AN: To those who reviewed…you guys rock my world. I'm so glad someone likes Peggy. There's hope for you yet my girl!
4 – We Have a Plan
I get woken up about an hour and a half later for my CAT scan – "Just a precaution," the nurse tells me, because I reacted well to all the earlier stimuli tests. I'm guessing that means all my higher brain functions are intact. No brain-damage for this little brown duck!
When I get back to my room (taken back more like it – the nurse, Trudy, insisted I get wheeled there and back in a wheelchair. Sure it looks like fun, but you feel like a bit of a dork) both Sam and Dean are sitting in a set of plastic chairs, talking in quiet voices.
They look up as I'm brought in. I must look a sight. My hair and skin still has dried fake blood on it and what make-up I'd thought to put on this morning has probably run. My clothes are in a plastic bag by the bed and I'm wearing one of those horrific hospital gowns, though luckily not the backless type. I'm really dreading coming face to face with a mirror.
I get a smile from both of them and a cheerful, "Hey, there she is," from Dean. "Gotcha somethin'," he adds, putting a very familiar bag in my lap as I climb back onto the bed.
It's my overnight bag. I'd packed it this morning in preparation for going home at the end of today's shoot…my toiletries pack, yesterday's clothes and a spare shirt are in here. Oh my god, I get to be clean!
I grin at Dean. "You are made of awesome."
Dean preens. Sam rolls his eyes but smiles briefly. I continue to grin and think with renewed desperation about showering. Ooh, there's body-wash in here. Nectarine and white ginger. Brilliant…
"Peggy?"
I peer at the pair of them through hanks of my crusty hair. Uh-oh. We're back to frowny faces.
"What's up?" I ask warily.
"Well, we've kind of hit a slight hitch in our masterful plan…"
"What Dean is trying to say is that –"
"You won't have to stay overnight for observation," Dean cuts his brother off.
"I won't?" I ask cheerfully. Awesome!
"Well, not hospital observation, anyway," Dean mutters, hands jammed in his pockets.
I get my own frowny face out.
"Whatcha mean, not hospital observation?" I ask, back to wariness. "What's happened?"
More brotherly exchanging of looks; a conversation in a quarter of a minute's eye contact. I get a pang of homesickness. Me and my little brother Morgan used to be like that. I haven't seen him in six months. Jeez…
In any case, Sam's looking back at me, all careful and solicitous-like. "The thing is, we're spread a little thin. We think Walter will go after someone again tonight while the production is still shut down and we need to be there to stop him. On the other hand he might come after you..."
"And you can't be in two places at the same time," I finish. Fantastic. Now I feel really stink. Nice going Peg, you just had to stick your spanner in the works and go off to sulk where there're rabid ghosts running round.
Sam nods. "Yeah. But we figure we can keep you safe if you're in the trailer while we deal with Walter."
Colour me curious. "How?"
"Remember I told you there are certain things ghosts don't like?"
I wrack my much-abused brain. "Salt and iron, right?"
"Yeah. Well, we can fortify the trailer with salt-lines, and I'm pretty sure we've got a length or two or iron chain in the car," he glances at Dean for confirmation, who nods back, "and I suppose…we could give you a gun."
Jesus. Wow. Really?
"Okay," I say.
Clearly this is not the reaction they were expecting.
Dean's eyebrows migrate up his forehead. "Okay?"
I nod. "Well, yeah. I mean it's not like I've never been shooting before."
A wide grin blooms on Dean's face. "Well, aren't you just full of surprises. How is it you can shoot, Peggy?"
"Rabbits," I explain. "They periodically set up camp in one of our back paddocks back home and make a nuisance of themselves. We'd get up early and ride out there to catch them while they were all out feeding."
"Catch 'em with what?"
I shrug. ".22 Mag rounds in a Sako Quad, mostly. Dad and Nick both have shotguns, but the .22's are quieter, less recoil. More comfortable if you're going to lying around on a soggy hill shooting for an hour or two."
Dean looks thoughtful. I wonder if they've ever come up against a problem like this; having to teach someone to use a new firearm in a few hours. Maybe they've never had to do this; protecting a potential victim while fending off the predator. Maybe they've always arrived after the fact, dealt to the culprit and moved on, preventing further carnage that way.
Despite the situation, or maybe because of it, my curiosity is flaring up. Maybe if we all live through this (and the pair of them are so quietly confident, I'd like to think it's a given) I'll ask Sam a bit more about the whole ghost hunting gig, about how they find them in the first place, how he and Dean usually work a job.
"Pump-action," Dean says suddenly.
"Whut?"
"Pump-action, y'know, shotgun," he elaborates. "We'll give you one of the pump-action shotguns for tonight. They're better for beginners. I mean you shouldn't need it, me and Sam should have everything under control, but…"
"It pays to be prepared," Sam finishes.
I nod. "We do we need to leave?"
"We'll wait for your CAT results to come back then head off. It shouldn't take that long."
"Well, in that case," I say, climbing out of bed, overnight bag in hand, "I'm gonna go make use of my present. See you boys in a bit."
Off each of the small ER rooms is a bathroom complete with industrial-type, steel tray shower. I really don't care what kind of shower it is so long as there's buckets of hot water.
I've shed my stupid hospital gown and underwear and am about to hop in and make good use of the body-wash when through the door I hear Dean say, "Dude, you realize she's naked in there?"
"Dean!"
"And soapy…"
"Oh for crying out loud!"
I laugh and step under the spray. Things could be worse.
The salt runs in a thick, bright line from one side the trailer's doorway to the other. It's the last line put down, the air-con vents, windows and even the drains already covered.
"That should do it," Sam says, straightening up and surveying his work.
It's not just the salt lines either. In the centre of the trailer's main room we've set up a sort of camp for me. There's one of the leather armchairs and a blanket, as well as a few water bottles and a pack of sandwiches which are going to be my dinner. I've got my sawn-off, and a box of spare shells. There's a wide circle of salt around the 'camp', just in case, as well as the loops of iron chain.
Sam's not done just yet though. He's going from window to window and writing in what might be Hebrew on the glass with a paint marker.
I watch him curiously for a few seconds then look a question at Dean, whose pauses loading shells into his own shotgun. He gives me a perplexed shrug then says to Sam, "Y'know sometimes, Sammy, less is more."
"I thought that was just with make-up," I can't help interjecting. That gets me a purse-lipped 'don't-be-a-dork' look, which, coming from Dean is kind of…anyway.
"It's for protection, Dean," Sam replies over his shoulder.
"Yeah…against revenants. Do you see any rabid corpses running around?"
I'm sorry, what? Did he just say…? Seriously?
Rabid corpses?
As if ghosts weren't enough to deal with…
Sam's shoulders have pulled into a tense line, and I can see his knuckles have gone pale where he's gripping the marker. Dean has his eyes narrowed, studying his brother.
"Every little bit helps…helps protect her, Dean."
Maybe it's just me, or maybe it's that determined, faintly fragile edge to his voice, but I get the feeling that for a second there, Sam wasn't talking about me.
Dean looks back down at his gun, nodding a little as though his suspicions have just been confirmed and says, perfectly evenly, "Right. Every little bit helps."
At his brother's words, the tension goes out of Sam and he finishes the…spell or whatever it is, the final line of text ending it a rather elegant knot-work on the back of the trailer's door.
Dean just finishes showing me how to reload my sawn-off when Sam's phone goes off. The conversation is brief – "Hi…okay…yeah…when did he leave?...okay, thanks Marcy."
"Was that Marcy Dales?" I ask. Marcy is one of the office-block secretaries. She's a real sweetie; when I was missing home she invited me over for dinner and I've babysat her kids a few times.
Sam nods. "We told her we were friends of Marty's after you, um, left. She said she'd call me when Marty got called out of the office. He left two minutes ago."
"Think its Walter?"
"Yeah, probably luring Marty to stage 9."
"Time to go, then."
"Yeah…" Sam turns and looks at me, all concern and seriousness. "You'll be okay Peg, promise."
I give him a half smile. "I know," I say. "Go."
He nods, then follows his brother out of the trailer.
I settle back in the armchair, shotgun cradled across my thighs, and wait.
AN: Bit of a little filler chapter this one, but I really wanted to show Peggy getting to know the boys, even if it was only in a small way.