"He's in Palo Alto," Mildred blurted out.
Swearing, Dean jerked the Impala back onto the road. "What!"
"That's what we were talking about, Dean." Sam chimed in, backing Mildred up. "Dad had research at the motel, thought there was something big up at Stanford. His message to you. Something big. Us being in danger? It was because I go to school there. But Red says the thing he thinks is up there, isn't. It doesn't line up. Just Dad jumping the gun, being reckless."
Terse, Dean's jaw clicked, words coming out between his teeth. "Dad's at Stanford? Where we just left?"
Uncertainty of that answer still lingered enough to give Mildred pause. "I think so."
"You think so. Well, I hope so. Troy better have been having a grand time bailing from this town and his girlfriend. Most idiotic piece of crap in how he did it, because I swear, I will find the guy and punch him in the face for all the trouble he's put us through!" Dean's palm thumped against the steering wheel, emphasizing his point and releasing his anger.
"I'm right there with you," Sam agreed wholeheartedly. "I could have been with Jess. And spending my time preparing for my interview."
Slowly, Dean wrapped his fingers around the wheel, knuckles whitening.
"And me finishing up my set to deliver it to the Roadhouse personally," Mildred added belatedly. Meeting Garth face to face would be nice. But honestly? While she was not entirely happy about all the emotions Dad put them through, she was very happy about it being the three of them together.
Fingers wrapped tight, one stiff finger tapped along the steering wheel.
Come on Dean, Mildred thought at her older brother. He clearly had a reaction to Sam's words. Voicing preference to Jessica, to his normal and safe life, preparing for more of that. So, she had added, saying without saying that she would rather be elsewhere too. Over being here, together.
It was Sam. Always striving, enraptured by the shine of more to life than what they grew up with. He didn't always realize how it came out. That's why he had her. And he had been the one pushing her to think of what she wanted. Bobby too. But, growing up, it's been Sam. Side by side. Together, often treated like one and therefore collaborated into their own little unit as kids.
Mildred didn't take it personally. She knew his meaning. But Dean often times did take the unheard, the possibility between the lines, very personally. And then stewed in it. Played it off, joked it off, pretended it didn't bother. He needed to—
"Well, Red lied." Dean stated. "I lied."
Suspicious, Sam's head slowly turned to stare at Dean behind the wheel. "About what?"
Lie? No. Mildred would have liked to have personally delivered her set. See Ellen, Bill, and Jo. Visit with the others at the Roadhouse. Meet Garth face to face. But it didn't rank higher than this, the three of them together. Her hope in them being together more in the future. And Dean knew this. As well as being a hope of his too.
But yeah. She made it exceedingly obvious of a terrible lie. The gap, quickly rushing the words out. Avoiding eye contact as she said it. It wasn't supposed to be a good lie.
On the edge of the backseat, Mildred watched intently, silently prodding at Dean with the gaze of her eyes.
Mouth moving back and forth, sucking across his bottom lip, green eyes flicking up to meet Mildred's gaze through the review mirror, Dean did not answer Sam.
"About what, Dean?"
"Why is all of that aimed at me? And not Red too?"
"Dean," Sam growled dangerously. "Was this whole come to Jericho thing a ploy to drag me back in? Try to make me worried about Dad or—"
"Don't be an idiot," Dean snapped. "You're smarter than that, Sammy. Do I look that clever? Would Red straight up lie to anyone if she could help it, much less you? I lied about being pissed off at Troy! It's the first time I've hung out with you in two years! That we've all been together!"
Sam looked as though Dean had bashed him over the head with a rock. Mouth dropping in shock, he goggled at Dean. "I, uh, yeah, but, I thought…"
"There's your problem, nerd boy. You thought!"
"You've been picking fights and intentionally irritating me this whole time, Dean."
"Because you're my kid brother, moron!" Dean whipped his attention off the road to glare at Sam. His green eyes narrowed. "Like you don't irritate the hell out of me a third of the time."
Was this better or worse than when Dean infiltrated Sam and Jessica's apartment? Mildred turned her head back and forth between her two brothers. Dean was wound tight and silent as he drove. Sam was stunned and silent as he stared blankly out the window. At least Dean said it out loud for Sam to hear it. Which… Better?
"Hey, Dean?" It came out tentatively, pensive. Dean grunted, eyes still on the road. "What I said earlier, about being with Jess instead, I'm sorry. She pulled out the air mattress for you. Um, if you want to use it. And after Dad's found…maybe stick around for a while?"
Mildred watched through the rearview mirror to see Dean's face, catching his mouth twitch up into a smirk. His shoulders dropped down. Dean tilted his head at Sam. "No chick-flick moments."
Sam smiled, huffing out a laugh. "All right. Jerk."
"Bitch."
And at the term of endearment, or closest there was with Dean, Sam laughed again.
Better. This was better.
Mildred grinned from the backseat and messed up the hair on top of their heads.
"You pillocks," she teased affectionately.
"Turd," Dean tossed back at her.
"Dean!"
Tires screeching, hands jerking the steering wheel, Dean failed to avoid what had popped up in front of them. Coming to a standstill just before the bridge, the Impala puttered, still in drive and working. All three of them searched the hood area of the vehicle. Breathing increased and minds on overdrive.
No damage.
But that had clearly been Constance who appeared suddenly in the middle of the road. It matched the picture in the newspaper article. And the woman on the road had flickered out of existence when the Impala ran her over. Ghost. Constance Welch.
"Dad salted and burned her." Sam breathed out in denial. "Covered her resting place back up with dirt, she has been salted and burned. How is she still here?"
"Search me. You're the smart one." Dean's eyes flickered around the area, hands and feet at the ready behind the Impala's wheel.
"Salt and burn the whole area under the river?" Mildred asked in disbelief. "I don't see how we can work out any remains from that whole area under the bridge. There's got to be some other way."
"Get her husband out here?"
"Dean!"
"What? It's the guy she's actually mad about. The one she really wants to take things out on. And she hasn't had the chance. Man doesn't live at their old place, probably has not visited in years, any misplaced aggression in the bathroom was before any of her ghostly activity. And the dude looks the type to never leave town, therefore never on this road or crossing the bridge much, and this is the bridge his wife took the swan dive off o—There she is!"
White nightgown flapping in a nonexistent breeze, Constance stood up on the rusty railing. Her head turned. Looked at them inside the Impala. Then, head turning back, stepped right off the bridge and disappeared.
Dean was already out of the car. With Constance gone, Mildred and Sam scrambled to follow. Or tried to. The doors slammed shut in their faces. As did the driver's door Dean had left open in his rush out.
CLICK.
The sound echoed in the enclosed space. Cold did not seep into the vehicle, it was a chilling snap. Mildred grabbed the crowbar beside her.
"Millie! Sammy!"
Dean must have heard the doors slam and locks click. He'd turned from the edge of the railing, already sprinting back over to the Impala. Panicked. Furious.
"Get out of my car, bitch!"
Dean was going to kill them if they scrapped or wacked the Impala's interior.
Better than the alternative. Let him complain and grumble and whine all he wanted and needed to. After this was over. And then let him protest all he wanted. She was going to decorate Baby Imp with her handmade draft stoppers. Filled to the brim with salt.
The temperature inside the car dived down sharply. Where? Breathing out puffs of visible air, Mildred's head spun, crowbar at the ready in her hand. Where was Constance? Up front, Sam had a crowbar as well, his other hand desperately trying to unlock and open the passenger side door. Constance had to be—
The engine revved. Stomach swooping, Mildred snapped her head over to the driver's side. Cutting loose a swear, Sam hurriedly bent himself and fumbled to manage to get his long legs over to that side, free hand reaching outwards. Twisting, he yanked the keys out of the ignition.
The engine revved again. Louder. Angrier.
Swearing louder, Sam fought his own long limbs wanting to make like a pretzel, tumbling onto the driver's side. Reached up with his free hand, yanking himself in some semblance of upright. He waved the crowbar over the steering and dashboard. An attempt to shake off any ghost presence from that area.
Thunk.
Gas pedal fully down.
"Brakes!"
"They're not going down!"
Wheels spinning, screeching, fishtailing, the traction took and the whole Impala slammed Mildred and Sam back into the seats, firing off like a drag racing car down a track for a record. Only with no parachute to slow them down. No finish line in sight. Only Dean.
"DEAN!"
Legs pumping, Dean ran, his own car chasing him down. Easily drawing up on him. Crowbar forgotten, having flown from his grip and tumbled to the floor, rolling away, Sam changed the car's gears into reverse and slammed his foot down even harder on the brakes, trying to gain back some amount of control, to stop or slow the car down. It didn't work. The car picked up speed.
Suddenly, Dean tore off to the side, to the side of the bridge. With an adrenaline filled leap, he was on the railing. A blink later, he'd pushed off the railing, flying out and then falling down into the darkness below.
"Dean!"
Tires shrieking, the Impala jerked to a stop, headlights aimed off the edge of the bridge Dean had leapt off of. Mildred couldn't see anything. Not anything she wanted. The headlights shone straight forward. Not downwards.
How far was the drop? Was Dean okay? They were near the end of the bridge. It couldn't have been too far down? Right? Mildred's mind flashed back to this morning, to the pictures she'd taken off both sides of the bridge. Not far. Not too terribly high. As long as Dean braced for the landing and didn't land on any uneven patch, he should be okay.
The car was still running. With no key.
Constance sat in the passenger side, dark brown eyes settled onto Sam. "Take me home."
With a swallow, Adam's apple bobbing, Sam looked over at her. In the backseat, Mildred slowly slid her bottom, raising her arm up. Positioning the crowbar for a swing.
"No."
His voice was firm.
Constance glared and the car whipped back. Flinging out her free hand to keep balance, Mildred swung the crowbar over the back of the seat, right into Constance. The iron crowbar went through her. Constance's ghostly form flickered and disappeared from sight. Ignoring the smashed window from her swing, Mildred kept her arm raised, crowbar hovering over the front seat, prepared for Constance to return.
Impala still puttering at a standstill, Sam bent across and reached over, twisting in his blind search for his missing crowbar under the front seat.
Constance wasn't gone. It was still cold. And the Impala was still running.
Gasping, Mildred's hands flew to her chest. Fingernails digging, scrapping, burning. Heard a thump and sudden cry from Sam. Her crowbar. She'd dropped it.
Constance flickered beside her and pushed Mildred back. Her fingers sunk into Mildred's chest, tightly clawing and Mildred screamed as something began sizzling.
"Red! Duck!"
Constance was gone before Sam swung her crowbar across the backseat. Mildred gulped at the air, hand testing the area, feeling beneath her collarbone. It stung. "I'm okay," she gasped up at Sam's anxious face peering down at her. "Keep your eyes up there t—SAM!"
Mildred barely registered the pain of her crowbar falling again, one end smacking the bone of her calf on its way down. In the front seat, passenger side, Constance pushed a hand against Sam's chest to push him back further into the driver's spot. Holes sizzled at Sam's zip-up hoodie. Five of them. Breathing hard, his eyes stayed on Constance, who pulled her hand back. She remained sitting on the passenger side, glaring at him.
"Take me home!"
Eyes flicking back to Mildred, Sam licked his lips. "I said no."
The gas pedal slammed down again, car turning around, taking them back the way they came. Toward the Welch's old house. Shifting up in the seat, Mildred kept a hand under her collarbone, palm pressed against it. Under her hand, a tingling and itchy sensation pulsed along with her heartbeat. Mildred pressed her palm more firmly on the area. Hoping it'd help start the healing process faster, keep it together, let the blood start clotting.
His crowbar somewhere under the passenger side and her crowbar back with her, Sam attempted to turn the wheel and pump the brakes to no avail. Keeping her eyes on Constance—the ghost stayed facing forward as the Impala speed them along—Mildred grasped her necklace with her free hand. With a tug, the breakaway clasp gave, magnets yanked apart. Shame it wasn't longer to rest beneath her collarbone, as to not get caught on things or in her way, but the necklace was made of iron. Little round decorations and all.
For now, Constance did not attack or do anything. The ghost was content with the situation so far. The vehicle was driving her home. With a man bringing her home. Mildred was willing to bet that was where most of the missing men, whom picked her up and likely invited her right on in, went missing.
Headlights cut a path, gravel crunching underneath the Impala's tires, slowing to a stop right in front of the old house. The house they had been at what felt like an hour ago, but had probably only been minutes. The engine finally turned off, key or no key be damned. Headlights off, they were left in the dark, save for the old wooden pole that still flickered with lamplight in front of the old place.
Mildred inched her hand along her necklace, adjusting her grasp to one of the ends of it.
"Don't do this."
Constance flickered at Sam's words, dark eyes never looking away from the place that once was her home.
"I can never go home."
Her voice was sad.
Dark and broken and falling apart, it didn't look like a home. No family lived here. Maybe a squatter. Something reaching a point that it may be better to tear it down rather than go to the trouble of fixing it up.
"You're scared to go home."
After Sam's words, Constance flickered again and was gone. As though she had never been. Then she was back. On top of Sam and pushing his chest hard enough that the seat reclined back into Mildred.
That crowbar she'd been toeing up was going to be even more difficult to get and swing up from the floor.
Crawling more firmly onto Sam, Constance lifted her dark eyes to Mildred, as though assuring Mildred was watching and paying attention. The ghost then sunk herself down further into Sam. Whispering against his face, mouth trailing along his jaw and towards his mouth, probing for a kiss. Perhaps more. Considering what kind of man she went for. Those who cheated. As though she could make Sam one.
"Hold me. I'm so col—"
"Can't have him," Mildred enunciated clearly. Into a vehicle that no longer had a ghost to listen.
Necklace swinging from her whipping it across Constance's head, she gave it a settling shake and set it onto Sam's chest. Bewildered, his head tilted back, eyes wide. "Iron. Course. Why the hell am I surprised? I've not been unfaithful, never. And you're not a guy. Have never… Is she changing, getting more powerful with the disappearances increasing?"
"There are woman in white who don't target men, but children." Mildred kept her one hand pressed to her chest, heartbeat steady and affected area still tingling. The other stretched between the reclined front seat and the backseat, down to where a heavy long weight rested precariously along her shin, grasping a hold of the crowbar. "Kids that look like theirs or ones who disobey their parents. Often kids who are sib—"
An ear splitting screech pierced out from the Impala. Specifically, from the driver's seat. It hadn't come from Sam.
Constance's form flickered into view from above him. Upper body pulled back, hand clutched up to her chest, a horrible flash of ugly changing her face into near inhuman. She was furious. Her sight boring holes into Sam's chest. Or the thing laying on his chest, on top of where she'd burned his hoodie earlier.
"Like I said," Mildred said viciously. She twisted her arm, angling the crowbar to work it up and into the open. "You can't have my brother."
And swung. Constance had flickered off of Sam, angered form appearing in front of Mildred. Meeting the full swing of iron. Dissipating from view.
"Never go home." Sam's voice was sudden. As was the epiphany in his voice. "Red! She can never go home. Her kids! We gotta take her home!"
"All right." It was celebratory, glad of the idea, agreeing to both idea and action. But it was also filled in prepared resolve. Because if they were going to take Constance home, they needed her inside the vehicle. Mildred eyed her necklace still resting upon Sam's chest. Good. Sam was safe from any repeat attack. Dropping the crowbar onto the seat, Mildred mentally prepared herself, repeating her earlier statement. "You can't have my brother."
"She won't have time. I got it, I got it. Imp's not far from the house, Red. Feet away. A second, if even." Hand shoving into his hoodie's pocket, keys jangled out. Sam fumbled with them, jamming them at the ignition, trying to line it up. The darkness and several years unfamiliarity with the Impala working against him. The key slid in and the engine roared back on.
No sooner than Sam managed it, Constance reappeared above him. Her face snarled at the sight of the necklace. His arm lashed out, changing the gear, foot already hitting full force onto the gas. Constance disappeared. Sam let up a bit, frantically looking for her. She needed to be in the car if they were to take her home with it.
Voice strained, Mildred shouted out. "Go! Go, go, go! She's here, Sam, go!"
A second later, the Impala had shot forward and crashed right through the wrap around porch, right into the front room of the old Welch home.
Mildred sank with relief in the backseat. Hand and chest bleeding. Burned and pulsed and tingled and itched something fierce. Shifting her attacked hand back into place, she held the palm of it firm against herself. She glanced down to it. It was bleeding and had felt deep, but it was not as bad as she feared. Both attacks from Constance had felt deeper and penetrating. As though the woman wanted to claw heart and Mildred out of existence.
She shivered.
"I hope that did the trick."
Mildred did not want a repeat performance. On her or anyone.
"Red."
The low intonation got her attention instantly. Finding Sam's eyes staring out the passenger window—or where the passenger window should have been—Mildred turned to look as well.
Constance stood in the middle of the front room. Her focus was not on Mildred and Sam, but on the floor. A dusty framed photograph.
Mildred pulled the handle, opening the backdoor, and grabbed a hold of the crowbar she'd put on the seat as she inched out. She kept her left hand steady on her chest. The right one held the crowbar low, to not appear too threatening, but having it there.
They'd taken Constance home.
Now what?
Form flickering, Constance picked up the photograph. Most of the dust around the subjects of the photograph had been swiped clear already. Mildred strained her eyes, trying to see the faces clearly in the photograph. Constance. And two younger ones. Her kids.
Her head snapped up, glaring at Mildred, throwing the photograph to the ground.
"Red!"
Catching movement from the corner of her eye, Mildred decisively took two long strides across. And, with both hands on the crowbar, swung. And then hit the ground as the object slammed up against her.
Reaching up, she used it—a bureau—to pull herself back up.
"I'm fine, Sam."
She could hear him getting out, wood planks sliding and cracking as he stumbled over them. Not knowing if he found the crowbar from the front, Mildred kept her focus on searching for where Constance would pop up again. Sam at least had her necklace. Which was something. Better than nothing.
Boots scrapping against some object, Mildred set her feet, eyes on Constance who stood at the base of the stairs. Her grip on the crowbar tightened when the lights flickered. Mildred frowned, crowbar lowering slightly. Constance looked scared.
For a ghost, that was new.
Mildred followed Constance's frightened gaze. Up the stairwell. Where the lights had sputtered on. Where there was water trickling down. Pouring down. Puddles forming in the dips of the stairs and a large one growing at the base of them. Where Constance's form stood, staring up the stairs.
A boy and girl stood at the top. Holding hands as a team. Their eyes didn't bother with Mildred or Sam, whom Mildred could feel looming behind her. Their eyes were on Constance. Their mother. These were her kids.
"You've come home to us, Mommy."
Suddenly they were behind Constance. Enveloping her into a hug, embracing their mother.
A surge of energy had Mildred stepping back into Sam, her arms shifting up before her face, gripping tight to the crowbar for lack of anything else to have up against what could come. Her brother's long arm wrapped around her, tugging her close, stepping up against her side. Most of his taller form blocked the bright light, his back to it.
It did not block out Constance screaming.
Through her arms and over Sam's shoulder, Mildred saw the energy grow, warping the image of family reunion as all three of them melted. Twisting and sinking and dripping until they were just a puddle on the floor. Silence sounded like a roar through the suddenly darkened area, no longer lit up by the stairway lights or the blast of energy that took them all.
Mildred shook her head. Trying to get the loud silence out of her ears. And nudged at Sam's side, stepping around and past him. He came with. Both of them standing at the edge of the puddle, not daring to step in it, but checking it out just the same.
"That's why she could never go home. She was too scared to face her kids."
"I can never go home." Mildred repeated the phrase Constance said. And nodded. "Nice work Sam."
"Thanks. You okay Red?"
She huffed, smiling at his concern. "I'm fine. You thought I've only been helping with research and stuff with Bobby, didn't you? I've kept in shape, done a few hunts. I can handle a little bit of blood. After all, I see a lot more of it than you do. Ah, wait. That's a line I use on Dean. Make him go red and shut up. Sorry. Been a while. What did I used to say to you?"
Mildred asked it with a tease, causing Sam to snort out a short laugh.
"Yeah, you're fine."
"So what do you think?" She looked back down to the puddle. "She must have left some skin or hair or something on the kids?"
Sam looked to the puddle as well. "Must have. And they've been here, waiting for her to come back. She stopped Baby Imp out in the yard. And Constance must have disappeared when Dad salted and burned her body, I can't see him ever leaving a job undone, rushed as he might have done it. But that would have been out back. There must have been something of Constance on her kids to keep her here after a salt and burn. Until we brought her home."
"That was the first thing she said. Take me home."
Which as soon as she got there, she said she could never go home and never went inside. The action which moved her out of this plane of existence. Mildred frowned, trying to figure out why Constance had, at first, been so insistent on being brought home.
"I suppose," Mildred began slowly. Parsing through the idea while she said it. "She never remembered, not until she was able to see the place. She must not have remembered her moment of insanity, husband cheating, the accident, her kids being dead… Until she came back."
"Couldn't bear to face the truth of what she'd done." Sam raised eyebrow, agreeing and nodding. "Yeah. Makes sense. I was more thinking of how we focused on the husband and cheating bit, completely forgetting about the kid part of it. Until you brought it up and Constance saying how she could never go home right before."
She drew in a breath, eyes on the puddle. "Poor Troy," she commented.
"Yeah."
Sam turned on his heel, gazing right over the top of Mildred's head. She turned as well. All there was was a broken down place, made even worse by the hole in the wall. Caused by the car Sam drove right through it.
"So. How well do you think Dean is going to take the sight of Baby Imp?"
Dust coated the black paint and wooden planks scattered on top, a few scratches, and a car window bashed out. It looked like there was a headlight out on the old muscle car too. There was no way around this. The answer was obvious.
"Not well." She glanced over to Sam. "Going to tell him you drove it through the old place to bring Constance home?"
"Uuuh. Hey!" His head spun to her. "You smashed out the window."
They both looked back to the car.
"I foresee a death threat in our future," Mildred proclaimed in a wavering dramatic tone. She waggled one hand up, faking a terrible mysterious noise. The hand fell back down to her side. "Well. Plus side. Dean may like screwing for himself, but Baby Imp is not screwed up. She's still running. The death threat will be all bark and no bite. But that's pretty much Dean."
Sam huffed, smiling. "Yeah. Pretty much. Guess we better double check the place. Sweep through with an EMF meter, maybe do something about the kids' graves out back?"
Already moving toward the Impala, Mildred nodded. "Might as well. But also, Dean's still all the way back at the bridge. We need to go back and make sure he's o—"
"BABY!"
Legs bursting, a shadowed form was seen running up to the house through the gaping hole in it caused by the 'baby' in question.
"I think Dean's fine," Sam informed Mildred dryly. Then, brows furrowing, he watched Dean tearing up through the front yard. "How fast is Dean running? The bridge is about two miles away and we were gone for what, ten minutes?"
Mildred shrugged. And turned to Sam, eyebrow raised at him. "Want to blame it all on Constance and her kids?"
His face lit up. "And watch Dean fall hook, line, and sinker? Always. When do I ever not? My mouth is shut. Man." Sam shook his head, disbelief and awe waring on his face. "How the hell has he not figured out you lying, Red? Especially and apparently since you two have spent more time together, just the two of you, for hunts and stuff?"
"Not a clue."