"We need to get out of here," Dean said.
Sam nodded. He drew a breath, then winced, pulling his right arm in protectively toward his side.
Dean looked critically at his brother, suddenly aware of his too-shallow breathing and drawn shoulders. "How bad?" he asked.
Without waiting for an answer, he moved to Sam's side and pushed his arm out of the way, gathering the bloody shirt up to look at the wound in his side.
"Shit, Sam," he said, taking in the angry, torn skin and darkening bruises spreading over Sam's rib cage. He put a hand over the area and pressed gently to feel for displaced bones. Sam flinched.
"These are broken," Dean informed him in his big-brother voice.
"I know," Sam said grimly, stepping back and pulling his shirt out of Dean's grasp.
"That's gonna hurt like a bitch. Here." Dean slid his arms out of his flannel shirt and yanked his t-shirt briskly over his head. Ignoring Sam's questioning look, he gripped the collar of the shirt in both hands and deftly tore it in two.
"Dean, what are you—"
"Pressure bandage," he said, matter-of-factly. "Give me your jacket."
Sam tried, but it took Dean's help to slip his arms free, and even that much movement left him seeing spots. He cooperated and allowed Dean to expertly wrap the makeshift bandage tightly and securely around his chest, grateful that each breath was no longer stabbing sharp pain into his side. It ached, but with less shrieking intensity. The relief was instant and dramatic.
Dean handed his jacket back him with a knowing grin, and Sam took it appreciatively. "Thanks," he said.
"Better?"
"Yes. A lot, actually."
As Dean was putting his flannel shirt back on, sans t-shirt, Sam nodded to the hole in the wall behind them. "Do I even want to know how that happened?"
Dean chuckled. "Let's just say I'm not exactly winning friends and influencing people here, at least as far as our friend Jacob Marley is concerned."
"Abe Montgomery?" Sam corrected. "The office manager? You saw him again?"
"Potato, po-tah-to. I must have royally pissed him off. He tried to put a desk through my head."
Sam frowned at the broken wall. "Impressive."
"Yeah, either way, we need to ditch this place." Dean looked down and pointedly avoided looking at the glass cases. "It's creepy, and not in a way I like."
Sam tapped Dean's shoulder. "Let's head back this way," he said, beckoning back toward the way he'd come when he found Dean. "The room I was in seemed to have a little more light coming in, which might mean it's closer to the exit. And Dean, there's a kid here."
"A what?"
"Yeah, a kid. His name's Daniel, he's just a little kid. And I think something's keeping him here, probably the ghost that's haunting this place. We need to find him and get him out."
"Right. Okay. Any idea where to start looking?"
"He was with me when I woke up. Let's start there."
Walking further into the dark hallway, Dean began to feel as though the walls were pressing in on him. The row of glass cases continued on, each one containing a pale, still figure. Dean kept his eyes straight ahead. A sense of growing unease gnawed at him, and he struggled with the urge to just bolt and put as much distance between them and this place as possible. He knew that as long as there was someone to save, Sam would insist that they do the saving. But he still felt shaken by the sight of his supposedly dead brother under glass. On some level, he found himself wanting to just cut their losses and quit while they were ahead.
"This is it," Sam said, as the hallway turned and widened into a larger storage room. He called out, "Daniel! It's me, Sam. Are you here?"
Dean hung back. "Sam, I dunno, man. I have a bad feeling. You're sure there's a kid in here?"
"I didn't make him up, Dean!" He pointed to the center of the room inside of a maze of stacked boxes and file cabinets. "Right around here, this is where I think I was when I saw him."
"And, uh… how hard did you hit your head?"
Sam shot him a disgusted look. "I talked to the kid. Okay? He led me to you." Sam froze. "Wait –shh! Did you hear that?"
Dean listened. He didn't hear anything, but at the edge of his field of vision he caught a brief glimpse of a glowing figure. He held up a hand to Sam, looking back to catch his eye meaningfully. They drew back, hugging the outer wall. Dean motioned to Sam to follow. They edged soundlessly toward the ghost with Dean in the lead.
They both froze when the heard the voice through the towers of boxes stacked in the open storage room.
"Did you think I wasn't going to find out?" The voice was shouted, raised in anger, and—Dean noticed—the voice of a kid. He shot Sam a questioning look. Sam cautiously peered around the stack of boxes that hid them from sight. He looked back at Dean and nodded, looking slightly bewildered. That was the kid. Dean leaned up against Sam to join him in spying.
The ghost, old man Montgomery, the thing that had been powerful enough to tear down a solid wall, was cowering on his knees in front of a pale, skinny boy who looked to be at most eight years old.
The boy held out a small hand toward the ghost, palm facing out.
"I told you," the boy said evenly. Suddenly, a blinding blast of white lightning shot from the boy's palm and through the translucent form of Montgomery's ghost. The ghost shrieked in pain. "What's mine…" Another blast, another agonizing shriek. "Is mine!"
At that point, a stream of continuous lightning streamed from the boy's hand forcing the ghost's back to arch as he writhed and pleaded with the boy to stop. Smoke poured from his ears, his mouth, his nose. His eyes seemed to be superheating with the same white lightning that was coursing through his ghostly form, and with a final, terrible cry, the ghost disintegrated in a sickening burst of light.
The boy huffed and rubbed his hands together disinterestedly.
Dean and Sam immediately pulled back out of sight and pressed against the stack of boxes, looking at each other with wide, terrified expressions. What the fuck! Dean mouthed.
They heard the boy chuckle. "Guys," he said. "I know you're there. It's okay, I'm not going to hurt you."
Dean tried to hold Sam back, but Sam stepped around the corner into the room with Daniel, his hands raised in a show of good will. "Hey Daniel," he said, trying not to sound freaked. "It's me, Sam."
"I know." He smiled. The kid seemed to have lost the skittishness he'd had when Sam had first encountered him. "You're staying with me!"
"Oh. Oh, see, actually we…" Sam looked back at Dean who was hanging back nervously, his hand twitching like he wished he was holding a weapon. "We came to find you. To, ah, get you out of here with us."
Both Dean and Sam's gaze fell on the slightly scorched spot on the ground where old man Montgomery's ghost had met its end. It was funny how suddenly they seemed to need a new Plan B.
Daniel's smile faded a bit. "You can't leave. I just got you."
"Got us?" said Dean, stepping closer to Sam so that he could signal his brother to make a break for it.
"Well, I mean…" Daniel said, looking down at his hands. "The ones that don't want to stay, I have to punish them. And then they get all broken."
