Going Off the Rails
E/O Drabble Challenge: word count 300
Challenge word: dawn
Warnings: T for use of the F word
Summary: Triabble from Dizziedinadreams. Happy Birthday Laedie Duske! Sam & Dean work a ghost train case, Dean's tummy is involved. Eventually.
3 x 100 drabbles by Dizzo, Edina Clouds and Amberdreams, not necessarily in that order...
x-x-x-x
Locals called it 'the night train'.
Sam called it 'a repetitive manifestation'.
Dean called it 'a freakin' sonofabitch'.
Whatever you called it, it was bad.
Ever since the terrible night long ago when a bridge collapse sent the late train plunging into a ravine, the ghostly engine, together with her rolling-stock, has powered relentlessly along the now-abandoned rail-track toward her doom, dusk to dawn, denying peace to the lost souls trapped aboard.
She thundered past the watching Winchesters; horn bellowing, moonlight illuminating her polished brass.
Dean blinked in the swirling dust.
"We'll need a lot of salt for this one."
x-x-x-x
"Not salt ... holy-water, gallons of holy-water," Sam murmured. "And we'll need that," he added, nodding towards a rusting handcar.
Hours later, the red-hue of dawn on the horizon, they were riding the old wooden-cart, Dean pumping the hand-lever, whilst Sam sprayed the ancient track.
Dean, his muscles straining, shucked off his shirt, sweat-drenched body glistening in the dim light.
"How much longer?" he panted.
"Just to the ravine," Sam answered, "That'll give us a mile of sanctified-ground; enough for the spell to work."
A ghostly-whistle filled the air.
"Okay, Sammy," Dean growled, "Time to send Thomas-the-friggin'-tank-engine back to hell."
x-x-x-x
That was when it dawned on them. The ghost-train was on its way back, straight towards them.
"Crap!"
They leaped for safety; Dean landed first with Sam on top.
"Ooof!"
The spectral rolling-stock hit the sanctified section of track and dissolved, souls released successfully.
Dean didn't care, he was too busy trying to breathe with freaking Gigantor kneeling on his stomach.
Wheezing, he accepted Sam's hand up and stood swaying, arm across his bare belly.
"You know, I'm glad you don't work out, Dean. You make a much better cushion that way!"
Dean wished he'd perfected his Fuck You Glare.
x-x-x-x
