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“Is it just me, or is there more crap than usual in here?” Dean asked, shoving past the pile of boxes nearly blocking Bobby’s living room from the rest of the house.
“This is all an old hunters stuff,” Bobby explained from where he was elbows deep in a dusty plastic storage tote. “Been sitting in the shed since he passed, oh, four or five years ago now.”
“So why’s it invading the house now?” Sam asked, flipping open a loose cardboard flap and poking at the box’s contents.
“This guy was a little odd,” Bobby closed up the tote he’d been looking in and set it aside, before dragging another out of the corner. “Liked to find new ways of dealing with monsters and spooks. Any new gizmo or gadget he liked to test out.”
“That what finally got him?” Dean asked, toeing a small shoe box out from under the coffee table and knocking off the lid with this boot.
“Nope. Cancer.”
“That's rough,” Sam said, pulling a notebook out of his box and flipping the pages.
“Yeeup. I remember him talking about a weird book he’d found on the fae. But I don’t know if I ended up with it or not.”
“You got a fae problem?” Dean asked, bending down to pick up the item that had been in the box, a strange green and silver thermos, rusty on the edges and coated in dust despite the protection of the shoe box.
“Something like that,” Bobby grunted.
“He had a lot of note books,” Sam said, pulling another even thicker one out of the box.
“Lemme see that box,” Bobby abandoned his box and shuffled across the living room to get to Sam’s. Rather than being shoved aside, Dean stepped backwards out of the box explosion and into a clear patch of floor near the table, tossing the old thermos from hand to hand.
“Why’d you end up with this guy’s stuff and not his family?” Dean asked.
“Didn’t have one, you know how it is,” Bobby grunted. Dean frowned, and looked down at the thermos he’d been playing with.
“You said he liked gadgets?” Dean asked, noting the gauges and buttons embedded into the sides of the thermos.
“Yeah, anything that might help with the job,” Bobby agreed, only half paying attention. He and Sam were emptying the notebook box of its contents and spreading it out over the couch, the coffee table already taken up with other boxes.
“Huh,” Dean rubbed some of the dust off the thermos. There had once been words on the side, but he couldn’t quite make out what they said. He shook it, just to see if there was anything still inside. Nothing rattled, so despite its weight it had to be empty. None of the lights or dials had any indication that the thing still worked. With a shrug, he pulled the top off. Light exploded in his face and Dean dropped the offending thermos.
“Dean!” Sam called out. Several somethings thumped, and the light vanished almost as soon as it began.
“What in the hell,” Bobby muttered.
“What?” Dean looked to Bobby and Sam, who were both looking at the floor at Dean’s feet. Dean looked down, and immediately scrambled back several steps, because there, on the floor, was a kid.
“Is he dead?” Sam asked, his voice a whisper.
“I don’t know,” Dean hissed back. The boy was pale and still as death, his white hair a frizzy halo around his head. He looked painfully thin, emaciated, under the strange jumpsuit he wore. His skin looked fragile like tissue paper. There was a faded quality to him, like a toy forgotten outside where the sun bleached all its colors. There was a faint glow around his edges.
“He can’t be human–” Bobby started to say, before the boy took a deep, stuttering breath, like a drowned person after cpr. His hands twitched, scrabbling at the floor beneath his back. His whole body jerked, and he started making a gurgling noise, green something dribbling out the side of his mouth.
“Shit,” Bobby swore. “Dean turn him over, he’s choking!”
“What?!” Dean shouted, taking a step away from the, the whatever it was.
“Fuck,” Sam swore, vaulting over the back the of the couch and crashing to his knees beside the kid shaped thing. He heaved the kid over onto his side, and the kid came alive a bit, heaving green slime onto the already stained wooden floor, hacking and coughing as he tried to hold himself on his hands and knees. If Dean had to guess though, Sam was supporting most of his weight.
“You’re okay,” Sam murmured gently, like he was actually talking to a regular kid. “His eyes are glowing green,” he looked to Bobby, who had picked up the thermos Dean had dropped.
“I recognize this,” Bobby turned the thermos over in his hands. “A weird hunter couple were making them. Were supposed to trap ghosts, long enough you could salt and burn em anyway.”
“So, that’s a ghost then?” Dean asked. The kid had stopped throwing up the slime, or maybe it was ectoplasm, and had half collapsed into Sam’s lap.
“Must be, since he was in the thermos,” Bobby agreed.
“Shit,” Dean swore. He snatched the thermos from Bobby and started aggressively pressing buttons. “This thing is dead, we can't put it back. Bobby? Where's your ghost weapons?”
“I don’t think it’s dangerous Dean,” Sam said. “Not now anyway. He was in that thing for, how long?” he addressed Bobby.
“Least five years, probably longer.” Before Dean could say anything else, the kid shuddered, and another flash of light lit up the dim house. The kid changed, his hair turning a washed out black, and his clothes now a worn pair of jeans and t-shirt, no shoes.
“He’s got a pulse now,” Sam said, Dean hadn’t even noticed when his brother had wrapped his hand around the kid’s frail looking wrist.
“He didn’t before?” Bobby asked, crouching down next to them, giving the slime puddle a wide berth. Sam shook his head. “Let’s get him sitting up,” Bobby decided, helping Sam situate the kid with his back to Sam’s chest.
Sam didn’t mind basically holding the kid in his lap. The boy was freezing, but at least now he was starting to shiver a bit. That, and Sam’s own body heat, should help warm him up. He weighed practically nothing. His head fell back against Sam’s shoulder, his face turned up towards Sam’s. His eyes were open, now a washed out blue instead of the nearly glowing green, but it was hard to tell if he was actually seeing anything.
“You okay kid?” Bobby asked. To Sam’s surprise, the boy tilted his head a bit and his eyes actually focused on Bobby. The kid opened his mouth, working his jaw like he’d forgotten how.
“What’s your name?” Bobby asked.
“Aannn,” the kid tried, his voice a weak croak that broke into a cough that sounded painful. Bobby pressed a hand to the boy’s shoulder to steady him against Sam.
“He’s cold as ice,” Bobby observed.
“Here,” Dean said, pulling off his jacket as he crossed the room. He crouched down in their little circle on the floor and tucked the jacket around the kid. Sam held in a laugh, his brother always had a soft spot for kids.
“Better?” Dean asked. The kid’s head rolled against Sam’s shoulder in what might have been a nod.
“Dean, go get some water,” Bobby ordered softly.
“What?!” Dean started to protest.
“Now ya idjit!” Dean scrambled away towards the kitchen. The kid made another noise, and Sam shushed him.
“You’re okay,” he said. “Let’s get some water in you first.”
“Here,” Dean came back and plopped down fully on the floor. Sam shifted so the boy’s head fell against his neck instead of his shoulder, leaving his head more upright. The kid’s eyes focused on the glass of water in Dean’s hands, and he licked his lips. He tried to reach for it, but seemed to get stuck when his arms were hindered by Dean’s jacket. Dean chuckled softly and extracted the kids arms so he could help hold the glass, no way he’d be able to manage it on his own.
“Easy,” Bobby warned as the kid made to drink the whole thing. Dean pulled it away and the kind whined like a wounded animal.
“You’ll make yourself sick if you drink too much too fast,” Sam explained.
“If you keep it down, you can have more in a minute,” Bobby assured. “You think you can tell us your name now?”
“Da… Dan..ny,” Danny managed to gasp out.
“Hi Danny. I’m Bobby, and this is Sam and Dean,” Bobby gestured to each hunter respectively.
“Danny, what are you?” Sam asked.
“Half,” Danny croaked, his eyes slipping shut.
“Half what?” Dean asked.
“Hu…human,” Danny managed.
“We got that part,” Dean chuckled. “What’s the other half?”
“Ghost,” Danny breathed, tilting his head to press his face into Sam’s neck. Sam shivered as his cold nose and breath brushed against his skin.
“Is that possible?” Sam asked, running a hand up and down Danny’s arm, trying to rub some warmth into him.
“Hmm,” Bobby shifted so he was fully sitting on the floor. “It’s odd, but not the strangest thing I’ve heard of.”
“Really?” Dean demanded. “You think someone can be half dead?”
“And ya don’t?” Bobby fired back. Dean scowled but didn’t respond.
“Hey, don’t fall asleep yet Danny,” Sam said, gently tapping on the kid’s cheek. Danny groaned but pulled away from Sam’s neck to open his eyes.
“Tired,” Danny murmured.
“I know,” Sam said. “You can sleep soon, but we need to make sure you're okay first.”
“Let's move him to the couch,” Bobby decided.
“Yeah. Can get him some actual blankets,” Dean agreed. “Need to get his body temperature up.”
“Danny, I'm going to pick you up,” Sam said softly. Danny hummed softly but didn't open his eyes. The kid weighed almost nothing as Sam lifted easily from the floor. Swallowing passed the lump in his throat, Sam headed for the couch, only to run into a problem.
“I'll move the books,” Dean pulled the box over that Sam and Bobby had been emptying and started tossing notebooks into it. They didn't all fit back into the box, so he started a pile under the coffee table. Once the couch was clear, Sam set the kid down.
Bobby reentered the living room with a pile of well loved blankets and an electric heating pad. He and Dean struggled to find somewhere to plug it in, while Sam tucked the blankets around the kid. Even sitting up, he was starting to nod off again.
“There we go!” Bobby said triumphantly, holding up the now plugged in heating pad. It was connected to an extension cord that disappeared somewhere else deep in the house. He carefully tucked it against Danny’s chest under the blankets.
“We need to get some food in him,” Bobby decided. “I think I have some broth or something.” Bobby stood and headed for the kitchen. Dean perched on the arm of the couch and gently ran a hand through the kids dirty and tangled hair.
“We’re being really stupid about this, aren’t we,” Dean said, not really a question.
“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “But when do kids not make people do stupid shit.” Dean chuckled.
“I really hope this doesn’t bite us in the ass,” Dean breathed. “If he gets his strength back and decides he’s evil, I’m gonna–”
“I know,” Sam interrupted, putting a hand on his brother's shoulder. “I don’t think it will come to that thought.”
“I really hope you’re right,” Dean muttered.