Hey guys, here's Chapter 3 already! Thank you so much to Daughter of Ironman06 and Snowfire218 for your reviews and to all of you for reading this :) Apologies in advance for any mistakes - I read this through as best I could.
"Since when were psychotic weirdos allowed guns?"
Sam glanced up at his brother's voice, dropping his fingers from the smudged wallpaper to see Dean attempting to squeeze through a gap between the wall and a box of folders as well as another half collapsed bookcase. The walls just ahead were littered with blood-stains and bullet marks, and the floor hadn't fared much better. Getting to his feet from his kneeling position, Sam followed him through to the corridor on the other side, noting the familiar blue-silver glint of light from an open doored room, signalling that there was a computer in there.
"Anything important?" Dean appeared at his shoulder, having abandoned his trail of the blood splatters. Sam shrugged, entering the room cautiously but relaxing upon realising there was no immediate danger. It was still nice to feel the rock salt bullets in his jeans pocket though. Sliding the chair to the side, he tapped at the computer screen as the mouse seemed to have disappeared. The mangled piece of metal in the corner appeared to have its origins as such an object and Sam didn't want to consider what had the strength to destroy something like that. A ghost would have had no reasoning for such destruction.
"Nothing on the computer," he replied after a moment of tapping on the keyboard. It appeared that the connection had been lost between the electronics or that the security systems were more advanced than he realised. The files on the desk did catch his attention though, the blue paper of the folder marked in bold lettering Confidential nagging at his curiosity for him to investigate further.
"Oh for-" Dean slammed down the phone on the plastic housing as the continual chiming of the disconnected tone rung out. Thankful for the silence, Sam skimmed his gaze over the text, frowning as he took in the information. Whoever the people were in charge of the treatments on the site, they clearly hadn't been acting under any of the medical laws around at the time. Silently, he handed the file over to his brother, flooding the torch-beam over the rest of the room as Dean read.
"Morphogenic Engine?" Dean glanced up to catch Sam's concerned gaze. "What sort of sick stuff were these people into?"
"Hell if I know," Sam shrugged, retrieving the file from Dean's fingers and shoving the papers into his notebook for later examination and evidence if they were forced into making another visit. "But if I died here under that sort of care then I'd be pretty pissed too."
"So basically," Dean stated after a moment's consideration. "There's no record of any patients being collected after the place was shut down. Which means there's a crap load of insane psychopaths running around?"
"We don't know that for certain," Sam protested, dropping the empty folder back onto the desk and switching off his torch. With the light from the corridor still illuminating the room, he didn't see the point in wasting battery-life. Nudging the door further open with his foot, he stepped back out into the passage-way, attempting to block out Dean's continual sarcastic commentary when the sudden movement of a door slamming shut caused him to start and jump back a pace.
Dean exchanged a wide-eyed look with him. "Reckon that was our vengeful spirit?"
"Or one of them. There was more than one patient die here." Sam ran a finger over the rock-salt bullets in his pocket and stepped to the side as Dean shouldered past him, reaching out to try the door handle. It rattled under his grip but didn't budge, clearly locked from the inside. Withdrawing his hand, Dean wiped his palm against the fabric of his jeans, as the brass fitting was also damp with blood. Whatever the hell had gone down here, it sure wasn't pretty. Still, they knew ghosts could move things and it was all too probable that the spirit they were hunting had been the one to lock the door. Despite Sam's concerns, his own jokes and the apparent evidence, he found it hard to believe that there were still people alive here. Raising his eyes to the toilets' sign, he couldn't help the smirk.
"Looks like someone really needed to go."
Sam shot him a classic bitch-face. "Really, Dean?"
"Oh come on. It had to be said." Dean slid his gaze sideways to the open doorway Sam was standing next to, and grinned. "Hey check it out. Reckon there's still soda in there?"
"Somehow I'm guessing no." Sam bit back a sigh as his brother disappeared inside the room. "We don't have time for this."
"Lighten up, we've got plenty of time," came the awaited reply from beside the tipped over vending machines. Wondering sarcastically, why me?, Sam cast one last suspicious look over his shoulder before stepping into the room as well. The first thing that caught his notice was the apparent lack of blood splattering about the tiles unlike the rest of the asylum that they had experienced so far. The second thing was Dean kicking at the machines on the floor, a disgruntled expression on his face.
"Nothing left?" Sam did his best not to sound too smug.
"One dollar seventy-five, Sammy." Dean looked out-raged, giving the colourful metal a final kick. "They were ripping these guys off. No wonder they've gone all vengeful spirit on their asses."
"Or, technically, anyone who comes inside the grounds."
Dean pointed a finger at him. "No-one likes a smart-ass."
"That would explain a lot about why Cas hasn't shown up in over two weeks." Sam shot back.
"He's busy. Anyway, you can't use my own lines back at me."
It was more than likely that they would have carried on with their banter for a good further ten minutes had the sudden shower of blood droplets from the ceiling not splashed against the wooden cabinet collapsed between them. Dean glanced down at the bloodied ground dangerously close to his shoes before slowly glancing upwards. A scarlet stain was spread across the white paintwork, steadily growing as they watched.
"Is that normal? I don't think that's normal."
"Dean, we're literally hunting a ghost. How is any of this normal?" Sam glanced back over his shoulder at the doorway. Having their backs exposed to an empty space was sending the shivers down his spine and he half considered closing it except for how many escape options that would eliminate. Taking a step back as Dean leaned up for a better look at the ceiling, his attention was caught by a strange looking object next to the sink, in pride of place. "What the hell even is that?" He murmured, not aware he'd been speaking aloud until Dean spoke up.
"What the hell is what?" Footsteps rang out as the older hunter slid down off the filing cabinet to stand next to him, narrowing his eyes at the disturbing sight in front of him. He knelt down to peer at it sceptically. "Looks like someone decided to do some home-surgery."
"That's not funny."
"It's hilarious." Dean consulted his watch. "We've been here about an hour now, and we've still not found anything. The way ahead is still blocked, so I'm guessing the only way forwards is up."
Sam eyed the swinging open metal hatch to the ventilation shaft and inwardly groaned. Of course the only logical thing to do was to enter the place were most people get murdered after being dragged in there by the exact kind of things they hunt. He leant against the wall to keep an eye on the door while Dean climbed up, scrabbling at the metal edge in an attempt to avoid slicing his hands open, before finally heaving himself into the metal duct.
"No dead bodies as far as I can see, so your hair won't be ruined Samantha."
"Shut up." Sam muttered in a low voice as he pulled himself up. "Move along, will you?"
Dean crawled forwards on all fours, allowing Sam to fully enter the duct and scramble forwards into the darkened area. No sooner had they both moved forwards a metre did there come a crash from the room they had just left. Dean sunk down low to the metal below him to stare through the grate. Behind him, Sam held his breath, not moving a muscle. Out of Sam's line of vision, Dean could clearly make out the bulky figure of a man, muscled and completely void of clothes. In one gnarled fist he clutched a wooden stake with nails decorating the edges and he appeared to be slightly deformed. The most disturbing fact about his appearance was the way he was dripping in bodily fluids, with blood coating his arms and splattering his face.
"Dean?" Sam finally whispered from behind him, attempting to wriggle forwards in the confined space. "What's happening?"
"Nothing much," Dean replied quietly after a moment, tearing his gaze free before creeping forwards towards the light at the end of the duct. Pausing to take in the new surroundings, he hooked his fingers over the edge of the metal and scanned the immediate area for any more uninvited guests, only to find a single door to the left and yet another group of heaped furniture parts. A small cough from behind him was a reminder that Sam was currently still in darkness and breathing in the smell of his shoes, and he slid himself down to land as lightly as he could on the floorboards.
"How much do you want to bet that the door's locked?" He asked as Sam dropped down beside him, wavering for a moment before catching his balance.
"Nothing. You'd probably rip me off." Sam answered him, working his fingers through his dust covered hair until it was more respectable. Dean was right - the door was locked and it didn't appear that the furniture parts were being shifted any time soon, which left the one unopened door to the right of them. Closed doors made Sam nervous in this place, and he kept his gun at the ready as Dean kicked it open with the edge of his shoe, only to recoil in disgust.
"I take everything back. This is the worst thing I've seen." He managed to choke out, side-stepping one of the many fly-infested bodies swinging from the ceiling panels. The entire room appeared to be vibrating with a low humming that Sam realised was fly larvae and he sucked in a breath in an attempt not to heave at the stench of rotting flesh.
"Just find the exit dammit," He called across and Dean nodded, stepping over a pool of congealed blood to a cleaner patch of flooring when a sudden groan came from behind one of the shelving units. Dean shot a glance across at him for agreement before the two silently moved across to the books piles, swinging around the edge to come face to face with a heap of bloodied corpses. Dean made a noise of disgust in his throat as Sam fought against the nausea and dug his other hand into his pocket, twisting his fingers in the fabric to try and distract himself from the sight in front of him.
"Looks like we're not dealing with spirits after all," Dean stated, bending down to turn over one of the badges to read the name and job written on the front. "Murkoff scientists. The guys were sickos but they still didn't deserve this."
"Dean." Sam alerted him, taking a step forwards and frowning as his suspicions were confirmed. "He's still alive." His brother glanced upwards towards the man impaled on a stake amongst the other bodies, hanging limply as though a marker for a mass grave.
"Hey," Dean surged forwards, reaching out seize at the torn fabric of the shoulder of the uniform. "Hey. It's gonna be okay, but we need to know what happened here." He lifted one had to clasp at the bruised face, focussing the glassy eyes on him. "What happened?"
"They killed us." The raspy voice was thick with pain. "They got out. The Variants."
"Alright, the Variants. What else?" Dean patted at the side of the dying man's cheek. "C'mon, you gotta focus. What else happened?"
Wide bloodshot eyes stared into his forest-green ones. "C-can't fight them." A garbled cough broke through the line of speech and Dean had to fight back his frustration. "Have to hide."
"Alright, alright, but what happened? The variants got out? Who are the variants?"
A sliced up hand grasped at his sleeve. "You've g-got to get the fuck out of this terrible place."
"Yeah, I'm not disagreeing with you there buddy, but what else happened?"
"Dean." Sam's voice was low with a warning, his expression drawn with an unknown mixture of emotions. "He's in pain. He can't tell us anything else."
Dean waved a hand at the younger hunter, before turning back to the dying man. "The variants. Who are they?" There wasn't a reply, and as he withdrew his hand the head fell limp against a torn-up chest. The blood dripping from his fingers brought back too many memories and he shook his head. "Variants, huh?"
"Patients?" Sam guessed, avoiding catching sight of the body. "I mean, how the hell did they gain control?"
"More to the point, why are they still here?" Dean turned away and grinned as he caught sight of the door. "Finally."
"Wait, what about-?" Sam motioned towards the death-struck figure of the impaled worker. "Shouldn't we get him off that or something?"
"He's dead." Dean stated, with raised eyebrows. "He's not exactly complaining. Why, you planning to retrieve all the heads for our pals over there?"
Sam glanced across at the hanging bodies and glared at his brother. "I'm just saying." He muttered, stalking past the other hunter and opening the door slowly, keeping an eye out for any of the rogue patients, catching sight of a sudden movement from the corner of his eye and freezing in an attempt to get a better view. Just behind him, Dean had the right idea to stay silent as the distorted large figure stalked along the corridors ahead, finally disappearing into a room.
"Now what?"
Dean ran a finger along the barrel of his gun, and glanced up to meet Sam's concerned gaze. "That's the only way forwards," he admitted. "And I doubt even these Variants dudes could survive a bullet to the heart."
"I thought you just had rock-salt?" Sam exclaimed with an incredulous look. Dean shrugged, keeping his gaze firmly set forwards as Sam finally stepped out into the corridor. There didn't seem to be any further movement, and he skulked further forwards before shifting past the pile of filing cabinets when a sudden cry from behind him made him spin around. "Dean!" He shouted, catching sight of his brother being yanked backwards by a huge man with swollen features, his skin streaked with blood. Ragged nails scraped across Dean's arm and at the way his brother was struggling, it was evident that he was unable to free himself. Images of the other mutilated victims flooded Sam's mind and horror swept over him as he attempted to twist on the spot, but found himself unable to due to the crates blocking the movement. Instead he desperately fumbled for his gun, pausing as he realised that taking a shot was hopeless. There was all too great a risk that he would hit Dean but not the psychopathic captor behind him.
"Son-of-a-bitch!" Dean yelled, clawing at the gigantic hand that was snaked around his wrist. The massive man snarling down at him was practically taller than Sam and seemed a hell of a lot stronger too. Talon-like fingers pressed down harder around his arm and he thrashed about in the strong grip, scrabbling at the filing cabinets to try and crawl forwards and grab Sam's other hand that his brother was attempting to grab him with, but he was dragged flailing back across the floorboards, splinters scratching at his palms. Sam attempted to fling himself forwards and snatched at the fabric of Dean's sleeve, grabbing his brother's hand before the psychotic patient managed to drag their combined weight forwards. A colossal fist came smashing down at the floor next to Sam, crashing through part of the wooden boards in a blow that would have been strong enough to knock him out, possibly even shatter his collar-bone.
"Sammy." Dean whispered, his gaze flickering over the floorboards, and the knowledge that his brother was going to get hurt if they kept this up all too evident to his mind. "I'm sorry."
"Dean!" Sam grabbed at his hand again, the grip firmer as he linked gazes with him. "Don't let go," he begged silently with his eyes, only to meet Dean's grim expression before his brother released his hand, sending him skidding back towards the crates, nearer safety.
"Little pig." The low growl was spat in his face as Dean scrabbled to get free, while Sam scrambled for his gun only for a kick to send the weapon skidding across the floor to where it was unreachable. Unable to free himself, Dean lashed out frantically before a second arm wrapped around his chest, clenching until he could barely breathe. Pain sparked along his ribs before he found himself being smashed against the window pane, gasping for air still. Pain blurred his vision and still unable to reach his gun it was all he could do to try and draw in a choked breath, panicking as he found he couldn't before the glass behind him shattered and he was falling, smashing into the ground with an impact so hard that the small air he had left was knocked out of him and darkness came crashing down.
"Dean!" Sam's frantic shout reached his ears before he finally lost the battle, falling into deep unconsciousness.
Far above him, Sam watched in horror, unable to reach him as dark eyes lighted on him with a cold twisted pleasure.
"Kill." The snarl echoed around the corridor, and Sam scrambled backwards, flinging himself forwards and pushing himself to his feet as the Variation crashed through the filing cabinets like they weren't there. Raising his arms to protect his head from the splinters of wood, metal and glass fragments, he slipped, crashing through the rotten wood panels to the side, and found himself falling through the air, landing awkwardly on his ankle in the darkness. Unable to move, or even draw breath at first, he waited for the inevitable thud as the patient landed beside him, but the only sounds he heard were footsteps in the distance moving away. He couldn't see anything apart from feel a cold breeze, and sucking in a deep breath, he shifted himself into a sitting position. He pressed one hand against his lower leg, wincing as he felt the warmth of blood leaking from between his fingers.
Dean. "Dammit." He muttered aloud, heaving himself to his feet with a hissed murmur of pain, limping towards the rough outline of a door he could catch sight of as his eyesight adjusted, attempting to wipe his mind of the image of his brother lying unmoving amongst the broken glass, apparently not even breathing so many metres below. To survive a fall from that height without injury would be uncommon enough, even if there weren't psychopaths after them. A screech from somewhere else in the asylum echoed back to him and he froze for a moment, his mind racing through his options. He had to get to Dean before the others did. Unless... He closed his eyes against the shivers that racked his body. His leg was still throbbing and he leant back against the wall. The only option he had left probably wouldn't even work but it was the best hope he had. Focussing his thoughts, he pressed his fingers harder against the sluggishly bleeding wound on his leg.
Cas? Castiel? We're in trouble...Dean's hurt pretty bad. Mount Massive Asylum. Please...get here?
Sliding down the wall into the damp waters flooding over his shoes, he shivered again. "Dammit Cas." He whispered, opening his eyes to find the area still empty, save for himself. "Where are you?"
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Kat x.