Supernatural: Asylum
A/N: Happy Halloween! Here's something ironic for you all; it was on Halloween that I first started writing my Supernatural fanfic, and here it is again, Halloween, and this time I'm posting an episode.
Read, review, and enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own anything from Supernatural. I just own any and all characters that I just happen create.
CHAPTER ONE: A NEW JOB
Roosevelt Asylum
Rockford, Illinois…
The inside of the old asylum was abandoned and desolate, having been closed down back in 1964; the old walls bore graffiti and several "No Trespassing" signs, which were typically ignored by teenagers. Discarded bottles and papers laid everywhere, a few kids were cutting the chains off a set of doors, and they headed inside a hallway.
Outside, a police car pulled up outside the building, and two officers, Walter Kelly and Danny Gunderson, got out of the car.
"Can't keep kids out of this place," Danny grumbled, shaking his head in a resigning manner.
"What is it, anyway?" Walter asked, having never been to this particular building before.
"I forgot you're not local," Danny remarked, chuckling. "You don't know the legend."
"Legend?" Walter repeated, putting on his hat.
"Every town's got its stories, right? Ours is Roosevelt Asylum," Danny explained as he led the way to the front doors. "They say it's haunted with the ghosts of the patients. Spend the night… the spirits will drive you insane." They went inside the asylum and looked around with flashlights. "Hello? Police officers!" he called out, but got no response. "Police officers!" he repeated.
Just then, they heard a noise coming from a nearby room; looking around they noticed the locks and chains on the door have been undone.
"You tellin' me these kids brought bolt cutters?" Danny complained, now very annoyed; he'd never been in the south wing of the old building, having heard the stories his whole life, and wasn't looking forward to going in. "Come on. We'll split up," he suggested to his partner as they went into the abandoned wing.
"All right," Walter agreed nervously as they each went down a different corridor.
A few minutes later, Walter was by himself in the boiler room. "Hello?" he called out nervously, still looking around.
In another part of the asylum, Danny was also searching, and was finding nothing.
Back in the boiler room, Walter was still searching. "Hello?" and he opened a door leading to another wing of the asylum.
Meanwhile, Danny entered yet another room and found a few kids crouched behind a table. "All right," he said sternly. "Come on out." And the kids exchanged guilty looks. Caught.
Back in the basement, Walter entered a room that biohazard materials had been kept in once, and his flashlight mysteriously went out; worried, he tried shaking it, but it didn't turn back on, and he cursed, reaching for his radio to call up his partner. Suddenly, a door a few feet away opened on its own, turning upon hearing the noise, he looked at it curiously. Where did that come from?
A little while later, Danny was outside, watching the kids drive away, and was now wondering where his partner had gotten to. "Kelly, you copy?" he asked, speaking into his radio; hearing nothing, he turned around to go back inside to find his missing partner, and was startled to find Walter standing in front of him. "Jeez! Where the hell you been?" he asked.
"In there," Walter answered, his eyes were slightly out of focus, but his friend didn't seem to notice.
"What was it?" Danny asked, glancing back at the building. "See anything?"
Walter didn't answer at first, but then he chuckled and shook his head. "No."
Satisfied with the answer, they got back into their car.
"This is patrol 1-4," Danny said into the radio, glad to be leaving the area. "We are clear and returning to station."
`"Roger, patrol 1-4,"` a man confirmed over the radio. `"Confirming clear and returning to station."`
While this was happening, Walter's nose suddenly began to bleed; he wiped the blood away and looked at it strangely for a moment, but then went back to staring at the window an odd expression on his face.
A bit later, Walter entered the room while his wife was in bed, reading a book.
"Hey," Mrs. Kelly said, putting her book on the nightstand, but Walter ignored her as he crossed the room, having removed his jacket, and placed his gun on the dresser. "So, what? You're still not talking to me?" she asked, surprised and hurt when he still didn't answer or even look at her as he removed his wallet, his keys, and some coins from his pocket, setting them all in a straight line. "Walt, I said I was sorry about before. How many times do I have to say it?"
All of a sudden, Walter picked up his gun. From outside the house, a person walking by jumped when two shots were fired, and immediately called 911 on his cell phone, fearing the worse for those inside.
Dean was sitting at the small table, idly flipping through their father's journal while Liz was sitting nearby and doodling in a notebook and Sam was sitting on one of the beds and talking on the phone.
"No, Dad was in California last we heard from him," he said to the person on the line. "We just thought that he comes to you for munitions… maybe you've seen him in the last few weeks." He then sighed and nodded, slightly frustrated. "Just call us if you hear anything," he requested. "Thanks." And he hung up.
"Caleb hasn't heard from him?" Dean asked, looking up from the journal.
"Nope. Neither has Jefferson or Pastor Jim," Sam answered, having called nearly every other hunter that they knew that their dad was friends with. "What about the journal? Any leads in there?" he asked hopefully.
"No. Same last time I looked. Nothin' I can make out," Dean answered and chuckled. "I love the guy, but I swear, he writes like friggin' Yoda," he muttered.
"I still think it's a miracle that we can make out any of his handwriting at all," Liz remarked, smiling slightly.
"You know, maybe we should call the Feds," Sam suggested hesitantly. "File a missing persons."
Liz groaned and Dean shook his head firmly. "We talked about this," he stated. "Dad'd be pissed if we put the Feds on his tail."
"I don't care anymore," Sam declared, just as Dean's cell phone begins ringing, and he got up to look for it. "After all that happened back in Kansas, I mean… he should've been there, Dean. You said so yourself, you tried to call him, and nothing," he added.
"I know," Dean agreed, going to the bed that he shared with Liz and began looking through the clothes that he'd left on the foot of the bed. "Where the hell is my cell phone?" he complained.
"Try checking your jacket pockets, Dean," Liz suggested before turning her attention to Sam. "Sam, I'm annoyed too that dad didn't show while we were in Kansas, but we're not calling the feds onto him either, so drop it," she suggested.
Sam sighed and then voiced something that they all were avoiding thinking about. "You know, he could be dead for all we know," he stated cautiously.
"Don't say that," Dean snapped, finally finding his phone and flipped it open. "He's not dead. He's… he's…" he trailed off, staring at the small screen of his cell phone in disbelief: on it was a text message with the coordinates 42, -89.
"He's what? He's hiding? He's busy?" Sam asked, confused, and even Liz was looking perplexed.
"What is it, Dean?" she asked.
Dean sat down on the bed and stared at the phone in disbelief. "I don't believe it," he mumbled.
"What?" Sam asked.
"It's a text message," Dean answered. "It's coordinates." He then went back to the table, and opened the laptop, where he began researching.
"You think Dad was texting us?" Sam asked, surprised and still confused.
Dean nodded, opening several web pages. "He's given us coordinates before."
"True," Liz agreed; the last time their dad had left them coordinates, they ended up fighting a Wendigo.
Sam scoffed, unable to believe it. "The man can barely work a toaster, Dean, Liz," he reminded them, having lost track the number of times their dad had burn the toast at breakfast…well, what one could call breakfast back then.
"Sam, this is good news," Dean said, his eyes fixed on the screen. "It means he's okay. Or alive, at least."
"Well, was there a number on the caller ID?" Sam asked.
Dean shook his head. "No, it said "unknown"," he answered.
Sam sighed, giving up on that lead. "Okay, well, where do the coordinates point?" he asked.
Dean smirked and looked up from the screen. "That's the interesting part…Rockford, Illinois," he announced.
Sam didn't seen how that particular name could possibly be interesting. "Okay, and that's interesting how?" he asked, skeptical.
"I checked the local Rockford paper. Take a look at this," Dean told them, turning the computer to Sam and Liz, and brought up a picture of Walter Kelly. "This cop, Walter Kelly, comes home from his shift, shoots his wife, puts the gun in his mouth, and blows his brains out," he explained. "And earlier that night, Kelly and his partner responded to a call at the Roosevelt Asylum."
Liz grimaced. "Yuck, okay, I'm officially grossed out."
Sam gave them both a blank look. "Okay, I'm not following. What does this have to do with us?" he asked.
"Dad earmarked the same asylum in the journal," Dean told him, opening the journal and started looking through it, eventually finding a newspaper clipping about the asylum. "Here. Seven unconfirmed sightings, two deaths…'til last week, at least," he added, nodding to the web page. "I think this is where he wants us to go."
"Great," Liz sighed, not thrilled at the thought of going into a possible haunted asylum.
Sam, on the other hand, stood up and began pacing. "This is a job. Dad wants us to work a job," he muttered, running a hand through his hair in frustration.
"I mean, maybe we'll meet up with him, maybe he's there," Dean suggested.
"It's possible," Liz agreed.
"Maybe he's not," Sam said, frustrated. "I mean, he could be sending us there by ourselves to hunt this thing."
"Who cares? If he wants us there, that's good enough for me," Dean stated, and Liz nodded, fully agreeing.
"This doesn't strike you as weird?" Sam asked, turning to them, annoyed that their own father wasn't talking to them, but was sending them on a job of all things. "The texting? The coordinates?"
Dean sighed, seeing where this was going, and didn't want to argue… again. "Sam, Dad's tellin' us to go somewhere…we're going," he declared, standing up.
Sam sighed as Dean left the room, and Liz rolled her eyes toward the ceiling before leaving the chair to face her little brother.
"Sam," she said firmly, "I know you're frustrated that dad keeps doing this, even I'm getting frustrated, but if there's something going on at this asylum that's can make a cop kill his own wife before killing himself for apparently no reason, then we need to deal with it, just like we've been trained to do."
"I know, Liz," Sam agreed, but was still upset. "I…I still wish that dad was there back in Kansas."
"Same here," Liz agreed and then pulled Sam into a hug; unlike Dean, she didn't mind doing hugs with her siblings, and was relieved when Sam returned the hug. 'Dad, what're you doing that keeps you from coming when we need you the most? And what does it have to do with the changes that are happening to Sam?'
A/N: Liz is right about wondering why their dad keeps doing this to them. R&R everyone!
