Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Dude, I swear, the only really decent thing about Southern California is the weather.” 

“Huh.”

“What?”

“I thought you’d say movie stars or something.”

“Yeah, sure, but—Hey, hey! You can’t merge here!” Dean cut off the conversation as a bright blue Prius cut in front of him way too early from the onramp. Of course, they didn’t get very far given the bumper to bumper traffic they were stuck in. Dean took the opportunity of having the guy stuck in front of them to flip him off through the windshield.

“Dean,” Sam warned, exasperated, but glad that he wasn’t driving in the mess that was rush hour traffic. 

“What? I’m sick of this. No back roads to hop onto, angry people everywhere, even Baby hates it.” Dean rubbed his thumb over the Impala’s steering wheel. 

Sam had to admit his brother had a point. The Impala wasn’t built for modern day, heavy stop and go traffic. Spending an hour to only go about ten miles wasn’t how they thought they’d spend their evening either. But, having a job that wasn’t strictly nine to five and living in the tiny town that was Lebanon meant it had slipped both their minds just how hectic some areas could get once work let out for the day.

“We could stop somewhere for a few hours and get on the road later,” Sam suggested. Maybe then they could actually make some progress. 

Dean looked at the traffic all around them and sighed. “Is there anything to actually do around here? I mean we’re in…Long Beach. Do a Google search or something,” he waved his hand at Sam.

Sam was more than happy to find something not hunt related to look up. It was rare they went to California for cases to begin with, and even rarer that one ended well. One small nest of vampires down and no stitches needed. It really was a wonderful feeling. 

They had checked into a higher end motel for the two days they were in town, gotten back from the hunt in the very early morning hours, and slept well into the afternoon. After the drive and the job, they had both needed the rest, after all. But by the time they had left the room, eaten, and gotten on the road, it was gridlock as far as the eye could see. Things couldn’t be perfect, after all.

Sam had been left with a set of sore ribs and aching joints from the hunt and sitting in the car a fair length of time, but he’d take that any day over the bloodier alternative. His internet search came up with a few cool results, and one really caught his attention. 

“You ever heard of the Queen Mary?” he asked, attention still on his phone.

Dean didn’t reply for a few moments, obviously thinking. “Maybe, a while back. Assuming not a person, so probably a ship?”

Sam nodded. “It’s permanently docked just a few miles from here. There’s a parking fee, but you’re free to walk around if you don’t want a tour. Looks pretty big, lots of history, we could probably kill some time there.” He glanced up from his phone to see if Dean looked interested at all.

To his surprise, Dean actually appeared to be thinking it over. “Better than being in this mess,” he finally decided. “You got directions?”

It took Sam less than a minute to get them loaded and he told Dean thankfully to get off at the next exit. Dean was even happier when the exit lane was wide open and he got to speed past the tiny Prius, still sitting in the mess.

The streets were busy too, but nothing compared to the freeway. Ten or so minutes later, Dean entered the correct harbor lane, paid the fee, and found a spot in the parking lot. When they got out of the car, Dean let out a low whistle.

“That is one big ship,” he said as he nodded slowly.

Sam couldn’t recall the last time they’d seen anything bigger than a fishing vessel, but even with nothing to compare it to, he had to agree with his brother. “Bigger than the Titanic,” Sam brought up, remembering some of the interesting facts he had read while looking at a few articles about the ship.

“Don’t spoil all the fun facts for me.” Dean was obviously joking, but Sam still rolled his eyes for good measure. They had no trouble getting to the ship itself, as the parking lot was fairly empty. Sam chalked it up to being a Wednesday evening in the middle of September, so it was bound to be quiet. 

They stopped for a few minutes to look at a submarine that was docked beside the ship before making their way up the ramp and inside. The first thing that greeted them was a banner for what appeared to be an annual Halloween event taking place in a few weeks. Next to the banner were reminders that haunted encounters would still be happening as well, and to get tickets before they sold out.

“Dude,” Dean started as he turned away from the banners to look at Sam, “is this place seriously haunted?”

Sam just shrugged. A few of the articles had mentioned it, but he hadn’t thought to bring it up. “The ship served during World War II, and some accidents have happened since then. There’s bound to be a few spirits tied here.”

“And you didn’t think to mention that before?!” Dean tried to keep his voice down as a married couple passing by looked at them strangely.

“It’s all hearsay, nothing bad has happened, we’ll be fine. Seriously, think of all the historical places we’ve been that have been ‘haunted’,” Sam added in air quotes.

“I just think it’s a little weird is all. We just finished a case, we don’t need another one.”

“Dean that’s not what this is-”

“Quit gettin’ your panties in a bunch, I’m messin’ with ya,” Dean quickly said once he saw Sam getting defensive. Maybe the hunt had tired him out more than he had thought. “Come on,” he clapped Sam lightly on the shoulder, mindful of the bruises he knew had to be on his brother’s chest. “Let’s see what we can see.”

The ship was pretty extraordinary. Some of the areas were locked or blocked off, which Dean found annoying, but what was open was rich with history. They could walk out on the decks and see some of the city beyond the water, which looked almost orange with the sunset. Belowdecks, rooms stretched from end to end. They found that if they stood at one end of the hallway, the other end appeared to curve up with the ship to a degree that they couldn’t see the other side.

There was a museum aboard for the ship’s service in World War II, which Sam found fascinating. Even Dean was interested in learning about some of the history, which Sam thought the vessel should take as a compliment. 

Back on the main deck, Sam was going over a scale model of the ship built out of Legos while Dean went to find a restroom. It was amazing what people could build with the bricks and how lifelike it looked. Maybe if he needed a hobby aside from researching…

“How much does that thing weigh?” Dean asked as he came back into the room, trying not to disturb the other patrons.

“Six hundred pounds,” Sam said and slightly shook his head. It was crazy to believe.

“Replica this big could pretty much fit you inside, hm?” Dean joked. Sam couldn’t find it in him to disagree. 

Around eight most of the exhibits started closing, so the brothers headed back down the gangway and to the car. Sam once again pulled out his phone and found a decent spot to eat just across the Los Angeles River. They killed some time eating and talking and afterwards walked around a little of the city. It was nice, really, to have even such a short break.

By the time they got back to the car, it was nearing ten thirty. As they slid in, Dean began patting his pockets.

“What? You missing something?” Sam asked. It wasn’t like his brother, but sometimes things did happen.

Dean kept patting them until it turned annoying, and then he smirked at Sam. “Not really, but I did just so happen to remember…” He brought out two slips of paper as he talked and handed one over to Sam. He squinted to read the text under the lamppost light, but when he did, he looked over to Dean, surprise evident on his face.

“You did not.”

“I did too!” Dean practically beamed at him.

“The hell are these?”

“These,” Dean plucked Sam’s ticket from him and put them back into his jacket pocket, “are discounted tickets for the paranormal ship walk back on the Queen Mary. Sweet talked the girl at the desk, she said it was slow anyways and the tour wouldn’t be busy, got us a discount.”

“I’m not worried about the price, Dean, you bought tickets to go on a haunted tour? Seriously?” Sam’s eyebrows rose at the sheer absurdity of it.

“Yeah! Why not?” Dean shrugged, seeing no problem with it. “It’ll be fun. You get into all the areas that are locked during the day and everything. She said we can bring our own gear too, so long as it’s ‘safe and non-toxic’. Come on, Sam,” Dean nudged his shoulder. “Playing a civilian going on a ghost tour. Apparently it’s super historical too, you learn all the insider facts and everything.”

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. “I can’t believe you.”

“Eh? Eh? That’s not a no, I’m not hearing a no.” Dean grinned as he started the Impala and pulled out of the lot. “Which means we’re going. I bet there’s nothing there, it’s not like the place is hunt-worthy, you know?” They lapsed into a moment of silence as Sam shrugged in agreement.

“But I’d get it if you don’t want to.” Dean’s next sentence had Sam turning towards him. Dean was looking out the windshield, hands easy on the wheel as street lamps passed a second of warm light over his face at regular intervals. He was serious, that much Sam could tell.

“No, no, that’s not it, I’m just…surprised is all,” Sam amended. “Why wouldn’t I want to?”

Dean’s hand clenched for a moment over the wheel. He snuck a glance at Sam before he returned his attention to the road. Sam could see him debating on how he should answer the question. “Just—I know it’s only been a few weeks since our little trip back downstairs.”

“Dean, I’m—”

“Fine, yeah, I know, Sammy. I know.”

Of course he knew. He knew that Sam really wasn’t, but also that they weren’t about to talk it over any time soon. Sam was functional and dealing, which was pretty good by their standards. 

“But if for any reason you feel like being stuck in a giant tin can underwater wouldn’t be super beneficial, it’s fine, they’re just tickets.” 

Sam absorbed everything his brother said, and more importantly, everything he didn’t explicitly say. His own wellbeing came above what was supposed to be an enjoyable night off, and Sam couldn’t put into words just how much it meant.

More than that, it was nice to hear Dean talking about taking a break for once, since Dean had been the one with eyes glued to every book in the bunker trying to find a way to take down Amara. Maybe Sam’s constant reminders that sometimes answers just weren’t there at the moment had finally started to sink into his brother’s head.

“I’ll be good, Dean, really,” he assured. Dean looked over to check he really meant it. “Do something normal, out of the ordinary, it’ll be a nice break from all of this.”

Dean, having decided that Sam was as okay as he would be with the situation, nodded and moved the Impala to the next lane over to take them back down to the docks.

Sam had been expecting a small tour group given what Dean had said, but he was still surprised by the size. Aside from themselves and the guide, there were two slightly tipsy young women and a middle aged couple both with expensive looking cameras looped around their necks. Apparently the earlier tour had been a bigger group, but given the fact that it was a weekday in the slower season, the guide wasn’t surprised to find the small later group.

The brothers hadn’t brought any high tech cameras, but Dean did have his EMF meter stashed in his pocket and both of them had a few small iron rods in their jackets too. Just in case. Couldn’t hurt to be a little prepared.

The guide introduced himself as Brian and told them that while he personally hadn’t seen anything paranormal on the ship, plenty of his coworkers had, which was enough for him to believe that something was going on.

They started the tour in the museum portion of the ship, dedicated to the vessel’s actions in the Second World War. Sam was pleased to learn some additional facts about the ship that the placards didn’t mention. 

At the end of the talk, Brian asked if anyone had questions, and one of the young women raised her hand. “So this is…like…the real Queen Mary? Like we’re standing on the actual ship?”

Sam watched as Dean fought back a laugh and Brian’s face fell into a mix of disbelief and confusion.

He started slowly. “If you’re asking if this ship is the same as in the pictures, yes, it’s not a replica.”

“So a lot of people died here then, right, being a war ship?” the other young woman asked. 

Brian paused once again. “Yes, but she wasn’t a combat ship. She served mainly as a troop transport. We’ll get into some of the unfortunate events later in the tour, and show you guys a few spots where some of the events took place.” His professionalism was neatly in place, even though it was clear what he thought of the questions. “Anything else?”

The brothers and the couple all shook their heads, and Brian seemed happy to continue the tour.

As they were led deeper into the ship, their first real ‘haunted’ stop was the propeller box. Dean let out a low whistle at the sheer size of the giant blades that sat still below feet of water. The blue lights cast a glow on all their faces and the slight ripples in the water made the light dance on the metal room around them. 

“It is suspected that several people unfortunately fell from the ship and got pulled onto the blades here, the last remaining propeller on the ship. Some say a man in a tuxedo can be seen standing at the railing,” Brian pointed to where the husband was standing looking over at the water. He seemed excited by the news and quickly took a few pictures of the area around him as his wife did the same. Sam heard them in happy conversation calling each other ‘Dave’ and ‘Elaine’, and filed it away should he need it.

Sam watched as Dean moved a step closer to him and turned on the EMF meter in his pocket for Sam to see. It blinked red for a moment before it went dark and silent. No ghosts. Sam wasn’t surprised, and apparently neither was Dean. The box itself was interesting, but Sam didn’t feel any presence in the room like he had come to recognize as a restless spirit.

They wound through more of the ship as the tour continued, even getting into a few rooms they kept locked during the day. Brian paused for a moment to unlock a ballroom in front of a set of steep stairs leading down to R deck. The young women stumbled at the back of the group while the couple took pictures and got excited about any “orbs” they saw floating around. Every time they mentioned one, Dean would lightly elbow Sam in the side and smirk. Dean was obviously enjoying himself, and Sam was too.

The ballroom led to the front of the ship where Brian informed them that many paranormal encounters took place. The ship had hit another smaller vessel during the war, killing many of the soldiers instantly, and some said they could still hear the screams. 

The small group all took a few moments of silence to listen, and while the brothers didn’t hear anything, Dave was convinced that the taps made by the ship’s creaking metal were in fact a message.

Sam dodged the elbow to his ribs on that one and watched as Dean pulled out the EMF meter. While his brother scanned for frequencies, Sam walked over to what looked like a hole in the floor blocked off by a thin rail on all sides. 

“Hey, Brian, what’s this about?” Sam gestured to the square hole that descended into darkness.

“Next spot on the tour, good eye!” Brian smiled as he came over. Sam chanced a look at Dean behind the guide and saw that the EMF display was lit up a steady red, but low level, which wasn’t surprising, and also not likely dangerous. Dean then flicked it off and came over with the other four members of the group.

“So this is actually a cargo passage. It goes down three decks from where we are now and all the way up to the surface so they could easily on and off-load cargo when they docked. And as you can see,” Brian clicked on his flashlight and shined it into the hole. Everyone looked over. Sam would be lying if he said his heart didn’t speed up just a bit at the sight. The light disappeared in the darkness, and he got a feeling of just how far down below the water the ship really went. “The decks stretch pretty far down, so having this here was really handy. They could on and offload large items and shipments that wouldn’t be maneuverable through many of the ship’s small passageways.”

“Did anyone ever fall down?” Elaine asked, also seeming a little unnerved at the gaping hole in the ship that wasn’t very well protected. Anything could be at the bottom, which was a disconcerting thought.

“It’s possible, but not that we have a record of,” Brian answered and turned off his flashlight. “But speaking of injuries, the isolation ward was at times used as a hospital and is where we’re headed next, so if you’ll all follow me,” he made a sweeping motion with his hand and led the group out of the cramped space.

Sam kept his eyes on the hole until Dean clapped him on the shoulder. “Feelin’ anything spooky?” 

He took one more glance into the shaft of darkness before he shook his head. “Not really. The history is neat though.”

“See? Told ya this was a good idea, especially for a nerd like you,” Dean smirked and waited for Sam to start walking towards the group before he followed. “It’s like a paranormal backstage pass, only we’re not working the show.”

Sam had to smile at that one. “Yeah, sure. You should go make a VIP badge at Kinko’s or something.”

“Hey, don’t knock the skillset!” Dean ducked under a low pipe to make his way back into the ballroom and Sam followed suit. The smaller mechanical rooms and hallways on the ship were definitely not built for people of their size.

Thankfully the space widened again as they turned down another hallway and continued along B deck. Down another set of steep stairs at the far end of the ship, Brian led them to the isolation wards. More hallways were closed off with signs and chains, and Sam could see Dean itching to defy the signs and go explore the ship. Sam, for one, was glad for the guided tour. The ship was gigantic, and the decks below the water felt like mazes. 

He wasn’t claustrophobic, per se, but something about walking around in a metal can underwater where there was no quick way out was unsettling. What Dean mentioned earlier may have had some truth to it, but Sam wasn’t about to tell him that. Sam actively decided to listen to Brian instead and not focus on where his mind was trying to take him. This was fun, it was historical, and it wasn’t something they’d experienced before. None of those things were bad.

Brian showed them the infirmary beds and how a few had been converted into makeshift prison cells with bars on the sides that could swing shut as doors. Stowaways had been a problem, after all, and they needed a place to put them until a decision could be made about what to do with them.

“And here are the lists of both crew members and passengers that passed away on the ship, fifty-one in total,” Brian waved a hand towards a plaque on the wall and everyone crowded around. Well, everyone except the two young women, who were off in one of the corners giggling. “These lists don’t account for the soldiers that died on board during our transport voyages, so some experts have estimated the true death count to be in the hundreds.”

Both brothers took a few moments to look through the names, and Dean piped up when he had apparently gotten to the end of the lists. “What happened to the cook? Said he was killed aboard.”

“Ah, yes. We still don’t know how that happened, or who could have done it, but he was found literally, and unfortunately, in one of the ovens,” Brian supplied.

“Eesh,” Dean whispered under his breath so only Sam could hear.

“But it was an isolated incident. Some people say they still see the cook wandering around the kitchen, where we’ll be headed to later. A man a few years ago claimed to get a picture of—Hey!” Brian cut himself off in a voice much louder than the helpful one he had been using to guide. “You guys can’t be in there, show a little respect, the signs are there for a reason!”

Sam poked his head around one of the pillars to see the two women sitting on the bed in what was the holding cell. At being yelled at they both giggled to each other, patted the bed, and walked out of the small enclosed area to join the rest of the group. The pillows and sheets, which looked authentic, had obviously been disturbed.

“When we get back to the main deck, I think it best that you ladies get some rest.” Brian’s voice returned to normal, but it was clear that he wasn’t happy about the situation. 

Thankfully, they both shrugged and nodded, apparently out of it enough not to demand a refund or get truly angry.

“Seems like they’ll be haunted with a hangover later, huh Sam?”

Sam didn’t even bother looking at his brother; he knew the stupid self satisfied grin that would be on his face. “That was bad, even for you.”

“Oh come on!”

Sam followed Brian and the others out of the isolation ward, walking a few steps ahead of Dean so he couldn’t see the small smirk on Sam’s face. Maybe it was a little funny.

Chapter Text

Back on the main deck, their group of seven became a group of five, which everyone was okay with. They checked out a few more historical areas of the ship before Brian led them down to the aft engine room.

The brothers hadn’t made it down during the day unfortunately, so Sam wasn’t sure what it looked like with all the lights on. But the way they had it lit at night was something even he found unnerving. He imagined that during the day the area was well-lit, but it was the opposite for the tour. There were a few white lights, some dark red lights among them, and that was it. Not nearly enough to provide full visibility.

On the lowest level of the engine room, catwalks crisscrossed above them. They were quite literally in the belly of the ship. Giant white engines and metal machinery stretched across the room, up the walls, and in some cases into them. With some of the lights off, they couldn’t see the sides of the ship. The machines simply continued until they disappeared into the darkness.

It was impossible to see through the engines. Anything could be hiding amongst them. 

Sam stopped to read a placard as Brian took Dean and the couple down a small flight of stairs, still within sight of Sam. The placard discussed how some of the engines functioned, and was a really interesting look into how the ship once worked.

He was fully invested in it until the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Sam immediately reached for his gun that wasn’t there and froze in place on the catwalk. A quick glance down at his brother told him that Dean hadn’t sensed anything, and calling him over would only confuse the rest of the group.

The metal placard chilled under his touch and Sam snapped his hand back as if it had been burned. All his senses were on alert, eyes searching the dark corners of the ship while he stayed in place.

And then he heard it. 

A quiet but deep “Sam” spoken against his right ear by a voice that seemed like it hadn’t been used in decades. 

Sam turned at that, but as expected, nothing was there. He could still feel the presence though, somewhere behind him, and he tightened his grip on the iron rod in his pocket. It was still there, watching him from the safety of the metal engines enveloped in darkness and red lights.

A ghost on a haunted ship, fine. But one that knew his name? That made absolutely no sense.

Concluding that he wasn’t about to see anything, Sam walked down the stairs more hurriedly than usual. Brian and the couple didn’t notice, but Dean sure did, and let them get a few paces ahead while he pretended to investigate a series of levers. 

“What’s goin’ on?” The joking tone that had been in his voice earlier had vanished, and Sam knew his brother saw in his expression that something had actually happened. 

“A…ghost, spirit, something. It made the metal cold and whispered my name in my ear,” he answered in a low voice, shuddering at the thought. 

“Feel anything now?” Dean asked as he pulled out the EMF meter again.

Sam took a moment before he realized that no, here on the lower level with Dean, he didn’t think anyone was behind him. He turned just to make sure, and wasn’t met with anything surprising. 

He looked down as the meter kept spiking, but Dean just sighed and turned it off. “With all the metal and electricals in the room, reading’s probably no good. Phone signal down this far is a bust, too much interference. You think we should head back?” They started slowly walking forward to maintain contact with the group.

Sam glanced at the people up ahead and shook his head. “If it’s anything, we’re probably better not tipping them off about it, and it’s safer for them if we stick with them.”

Dean nodded in agreement, noting the way the couple kept taking pictures. They’d either get too close to the ghost and get injured, or completely freak out and get hurt trying to run off. 

“Maybe it’s just a ghost that, I don’t know, heard us talking, I said your name, and noticed your love for history?”

“When is it ever that easy?”

Dean shrugged. “We’ve never been on a haunted ship before. First time for everything, including easy cases.”

Sam liked the sound of that, but was in no way convinced.

Brian led them through the ‘haunted’ watertight doorway 13 that a poor young man had once been crushed by. Sam couldn’t find it in himself to feel sorry for him or enjoy learning about the location because every creak in the metal or word whispered by the couple up ahead had him on edge.

“Alright, and we’re headed down to the final few stops on our tour. Saved the biggest and greatest for last!” Brian smiled as he beckoned for them to follow. “We’ll be taking this elevator down to the boiler room and seeing some more of the mechanics before regrouping back on the main deck.”

When Sam saw the elevator Brian pointed to, he wanted to turn back. It was old, probably decades old, made of dark, rusting metal and wire caging. There were spaces in between the metal bars so that you could see inside, but there wasn’t enough space to pass a hand through. The shadows created by some of the red equipment lights fell on the floor the same way the blood red light had…No. He stopped thinking before his brain could reach that conclusion.

Dean, having been behind him, caught Sam’s momentary hesitation when the other three people missed it. “I’m right here, man,” he said quietly so they wouldn’t be able to hear. For emphasis, he nudged Sam’s side, though the action lacked the joking undertone it had held earlier. 

This deep in the ship, it wasn’t possible to turn around and go back to the main deck without Brian’s supervision. That and the fact that a ghost was probably on the loose were both very strong reasons why turning back wasn’t an option.

So Sam took a breath, steeled himself, and continued the last few feet into the elevator. Dean followed suit and settled himself at Sam’s side, deliberately not blocking the only way out. Brian closed the doors, pushed a few buttons, and soon the elevator began the painfully slow process of crawling down to the boiler room.

While the logical part of his brain knew that it was completely safe and that the absence of white lights and the addition of red ones was purely for show, Sam was not enjoying the tour as he had been just an hour earlier.

He tensed all his muscles to avoid flinching when the elevator jolted to a halt. When Brian opened the elevator, Sam was the first one out and relished the feeling of open air around him.

There was a lot of it.

That was the first thing he realized as Brian brought them along one of the walkways to what appeared to be the center of one of the boiler rooms. 

“Now, you’re probably wondering why it looks so empty. All the boilers were removed after the ship was docked here to ensure that she could never sail again. The areas were cleaned and refurbished, and one of the rooms is now used for events. But the other four are much like you see here,” Brian waved a hand around them.

The walkways were ringed with metal handrails and led around a central mechanical system in the middle of the room before going down to the next boiler room. But Sam had never seen a room this big, not by any standard.

Dean, still at his side, was making a slow sweep of the massive space with his eyes. 

They could see the sides of the ship, which was a relief, but they were nothing but dark sheets of metal, probably forty feet or more away from the walkway on either side. Between them and the walls was nothing but dark, empty floor a few feet below the elevated passage. The orange lights lining the walkways cast shadows up onto the walls and as Sam’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, he noticed catwalks almost thirty to forty feet up in the air.

“And we’re underwater, right?” Dave asked, taking a moment away from his camera to ask Brian the question.

Brian nodded in response. “Strange to think about, I know, but we are in fact completely submerged. Another interesting thing about this very spot, some people have seen figures walking along the catwalks during a few tours. So keep your eyes peeled.”

Dave immediately snapped a few photos of the closest catwalk while Elaine took some of the other side.

Sam turned his attention to the catwalks as well, waiting for any figures to appear in front of or behind him. The shadows remained completely still, but Sam didn’t like the idea of a spirit having a height advantage over them on the catwalks.

“What’s down that way?” Dean asked and pointed to where the walkway wound around and continued through a set of what appeared to be giant doors that stretched from the floor to the ceiling. The walkway cut through the doors in a slit leading all the way up, with nothing but an even blacker darkness on the other side.

“The walkways continue through all the boiler rooms, so it’ll be another room just like this one. But for tour purposes this is the only one safe to investigate,” Brian answered. 

Dean nodded. “Gotcha.”

Sam heard the response rather than saw it, because he turned away from the two and walked a few paces over to where he could look over the railing and down at the dark floor below. There were small remnants of machinery, places where things were bolted down, but other than that the floor was bare. The sheer size of the boilers that had once been inside the ship was extraordinary.

Dean made his footsteps obviously loud as he came up behind Sam. “This room is freaking huge, man. And it’s underwater, I mean…” he trailed off and looked around. “You notice anything else?” He quickly switched back to the problem at hand, momentary enjoyment in the tour passing.

Sam shook his head. “Nothing but dark, empty space.”

“Just how we like it.”

Brian clapped his hands lightly, but even that echoed in the giant metal tomb. “Alright, if you’ll all follow me back to the elevator, we’ll head back up, hit a few rooms on deck, and finish up for the night!”

Sam was content with that. The sooner they could get back on deck where the cell signal was much stronger, and eventually back to the Impala with its weapons, they could find out if what they were dealing with was dangerous.

The brothers passed by Elaine taking a few more pictures of the catwalks before she fell in line behind them and Brian, who was up quite a ways ahead. As they were walking, Dean glanced off to the side for a split second before he returned his attention to the area in front of them.

“What?” Sam asked almost immediately.

“Nothing.”

“Dean, what?”

Dean just shrugged. “Thought I saw a…distortion in all the dark space, was probably just my eyes playing tricks on me.”

“Sure, haven’t heard that one before,” Sam sighed sarcastically and gripped the iron rod in his pocket.

Finally they were back at the elevator and after stepping in behind Brian, waited a moment before Elaine came in after them. 

“I thought Dave was up ahead with you?” Elaine asked and looked around the small elevator as if he would materialize out of thin air.

Brian, too, looked around before he slowly shook his head. “No, last I saw he was taking pictures of the doors. I had assumed he was walking back with you.”

Elaine very slowly shook her head. “So…where is he?” She backed out of the elevator and looked down the walkways they had just come up. Upon not seeing anything, she took a few steps back inside.

“That’s a good question,” Brian said as he reached for his flashlight. Sam thought he was about to flick it on to look for Dave, but he noticed a split second too late that his grip was completely wrong on it.

Before Sam could reach a hand out to stop it, Brian brought the flashlight down on Elaine’s skull and she collapsed bonelessly to the metal outside the elevator. 

Sam caught Dean reaching for the knife he had stashed in his boot, but before he could do so, an invisible force pinned both him and Sam to the interior walls of the elevator. Sam winced with the impact which jarred his ribs that had already taken some hits over the past day. 

When he looked up at the elevator door, he saw Brian standing there, hands outstretched, a line of black fluid leaking from his eye. When he spoke, his voice was raspy. “Where is Dave, indeed?” A lopsided grin stretched across his features and it didn’t take a look at Dean for Sam to know that they were screwed.

“Who are you?” Dean bit out, face contorted from trying unsuccessfully to push past the force holding him to the wall.

“Shouldn’t concern yourself with that,” the creature tutted and walked over to Dean. “Just one thing left to choose,” he hummed.

Sam immediately locked eyes with Dean. This whole situation was very quickly heading down a bad path. 

Whatever was inside Brian then spun and quickly crossed the elevator to stand in front of Sam. The black liquid, which Sam was fairly certain was ectoplasm, leaked down Brian’s face and a few drops landed on Sam’s blue and white flannel.

“You,” he poked Sam’s shoulder harshly.

“You keep your hands off him!” Dean yelled, but the creature paid him no attention.

“You seem more restless down here. Yes. I’ll have more fun with you.” The smirk returned and it brought Brian’s hand up again. Sam expected the pressure on his body to increase, but he felt no change.

Instead, he was left to watch as from across the elevator, Dean began to choke. He gagged, apparently not getting enough air, eyes bulging as his chest tried to rise.

“Stop it! Whatever you want, it can be fixed, but not like this!” Sam strained against the pressure, but had the same results as his brother.

“Now, where’s the fun in that?”

Arguing with the spirit would do no good, so Sam kept his eyes firmly on Dean, who was very quickly losing his battle with consciousness. “I’m right here, Dean, you gotta stay awake, we’ll figure a way out of this,” he pleaded. Much to his horror, Dean’s eyes rolled up into his head a few seconds later and he collapsed to the grated floor with a heavy thud.

Sam winced as he heard Dean’s head in particular hit the ground hard. “Dean? Dean!” It was no use. His brother was oblivious to the world, and the supposed spirit possessing Brian looked happy for it. 

“It’s a big ship, you know. Plenty of places to hide a body, little dark corners where even the staff don’t look.”

“Who are you?” Sam ground out, anger filling his words. 

“I’m the one who will make you pay for my suffering. That’s what matters.” The words were cold, devoid of emotion. When he stepped back from Sam, the younger Winchester could only watch as the spirit yanked Dean’s left arm and dragged him from the elevator. He must have only left Dean on the immediate walkway, because Brian was back a moment later.

Sam tried to muster up the strength to reach for the iron in his pocket, but his hands were pressed flat against the rusted metal wall at his sides. 

“We’d be underwater if it weren’t for a few inches of metal. Imagine how hard it would be to breathe then.” The spirit twisted Brian’s hand again and Sam felt the added pressure squarely on his ribs. “Won’t be hard to imagine after this.” Another pressure wave and Sam let out a gasp as he felt a few ribs crack under the force. In an instant his whole chest constricted and fire made its way through his lungs.

And then, just like that, the force against his ribs stopped, leaving only agony behind. Much like Dean, the pressure holding him in place was simply lifted, and he fell to the floor in a painful, uncoordinated heap. Any intake of breath was a struggle, and it took most of what he had to roll to his side so he could watch the spirit in the doorway. 

Dean was, in fact, in eyesight, lumped next to Elaine.

“Oh Sam?” There it was again, the voice he had heard passing by him in the engine room. Only now it was in the flesh, staring back at him with a menacing grin on his face. “I hope you don’t mind cages.”

Sam couldn’t even find his voice to protest as the spirit slammed the metal elevator door shut and locked the chain Brian had undone earlier. He heard heavy footsteps against the metal, which paused for a moment. When they picked up again, Sam recognized the distinct sounds of something heavy being dragged down the walkway. Two somethings, in this case, one of which was his brother. Through the grates in the metal door, he watched as Dean’s unconscious form was dragged down the walkway and out of view.

He wanted to go to the door, to shake it and shout for Dean and find a way out. But none of that would happen, not with the tightness and intense pain in his chest. From prior experience, he knew that at least a few of his ribs were broken, and he could only hope to a degree that wouldn’t puncture a lung. 

Even rotating his body so he could lie on his side facing the door took the remaining air out of him. Soon enough, darkness encroached on the edges of his vision.

The metal elevator floor was cool beneath him, but rusted and old. Flecks of dirt and stone sat amongst forgotten pieces of wood. Nothing of use. Instead, he turned his deteriorating vision towards the door. The thick grated metal ensured that he couldn’t get a clear picture of anything going on outside beyond general shapes.

A small amount of red-orange light filtered through, casting cage-like shadows in grotesque hues onto the floor and Sam’s body. 

The pain. The darkness. The metal. The light. Too exhausted to stop his train of thought, his brain made the connection. It was like being back in Lucifer’s cage all over again. 

With that, the darkness took him, and Sam sagged painfully against the floor.

Chapter Text

When Dean came to, the first thing he registered was the ground humming beneath him. The second thing was that his head hurt something awful. As he slowly opened his eyes to get his bearings, he thankfully found that there were no harsh lights nearby.

But as he realized where he was, the lack of bright lights became much more disconcerting. He was back in the isolation ward, trapped in one of the show rooms with empty, stark white beds. A jail cell-like metal railed door was shut and blocking his only way out of the room. He could see the closed padlock hanging from it even from his place on the floor, meaning he was locked in. The lights that had been on for the tour earlier were off, leaving only a few dim yellow emergency lights. They were enough for him to see around the room and across the hall, but not enough to chase the shadows from where they began down in the rest of the small ward.

Dean winced as he sat up, apparently having been dragged and dropped like a sack of potatoes onto the floor by what he assumed was a spirit. The spirit of whom was a completely different story. If only he had Sam to do some research…Sam.

“Sammy!” he immediately yelled, much more alert as he looked around the room at a rate that made his head spin. His younger brother wasn’t with him, which meant the spirit had either stashed him somewhere else in the ship or left him in the cage-like elevator they had used earlier. Dean really hoped it was the former.

Having spotted Elaine in the corner of the room a few seconds after waking up, he went to check on her. There was a bloody gash on the top of her head, with dark rivulets running down the side of her face where her head had tilted against the wall. Dean took a deep breath as he pressed his fingers against her throat.

It took some maneuvering, but finally he found a pulse. It was thready and fast, but still present. He let out a small sigh of relief. She undoubtedly had some major head trauma, but if he could get her help, she would likely pull through. The only problem was that the phone signal in the isolation ward was practically nonexistent. Every message he sent or call he tried to make came back to him with an error message.

Dean swore under his breath and checked the time. It had been almost twelve when the tour was wrapping up and they had gotten ambushed. He was relieved to see that it was barely past midnight, meaning he hadn’t missed too much. Still, any missing time wasn’t good in a situation like this.

He looked back at Elaine, wishing he could do something to help. He would’ve liked to have put her on one of the beds, but he didn’t know the extent of her injuries or how she had been dragged up to the room, so he didn’t want to risk injuring her further. He eventually settled on taking off his red, brown, and white flannel to position between her wound and the wall to hopefully help with the bleeding. Dean was just moving her back when the temperature in the room dropped dramatically. With just his blue jacket and undershirt remaining, he felt the change even before his breath clouded in front of his face.

He immediately stood up and spun around and was faced with Brian (or not Brian, really), standing outside the door, silhouetted by the yellow light behind him. With it, his eyes were sunken and the half smirk on his face didn’t seem quite human. He was happy with the sight of the humans trapped in front of him, that much Dean knew for certain.

“Forgot how powerful these can be,” he raised his arm and clenched his hand so Dean could see. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been in a flesh and blood body. Feels…” he paused to crane his neck in a slow circle, cracking it as he did so before he sighed and finished, “Warm and homey.”

Dean actually grimaced a little at that, to which the spirit laughed. 

“She’ll wake up, maybe, maybe not. It isn’t my problem, she wasn’t the fun one,” he shrugged simply. “The husband’s dealt with, you’re a hindrance; which is why you’re here…”

“You love hearing yourself talk don’t you there, Brian?” Dean jabbed, knowing it wasn’t his name. But maybe he could get him to spill a little extra that would help Dean in figuring out just how the spirit had gotten into Brian in the first place.

The spirit’s face twisted just a little at that. “Brian, isn’t awake at the moment,” he hissed.

“Sorry about the lack of formalities then, buddy, but you’re Brian; no idea what you’re talking about.”

He still didn’t know how the spirit had known Sam’s name other than by overhearing it, but if that was the case, then it was possible that he also didn’t know the brothers were hunters well versed in the art of taking down ghosts just like him.

“My name is Roger, and you will address me as such. Brian is merely a helping hand for my spirit, but that is beside the point.” Dean filed the name away for future use and thanked whoever that the guy had a big, angry mouth on him. “There haven’t been too many people to listen to me for a long, long time. Now, I’ve got a captive audience,” he gestured towards Dean in the cell. “Of course, not as captive as your Sam, but he’s having fun all by himself, which is plenty for me.”

Any plan Dean had of getting information went out the window. Sam had still been in the elevator, which he hadn’t been a fan of in the first place, when Dean was attacked. If he was locked in there by himself… “What did you do to him?” he growled.

“Who, me?” Roger smiled, knowing he had pushed the only button that mattered. “I did nothing. I left him alone with his sins, which even I can tell he has many of, just by looking at him in this environment.”

Dean stepped forward in warning, but not too close to the door. He was tempted to reach through quickly and disintegrate Roger with his iron rod, but that would be showing his hand, and he might need the element of surprise for later. “If you hurt him I swear-”

“Swear to what?” Roger interrupted. “Kill me? That would be a little redundant, and in your current situation, I doubt any threats of the sort could be acted upon.”

So Roger was fairly clueless, that was working in Dean’s favor. Instead of following his ‘hurt whoever hurt Sam’ instinct, he swallowed his anger and did what Sam would do: find out as much as he could. 

“Redundant, huh, so you’re dead then? Captive audience here, what happened?” Dean asked, one eyebrow quirked in curiosity.

“A series of unfortunate events.”

Dean stifled a laugh at the unintended reference. Hell, Roger had probably never heard of it, depending on when he died. “You’ll find I’m a fairly sympathetic listener.”

Roger clearly thought it over for a moment, Brian’s face warping as he did so. “The cook happened to find himself in an oven one day, and some of the deckhands blamed me.” Dean was willing to bet Roger had been guilty, whatever the reason, but the spirit didn’t elaborate on why the deckhands had blamed him. “They pushed me down the cargo hold and left me there, broken - in the dark - for hours before they called for help. It didn’t do much good by the time they brought me here.”

“That does sound very unfortunate.” Dean kept his voice extremely level as he tried to piece together the story and why Roger had seemingly appeared to wreak havoc only tonight.

“It was. Thank you for forcing me to relive it,” he sneered and stepped back from the door. “I’ve been here waiting and watching for what has felt like a millennium. Tonight is the night of my rebirth. If you’re lucky, your death by my hands will be far less gruesome than what I was forced to suffer.”

“Well, Lemony Snicket, thanks for that in advance,” Dean couldn’t help the sarcasm. The little reference brought him a small spark of joy, even though it flew way over Roger’s head.

Roger squinted his eyes. “Dean, Dean, Dean, that’s what he called you, yes? Cried out for you even as his lungs were being crushed.” He shot Dean a snarling grin. “Sam’s fate, of course, is still to be determined. I’d advise you to remember that when you decide to address me.” Without waiting for a retort, he turned and left the ward. Dean tracked him as far as he could before he disappeared into the dark hallway, leaving Dean with a pounding head full of questions and worry.

A prickling sensation in his right arm was what drew Sam back to consciousness. His body reflexively tried to take a breath in, but as soon as it did so, Sam winced and forced his lungs to take in less air. When the dark spots finally receded, Sam found himself in the same position he had last been in. He was thankful not to have been moved, but also realized what a horrible situation he was in. That, and he had no idea where his brother was.

“Dean?” It came out as a gasp punctuated with a cough, which shook Sam’s rib cage. Nope, coughing was not a good idea. Neither was moving for that matter, but his right arm was completely asleep under him, and he had to get some circulation back into it.

Sam very slowly pushed himself up with his left arm until he was sitting up against one of the elevator’s mesh metal sides, legs sprawled out in front of him. Even that simple movement left him dizzy and as his brain caught up with everything that had happened, his stomach began to sink.

He was locked inside a metal elevator underwater in a ship, his phone said it was after midnight, he had no service, and no one aside from his missing brother knew he was down here.

“That’s right, Sammy,” said a voice off in the corner of the elevator. Sam’s blood immediately ran cold and all his muscles tensed up. It couldn’t be. “Quite a mess you’ve gotten yourself into, hm? Wanna talk about it?” He then watched in horror as from the darkness, two red eyes glowed to life in front of him. 

Dark shoulders materialized almost immediately after and soon enough, Sam could make out the Devil’s outline leaning up against the wall across from Sam. He looked lazy and at ease, but the animalistic grin on his face said otherwise.

“You…can’t be,” Sam whispered when he finally worked up the courage to speak.

The dark, devilish figure across from him shrugged, eyes still burning. “Part of the fun is watching you try to figure this all out, Sam, you know that. Am I real, am I not, that old routine. It’s quite amusing if I must say so myself.”

A shiver ran through Sam’s whole body, and he bit back a wince. “Rowena’s spell kept you in the cage, you’re not here.”

Lucifer snapped his fingers and the red glow from his eyes faded. Sam was left looking at just his silhouette, which was worse. “I’m sure she followed the spell exactly as planned and didn’t change anything for her own benefit. No, being self-serving just doesn’t sound like her.” There was a bit of a chuckle at the end, as Lucifer knew he had a point.

Except he didn’t, because he wasn’t really there. He couldn’t be. Sam squeezed his eyes shut and took a few breaths as deeply as he could, and was horrified to find that even after this sequence, the corner was still occupied by the shadowy figure.

The metal elevator creaked and groaned as Sam moved to sit himself up further. “You’re just a hallucination, you have to be. I’m not getting enough air…something,” he rationalized out loud.

The Devil just shrugged. “And if you’re wrong? No big brother to save you this time, Sammy, it’s just you and me. And you know how much fun we can have by ourselves.” He began moving away from the metal wall on all fours, inching forward until Sam could make out some of his face in the orange emergency light.

The skin was peeled back in various places, leaving circles of bloody, raw flesh on the Devil’s face. His hands, which gripped the grated floor, were similarly scarred. 

In the back of his mind, Sam remembered that Lucifer had been unscathed when they left him in the cage only weeks ago. The scarring was reminiscent of the strain on Nick’s vessel during the original apocalypse, meaning that this Lucifer in front of him was indeed just a figment of his imagination.

But between the pain and fear, logic was hard to grasp. 

Lucifer sat in front of him, cross-legged, and tilted his head. Amusement sparkled in the eyes that reflected the orange light, while the same expression was stuck to his face. It was if he were regarding Sam as a puppy, or a toy. Something to be played with. Sam knew the look all too well. 

“Maybe I’m real, maybe I’m not. Doesn’t matter,” he shrugged and reached out a hand. “I can make you suffer. That’s all I need.”

As Sam began twisting away to avoid his hand, Lucifer leaned all the way forward and put weight on Sam’s chest. His ribs immediately protested the extra movement and he wrapped his hands around the grate below him in an attempt to ground himself and ride out the wave of agony. 

“We’ve done so much with pain and loneliness, Sam. Hell, you’ve done plenty with it just by yourself. What would you say to us having some fun, hm?” 

“No,” Sam whispered between clenched teeth. Metal dug into his fingers and the harder he pressed, the more semblance of control he gained. Eventually the metal began to feel slick beneath him, not that Sam registered why that might be. For a split second, Lucifer’s image flickered in front of him, and Sam thought he might have found a way out.

But then the Devil frowned. Aware of Sam’s plan, always aware of how Sam would try to weasel out.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he tutted and wagged his finger back and forth in front of him. “That old trick won’t work, we’re well past that now.”

In an instant, like the frame shifting to the next image in a movie, Lucifer was up from his seated position and towering over Sam, who remained on the floor. Sam startled, but didn’t release his hold on the grates. His failing grip on reality.

Lucifer grinned down at him, the action opening some of the scarred flesh so that dark streaks of blood ran from his cheeks. They dripped onto the floor and vanished into the dark metal framework of the elevator. 

“How about this? A little reminder of your cosmic insignificance, hm?”

Sam could feel the blood rush from his head, leaving him more lightheaded than before, as Lucifer rolled back his shoulders. In the dim, hellish light, shadows of dark wings encompassed the metal walls. 

The darkness was everywhere. It was coming for him. There was no escape. 

Sam’s chest ached as his heart continued to speed up. He kept his hands on the grates and pressed himself as far back against the wall as he could, as if he could disappear into it. 

The wings kept encroaching, black splotches at the edges of his vision, evil in front of him, hellfire surrounding him. Through it all, the Devil smiled, flashes of red lights reflecting off his perfectly white teeth.

Chapter Text

Dean had waited for a few minutes for Roger to return, and when he didn’t, he pulled out his lock pick and wound his hands through the metal rails on the door. Picking the lock from behind the door with no way to see it was both uncomfortable and difficult. With a pounding head on top of it, the process took him almost two minutes longer than normal. When it finally did click open, Dean let out a sigh of relief. Part one was done. Part two involved waiting for Roger to come back.

He didn’t have to wait too long, thankfully, and was positioned to appear bored as he sat on one of the beds in the room. He messed up the sheets in doing so, like the women had earlier in the other room, and Dean wished Brian were around to yell at him over it.

“You offer room service while we’re stuck here?” Dean asked as Roger came back to the door. He watched Dean instead of the lock that was clicked open but still hanging on the door. 

“Your attitude in your precarious position is quite unusual. May I remind you that your friend’s life depends on your actions?” he sneered at Dean through the rails.

Dean just raised his hands in a ‘what do you want me to do?’ gesture and put them naturally in his pockets. Very slowly, his right hand closed over the iron rod hidden away in the fabric.

“You’re the one calling the shots here, I get it. But you’re a spirit, right? Why bother hanging around?”

“Someone must pay for the manner in which I died.”

“Everyone that should have paid is dead now though. There’s nothing logical about-”

“Do not!” Roger yelled, abusing Brian’s vocal chords. “Speak to me of logic in this situation!” Dean noted the temperature in the room dropping a few more degrees and chanced standing up and moving a few steps toward the door.

“I’m just trying to explain, man. I mean, you’re pretty talkative for a ghost, why not try to have a discussion about it?” He was being truthful about that at least. Then again, he wasn’t sure how long Roger had actually been dead. That and waiting around, not being disturbed so not going completely vengeful until recently… it was making for one strange situation indeed.

He stopped when he got to the other side of the door and using his decades of experience, didn’t flinch as Roger quite literally bared his teeth at the hunter. “There’s other options here, Roger. How’s about you let us go, and we can go about finding you some closure? Some information about what happened to the people that did this to you? I bet in all your time listening to tourists and guides they’ve never mentioned it.”

“No,” Roger bit out in an animalistic tone. “I was forgotten. As you will be.”

Dean actually sighed at that. He was really hoping for the first ever case of being able to reason with a ghost in possession of a person. But nope, no breaks for them today. “Wrong answer,” he said lowly. 

In a fluid motion, before Roger had time to act, Dean brought out the iron rod from his jacket and reached through the metal bars. As soon as the rod touched Brian’s exposed wrist, the spirit screamed and disappeared in a cloud of smoke and sparks. Brian crumpled to the floor and Dean winced in sympathy as he hit hard.

It only took a few seconds of maneuvering for Dean to get the lock off the door and swing it open. A quick check on Brian showed that he was still alive, though Dean worried in what state. As carefully as he could, he dragged Brian into the room and propped him up against the bed.

Dean knew he only had a few minutes before Roger either came back or went after Sam, so he had to find whatever was tying his spirit to the ship, and he had to find it fast.

He immediately walked over to the room they had been in earlier with the lists of passengers and crew that had died aboard. Near the bottom of the crew list he found his first answer. 

Voyage #: 516.     Date: Nov. 15, 1967.     Name: Roger Morris.     Rating: Able Seaman.     Cause of death: Trauma

He was the only Roger listed on either board, so Dean had to assume that was who they were dealing with. A small cross next to his name informed Dean that he had been buried at sea, which he had figured. Roger’s death note was also right below that of the cook, who had been killed by a “cerebral hemorrhage” just two days earlier. He made the connection, nodded to himself, and kept staring at the board. Dean remembered what Brian had said earlier and vaguely wondered how being shoved in an oven had caused a death to be listed as intense head trauma instead of burning alive before deciding not to think on it further. 

Roger’s actual remains weren’t on board, so it was either some DNA or sentimental item that had been disturbed, probably very recently, that accounted for his sudden appearance as a vengeful spirit.

Even if Dean could find what Roger was attached to, he still didn’t have any salt to properly dispatch the spirit with. Lighter fluid he could do without, as he had his lighter in his pocket. So getting salt was next up on his to-do list, and he figured he’d think better while on the move anyways.

Dean walked down the hallway, made sure Elaine and Brian were still relatively alright, and headed up the stairs out of the isolation ward. He would’ve made a beeline for the Impala in the parking lot, but it seemed too far, and he remembered seeing a cafe on the main deck earlier. It might involve a little breaking and entering, but it would have to do.

He wound his way through the ship, the metal creaking around him as he did so, senses on high alert should Roger pop back up. More likely than not, he had gone below deck to deal with Sam, which made Dean speed up. His head spun as he did so, but he had experience navigating with head injuries, so it didn’t do much to slow him down.

The main deck was completely deserted when he finally clambered up the stairs and his boots echoed on the hardwood floor. Lights in the shop windows were still on, but beyond that, the deck that had been bustling with life earlier in the day was completely silent. Eerily so. Dean crossed the deck to the cafe and was pleased to find that they only had a rope across the open door, stating that it would be open to the public again at eight in the morning.

Dean ducked under the rope without incident, retrieved a hefty can of salt from the kitchen, and began making his way downstairs again. All the while he had a clock running in his head of how much damage Roger could do to Sam, and how many bandages it would take to put him back together again.

Bandages.

Dean paused, foot hovering over a step.

If Roger had been pushed down the cargo shaft and later found, he would’ve been taken to the ward for medical attention. He had likely died in one of the beds in the two rooms Dean had been in. Bled out on the sheets and hard excuse for a mattress.

Items on the ship that had gone largely undisturbed until two drunk women sat on them earlier in the night.

Dean immediately sped down the rest of the stairs and couldn’t stop himself from snapping his fingers. The sound echoed in the abandoned area. Without researching, he couldn’t be sure that he was right, but it was at least something, and he had a gut feeling about it. The timing, Roger’s story, it all lined up. That, and he needed to be right, otherwise they were all likely very screwed. 

When he descended the steps to the isolation ward, Dean slowed down and looked around the corner cautiously. The dim yellow emergency lights did a subpar job of lighting the way, but Dean couldn’t see anything else moving down the hall. With quiet steps, he made his way back down, the shadows from the machines making him do far more double takes than were necessary.

He peeked his head in to check on Elaine and Brian and, finding them in the same spot, went to the room they had visited during the tour. The lower bunk bed was still in disarray, its crumpled sheets juxtaposed with the higher bed and its smooth blanket and military corners.

Dean shook his head, mentally cursing the idiots of the world, and went about flipping over the pillow and blankets. It took him almost a minute to find it, a faded dull brown stain on the pillow itself under the casing. With the ship permanently docking the same year as Roger’s death, it was likely that nobody had done a thorough clean-up. He didn’t allow himself to feel relief just yet though, and quickly brought out the salt and his lighter to finish the job.

The quicker it burned, the quicker he could get back to Sam.

The Devil’s laughter echoed all around him. It was full bellied, gleeful, with a hint of reverb as it bounced off the metal walls of the boiler room and ended up back in Sam’s ears. The elevator felt like a casket, the bottom of the ship his tomb.

“I mean! I’m not even doing anything and look at you!” Lucifer mocked. His red eyes pierced through the darkness, his figure lit from behind with the horrible red lights. His wings were still outstretched, making the world around Sam even darker and more claustrophobic. Even as he tried to control it, he could feel his chest constricting painfully.

“It’s pitiful, really. The great Sam Winchester, a cowering ball on the floor just at the thought of what I could do with a snap of my fingers.”

He brought his fingers in front of Sam’s face for emphasis and did just that. Sam’s whole body flinched involuntarily as the elevator around him began to spin.

The Devil laughed again. Cackled and grinned and leaned in even closer. “I’ll never really be gone, Sammy boy. And you know it.”

Delusion or not, lack of oxygen or not, Sam knew it. He knew it in his bones, in his soul. He’d never be completely free from Lucifer’s grasp, and the thought had his stomach sinking further below the ship.

No, Lucifer would never be gone.

But he was locked away. Back in the cage where he had spent thousands of years. Back in the one place he had never been able to escape, with no way for him to get out this time.

Even through his clouded thoughts, Sam could pull out the realization. 

“Maybe not,” he said, suddenly defiant, a flickering flame of courage blooming in his sore chest. “You still exist, sure, but not here, and not in any way that matters. You never will again, we’ve made sure of that.”

“You need me and you know it,” Lucifer seethed. But in the light of Sam’s epiphany, the look reminded him of a petulant child rather than the Devil himself. “Just like when Dean was in trouble, all those years ago, you let me in; just like you did when you tumbled into that box with me.” 

“We don’t need you. I don’t need you,” Sam emphasized. “Never have and never will. You’re done in every way that could be used to your benefit. You’re trapped, finished, and will be for years to come.”

Sam watched as Lucifer clenched his fists before he brought a hand up to point at his head. “I still thrive here, nothing you can do about that.”

“Maybe not yet. But I will. And that’s on me, not on you, that’s the difference.” His heart was pounding in his chest as he said it. The truth he had so long tried to believe, now forced out in the presence of his tormentor’s figure. 

Lucifer continued to stare him down, no more wisecracks or threats. He lowered his hand back to his side. Sam watched as the dark wings completely covered his form, leaving a black void where he once stood. Slowly it dissipated, turning back into the other side of the elevator, empty and absent of presence. Sam still didn’t remove his hands from the grates or unclench his muscles, despite the relief of the Devil being gone.

His instincts were right; the nightmare didn’t seem to be over just yet. In Lucifer’s place stood a pale figure in the corner of the elevator. Sam couldn’t see its entire body, but he could see its head and eyes. While Lucifer’s eyes had been filled with a sort of evil amusement, these held nothing but pure rage. 

In an instant Sam had the sense that this was the vengeful spirit they had been dealing with, and removed a hand from the grate to grab the iron rod in his pocket. Why the spirit wasn’t still inside Brian he had no idea, but he could only hope it meant that Dean had made some progress.

Only now, the spirit was watching him, seething with anger, chest heaving up and down with breaths it didn’t need to take. 

“You!” It bellowed in a deep, animalistic voice. As its mouth opened, trails of dark blood leaked out, and through its lips Sam could make out a mess of broken teeth. It took steps towards Sam, head cocked to the right. That side of its head was flatter than the rest of the skull, obviously concaved following a massive impact. 

The spirit held its right arm closer to its body as well, as if the pain from the material world had followed it even in death. The arm was bent at multiple odd angles and would likely be entirely limp if not for the left holding it up. “Fun’s over,” it added simply and began crossing the short distance to where Sam lay. 

The rod ensured that Sam wouldn’t be possessed, but if he couldn’t raise it in time or at the right angle, the spirit could definitely still do some damage. Especially with him in such a weak state. 

A death rattle seemed to echo from the spirit’s lips the closer it got to Sam. With less than a step to go, Sam brought the rod out of his pocket but still kept his hand by his side, out of view. Just as he was getting ready to bring it up for a swing, the spirit stopped.

It looked side to side, then back at Sam. Then its face began contorting. Its mouth opened in a silent scream first, followed by a very real one, as dark orange flames began encroaching up its body. Embers flew out from all sides, lighting up the dark interior of the elevator. Sam held up the rod in his hand to shield his eyes as the spirit continued to shriek.

The screaming only stopped when it was finally, completely consumed by flames and darkness returned to the elevator. 

Sam dropped his bloodied hand into his lap with a sigh, and immediately winced. Not a good idea. But the spirit was dealt with, which meant Dean was okay. It meant Dean was coming.

It meant Lucifer, no matter how fake, had been wrong. 

Sam smiled minutely to himself and unclenched his other hand from where it had been gripping the grate. He still held onto the rod, just in case, but finally let his shoulders relax a fraction so his hands could rest on his legs. 

The door to the elevator was still locked. In his current condition, he couldn’t make it over to try and unlock it from the inside with a pick. Even if he could, his hands would likely be too big to fit through the holes in the metal. He resolved to wait until the room stopped spinning or Dean showed up, whichever came first, to make his move.

He focused on taking air in and pushing it out. All the while, time slipped away from him. He was only brought back to full awareness when he heard the chain outside the elevator being moved and the lock opened. Sam’s eyes opened and he could make out a shape beyond the metal grates, working to undo the chain fully.

When it was finally released and dropped into a metallic heap next to the door, it opened, and red light flooded the elevator. Sam tilted his head so he could better see the figure in the doorway and immediately recognized Dean’s silhouette.

With the red lights behind him, it all at once reminded Sam of the demon that had hunted him through the halls of the bunker, bathed in flashing red lights. Sam sucked in a breath and stiffened, even though it made no sense. The fear of the past—how long had it even been?—still had him on edge. That and not being able to clearly see the expression on his brother’s face made him uneasy.

But that was soon remedied as Dean crossed the floor and dropped to a knee next to him. “Sammy?” he said in his typical quiet, worried voice. Sam studied his brother’s face, marred with blood from a head wound, but it was Dean’s face and expression and eyes and soul, all the same.

“Hey,” Sam quirked out a small smile alongside a wince as an involuntary sigh left him. His brother was here, the spirit was gone. The details they could figure out.

“You okay?” Dean immediately began checking him over, starting with Sam’s bloodied hands in his lap. Dean didn’t look pleased about those, not one bit. When he reached into his pocket, Sam knew why. Dean was only carrying the one bandana, and Sam had two injured hands.

With a sigh, Dean gently took the rod from Sam’s right hand, placed it in his pocket, and wrapped the bandana around Sam’s palm. He tied it off as efficiently as he always did and then went about his ministrations. “Fine, fine…ribs,” Sam bit out as Dean danced his fingers around a sore spot. His whole chest was sore, really, but there were definitely a few ribs in particular.

“Sonofabitch,” Dean muttered under his breath. “The hunt and now this, right?” Sam only had it in him to nod. “We’ll get you fixed up, no problem, nothing we haven’t done before.”

“You good?” Sam finally asked after almost a minute of silent checking over had passed.

“Nothing that can’t be fixed.” Dean brushed it off as he always did. Once Sam was on his feet and had more air under his wings, he’d make sure Dean was telling the truth. Head injuries were usually something to worry about, after all. “You good to stand?” Dean checked. “We should get moving, some calls I gotta make once I can get a signal.”

Sam nodded again. He wanted to get out of the elevator as soon as possible. Dean had found his way back down, so there was likely a set of stairs they hadn’t taken on the tour that led down to another area of the boiler rooms. 

For now, he took Dean’s outstretched hand with his bandaged one and let Dean haul him up. The sudden change in position had his ribs protesting and blood rushing to his head, but it still felt good to be moving, to see an exit around him, to not be alone. 

It didn’t take much maneuvering or even a second thought for him to wrap his arms under Dean’s and lean his head against his shoulder in an impromptu hug. 

Dean only took a moment before he reciprocated, arms up and around Sam’s shoulders where he squeezed lightly so as not to hurt his ribs further.

“You sure you’re okay? Sam?” Dean whispered next to his ear. It was a pleasant sound, miles away from how the spirit had taunted him earlier in the engine room.

“Yeah,” he nodded into Dean’s shoulder, “I will be."

Chapter Text

The way down Dean had found earlier was a metal ladder that led from the boiler room level to the deck above. Once upon a time it had probably been a maintenance hatch or a way for staff or sailors to get down a level quickly. Dean had just seen the locked cage around the descending ladder, undone the lock, and clambered his way down. Then it was just a short walk down some super unnerving and dark catwalks until he found the elevator and his brother.

Getting back up the ladder was another problem. They would’ve taken the elevator back up, but neither of them had a control key for it. So the ladder it was. He let Sam go up first, who had to take it gingerly with his hands. A tetanus booster was definitely in his future, Dean knew for sure as he wiped flakes of rust and paint off his hands after he joined Sam on the upper deck.

As soon as he had a cell signal, he called the authorities, and notified the first security guard he saw of what had happened.

The story, of course, was that some unknown psycho in the ship had ruined the tour and caused all the problems. He could only hope that the rest of their group would be too out of it to remember the truth or pin it on Brian.

Police and ambulances were there in a matter of minutes. Dean made sure to stay in Sam’s line of sight as he answered questions and Sam got the wounds on his hands disinfected and bandaged. He also watched, thankfully, as Brian and Elaine were wheeled out on gurneys and taken in the waiting ambulances to the nearest hospital. 

It took the officers another half hour to search the ship entirely before they found Dave, groggy from being knocked out but alive, in the boiler room furthest from where their tour had been. 

Questions were answered, pictures were taken, and as the crowds began to disperse Dean made his way back over to where Sam was trying to talk the paramedic out of taking him to the hospital. 

“Even if they’re not broken, an X-ray is still recommended to be sure. And your hands could really use some tight stitches,” the man was still trying to convince Sam.

“I’m fine, trust me, I know. A few days’ bed rest and I’m good, thank you.” But he didn’t make a strong move out from under the gray shock blanket. When Dean came over to see the look in Sam’s eyes, he decided that any annoyance he would get from his little brother would be a small price to pay for getting him checked out with some real rest to follow.

“Doesn’t sound like a bad idea, Sam. Plus a tetanus booster would be smart with all the debris you’ve been touching.” 

The medic looked to Dean gratefully while Sam frowned.

“You mind giving us a minute?” Dean asked. The medic nodded and went around to the front of the ambulance.

“Dean…”

“Sam,” Dean cut in before Sam could even try to argue. “We’ve got days of driving ahead of us and no place to stay right now. One night, alright? Get checked out, get some rest, we can get you discharged in the afternoon.”

“Seriously, I’m fine, we can go.”

“How far will we get, huh? Honestly?” Dean was about to run a hand over his eyes but stopped. His hand still smelled like old metal, so he dropped it to his side and sighed. “Rib injuries are no joke. And some quality stitches in your hands will really do some good down the line, you know it.” He could tell by the way Sam was looking pointedly at the pavement and not him that he wasn’t quite selling it. Time for the bigger guns.

“And plus, it’s been a long day after a long hunt. I got tossed around, my ears are ringing, we won’t get too far driving, and I sure as hell am not sleeping in the car tonight.”

Sam’s eyes met Dean’s immediately after he mentioned his ears ringing. Ha, got him.

“Don’t give me any of that, I’m fine,” he brushed off as Sam opened his mouth. So maybe his head did hurt a little. But he wasn’t going to tell Sam that. “Less than a day in the hospital, then we’re good to go. Deal?”

Sam chewed the side of his mouth for a second. “Only if they check you out too.”

Dean would have fought back, but he was honestly tired, and getting Sam to agree had been his one goal. “Fine, done. Get in the back and I’ll let the medic know and follow behind."

He made a move to step away but Sam leaned forward ever so slightly away from the back of the ambulance he was sitting on the edge of. Something danced in his eyes that he would never verbalize, but Dean saw it all the same. “Right behind you, Sammy, I promise; okay?”

A Dean Winchester promise was an important binder on its own, but one from Dean to Sam went perhaps a level above. Sam’s shoulders slumped with the reassurance and he nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

From there it was just a matter of maneuvering him into the ambulance, getting the hospital directions from the paramedic, and following closely behind. Dean liked to think Sam could see the glow of the Impala’s headlights from the windows in the back of the ambulance, but he couldn’t know for sure.

When they pulled into the ambulance bay a few minutes later, Dean lingered in the Impala outside so Sam could see he was still there when they wheeled him out as a precaution. Making eye contact with his brother, he then pulled the car into one of the visitor’s spots and went to get both himself and his brother signed in.

A little over four hours later (the hospital was fairly busy, being in a larger city than they were used to), Dean was sitting in an uncomfortable chair next to Sam’s bed. He had, in fact, been completely cleared of all injuries aside from a few butterfly bandages on his head. No concussion even, which he was extremely happy about, and let Sam know it.

A CT scan had shown that Sam’s two broken ribs weren’t a threat to his lungs, so he had been given some painkillers and told to take it easy for the next six to eight weeks. Sam knew the drill. After his hands had been stitched, the nurse said he should be fit to be discharged in the afternoon. He had a cannula running from his nose to an oxygen tank to get his blood oxygen levels up just a bit and not force his lungs to expand and contract so painfully.

“I told you I was fine,” Dean reminded as he shot a smirk at Sam.

“Didn’t hurt to check though, right?” Sam returned Dean’s earlier sentiments right back to him.

Dean shrugged. “Two hunts in two days, I think they balanced each other out nicely given our track record.”

Sam quirked a smile, but didn’t quite laugh. 

“Back to the bunker in no time. Okay, not no time, but enough time for you to get some rest, and continue doing so once we get back. Though it may be good to take it easy on the research for a few days until your hands heal up a bit,” he gestured to Sam’s bandaged hands, which sat still in his lap. 

Sam opened his mouth to object, but Dean held up a finger to stop him. “Writing and typing can wait a little while. Better to have them heal up right, you know scar tissue on your palms can be a bitch.”

He said it without quite thinking it all the way through—it had been a long day okay, so sue him—and knew he’d hit a bit of a nerve when Sam’s fingers started pulling lightly at the bandage on his other hand. 

“Hey, stop that,” Dean said quietly and leaned closer to the bed so he could physically pull Sam’s hand away. They both knew that cutting their palms all the time wasn’t the best idea, but most of the time it didn’t leave nasty scars. Not like the time a triangle of skin half the size of Sam’s palm had been cut away by a shard of glass and sewed back together by Dean. Nothing quite like that.

While Sam’s hands stopped, he kept staring at them with a thoughtful expression on his face that Dean hadn’t seen in a while. “Nurse said they got cut pretty deep. You must’a been holding onto the elevator pretty hard.” Dean waited a moment before he said it, and when he did, he put as much sympathy and understanding into his words as possible.

He remembered Sam’s hesitation at getting into the elevator in the first place. It didn’t take a genius to put the pieces together, especially after their recent encounter with Lucifer, which Dean swore would never happen again. The last time something like this had happened, Sam had pushed it down so much it had caused a prolonged psychotic break. Even though the circumstances were different this time, Dean knew he had to handle it better. Whatever he could do to help, for both their sakes. 

Sam finally looked up at him, knowing Dean had connected the dots.

“I just want you to know…I’m here, whatever you need,” Dean inclined his head just a bit for emphasis. 

Sam broke out a real smile for that, and it was probably the medication, but Dean could see his eyes shining under the somewhat harsh hospital lights. “Thanks,” he finally said, voice rough and obviously working around a knot of emotion that had formed in his throat. Crying definitely wouldn’t be a help to his chest, so Dean just smiled back and lightly patted his shoulder before he scooted his chair that much closer.

They were both quiet for almost ten minutes before Sam quietly spoke again. “Whatever you’re thinking happened, it wasn’t that bad.”

Dean turned his attention away from a spot on the wall and back to his brother. He wanted to comment, but held his tongue, knowing with the way Sam was still staring at his hands that it was better to just let him say what he needed to.

“Not comparatively. Not…like it was before.” Dean would’ve pressed him for more details, but the relief he felt at the earnestness in Sam’s voice was overpowering. “And I think…in a weird way…it helped.” Dean didn’t know whether to attribute the pauses to the drugs or some genuinely intense introspective thinking, but he was hoping it was the latter. Anything helpful he would take, especially where Lucifer was concerned. 

“Didn’t fix anything, won’t make me forget, but nothing can. So it’s…” Again with the pause, and Dean waited until Sam’s gaze turned back to him. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

Dean couldn’t stop the smile on his face. ‘Okay’ was an extremely situational term for them, but in the moment Sam really seemed to believe it. And if he believed it, then Dean would too. And if some moment in the future the statement turned out to have some cracks in it, Dean would be there to fill them in just the same.

“Good to hear,” Dean said, still smiling. “And you know, if that ever changes—“

“You’ll be there,” Sam finished easily, expression mirroring Dean’s own.

“Damn straight.” 

Sam kept holding his gaze until his eyes began to flutter, sleep finally beginning to take hold. 

“Get some rest, little brother,” Dean muttered quietly and pushed a few of Sam’s bangs away from his face where they had fallen. He didn’t have to say he wasn’t going anywhere, because Sam already knew it.

He kept up the action for another minute or so until Sam sagged against the pillows. The machines next to him beeped a slower, steadier rhythm as the drugs and exhaustion finally pulled him under. 

Dean felt his own eyes getting heavy at the picture in front of him and before he could doubt himself, he toed off his boots and brought up his feet to cross them next to Sam’s thigh on the bed. Probably wasn’t super sanitary, but they’d had much worse and would be leaving in a few hours anyways.

Crossing his arms over his chest, he tried to stay awake as long as he could to keep watch, but he too eventually succumbed, Sam’s heartbeat a steady, comforting cadence in his ears.