The Aspen Spirit
Chapter Nine
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Posting a little early this week as I won't have online access over the weekend...
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It was dark. So, very, very dark. When Dean slid nauseatingly back to consciousness, it took him a moment to work out whether or not his eyes were actually open. He blinked furiously a few times, adrenaline giving him a quick push back to full awareness when the flutter of his eyelashes against his cheeks gave confirmation that his eyes were opening and closing, but he still couldn't see anything at all.
For a crazed second that made his gut lurch, he thought he might be blind. He fumbled his lighter out of the front pocket of his jeans and thumbed the wheel. To his relief, it sparked and lit, the tall yellow flame as dazzling as a supernova after the thick velvet of the enveloping darkness.
He pulled himself together with some difficulty, a bit befuddled by the blow to his head and the sudden adrenaline spike. He realised that he was sitting on a hard surface, the gritty, cold feel of it beneath his fingertips suggesting it was probably concrete. He was in the open air, his back against a timbered wall that stretched out to either side of him and above him far beyond the reach of the small, yellow circle of light cast by the lighter flame. He thought it might be the wall of a large building; the wind sound around and above it suggesting huge area and bulk. There was nothing else visible but the edge of the concrete and some grass, although the noise of moving branches and a smell of pine needles made it clear that there were trees somewhere close by. There was no sign of Lacey.
Dean pushed himself to his feet; he wasn't going to wait around for her to come back. The blood thumped unpleasantly in his forehead, but it wasn't too bad. At the age of just twenty, he already considered himself a bit of an expert when it came to injuries to his head and this was about a five… ten being hospitalisation and one being a hiss and a grunt and a rub of the scalp.
There was no warning at all. One minute he was supporting himself against the building with one hand, the other holding the flickering lighter aloft. The next minute, she was there. Rage throbbed in currents of energy through her pale figure as she lashed out at him, sending the lighter spinning in a catherine wheel of sparks through the air. It landed on the grass somewhere and went out. The darkness rushed back in immediately, shrinking his world to the feel of the wall under his hand and the dim glow of the ghostly woman in front of him.
Dean launched himself past her, keeping tucked tight against the side of the building, then backed off as quickly as he could, hoping he didn't fall.
"You're mine," she informed him, a sibilant hiss underlying her words.
"That's gettin' old, you ugly ass bitch." Suddenly, unexpectedly, Dean was pissed. "What is your freakin' problem anyhow? You're not my type lady. I'm not your dead boyfriend! Look!" He gestured to his chest, dimly illuminated by the glow from the spectral form. "Look, ALIVE! See? You're dead, and it's time you moved the hell on."
She was still gawking at him when a figure appeared around the end of the building behind her, flashlight in one hand and shotgun levelled in the other. "DEAN!"
Recognising his brother's voice, Dean dropped to the floor, landing facedown with a thud. His head protested at the sudden movement, but the blast of the shotgun at close quarters was still enough to hurt his ears and send a small shower of something across his hair and back. Lacey disappeared with a shriek.
"Dean!" Sam was pawing clumsily at his shoulder, the flashlight still in his hand.
"Uh." Dean said, unable to think of anything more appropriate to the occasion. He got up in clumsy stages, scooping the shotgun out of Sam's hands in the process.
"I got it." Sam told him, his tone affronted.
Dean took a deep breath, feeling better with the weight of the weapon in his hands. "I know you do dude, but the floaty chick is after making this a permanent arrangement, so if she shows, you run and I'll slow her ass down."
He was about to ask where they were, but Lacey reappeared, so close to him that her dress crackled with blue light at the proximity. He recoiled instinctively, but still took the majority of the force behind her two-handed push to his chest. He fell backwards, rolling back onto his feet as he bellowed to Sam to "Get outta here!"
Sam hesitated for a second, then took off running, the bobbing flashlight illuminating the narrow path alongside the huge building. It was the main barn, Dean realised belatedly. The ranch house was on the other side.
He sprinted after Sam, plunged into darkness again as his brother rounded the corner. Lacey was right behind him; he turned and fired, blundered on again, blinded by the muzzle flash. Tried to fire again, and realised the shotgun was empty.
"Fuck!"
Dean's hair lifted from his scalp as she closed her fingers on his shoulder with bruising force. He swung the barrel of the shotgun at her, hoping there was enough iron in the steel to slow her down. She hissed and released him, but the steel didn't repel her in the same way as cast iron.
He staggered away, suddenly aware of the fire in his healing kidneys as the strength drained out of him like water. He struck at her again when she tore at his t-shirt, knowing it was futile but not willing to go down without a fight. She ripped the shotgun from his hands and tossed it aside with contempt and Dean ran, only the fear like a bright blade inside him giving him the strength, adrenaline keeping him a few steps ahead of her floating, sparking form.
Her fingers caught at his t-shirt again; he stumbled into the side of the building, grazing his cheek on the rough wood and turned to face her, his throat closed on a shout of fear as her hand came at his neck. In a moment of pure nightmare, something grabbed hold of his shoulder from the darkness behind him. Dean heard himself make an inarticulate, choked noise of sheer terror as he was ripped aside. The blast of a shotgun at his side shocked him to the core.
Lacey disintegrated with a wail. Dean slumped into the side of the building; a strong hand caught him under the elbow and steered him towards the corner.
"Easy there, son."
It was John.
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By the time the salt lines were repaired and John had dressed Joe's wound as well as he could, Dean had managed to still the shaking in his hands. His reflection in the polished glass of the oak framed mirror was still pale; the freckles across the bridge of his nose standing out like distress flags.
Sam appeared next to him in the mirror. Dean jostled him with his shoulder.
"Thanks Sammy. Owe you one."
Sam beamed, a flush of pleasure spreading over his young face. He looked at Dean with an earnest expression from under his bangs. "I've got your back dude." Always got your back. Unspoken, but there in his expression. Then the gaze faltered, dropped. While I'm still here.
Dean caught his breath, held it, let it go slowly through the clench of his teeth and forced a smile.
"Well I'll be damned." The shock in their father's voice turned them away from the mirror. Joe had emerged from the first floor bathroom. His face was washed clean of blood, his hair slicked back and wet, the beard gone.
Sam's voice fell into the sudden silence. "You look like Dean."
"No." John's tone was sure, harsh with surprise. "You look like Mary."
"Mary?" Joe stared at him, puzzled.
"My wife… late wife. Mary Winchester…" His dark gaze bored into Joe. "Born Mary Campbell."
"You're shittin' me!" Joe's eyebrows rose to match Dean's. "Campbells from Lawrence, Kansas?" He read the answer in the Winchesters' faces. "She's m'cousin, once removed."
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As Sam pointed out later, it made Lacey's interest in Dean easier to explain.
"It's something in your blood. It must be drawing her like a magnet."
Dean looked uncomfortable, but John didn't miss the look on Joe's face.
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So... some of my plot comes from dreams... guess who nearly crapped herself dreaming this chapter!
Many, many thanks for reading, following, favoriting and reviewing; there wouldn't be any point in writing if you didn't!
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