "You saw what's in here. It's dangerous." He takes Katherine's hand. "C'mon, we're going to get you out of here…"

"No…" Katherine drags against Sam's grip.

"And if Kat and Gavin really cared all that much about danger, maybe they shouldn't have come to a giant haunted asylum on Date Night," Mary points out. "We've got work to do, Sam. We don't have time to baby-sit."

"Well, I'm not going to just leave them to fend for themselves. They're bystanders."

"I can't leave Gavin," Katherine protests, looking from Sam to her.

Sam makes a face, annoyed and half pleading as he looks at her.

"Fine," Mary agrees tautly. "Then you do that. I, on the other hand, am going to look for your brother or whatever it is your brother sent us here to find."

"So I guess we're splitting up, then."

Mary nods. "I guess we are."

***

"Gavin! Gavin!"

"So let me ask you a question," Sam says, keeping one eye on the petite blonde in front of him and one eye out for ghosts. "You watch horror movies, right?"

Katherine glances sidelong at him. "Yeah. Sure."

"Okay, so do me a favor. The next time you see one, pay attention. When someone tells you a place is haunted, don't go in."

"That's not fair!"

Sam spots something in the next room. He halts, shining the light across a figure lying on the floor. Katherine, not looking, bumps into him, catching herself on his arm before her head swings sideways to see what he's looking at.

"Gavin?" she gasps, breaking from Sam's side to kneel on the unspeakable floor and grab the prone boy's arm. She shakes him. "Gavin?"

Gavin bolts up, gasping and flailing and Katherine falls back.

"Hey," Sam says, coming to his other side. "It's okay. You're okay. We're here to help."

Gavin looks at him with shell-shocked eyes. "Who are you?"

Sam holds out his hand, helping Gavin up as Katherine gets to her feet more slowly. "I'm Sam. Sam Winchester. You all right?"

"What? Oh." Gavin looks vaguely at the stretch of grown where he'd been laying. "I was running. I guess. I guess I fell."

"Running from what?"

Gavin's breath speeds up, loud and trembling. "There was…there was this girl." He makes a gesture, fingers hooking into claws and raking the air in front of his face. "Her…her face… It was. It was all messed up."

Sam nods encouragingly. "Okay, okay, so this girl. Did she try to hurt you?"

Gavin looks even more confused, his hand straying up to touch an apparently tender spot on the side of his head. "W-what?"

"This girl. The ghost. Did she try to hurt you?"

"I…no. She, uh…" Gavin's eyes fall and he steps a little closer to Sam, his voice dropping. "She, uh…she kissed me."

Suddenly, Katherine shoves Gavin hard in the arm. Gavin falls back a step and both he and Sam look at her. "Jerk," she says. "We are so breaking up when we get out of here."

"I didn't kiss her! She kissed me!" Gavin protests.

Sam heaves a sigh and wonders idly if his mom hadn't been right. Except of course, she wasn't. "Come on. Let's get you two out of here."

"So, how do you guys know about all this ghost stuff?" Katherine asks, quickening her step to walk next to Sam, leaving Gavin by himself in the back.

"It's kind of our job." Sam actually feels a little proud that the words come out without a trace of bitterness.

"Why would anyone want a job like that?"

Good question. "I had a crappy guidance counselor," Sam jokes, deadpan, fairly confident it'll go right over Katherine and Gavin's head.

"And Mary? She's your boss?"

Sam snorts. "No." Though she'd like to be. "She's my mom."

"Oh."

They arrive back at the doors that lead out of the ward. They look different than before, and furniture's been dragged from the nearby rooms into a makeshift and half-assed barricade. When Sam tries the handles and shoves on the doors, they don't give. "Okay, I think we've got a problem."

"Let's break it down!" Gavin insists.

"I don't think that's going to work." Sam eyes the metal, the depth of the door frames. Asylums like this, they were definitely designed with the intention of keeping things in.

"Well, then the windows!"

"They're barred," Katherine points out. She looks at Sam apologetically, as if ashamed of her taste.

"Well how are we supposed to get out?" Gavin shifts from foot to foot, like he's still contemplating a charge at the doors.

Sam's mouth thins. "That's the point. There's something in here. Doesn't want us to leave." Through his worry—and his awareness that Mary's been gone a long time—Sam picks at the edges of the asylum's puzzle. Ghosts that don't seem to want to hurt anyone. Kelly's murder-suicide. The missing Doctor Ellicott.

It occurs to Sam that all the spirits they've seen so far have been those of patients.

"Those patients—" Katherine says at the same moment.

"No." Sam shakes his head. "Something else."

Sam doesn't have the chance to get any further before his cell shrills, making all three of them jump. He fumbles it hastily from his pocket.

"Hello?"

"Sam?" It's his mother, the reception crackly and static-filled. "I found him. I need your help."

Sam's heart speeds up in his chest like a locomotive. "Dean? You found Dean? Where are you?"

"In the basement. Hurry."

"I'm on my way," Sam promises and clicks the phone shut. He looks up into the scared, expectant faces of Gavin and Katherine. "Can either of you handle a shotgun?"

"What?" Gavin looks shocked that Sam would even ask. "No!"

"I can," Katherine says calmly. Gavin looks at her, surprised and Sam watches her bristle. "What? My dad took me skeet shooting a couple times."

Sam doesn't have time to quibble. "Okay, here. It's loaded with rock salt. It might not kill a spirit, but it'll repel it." He empties his pockets of shells and hands them to Gavin who looks at them like he's afraid they're going to explode in his hand. "So if you see something, shoot. I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Okay," Katherine agrees.

"Okay." He turns away to the sound of Kat cocking the gun.

Oh, God, Dean, Sam thinks. Are you really here?