Disclaimer: 'Supernatural' is the property of Warner Brothers, the CW, and other associated parties. I claim no ownership of the franchise, characters or settings, nor am I affiliated with the above parties in any way. The following is a fan-work, written for my amusement, and not for material or monetary gain. Please support the official releases. (I don't own this).
THIS is the chapter I was so looking forward to writing, haha.
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Coalescence
By Payce D. Elui
Chapter 8: The Dig
† † †
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Sam slammed the door to the Impala extra hard.
"Hey- I get it, you're pissed. Don't take it out on the car, Sam."
Sam said nothing, quietly stewing in his seat.
"Sam?"
Nothing.
"Sammy."
Still nothing.
"What- what do you want me to say? I'm sorry, all right?"
"Dean- just- don't, ok?"
Dean ignored him. "I wasn't gonna talk to him- kid caught me watching. What did you want me to do?"
"Tell the truth about it, for starters, Dean," Sam snapped. "How about telling me so I could talk to him? All this noise you've been making about staying away and you're the one who wants to dig around his things. You're the one who finds reasons to follow him around. You're the one talking to him. He was out there because of you, man. He could have got himself killed."
"Hey, I told him to stay out of this- you think I wanted him there?"
"Dean- he doesn't even like you- why the hell would he listen to anything you say?"
"Hey," Dean said, hurt, "he's not so hot on you, either."
"At least I'm willing to try," Sam sniped back. "I get that you're trying to do what dad thought was best, I do- what we do isn't easy, but dad was wrong on this. He is one of us. Sure as hell wouldn't have been out there with a gun, otherwise, Dean."
"What we do is that- great- that you wanna drag him into it, huh? We haven't lost enough?"
"Hey- I am not the one trying to keep him defenceless."
Dean swerved to a rough stop on the side of the road. "That is not what I'm trying to do and you know it," he gritted out.
"Yeah, maybe not, but it is what you're doing."
"Yeah- yeah, it's that simple, isn't it, Sam?" Dean said loudly.
Sam scowled.
"Sammy- ganking any mother that's trying to get you is a full time job. You want him in- I get it, but you think that gets any easier when there are two of you? He doesn't know anything, Sam. He'll be a damn easy target for anyone and anything that's after us- especially now. You think that'll be good for him? Think, man."
"Yeah- but you're not the only one who'll be looking out for him, Dean. He's our brother- you think I'd let anything lay a finger on him?"
And wasn't that a terrifying thought.
Dean knew the lengths he'd go to for Sam. He'd gone to hell for him; it didn't get more self-sacrificing than that. It was what you did for family. But Sam was hell bent on having someone else in the line of fire- someone else to sacrifice himself for when things went wrong. And they would go wrong- they always did, and when one of your party was an untrained kid who didn't even know how to gank a ghost? Sam would never have to sacrifice himself to save Dean- Dean would never let that happen. With Adam added to the mix, though; with Adam out on the field fighting hell's fugliest- the chance of a happy ending went from slim to none.
"Sam, I'm not saying this again. We're not dragging him into this." God, Dean was tired. He was done repeating himself. He felt like a broken record.
"So if he wants in- you're just gonna leave him, huh? Drive off, right? What d'you think he'll do?"
If Adam wanted in- if he really wanted in and they left him, he'd probably end up stranded in another forest somewhere and dead not soon after. He didn't know what he was doing, that much was clear.
His death would be on Dean's head either way.
The thought made him want to punch something.
"Shut up, Sam," he finally sighed instead.
† † †
ARTICLE: GHOSTS
'Salt and iron slow ghosts down- they don't kill them. Upon contact with an iron bullet, a ghost will dissipate for a short time before it reforms ready to attack again.'
Adam finished writing in the leather notebook, studying the words for a minute before adding another line:
'Ghosts can attack you telekinetically.'
He doubted his bruised ribs would let him forget that anytime soon.
He sighed, leaning back in the chair.
He hadn't slept a wink and he had a lecture to go to. But he wouldn't be going- not today.
A sharp knock on the door brought him out of his reverie, and he shut the notebook, going to open the door.
Imogen stormed in. Adam raised a brow.
"Uh- hello to you, too-?"
"Where were you?" She asked. She spun to face him. "Adam, you said you'd meet us last night for the fai- oh God, what happened to you?" She crossed to him, reaching for his face, and he leaned back.
He'd been thrown face first into a tree by an angry ghost. Somehow he didn't think that she'd appreciate the honesty.
"It's nothing, don't worry about it," he muttered.
"That- that's not nothing," she cried. "You look like you've been hit by a train! God, Adam, where were you? Why- why don't you talk to me? To anyone?"
She wouldn't understand. He told her as much, inwardly cringing at how pathetic that sounded.
"So talk to someone who does understand!"
That list only held two names that he knew of so far.
"I don't want to talk to them, all right? Now can you just drop it?" He turned away.
"You know what, Adam? I don't think I will. I'm worried about you- we're all worried about you, and- is that- is that a gun?"
Adam whirled round, but it was too late. He hadn't moved it from where he'd tossed it the night before, and she picked it up off of his bed, looking at it with a horrified expression.
"Adam- Adam, why do you have a gun?"
She sounded scared, and Adam stared at her. It did nothing to calm her- if anything, her fear climbed to palpable levels, settling over the room like a blanket of needles and she backed away.
"What, you're not going to say anything?"
"Give it back, Imogen." It was the only weapon he had.
"No. I'm not- I'm not giving you this, Adam."
"Look- I need it-"
"What the hell do you need a gun for?" She screeched. "Damnit, Adam, why- you're scaring us, ok? I'm not- I'm not giving this back to you."
"It's dangerous- just give-"
"-It's a fucking gun, of course it's dangerous!"
"I wasn't talking- I wasn't talking about the gun," he snapped back. There was still danger out there, danger that she was ignorant to. "Give- give me it."
He stepped forward slowly, arm outstretched, and Imogen sidestepped him, putting the desk chair between them. The gun was clenched tightly in her hands, but she wasn't pointing it at him. That was something. "Don't come any closer, Adam, I mean it."
And now she was scared of him. Terrified. He bit back the regret. He'd never wanted this. She should never have been scared of him. He backed off, retreating to sit on the bed, his hands in his lap. "Look, I'm not- I'm not gonna hurt you, ok?"
She was quiet for a moment, her features stark on her pale face. "Why do you have a gun, Adam? Just- talk to me, please. Please."
What was he meant to say? The lie had coated nearly every aspect of his life and he had been the one to spread it. "It's a long story, ok?" He said, trying to stall.
She bit her lip and Adam sighed. He wasn't getting out of it this time. "Look- my mom died, all right? And it was- it was a monster that killed her."
There. He'd told the truth, and some of the anxiety knotted around his chest loosened.
"Yeah. Yeah, Adam, only a monster could do something like that. But-"
She didn't get it. "No- no you don't- understand. It wasn't a monster- it was a monster. A real one. A ghoul."
Imogen didn't say anything, and Adam's eyes fixed onto his hands. They were starting to shake.
"It got my mom," he said, "waited 'til it got me to cut her open. Started eat- started eating her insides," he managed to stutter out, feeling his jaw try to lock. He breathed deeply, whetting his dry lips. "She was- she was screaming and it turned into her- ghouls- that's what they do. I don't know. It- it turned into her and then-"
His scars were twinging and he felt his eyes burn.
"I couldn't do anything to stop it. And I know these things exist now and I still didn't see it coming."
"Adam- what- what are you talking about?" Imogen breathed.
"Tanner. Jenny Tanner. There's something in the woods- a ghost. It- it did this to me." He motioned to his banged up face with a humourless smile. "There's a book behind you- just- look inside. That's everything I know about this stuff, ok? And I don't know anything. You need to give me the gun back. I need it."
Imogen looked stricken, and she groped behind her for the book. She spent a few seconds flicking through the pages- not nearly enough to really take anything in, before she put it back. She cleared her throat, but her voice sounded even thicker for it.
"Adam- I know- I know what you went through was hard, but- you- this sounds... crazy."
Yeah. Yeah, it did.
"You- you have to know none of this is real. Adam, please?" Her bottom lip was wobbling, tears filling her eyes as she pleaded with him.
He closed his eyes. "Just give me back the gun, 'Gen, ok?"
"No. I don't- I don't- I can't trust you with this, you have to see that, right? You need to talk to someone, Adam. Please!"
"I'm not crazy." He should have been. After what he'd seen, he should have been as nutty as a fruitcake, but he wasn't.
"No. No you're not," Imogen said quietly, "but you need help."
He was so sick of this. "Are you going to give me the gun?"
"No."
"Then just go, all right?" he said tiredly.
She swallowed, going for the door. "Are- are you gonna be ok?"
His lips twitched at that. "Yeah." He'd be fine once he was done with the ghost.
"We'll talk, ok? Later." She opened the door.
"'Gen?" She turned to face him. "Sorry I missed the fair."
A tear rolled down her cheek and the door clicked shut.
† † †
"Sam?"
"Uh- yeah, Adam? What is it?"
"Can we... talk?"
Sam blinked, surprised at that. He'd been expecting to have to drag Adam out so they could talk, not have Adam call him first. He gave his phone an odd look before pressing it back to his ear.
"Sam? You still there?"
"Yeah, yeah- I'm here. Sorry." He glanced over at Dean, who was still sleeping. "I was gonna call you later. You, uh- wanna meet someplace?"
"Memorial Library? You know where that is?"
"Yeah- now?"
"Yeah."
"...You don't have a lecture?" Sam was pretty sure that Adam did have a lecture at eleven thanks to the copy of his timetable he'd downloaded.
"I can miss one lecture, Sam," Adam replied flatly.
"All right then. If you're sure." Sam shut the laptop. Dean was still sleeping. "I just need to grab some things? I'll meet you in thirty."
† † †
Adam was sitting at a table in front of his own laptop when Sam found him, red leather notebook laid out open next to him. A pen lay beside it.
"Adam."
"Sam."
"You wanted to talk?"
"Yeah- look, I want in," said Adam, staring Sam straight in the face. There was no hesitation at all- he was completely resolute.
"You want in?" Sam asked, already knowing what Adam was alluding to, but wanting to make sure.
"On this... case, I mean. I need to make sure that this is- finished- you know? It's too close."
Straight to business, then.
He knew it.
...Though maybe he was a little disappointed that Adam didn't want to talk about other things, too. He showed as much signs as he had the days that they'd spent together that he wasn't really interested in either Sam or Dean as people. Perhaps that would come later. Right now, Adam wanted to talk about hunting; Sam could do that.
Sam set his own laptop down on the table, crossing his fingers atop it and stared at his younger brother.
"Ok."
Adam looked taken aback. He'd clearly been prepared for another argument. "...What- just like that?"
Sam smiled. "Yeah. Well- not 'just like that'- if you're doing this then I'm gonna be with you every step of the way here, and you're gonna have to do everything I say when it comes to the bits that matter, all right? What you were doing in the woods- that's not gonna fly here, Adam. That was stupid."
Adam ducked his head at that. Good. He'd drawn the same conclusion from that escapade as Sam had. "All right."
"Good," said Sam, letting the matter drop. There was no point in riding Adam on it- what was done was done. He knew it was wrong- Sam didn't think he'd pull something like that again, so it was time to move on. Sam pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and slid it across the table.
Adam picked it up, unfolding it. "What is this?"
"All the names we have so far- deaths in the woods from multiple stab wounds."
"Like Jenny."
"Like Jenny," Sam repeated, nodding.
"What am I meant to do with this?"
"Well," said Sam, "it's just a start. You can help me trace it back as far as it goes- look for the same M.O. Odds are that when we get to the first one- well, we find our man. Dean figured it to about 1931- he figured out some weird pattern to it, too- the killings only happen every six, eleven, eleven years, but we need to check- and double check. Make sure we get the right guy. Make sure that pattern doesn't complicate things even more."
"Why- is the pattern weird?"
"Well, ghosts- and there's a few types of them, I told you- but this kind, the vengeful spirit kind- anniversary dates are usually important in how they appear. You get spirits who only show up at certain times of the year, the month, the day, the time. But this... isn't like that. We haven't seen anything like it before."
Adam nodded once, face considering. "And that's... bad?"
"We don't know that yet. That's what we're trying to find out."
"And then?"
"Then- we kill it."
Adam let out a nervous breath. "Ok."
† † †
When the phone vibrated in his pocket, Sam excused himself from Adam's company, meandering between a few bookshelves a little way away. It was Dean's name on the caller ID. He already had Adam on board, had promised him a place in this hunt; now all that was left was to play it cool. He raised the phone to his ear.
"Dean?"
"Yeah. Where are you?" It was early evening- Sam was surprised Dean hadn't called before then. Especially since Sam had taken the car. Maybe Dean thought Sam was still angry.
...Which he was. Dean's hypocrisy on the issue of Adam grated on him more than he'd care to admit.
"Library," he said. "I was just about to call you, actually."
"Yeah? You found something?"
"Yeah. I think we got everything we need."
"All right, hit me."
"You were right, man. All the deaths? They all fall between the twelfth and nineteenth of April. But get this: the years they fall on? They all follow the same calendar. Six years, eleven, eleven? That's how often the calendar repeats itself."
Adam had found that particular bit of information himself. Dean didn't need to know Adam was even working with him.
"Huh. So it is some freaky anniversary thing," Dean commented.
"Near as I can tell, yeah," Sam said, clutching the phone closer to his ear. "Fits with the other info I dug up, all the way back to who I think is our guy. Richard Monroe, cause of death- multiple stab wounds, April twelfth, 1925. Police report said he tried to mug a couple of students and got skewered in the process. It was a week before his body was discovered. Same week the murders happen every time. Pretty sure this is our guy. Found where he's buried, too. We can be done with this today."
"All right. Good job, Sammy. You got the car- swing round and pick me up- I'm at the station. I was talking with the boyfriend- he didn't know anything more than what we figured, so that was a bust."
"Uh- yeah. Dean, about that-"
"What?"
"Cemetery is over an hour away," Sam said, "it's getting dark already. its Friday- Monroe is still gonna be active."
"So we'll be fast about it."
"I think you should head back over to the woods. Make sure nobody else gets hurt. I can take care of the body."
"What- by yourself?"
No, not by himself. But Sam had no intention of letting Dean in on that fact.
"Dean, it's not hard. I could do it in my sleep. It's not like I haven't done it alone before."
"I dunno, Sammy-"
"Look, the more time we waste talking, the darker it's getting, Dean," Sam said, a touch of impatience seeping into his voice. And he felt bad- deceiving Dean like this, but Dean would not listen to reason when it came to Adam, so it was the only option Sam was left with.
"All right, all right, fine," Dean replied, "I'll get back to the campus. Watch yourself, all right? See you in a few."
Sam ended the call and headed back to the table, where Adam was scribbling in his notebook.
"What's that?" He asked, knowing full well what it was. He'd seen it in Adam's room already, knew exactly that what he was seeing was the start of a hunter's journal, even if it was rife with mistakes.
Adam started, shutting the book with a small snap. He hadn't heard Sam come back. "It's a notebook," he said, deadpan, and Sam's lips twitched.
"I can see that," he said, "what are you writing?"
He saw the hesitation on Adam's face; saw him weighing up the decision to lie or to tell the truth, to trust Sam or not to trust him. Adam really was young, if not a little rumpled around the edges, and his expressions were much too open and honest to be dealing with the Winchesters, who could spot weaknesses a mile off. Though Adam showed hints of a will that could be tempered into steel with the right guidance- it took a lot of guts to cross Dean, after all, (Sam could attest to that personally)- as of yet, all Adam really was was a wounded child with a growing chip on his shoulder.
Just like Sam had been, once upon a time.
Sam felt a stab of regret at the thought.
He wondered if he was going about things the wrong way. The bond between brothers... he had lied to Dean, just then; had been lying to Dean for a while now, about Ruby, and now he was lying to Adam. He was a Winchester- lying was what he did, but should it not have been a different rule for family? Then again, Dean had no trouble lying to Sam, either, and that still hurt, even if it was for 'Sam's own good' so he supposed it was what it was. He wondered what Adam would do if he realised just how much his brothers had infringed on his privacy, even if it was for his own good. Maybe he'd been right not to trust them completely after all.
"You know what?" he said, giving a small smile, "never mind."
"No," Adam said, seeming to have made his own decision on the issue. He didn't look entirely comfortable with the choice he'd made, but he slid the book across the table in Sam's direction anyway. "It's mostly stuff you taught me, anyway. I figured it would be better to write it down so I don't forget or anything. And you- you're helping me now, so why the hell not?"
Oh, that was a low blow, even if Adam didn't know it. Sam picked up the book, if a little gingerly, and gently paged through it. He'd seen it all before, back in Adam's room. For a starter hunter's notebook, it wasn't that bad at all. He handed it back to Adam.
"Decapitation or sticking them with dead man's blood for vampires," he said finally. "Writing it all down- it was a good idea."
Adam accepted advice and the compliment, tucking the book away. "We got what we needed to, right? So what now?"
"Well I just spoke to Dean," Sam said lightly, watching as Adam tensed up. "Don't worry about it- he's going to stay by the woods; make sure no-one else gets hurt. And now we're sure who we're dealing with..." Sam held up the keys to the Impala, "I'm gonna teach you how to deal with ghosts properly."
† † †
"That's..." He swallowed. "Wow."
Adam gazed at the small armoury in trunk of the Impala with wide eyes. Shit, there was easily enough there to arm a small army. Under a false bottom, no less.
Sam and Dean, they were really serious.
"Yep," said Sam proudly, pulling out some shovels. He passed them to Adam, who handled them clumsily until they were leaning comfortably on his shoulder. Sam pulled out a small bottle of something, as well as a bag of salt and a few guns. He passed one of the guns over to Adam.
"It's a shotgun," Sam commented, slamming the trunk shut and locking the car up. He led Adam over to the graveyard, eerie in its silence. It was dark, the only light around them shining down from the moon above. The gravestones seemed to be absorbing the light all on their own, however, long shadows thrown over the ground and hanging from the trees.
It looked much like the place Adam had come out to when Dean had freed him from the coffin.
He stopped.
Sam was still walking. Sam was still talking. "Just be sure to put more of your shoulder into it if you need to fire, all right? The kickback is stronger but it's not... that different. Ideally I'd practice it with you with it first, but..."
Adam felt sick.
"Isn't the ghost still in the woods?" he forced out, trying to keep his voice nonchalant.
God, what was wrong with him? He'd done this before- charged headfirst into danger, and he'd been alone that time.
Then again, he'd been running off of anger at the time. Anger at Dean, anger at himself, anger at the supernatural for daring to appear so close to him again. This time he was under no such influence.
His heart suddenly felt like it was trying to ram its way up his throat.
"Yeah, but sometimes-" Sam turned, arching a brow when he realised Adam had been left behind. "Hey- you ok?" His voice was a tad too concerned for Adam, who struggled to swallow down the fear that was threatening to overrun him.
"Yeah," he muttered, just loud enough for Sam to hear him, "peachy." He didn't move an inch.
Sam looked worried, jogging back over to him. "Adam, it'll be ok. I'm not gonna let anything lay a finger on you, I promise." Sam seemed to deliberate with himself for a moment, before adding, "If you don't wanna do this, I can get you outta here and come back- do this myself. It- it's ok. You don't have to be here if you don't want to be."
Sam meant to be consoling, to be as comforting and understanding as he could be in such a situation, but all it did was gnaw on Adam's nerves.
He'd faced the thing once and survived, he could do it again.
For Jenny, who had died because he hadn't used the knowledge he possessed. For himself, because goddamnit was he sick of being scared. Fear was becoming a second skin that was clinging tighter to him every day, and he was tired of it.
"The longer you leave it, the more chance it has of getting someone else," he said dully.
"You can wait in the car?"
Like a coward.
No. He had wanted in on this, he wouldn't back out now.
"I'm fine," he repeated a little more firmly. "What were you saying?" He pushed past Sam into the cemetery. "What are we looking for?"
"Richard Monroe's grave."
A sinking feeling filled Adam's stomach. The shovels in his hands suddenly felt much too heavy.
"We're not... We're not digging him up, are we?" he asked weakly.
Sam threw him a sheepish smile. "'Fraid so. It's the more 'glamorous' side of the job, I guess. Salt and burn the body or whatever objects the spirit has attached itself to- only way to get rid of the ghost."
"...It dies?"
"Moves on," said Sam airily. "Forcibly."
"So we're digging up someone's grave," said Adam faintly. "That's... that's something."
Sam paused at a grave, crouching down and shining a small flashlight on the grave marker they'd stopped at. They'd found their guy. "Still ok with this?"
"...Yeah- yeah, wonderful. There's nothing wrong with this picture, nothing at all."
Still, Adam made no move to leave, and Sam grinned at the sarcasm, holding out a hand for a shovel. "Good."
After a long glance around revealed the area was still free of people, Adam moved over to help, setting his gun down, but Sam waved him off. "Not yet. We'll take turns digging. Keep the gun up, cover me, ok? Just in case."
Adam picked the gun back up while Sam dug in. The shotgun was a lot heavier than the handgun he'd used before.
"The ghost know when someone is digging it up?"
Sam grunted, throwing a particularly large clod of mud aside. "Yeah, something like that. Sometimes- sometimes they appear where their body is being disturbed- get nasty too, so keep your eyes and ears sharp, ok? Safety off- you might have to use that. If it's gonna kick off, it's usually after the coffin is opened, but- always better to be prepared."
"Ok," said Adam, studying the gun. He glanced around again, just to be safe. "This fire iron bullets too?"
Sam leaned back on the handle of the shovel, foregoing digging for a bit. "Nah. Rock salt."
"They make bullets out of the stuff?" Adam was surprised at that.
"Yeah, you can get it in some places." Sam was back to digging, his words measured between each and every heave of dirt. A clear boundary had emerged around the grave. "But mostly we just make our own."
"Your own? What- your own bullets? That's kinda..." Cool. It was pretty cool; he wasn't going to kid himself otherwise.
"Yeah. If we need to. Here, swap out with me?"
Sam had made a sizeable, (perfectly rectangular) hole in the space of only a little time. He hoisted himself out of the hole, and with growing trepidation, Adam clambered in, shovel in hand. He was waist deep immediately. The smell of the musty earth was one that some would find relaxing. Adam found it sickening.
"I could teach you, if you want," Sam commented, crouching down at the side of the grave. Adam bent down, shoving the shovel into the earth and pulling it free. Straight away, the task felt a lot tougher than Sam had made it look.
"How to make my own bullets?" Adam asked. He supposed it probably would be worth knowing, especially if any more of these things ended up nearby. He hadn't wanted to run in with anything else supernatural again, had only wanted the knowledge just in case, but he supposed it was the hand he'd been dealt.
"Yeah. Other things too. Homemade flamethrower?"
Adam paused, looking up at Sam incredulously. "You're shitting me."
Sam laughed. "No, it's true. You're not part of the family unless you can make your own flamethrower. I'll teach you."
"A... a flamethrower? What did you even use that on?"
"Bugs." Sam made a face and Adam looked on, amused. The banter with Sam- it almost distracted him from the fact he was almost shoulder-deep in a grave.
"Taking pest control a little seriously there, Sam."
"Oh you have no idea..."
Adam went back to digging, but it was hard. His shoulders were starting to ache. He hadn't added nearly as much depth to the hole as Sam had, the dirt more tightly packed than he had thought. Added to that, he had dug out of Sam's boundaries- struggling to keep digging straight. Even the skin on his hands was starting to burn. It was when he was starting to feel that he'd never hit the bottom, when, with the final hike of the shovel into the ground, it hit something solid, a hollow thunk sounding through the cemetery.
The coffin.
"Good one- here," Sam said, holding out a hand to help Adam out of the hole. Adam took the offer gratefully, and Sam helped him up, taking his place back in the hole and clearing the last of the dirt. There was another clunk as he wedged the shovel into the frame of the casket, levying it open a crack, and then Sam clambered out of the hole once again. The coffin was already closed again but an unpleasant smell hung in the air.
Adam blanched.
"All right, you ready?" Sam asked. Adam had the gun firmly back in hand, trying to keep his breathing even.
"What are we expecting here?" he asked, eyeing the closed casket warily.
"I'll open it from here," Sam explained, "salt it, pour petrol on it, then set it on fire. Should be pretty straightforward. You still up for this?"
Adam nodded, his jaw tight.
"All right, then. Just- keep an eye out. If it does jump out at us from anywhere- one of us will shoot it- gives me time to do what I have to do, all right?"
"All right," Adam said, nodding, "go."
Sam used the tip of the shovel to lift the lid of the casket open. There were nought but bones and ruined clothes inside, and with an efficiency that implied plenty of practice, Sam ripped open a bag of salt with his teeth, scattering it over the remains before dumping the fuel on top. He smirked at Adam, pulling out a match and striking it. It caught fire.
And that was when Adam caught sight of the very angry, very bloodstained ghost of Richard Monroe that had just very suddenly materialised behind Sam.
"Sam!" he cried out in alarm.
Too late.
The ghost threw out an arm and Sam was thrown somewhere behind him, gun and all. The match hit the grass, fire petering out and the ghost advanced. Hell if it was laying a finger on him- a rush of strength pumped into his arms and Adam pointed the gun at it with a vehemence that surprised even him, and fired.
It disappeared, just as it had done that first time in the woods. Only now he knew it wasn't dead. It would be back. The hair on the back of Adam's neck prickled uncomfortably.
"Sam?" Adam called. Where was it? Where was Sam? Hell- where were the matches? He fought to keep his breathing even as he scanned the area in front of him as carefully as he could. He could feel tremors running down his arms already, paranoia making every shadow suddenly seem a lot more sinister than it was.
"Sam?"
He stepped back, gun still raised, and spun on his heel, aiming to get to Sam. The plan failed- the ghost flickered back into view, practically inches away from his nose and Adam gave a startled shout, tripping backwards.
Too close- almost into the open grave. His arms windmilled but he managed to right himself clumsily. Still, he staggered all the same, breathing heavily from the near miss and bringing the gun back up.
"Adam!" Sam roared. "Get back!"
Adam pointed the shotgun back at the ghost, but it had ideas of its own- with another vicious swipe of its arm, the gun was torn from Adam's grasp. A third motion and Adam was thrown backwards, over the open grave and into another headstone. His eyes blurred from the pain- he'd hit it head first, and he could see the rough bulk of Sam stumbling forward to try and help.
Too slow. Too far.
Not to mention the gaping maw of a hole and the pissed off spirit between them.
Way too slow.
"Adam!"
His vision cleared and with horror he saw the ghost advancing on him, an ugly smile on its face. It had a knife that was still glinting with blood. Had it got Sam? Adam stumbled to his feet.
No. Not again.
His blood was thundering in his ears. He had no weapon, and Sam- was he injured? - was too slow. He wouldn't make it in time; the ghost was less than two feet away, its knife poised to cut Adam to ribbons.
But it would not be like last time. If he was going down, he was going down swinging.
He darted out of the way of the slash that was aimed at him and with no other options left to him, thrust a fist for the ghost's face.
"Adam, no-!" Sam hollered from somewhere (still too far away).
Adam's mind chose then to scream at him the uselessness of the action- a cacophony of information that he should have known- God, he should have run, for what was a fist going to do in the face of a ghost? - he was screwed, he was going to die- he would be cut to bits once again and it was all his fault and-
His fist made contact.
It felt like his hand had been plunged into an icy bucket of water.
And then the ghost dissipated.
Adam blinked, stupefied.
There was no time to bask in the sudden relief- Sam finally reached him, grabbing his shoulder from behind and dragging him back to the open grave. Sam had blood running down the side of his face- he was pale, and Adam fancied that it had nothing to do with the injury. Sam's gun was trained high and when the ghost reappeared once again, with a look of utter contempt on his face, Sam blasted it into smithereens.
He shoved the gun into Adam's grip as soon as they reached the hole, scrambled for the matches, and lit them, lip curling into an ugly snarl as he dropped them into the grave.
The fuel in the grave did the trick- the bones caught fire immediately.
The ghost screeched and it was an awful sound. It burst into flames and the nightmare was finally over.
† † †
The fire leaping up from within grave bathed him with warmth. The surreality of the scene was almost hypnotising. He swayed.
Sam led Adam a few feet away, forcing him onto his backside on a grassy knoll. Adam's legs were shaking so much by that point that it made the action easy.
Sam crouched down and a flashlight was shoved into Adam's face. He squinted, suddenly blind.
"Adam. Adam, you all right?" Sam sounded as concerned as Adam had ever heard him. Still, he was more worried about the nausea that was threatening to take over his being once again. It was crawling up his throat, but when he finally opened his mouth, nought but words escaped.
"That was- this is- crazy," he declared in a voice that was much too loud to be appropriate for a cemetery. Then again, he supposed he'd blown cemetery etiquette when he'd helped dig up a grave. He laughed, maybe a touch hysterically. "And I- and you- and Dean- crazy- crazy d-does run in this family."
Even he knew he wasn't making sense.
Sam was still talking, but Adam tuned him out easily enough, trying to will his hands to stop shaking. It would probably be easier if the rest of his body joined suit.
And then Sam was touching him, hands running over the back of his head- and Adam grimaced as Sam's fingers touched over the newest knot standing out at the base of his skull. Sam wasn't done there, his fingers feeling Adam's torso and then going back to Adam's face again. The flashlight followed suit, and Adam was left squinting a second time. A few seconds more of that and then, finally, Sam's fingers made way down Adam's arm until they were clutching his hand.
It was getting a bit too strange now. Adam made a face and leaned away.
"H-Holding h-hands? I h-hope you p-planning on b-buying m-me d-dinner, man, I d-don't c-come cheap." God, when did his teeth start chattering?
"Oh good," Sam said, releasing a shaky sigh, "you're right enough to make jokes. Great." Some of the concern melted from his face, but he still hadn't let go of Adam's hand.
Adam squirmed. "Uh- S-Sam?"
"You- you punched a ghost. In the face- you punched it. In the face." Sam said, sounding bewildered. He let Adam's hand go. "I thought you were a gon- that it was going to..."
Oh.
Sam grabbed at Adam's hand again, lifting it between then and flashing the light on it. A glint of silver winked back at them.
"What- what- is that- an iron ring?"
Oh. So that was why the ghost had...
If Adam didn't laugh at that, he was going to cry. "I f-forgot I h-had that o-on."
"You forgot and you still tried to punch it in the face? What did you think was going to happen?" Sam didn't know whether to feel incredulous or angry, so he settled for a healthy mix of both.
Adam said nothing, staring at the ring encircling his finger. Such a tiny scrap of metal, and it had saved his life. It was a Christmas miracle. Well, it would have been, if it was anywhere remotely near Christmas.
...He was going to be sick.
Sam sighed again, patting Adam on the shoulder once before standing up. "You feeling ok, right now?"
"F-fresh as a s-spring c-chicken," Adam quipped. What did that even mean? He wished his teeth would stop chattering.
Sam glared down at him, probably wishing that Adam would take things a little more seriously. All the same, Adam noticed the twitch of Sam's lips, so maybe he wasn't doing everything wrong...
"I guess- for your first time... you did good, Adam," Sam said quietly. "Though maybe next time- we'll try not to rely just on luck."
Ha, no way there was going to be a next time unless it came knocking at Adam's door personally. Ghouls and ghosts- what was that?
"Let's get you to the car," Sam said. "I think a trip to the hospital, too- just in case. That's a nasty bump on the back of your head" He reached out a hand and Adam grabbed it. Sam easily pulled Adam to his feet, pretty much all on his own at that, for Adam felt utterly boneless. His legs felt like jelly.
"Adam?" Sam asked carefully, "you all right?"
"Oh y-yeah," said Adam cheerfully. "N-never been b-better."
And then he bent over and promptly emptied the contents of his stomach all over Sam's shoes.
† † †
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Oh, and before I forget- the idea for the iron ring came from a textpost I saw on tumblr a good while ago. You guys might have seen it? The one that said the boys should have iron rings so they can punch ghosts in the face, hula-hoops full of salt so they can hula around spirits safely, and waterguns filled with holy water so they can hurt demons more easily. I found the idea of the ring too great to pass up.