Chapter 4 – in the funhouse
A/N: It's Tuesday. Let the madness continue!
Disclaimer: I don't down Supernatural. This is for entertainment only, for Phoebe, and not for profit.
Inside looks different. Bigger. Furniture and desks piled up all over the damn place, more than I remember from before. The doors are smaller, crooked, and the walls look…funny. Slick, like human skin, not plaster and paint.
I see holes in the floor, big ones, big enough for me to fall in.
Me or Dad.
I can't see what's down there, can't stop long enough to get a good look.
This is pissing me off a little. Don't need any fucking help. Don't know why all this has changed. I can do this by myself. I can. I can help Dad rest.
Couple minutes later I've got my Colt out. I'm easing around this big pile of office furniture stacked in what used to be the basketball court. I think the pool's straight through the rear wall, right behind me, but I'm not sure.
Right side hurts like a bitch. Gotta keep quiet, control my breathing. Dad's on the other side of the pile.
I know he is.
"So how long has it been?" Dad calls out. He doesn't sound mad.
"What?"
"How long have you been inside my son?" He's trying to trick me, trying to get me talking, so he can track me. Or he's staying put. He's trying to get me to come to him. "Must have been after I left. Dean was fine, before."
Like this is all my fault, huh? Like I got careless with the salt lines, or sloppy. Bastard. "No, I wasn't."
"What?"
"I wasn't fine. Didn't want you to leave. Sam ditched us. And then you up and leave me. No word, no warning. How the hell else do you think I'm supposed to feel about that, Dad?"
Dad laughs, and I don't like the sound.
"Damn, you are good. I'll give you that. Got it all wrong though."
God, my head hurts. It's like I can hear my heart pounding in my head and my ribs. I close my eyes and lean up against the side of this metal filing cabinet. Wanna rest. Just…just for a moment, then I'll be okay.
"I'm not your father, you bastard." Dad sounds pissed now.
Shit. He's right behind me.
I jerk upright as I turn around. I raise the Colt and pull the trigger. I was going for a head shot, and I miss that one by a mile. Dad goes left, and then we're nose to nose again. He's whaling on my sorry ass just like he did before.
I reach out with my left and my fingers brush against the hilt of my knife in Dad's shoulder. I twist it, push it into him, and Dad growls, he fucking roars at me.
Something hard slams into the right side of my face, and my right side, over and over again, and I nearly lose it then. Never mind seeing stars, everything gets nearly black as I stumble backwards. I got a death grip on my Colt and nothing else as Dad twists my arm down.
My fingers close around this metal handle, and I yank on whatever the hell this is, pull on it as I fall backwards. Turns out it's a small desk drawer. It slides free and I got just enough in me to swing it up. I smack Dad right upside the head with it as he leans over me.
He lets go of my arm and falls back, and I start backpedaling. Can't see, really having a hard time breathing now, but I've still got my gun, so I raise it. My finger tightens on the trigger. I can hear Dad, track him by the sound.
Not gonna be able to do this by the pool after all.
No, Dean, Anne Marie says inside my head, and I feel a jolt as the floor drops out from under me. I'm twisting, falling, and everything goes pitch black.
Cold.
Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio
I know I'm screwed even before I open my eyes.
infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica.
Can't use my arms, for one thing. They're behind me. Colt's gone.
Ergo draco maledicte et omnis legio diabolica adjuramus te.
Metal around my wrists, so I know Dad's got me handcuffed. Got my back to the wall, and my ass on the floor.
Cessa decipere humanas creaturas,
No sense in me playing possum. Dad's not gonna fall for that.
eisque aeternae Perditionis venenum propinare.
When I open my eyes he's kneeling right there beside me. It's dark where ever this is, but not dark enough where I can't see. The right side of Dad's face is all bruised and bloody where I nailed him with that desk drawer, from the top of his head down to the side of his chin. I can see his breath in the air, all white and thick. I can see mine too.
I jerk back when he hits me full in the face with water. Makes my skin get even colder, and my teeth chatter.
Holy water.
My eyes don't turn black. My skin doesn't steam up. Nothing.
Dad's shoulders sag a little. We stare at each other for a long moment. Dad slips his flask back into his pocket.
I don't like the way he's looking at me. It's like he pities me or something. That's not right. There's nothing wrong with me. I'm fine. He's the one who got us into this whole fucking mess, not me. He's the reason Sam left.
"Dean," Dad whispers. "What the hell is wrong with you?" He reaches out, puts one hand on my left shoulder, and I don't want that. Don't want him touching me. Don't want him looking at me like that. He looks soft and worried and tired and weak and that's not the way Dad should look. I don't wanna see this. Feel this. I don't.
"Get your damn hands off me." I snap at his hand with my teeth. Not even close, but he gets the idea.
Dad's eyes narrow and he pulls his hand away slowly. He's looking at me different now, like I'm a problem he has to solve.
"We can fix this, Dean."
I smirk at him then. "I don't need fixing, Dad."
"Gotta get you outta here, to someplace safe." He opens his jacket, and I see my Colt snugged into his front waistband. Dad pulls a flashlight out of his left jacket pocket. "Call Jim Murphy, or Bobby Singer. I have to know what I'm dealing with, first. They messed with your mind, son. This isn't you."
"It isn't? How the fuck would you know, Dad?"
"What?"
"How the hell would you know this isn't me? I'm just an extra pair of hands, right? Go here, do this, kill that."
This isn't the way I want this to go. I don't want to say this stuff, but I'm aching all over and Dad is pissing me off. He stares at me for a moment, a really hard moment, like he's looking deep below my skin, trying to see who's really in there.
"Let's go." He takes me by the arm and pulls me up onto my feet. I look up and see the hole in the floor above my head.
"You'll be fine, Dean," Dad mutters, but it's like he's talking to himself. "It'll be okay."
Dad lies just as good as he ever did. Only difference now is I don't believe a word he says.
We're lost.
I can't even tell where the damn pool is, much less where the hell we are. Must have passed underneath that same damn hole I fell through twice now. At least I think it's the same damn hole. There's frost everywhere. There's no way to climb up, and the walls are slick.
I limp along, right next to Dad. Ribs feel like a friggin' elephant has been tap-dancing on my side, and my head doesn't feel much better.
Dad did that.
Dad hit me.
I was only trying to help him, and he wouldn't let me. He wouldn't listen. I groan a little as my ribs shift inside. It hurts. I get pissed off all over again.
What kind of father does that to his own kids?
Your Dad can't help it, Dean. He's old and tired. Parents get like that sometimes.
It's Anne Marie. I'm so glad to hear her voice inside my head. My knees buckle, and Dad doesn't get it, he can't hear her. He stops and steadies me, lifts me up by my left shoulder.
"You okay, Dean?"
"Y-yeah…" I can't stay mad at him. I can't. He's tired. We both are.
You need to help him, Dean. You're the only one who can.
"Do you remember anything?" Dad rumbles as he shines the flashlight all around. "Anything at all?"
Won't be long, Dean, Anne Marie whispers. Not long at all…
Faces push in through the walls. They're covered with a thin glaze of ice. They're the faces of the people who were here before. The ones who died. The ones who came up from the water in the pool.
…boy…
They're all around watching us, and I can tell Dad can't see a damned thing.
…you can do this for us, boy…
"No." I shake my head as I lean against him.
I don't feel so good.
I see myself slashing at Dad with my knife.
...do this for us…
I tried to shoot Dad. I didn't…I didn't mean that.
I look at him and the side of his face is all busted up. Because of me. I did that.
I wouldn't…I couldn't...
"Dad?"
"Yeah, Ace?"
" 'm sorry for the things I said. This is all my fault."
Dad smiles a little then. "No, it's not. Shit happens, kiddo."
I see the way Dad's looking all around. I can practically hear him think. He wants to uncuff me, wants to put me up on his shoulders so that I can reach up, climb through one of those holes, and then pull him up. But he's not sure about me, doesn't know if I'm going to go off on him or not.
I know what I'd do if he uncuffed me.
I couldn't stop myself. I don't want to.
"Dad, please…"
I wanna tell him to get the hell away from me, but my throat closes up.
Have you forgotten our little talk so soon, Dean? Anne Marie hisses inside my head.
My knees buckle. Dad lifts me up again, and it's too late.
I smell water in the air all around us.
I take a deep breath, and the floor underneath our feet begins to crack. Pieces of ice and grey tile float upward, slow and lazy. The air around Dad and me gets thick, dark.
The air turns to water, and it's so damn cold it shocks me, chills me right down to my bones. Dad's feet leave the floor, and so do mine.
Be a good boy, Dean. You can do this, Anne Marie whispers. The cuffs around my wrists break apart.
I can help him now. I can do this.
Dad's eyes narrow when he sees my hands are free. He tries to grab me, but he's numb already. I hit him in the belly hard enough to drive the air out of him, and I hit him again until his head rocks back and his eyes close.
Dad goes limp. I put my arms around him and kick for the lights above, for the surface. My lungs are burning, and I'm cold, wet and shivering when we break the surface. We're in the pool now. It's filled with broken pieces of ice and dark green water.
I can barely feel the weight of Dad's body in my arms. It takes a while for me to haul him up out of the water once we make it over to the edge. I turn him over on his back, check his vitals.
He's pale and cold. He's still breathing. Still breathing, but not for long.
Anne Marie fades into view right beside me, and at first I see black robes, pale skin, and black tattoos, but I know that's not right.
I'm shaking and shivering. I'm so damn cold.
Dad needs me. Dad needs me to do this for him.
I blink again, and Annie Marie's there.
She has this sad look on her face as she hands me the knife.
Two more chapters to go after this, folks. Next one posted Sunday, sooner if Real Life permits.