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“So… what? We’ve got a killer statue on the loose or something?”
“Or something.” Sam turned his laptop towards Dean, showing the display of the museum’s website.
“Huh?” Dean squinted at the screen, eyeing the gaudily bright colors. It looked like someone had taken the entire screen and given it to a ten year old with access to MSpaint, all scribbles in bright, eye-catching colors with no real coherence. It might've been supposed to look like a galaxy? “Wow. That’s a fuckin’ ugly page.”
Sam inclined his head, grimacing. “Yeah. From what I can tell the entire website was updated around a month ago. Can’t say for sure what it looked like before, but I’d hope it was better than this.”
"Well, as much as I love visiting tourist attractions, I don't really see what the deal is here, Sam." Dean leaned back in the motel's semi-clean chair. "If there were deaths, the place would be closed by now, right? That website's clearly still sellin' tickets."
“Ok, yeah, this is the fun part." Sam turned his laptop back around, eyes flitting to the screen. "According to the articles I could find, nobody’s actually died yet. Technically. People go in, have a normal walk through, and come out sick. The full nine yards, too—I'm talking vomiting blood, incessant nosebleeds, boils along their arms and face, and lacerations appearing all over their body without physical injury. But no matter how much they bleed, they don't die. They just... suffer, I guess. We've either got a a really angry who-knows-what, or someone was not having a good time before they died."
"Oh god. Ew." Dean wrinkled his nose. "That doesn't sound good. Vengeful spirits kill, don't they? Why didn't we immediately eliminate that?"
"I was going to, but I was looking at the advertisement, and guess what? A month ago, they got a new exhibit. Some submarine that doesn't match known records of any vessel made publicly. The thing is welded shut, Dean. It's literally airtight with no way to enter or leave." Sam gave Dean a pointed look, "Sounds like a pretty terrible way to go out, doesn't it?"
Sam didn't give Dean time to respond, barrelling forward. "Plus, the front has an attachment they're pretty sure is a camera. More specifically, an x-ray camera. And what do x-rays do to people that don't have heavy protection? Irradiate them. And all of the victim symptoms line up with radiation poisoning—except for the lacerations, but it could just be that our ghost was injured at the time of death."
"Jesus fuck, okay, I get it. Guy dies in a sub, is salty about it, and decides to take it out on others slowly and painfully. We go, we bust open the sucker by force, and salt and burn the corpse that's probably still in there."
"And that's where we get to our second issue." Sam gave Dean a grim look. "Dean, the sub's made entirely of iron."
Dean blinked slowly. "What the fuck? How the hell's the ghost out and about then?"
Sam shrugged, "That's what we need to figure out."
The museum was normal, in that it was boring. Dean stared blankly at a poorly taxidermied mountain lion. The glassy eyes stared back. Sam was scowling at a map.
"Can I help you two find anything?" Came an overly cheerful voice. It was a museum employee, looking way more enthusiastic than a museum employee had any right to be.
"We're looking for the submarine." Dean smiled politely.
"Oh yes, the SM-13!" The employee gushed, "It's such a fun thought experiment! There's no ocean nearby, and it could never be used, obviously. At the average ocean depth, the pressure would crush that thing like a tin can! It reminds me a bit of a kid's idea of what a submarine would be like—you know, like the yellow submarine, except grey. Kinda looks like it too, excluding all the portholes lining the sides. I'm Melinda, by the way."
"Really?" Sam crumpled up the map and tucked it into one of his pockets. "You think it was never used?"
"Well, definitely not for the usual submarine stuff. It's sort of caved in on the front end, but it looks more like collision damage than it does pressure. If I had to take a guess..." Melinda leaned forward, "It was likely designed for one-way data collection. It's relatively cheap to make, small and compact, and it could probably collect data remotely without a pilot. Whatever it was, if it went to the ocean floor, it wasn't designed to return. Though, without seeing the inside, we'll never know for sure."
"So you don't think there could've ever been a human pilot?" Sam inquired.
"Oh goodness no, at least I hope not." She laughed. "If there was, they wouldn't survive long."
"Great." Dean grunted. "Where is it?"
The employee perked up, "Oh, yes, of course! I'll take you."
She led them through a few exhibits, pointing out other things along the way. ("Those are extinct now!" "That's a statue of the town's founder! Carved by... himself. He was a bit vain.")
The submarine was exactly how she'd described it. Like a kid's drawing gone terribly wrong. It was a depressing grey and patches of rust coated the surface of what literally looked like a giant, rounded metal can. The front was indeed caved in, like the submarine had rammed the side of a cliff face and took all of the damage. There was large metal rod poking out from the caved in side, which Dean assumed was the camera Sam had mentioned earlier.
"Need anything else?" Melinda chirped.
"Nah," Dean grinned at her, "We're good, sweetcheeks. Thanks for the help."
She giggled and left the way they'd came, winking.
Sam was upon the display's placard in a second, reading the small text. He stood up a second later, frowning. "All stuff we already knew from the website, unfortunately."
"Ok, so we break in after dark and see what we can get from the inside."
"I wouldn't recommend that."
Sam and Dean both jolted, Dean's hand instinctively going to the gun hidden in his jeans. There was a blonde woman standing behind them. She had heavy scarring across the side of her face. Another employee.
"Jesus Chirst, lady." Dean's hand drifted back to his front. "Didn't anyone ever teach you not to sneak up on people like that?"
"No." She said bluntly. "What do you want to know about the Iron Lung and why."
It wasn't phrased like a question, and Dean got the distinct feeling that was woman did not have a lot of patience.
Sam stepped forward, "Do you know anything about it? My brother and I are... marine engineers. We wanted to know what the inside looks like."
"And you wanted to find that out by breaking in after hours instead of going through the legitimate way?" She said flatly. "Right. Try again."
"You've got a ghost haunting your museum and harming your customers." Dean said bluntly. "And we're the ghostbusters."
A sliver of recognition flickered through her eyes, before she visibly clamped down on whatever it was. She knew something. "Is that so?"
"We'll get rid of the ghost problem for you, but we need to find either the body of the person that died, or if they were cremated, something that was important to them in life that they're clinging to. Do you know where that might be?"
She sighed heavily. Hesitated. Sighed again. "Your... method of getting rid of ghosts. Does it... hurt them?"
So she did know something. Was personally connected, even.
"No," Sam reassured, "It'll help them move on. They'll be somewhere better."
She bit down on her lip. "Alright. I'll help you. Come back at nine. There's an employee entrance on the west side that no one uses. I'll let you in on the dot—no sooner, no later."
"So. Employee of the month back there—think she killed our ghost? Was fucking around with the radiation camera and accidentally offed him?" Dean took a massive bite of his burger, chewing obnoxiously.
Sam shook his head. "The timeline doesn't match up. The museum got the submarine on the fourth, and the whole blood from every pore thing started the day after. Even with a strong x-ray, you'd be at most hospitalized for at least a week or two before dying. Our ghost had to have died before the sub ended up in the museum."
"So why do we think she knows anything? I mean, she could call the cops on us when we show up."
"She called it the Iron Lung."
"What?" Dean looked up from his food, confused, "Wasn't it some Something-13?"
"Exactly. The SM-13. That's what the placard said, and that's what the first employee called it, because that's what's printed on the side of the sub. But the other lady... did we ever get her name? Whatever, it's not important—she called it the Iron Lung."
"Oh shit." Dean grinned, and a piece of lettuce fell from his mouth and landed on his plate. Sam eyed it with disgust. "That means she knows more about the ship than the museum does. Maybe even knows where it came from."
"It's weird." Sam acknowledged. "I mean, we're in the middle of South Dakota, there isn't exactly an ocean to explore here."
"Government?" Dean shrugged. "They do some weird sketchy stuff."
"I suppose." Sam still looked troubled, but also dropped it.
At nine o'clock sharp, the two brothers pulled up to the west entrance of the museum, where the blonde employee was already in the doorway.
"Hello again." She greeted pleasantly, "I was wondering if you two would show up."
"We always keep our promises." Dean smirked, "Anyways. Lead the way... what was your name, again?"
She pursed her lips. "Ava."
"Nice to meet you, Ava." Sam smiled, "I'm Sam. That's Dean."
"I know. I looked you two up." She gave them an appraising look, "You have... quite the reputation."
Sam chuckled awkwardly, "Yeah, our record online isn't that flattering. I promise half of it was us getting framed."
"There's videos." She said tightly.
"Shapeshifters." Dean said brightly.
She halted slightly before continuing to walk, muttering something inaudible and shaking her head. They stopped in the gallery, moonlight from the windows illuminating the eerie vessel.
"Here we are." Ava said, "I can't turn on the lights for you, sorry. It would notify the security system and turn on the surveillance cameras."
"Those aren't always on?" Dean questioned dubiously.
"Not tonight, they aren't." She pulled what looked like a pointy baton out of her jacket, and handed it to Sam. "That's a laser cutter, you'll need it to get into the SM-13."
"Laser cutter?" Sam stared uncomprehendingly at the item in his hand. "How did you... why do you have this?"
"Laser cutters are a real thing?" Dean plucked it from Sam's hand, running his fingers over the surface.
"Of course they're real, they're just not usually this portable." Sam gave Ava a scrutinizing look, which she met with careful neutrality.
"Who fuckin' cares, Sam! We get to use a mini lightsaber! I'm gonna bust the sucker open with a lightsaber!" He ran over to the sub giddily, vaulting over the ropes and clambering onto the platform, immediately beginning to laser at a side of the submarine.
Ava turned an took a seat on the bench facing the submarine, and Sam walked over to join his brother. Dean made quick work of the side, and a somewhat door-shaped slab of iron fell to the ground between them with a loud clang. The stench hit them first. Like a rotting carcass and blood—both fresh and not. A dark, viscous liquid began to trickle out the opening, and Sam turned on his flashlight, illuminating... dark red.
"Well, there's no doubt our body's in there." Sam said flatly.
Dean stepped back, gesturing for Sam to enter. "Ladies first."
Sam rolled his eyes, took an extra deep breath, and stepped through, with Dean following closely after.
The inside of the submarine was predictably dark, given that it had just the singular blocked porthole, and it squelched uncomfortably under their shoes. More so than just a pool of blood should. A shine of Sam’s flashlight revealed—
“Holy shit, man.” Dean’s lip curled, “Is that flesh? Don’t tell me that’s flesh.”
Sam swept the flashlight over the interior, and the walls seemed to pulse. He grimaced. “No comment.”
"What, did the guy explode?" Dean reached like he was going to poke a wall, before visibly reconsidering and pulling his hand back. "What the fuck happened in here? Does radiation do this?"
"No. It doesn't." Sam's lips pulled back tightly over his teeth as he moved further towards the caved in front. There was no body, really—just a whole lot of flesh and a whole lot more blood. "I don't think a human body has this much blood in it."
"So, what? Multiple people?"
"I don't know." Sam leaned forward to observe the control panel at the front, where what was probably a lever of some sort was covered in still undulating flesh. "Okay. That's... disgusting. I don't think whatever died in here was human, Dean."
"Oh? Non-human ghost? That's a new one. Is that a new one? I feel like I would remember facing a vampire ghost or something."
"I don't think we've ever dealt with a non-human ghost, no. It might be why it wasn't deterred by the iron of the submarine." Sam pulled a box of salt they'd bought at a convenience store earlier and began sprinkling it around. The flesh floor continued to writhe, clinging to their shoes. "Doesn't really matter now anyways. Salt and burn should still work... hopefully."
There was a static crackle, and a yellow light began to blink overhead.
"He--o?" It was a male voice, coming from a speaker that was hanging by a literal wire "Who -re you? W--t are y-- d--ng?" There was a period of completely indecipherable static. "-- out?"
"Hello?" Dean said. "Look man, we're here to help you."
"Just ignore it, Dean." Sam continued to sprinkle the salt everywhere, on the walls, on the controls, on... well. Everything. He shoved the box back into his jacket when he deemed it good enough.
"Y--re g--ting me o-t?" The male voice piped up again, hopeful. "R--lly? P-ll me up, plea-- pu-- -e oUT! GET ME --T OF HE--!" The end sounded angry, and the submarine groaned beneath them, the flesh and blood on the walls pulsing faster. Blood seemed to spill fresh out of the pipes lining the sides of the ship, and the level of the blood on the floor began to rise. "I DIDN- DO -T! I SW--R I DI-N'T! D-N'T DO TH-S T- ME!"
"Oh fuck," Dean cussed, "Sam! We need to get out!"
"Pour the gasoline and get it over with!" Sam hollered back, already making his way to the cut-out exit. "Blood is mostly water! It isn't flammable, we'll be fine as long as we don't stick around!"
"PL--SE! H-LP ME!" The speaker screeched, pleading, and the submarine shuddered, loud banging echoing from the walls. "D-N'T LEA-- ME D-WN -ERE!"
Dean threw the gallon container of gas against the controls and it burst, spraying gasoline across the front of the vessel. He staggered backwards, the flesh of the floor sticking tackily to the soles of his shoes. The blood was up to his knees now, and it felt disturbingly like wading through a swamp. He pulled a lighter out of his pocket, struggling to light it with his fingers already slick with blood.
"Hurry up!" Sam yelled.
Dean flicked the lighter on, finally, and chucked it, before sprinting towards Sam and the exit. The submarine lit up behind them, the sudden pressure of the gas breaking open the damaged front. Flames poured out the crevices, and there was a loud, static scream before it went silent.
Sam and Dean hopped down from the display, blood leaving a morbid trail where they walked. Ava was staring at them from the bench, wide-eyed. "I take it that it worked?"
"Salt and burn." Dean nodded, "It's messy, but it's how you get rid of ghosts."
"That explains the grave desecration charges." Ava inclined her head, "I suppose I must thank you two. He deserves to rest."
"So you did know him?" Sam questioned, "The guy on the speaker?"
"... Not really." Ava inhaled shakily, "Not as well as I should've."
"Right." Dean drawled. "Well, if you ever need any help, you can always call." He handed her a slip of paper, presumably with his current number on it.
Sam took the remaining salt out from his jacket and placed it on the bench next to her. "I don't know how long it'll take to fully burn everything in there, so if the ghost shows up just throw some of this at him—it'll slow him down long enough to get out."
"Of course. Thank you." Ava stared despondently at the burning vessel, and Sam and Dean took it as their cue to leave.
"I ever die in baby," Dean said, once they'd gotten back in the car, "You better not burn her. You find another way, got it?"
Sam chuckled. "Sure, Dean." He paused, a pensive look on his face.
"Oh, there's bitch face number eleven. What is it?"
"It's just that this job feels kind of unfinished, doesn't it?"
"We don't have the full story." Dean agreed, "I mean, I'm pretty sure the guy was begging for his life back there. But we've dealt with tragic ghosts a bunch, why's this one different?"
"I dunno." Sam leaned back, head at an uncomfortable angle against the headrest. "So much of it just doesn't make sense. I mean, there's no ocean to explore here. There was a depth and oxygen meter, but the only controls were for turning and going forward and backward, with nothing for depth. The only hypothetical way to see outside was via an x-ray camera that didn't even have inward radiation protection. That thing was a death trap. Our ghost died in there, which I would've figured meant it was supposed to be a suicide mission, but he was begging for rescue. It just seems... I don't know. It seems bad."
"Well," Dean shifted the gear of the car, putting her in drive and pulling out of the parking space, "It'll have to remain a mystery for now. Be like that other girl and make it a 'thought experiment' or whatever. You like those, right? And if we ever run into what's-her-face again, we can ask."
They hardly ever ran into anyone who wasn't a hunter or a monster a second time. "Yeah. I guess."
In one hand she held a lighter. In the other she gripped a small pendant, the almost broken shards of glass digging into her hand. Grains of salt bit into her skin like sand, the coarse texture making her wonder if her palm had been cut into, if it was bleeding like the man beside her. The man on the bench next to her was not a stranger. His formerly grey clothing was permanently stained red, and his skin was so mutated and mishappen that he didn't look remotely like how she remembered seeing him through the glass. He didn't even look human.
But he was familiar nonetheless.
He turned his head to face her. His hair was plastered to his forehead, and rivulets of blood sluggishly dripped from the curled ends.
"Are you going to kill me, Ava?"
"You're already dead."
The light of the fire reflected off the blood still cascading down his face, his eyes almost glowing red in the flickering light.
“I wanted to live.” He said mournfully.
“… I know, Simon. I’m sorry.”
She dropped the pendant on the ground, and the glass finally gave way, scattering on the floor with the grains of salt, and it burned with the Iron Lung.