A/N: I wrote this in 2008, wasn't really all that happy with it for a long time, so I re-wrote it now that my muse decided to play with me again and here it is. Set in S1. Lol, enjoy. I own nothing, and I'm sorry for the grammar/spelling mistakes.
Title: Those Fudging Sundays
It was a Sunday. An ordinary sun filled Sunday. Slow in the morning and even slower in the evening. A Sunday that smelled of home cooked meals, chocolate chip cookies right out the oven and freshly mowed grass. A relaxing Sunday with morning mass, lunch at one's parent's house, sleeping the day off on the couch watching stupid movies.
Children in the park, playing baseball, soccer, people relaxing and chilling. Catching the early summer sun on their skin, paying no attention to the long black car driving down their street. It was a small town but the day was too lazy to pay attention to strangers.
Dean noticed a look on Sam's face that he identified as longing. Longing for a Sunday of just chilling and relaxing, barbecuing and friendly conversations with the neighbors that usually turn into fights, but he'd never tell that to Sam. No point in ruining an already ruined fantasy for the kid.
"'S there somethin' wrong?" the question got him nothing, "Sam?"
"Huh? Uhhh, no, no, nothing's wrong." he twisted his head to look out the window and saw a boy throwing a tennis ball to his dog.
"Sure, Sammy." he whispered pretty sure his brother hadn't heard it because there was no bitching about the name.
Not knowing what to do next or what to say really, Dean did what came natural to him: "The case?"
"Salt and burn, piece of cake."
"Mmmm, pie more likely."
Sam snorted: "Your mind really is two sided."
"Two sided? What?"
"Sex and food."
"Heeeey, as long as there's food, 'm happy."
Sam rolled his eyes all around his eye sockets, and Dean thought that that must've hurt: "Anyway, I know where he's buried and we'll go there tonight, right?"
"You bet," he gripped the wheel tighter, his voice getting a harder edge, all jokes and playfulness gone like cracking a whip, "I want the bastard nice and crispy, Sam," he turned to his brother, "he'll never hurt anyone ever again."
Sam saw the flicker of pure anger on his brother's face, but it was soon replaced by a huge grin.
"And I'm in a mood for a burger."
"No pie?"
"Oh, the pie comes later."
And the previously huge grin became even larger and Sam thought that that must've hurt.
They never said anything about why the town was busy like this, with kids playing and adults going around their business as normal. One would expect, what with all that had been going on, people would lock their kids away and never allow them to step a foot out of their homes. Maybe people really do long for normal in un-normal times; Dean thought and was pretty sure Sam shared that opinion.
-:-
"Why do I have to do all the digging, man?" Sam's grunt echoed through the night, rolling over silent gravestones and huge trees.
"Aaaa, injured man here," Dean pointed to his chest, "so stop your whining, bitch and dig. The faster you do it, the faster we can go back. So dig." he took a big bite into his burger, the mayonnaise slipping down his hand as he watched his brother dig up the grave.
"Asshole." Sam whispered and wiped a drop of sweat off his forehead. He was drenched in sweat, tickling his spine, dripping down his bangs and hitting the brown dirt.
"Stop complaining Sammy and put some strength into the shovel, man."
He licked the mayonnaise of his hand and took another bite. He was damn hungry and the diner had no pies. He was still bummed about that.
"It's Sam," he grunted," and I'll complain all I want."
"Whatever, dude, just dig." he smirked. He knew that would irritate Sam, but the dirt that hit his boots was a surprise. He never knew Sam had it in him, but then again he was the little brother and those tend to do shit like that.
"Real mature, Sammy."
"You keep calling me Sammy and I'll start acting like one."
"Just dig the bastard up."
"You know you can help. It's just a little scratch."
"Yeah, but it hurts." he patted the bandage on his hand for good measure, "and someone needs to be on the lookout."
"You would do anything to get out of digging, wouldn't ya?"
"Mmmm, this burger's really good."
"That your comeback? Weak, dude, real weak."
"Well it's really good."
"I wouldn't know." he escorted that with a grunt as he deposited one more shovel of dirt at Dean's feet, barely missing his boots. He cursed inwardly for missing them. His brother was a jerk of epic proportions today, hell, had been since they took on this case.
-:-
There was an old, like probably in his near hundreds, one-legged cemetery keeper talking crazy shit about graves being desecrated or the way he put it: "They were open, dirt everywhere, it was vampires, I tell ya, vampires."
Dean grimaced at the spit that hit his face when the man way too enthusiastically told him about vampires and moved left and right when the man's left arm flailed all over the freakin' place nearly hitting him on his jaw.
"Yeah, so... did you check the coffins?"
Sam asked, smirking a little to his left, where Dean was cleaning his face of spit with the sleeve of his good jacket.
Sam sighed … Dean'll bitch about that one for weeks.
"They have risen and will eat us all!"
"Umm, yeah so the coffins were empty?"
"You deaf, boy?"
"Uhh, no. I just..."
"They'll feed and kill..."
Dean was this close to rolling his eyes at the obviously drunken man, because really... there were no graves opened… well none that he could see.
He turned left and right and looked behind and up front and yup, all the graves were… grave-ly as always… nothing was out of order, everything was still as dead as it was when it was left here.
"I don't see any open graves," he smiled and rubbed his jaw to hide a full on laugh that was trying to break loose out of his mouth, "everything seems pretty dead to me."
"Ya mockin' me, boy?" Dean took a step back, bumping his shoulder into his brother's chest because the man kind of went all psycho on him; eyes bulged out of the crinkles his face was, gray hair scattered all over his head … actually Dean was starting to suspect the old man was some kinda creature.
It would be fun to kill him, but if the fumes coming out of his mouth were anything to go by, the man would kill himself sooner than Dean ever could.
"You scrawny young boys think ya know it all, huh? Well ya don't know crap, you f..."
"Whoah, no need for name calling."
"You find out what's going on in my graveyard and then we'll see about name callin', son."
Sam stepped between his brother and the man, because he was imagining Dean sticking a knife in the man's throat just because.
"Okay, sir, we'll find out what's going on here, okay."
"See that you do."
The man… hobbled... away and Sam winced at seeing Dean's jaw clenched so tight.
"Come on, man, let it go."
"I swear, if he wasn't Jim's friend…"
"Yeah, well… we have a case to solve; you can bitch about this to Jim later."
Dean groaned and followed his brother towards the car.
Later, they found out, the man saw open graves because he hit the bottle a bit too hard, but there was a case in town anyway. Just not vampires. Which would be a million times better, because a few swings of the machete and case closed.
No, what they found was much, much worse and Dean wasn't handling it too well.
-:-
He knew Dean being an asshole was just his brother's way of dealing with the case, but man, it was really annoying and it was starting to piss him off. He needed to dig this bastard up and fry his ass. And then maybe Dean would find some peace, hell, maybe then both of them would find some peace.
The earth was crisp and dry from the scorching sun that shone on it throughout the day. The shovel was heavy all by itself and with the added weight of graveyard dirt Sam's knees were buckling with every patch of it he threw near Dean's feet. Or on them.
After listening to Sam's grunts and the irritatingly loud owl Dean started again: "Finished yet?"
"Ahm, no." came a breathless response.
"You're really out of practice, Sammy." And another bite of his burger. He stuffed the salad in his mouth: "You think you'll finish sometime tonight?"
"No." it took effort to say that out loud.
"Come on Sam, dig, come on, diiiig, you can do it. Come on."
"If you don't shut your mouth," another shovel of dirt, straight onto Dean's boots, score!, "I swear I'll fill them up with this dirt." he shoved the shovel into the grave forcefully and almost broke it on the coffin.
"Well, man, I guess you're finished then." Dean threw the paper the burger was wrapped in, directly in the hole, barely missing his brother's head.
The glare he received from Sam when he leaned in the open hole send shivers down his spine. He shook it of, the kid was angry at him for being such an asshole, but he knew that Sam understood.
He knew that.
"Get out, Sam." his eyes carried dead seriousness now, all jokes gone now. There was no room for playing now. They were at the coffin, the son of a bitch could show at any second and he would never allow it to get to his little brother.
"Why? I have to open it first." he shook his head, and looked up at Dean.
"Yeah, I know, now get out."
"Wha…?"
"I'll do it. You get out and I'll open the casket."
That got him another glare from Sam.
"And where's the logic in that? I'm already here I'll…"
He didn't get to finish that, because Dean jumped on the wooden box, shining his flashlight straight into Sam's eyes.
"You mind pointing that somewhere else?"
"Move your ass out of here and maybe I will."
"You're impossible."
"Get. Out."
Sam had no choice but to oblige, the voice Dean used left no room for arguments. The tone was one he knew well, was ingrained into his brain and he acted on it like it flipped a switch. It was 'do it, or die' tone.
He crawled out of the hole he dug and stood up to gaze down at Dean's bowed head.
Dean started to punch the wood with the shovel until it cracked and revealed a set of bones. A set of gray looking bones, things people were reduced to after death.
"So, you're the one causing trouble. Even dead you couldn't let others live. You sick, sick son of a bitch."
"Dean."
Sam interrupted his brother's monologue, because well a) it was a monologue that could last for the entire night and b) they really needed to get this done with. The spirit could show up at any second.
"Yeah. Just help me out."
Sam took Dean's unharmed hand and was still able to feel the stickiness of the mayonnaise on it. He wiped his hand on his jeans and made an 'ew' sound that didn't quite reach Dean.
"Salt, Sam."
Sam handed him the canister of salt and watched as Dean poured it all over the bones along with some gasoline. He soaked the bones good, almost drowning them in white salt.
"Lighter."
Handing Dean the lighter his hand brushed slightly over Dean's and he felt him tremble. A tremble that wasn't present before.
In the flickering light of the fire, Sam saw Dean's face. Masked, emotionless, pale and shining with sweat in the red and orange light. The wetness in his eyes … he tried to ignore that. Tried being the key word.
"You good?"
"Always," he clasped his hands together, "now let's get out of here."
He started picking up the supplies and with casting one last look at the grave he started walking towards the Impala.
"Dean!"
He turned around. Sam could see he was slightly annoyed but a job was a job nevertheless.
"Dean, we have to cover it back."
Something flickered on Dean's face; Sam didn't quite know what to think about it.
"Leave it. Get your ass in the car. We're leaving."
"Dean." he tried to be calm and coax Dean into finishing the job.
"Sam."
"We have to. We can't leave an opened grave."
"Leave it, Sam. Let's just get away from here."
Sam didn't want to argue, Dean left no room for arguments. He knew the toll this hunt took on Dean, his injured hand only needed butterfly stitches but his soul … Sam couldn't stitch that.
"Okay."
He staggered behind Dean, avoiding the graves, not wanting to step on them. Because ya know that would be sick. Digging up a grave was okay, but to step on someone's grave, that was just sick. He didn't even want to think about what the people would do in the morning when they'd discover the opened grave. But that won't be their problem, because they will be long gone by then.
-:-
Dean was glad the bastard hadn't shown up. He didn't know what he'd do to it, if he had. Salting and burning the bones, just didn't seem enough. He wanted to do more to the guy, but ... dead was dead was dead. He just hoped the man's soul was now burning in Hell.
-:-
"Dean." Sam's voice was muffled by a scratchy pillow that smelled kind of like oranges and men's cologne.
A loud squeak of the bed was his only answer.
"Dean." A little louder slur but still muffled by the pillow.
No reply.
"Dean, just sleep man."
Another squeak of the bed and some tossing and turning.
"Deeeean."
He was lying on his side, facing away from Dean, his eyes without the capacity to fully open yet.
Some more tossing and turning and he slowly cracked one eye open.
"Dean, come on."
He pulled his arm out from under the blanket to wipe off the saliva that escaped his mouth during the few hours of sleep he managed to get and flopped onto his back.
He rotated his head to look at Dean and saw him splayed on the bed, one leg on the floor the other one on the bed. One hand was resting on his chest and the other one was loosely hanging in the air next to Sam's head. In his sleepy haze he couldn't tell if Dean was asleep or not so he tried one more time.
"Dean." he growled out and the word got stuck somewhere between the smell of his morning breath and toothpaste.
"What?" a voice so hard one could cut diamonds with.
Sam was startled by the response. He was expecting silence or at least some more tossing and turning, and the actual word made him flinch.
"Sleeeeep." he breathed out like a plea.
"No one's stopping ya."
A huff of annoyed air escaped Sam's lips:" You are."
"No, 'm not."
"Are."
Sam's mind was only capable of forming one coherent word at a time and that did not pass well with Dean.
"Am not."
"Too."
"Not."
"Yeah."
Sam was drifting into the night, sleep once again overtaking him and the sweet pain of slipping under the veils of dreams was interrupted by Dean's: "If you wanna sleep, go ahead. I'm really not stopping ya, so just shut up."
Sam groaned and cracked one eye open again. The other one followed shortly after and now he was fully awake. Sort off. His chest was tight, his stomach ached, his head was throbbing, he was cold and all he wanted to do was curl up on his side and sleep.
"You're talking."
"Yeah so? You started it."
"Shut up and let's go back to sleep."
"I have every right to talk if I want to."
Sam left out a frustrated sigh and raised a hand to rub at his eyes.
"Dean, what's wrong?"
That should shut him up.
No answer, nothing. He was still splayed on the bed, in the same position as before not intending to move. Most likely ever.
Sam knew he probably wouldn't get an answer so he closed his eyes again, praying that he shut up his brother's mouth with the question.
The sleep was creeping on him again, slowly but surly making him drowsy.
"I can't sleep." came a hoarse whisper from his left side. His mind was still somehow present in the room, not completely sunk under sleep and he registered the words, knew the meaning of them and his heavy eyelids snapped open. The ceiling was white, the noises in the room reduced to breathing and whatever the noise the refrigerator was making. He didn't even wanna think about the noises the toilet was making.
"Wanna talk about it?" it was a wrong kind of a question, he knew straight away, but he couldn't think of a more subtle way to make Dean talk.
"No."
Of course not. Nothing was easy with Dean.
"Okay, then."
He turned around, away from Dean and closed his eyes again. He waited. And waited. And waited. Battled away sleep and cold.
"It's Sunday."
He who waits…
"The whole day, Dean."
"Well it's Monday now, but it was Sunday."
"Yeah." So…
Just like Dean, leaving bread crumbs everywhere.
"Can't sleep on Sundays. Bad shit always goes down on Sundays."
"Huh?" He didn't know what his brother was babbling about, Dean always slept on Sundays, or on any day of the week for that matter. He slept always and everywhere he could. And yeah bad shit always does go down on Sundays, it's how the world operates, apparently. But he won't admit that to Dean.
"It's Sunday. The day that when you wake up turns into Monday, genius."
"So? It's not like you have school tomorrow or you have to get up at six in the mornin' to go to work." Sam was getting annoyed.
"I know."
"So what? Did you sprain something while digging the grave?" and a little pissed off.
"No. But I did get some mayonnaise on my shirt."
"It'll wash off."
"I know. 's not the point."
"Are we gonna come to the point anytime soon?" he started to fiddle with the bed covers or else he would hit Dean's hand. But he opted on hitting his pillow. It had it coming too. It smelled and it was too soft.
"It's just, it's Sunday, Sam. You know."
It clicked then. All the lines connected in Sam's mind and he knew what Dean meant. He would have to be tactical about this.
"I know." he swallowed hard.
"When we drove into this town," some rustling with the sheets, "all those people, playing in the park, the kids," more rustling with the sheets, "it was Sunday."
"I know." Let him talk…
"And he was killing them. There were no vamps here man, the drunk was wrong. I wish he'd been right. It would've been so much easier."
Sam blinked. Yeah, yeah it would've been.
"The kids, they'll never…" Dean's voice cracked a little.
"Yeah." Sam knew where this was going and he knew how it would end.
All the kids that'd never grow up, never have a family, never just … live. And it was killing Dean. Sam knew the affect those things had on his brother, how he was always angry and hurt when children suffered. And this hunt was one of those. Children suffering as the ghost of the man took them and killed them. Slashed them up, leaving only little pieces of them behind for their parents to find. Sam could see fury in Dean's eyes, resolve to end this son of a bitch never mind what it took. Well it took Dean getting a cut on his hand but that was all. That was nothing compared to what the children went through.
And for Dean to talk about this…odd, yet good. Better to get this over with, get Dean to say what he needs and then burry all the rest wherever he buries shit and move on. Sleep, wake up, coffee, breakfast, and drive to the next town, motel, case. Leave it all behind under the cloak of the night.
"We got him, we saved this town…" the words were once again muted by the pillow and he turned on his back again.
"…this one yeah, but what about the next one?"
Sam was lacking words at, he looked at the clock that shone numbers in fluorescent green, three in the morning after digging up buckets of dirt, but he managed a silent: "We'll worry about that when we get there."
"Yeah."
"'M sorry, you know, Sammy."
Sam let the 'Sammy' slide.
"For what?" this was starting to confuse his already confused mind.
"For never having Sundays." It was spoken into the pillow, probably to drown the words.
And he was. He was so sorry for Sam never having the chance to play carefree in a park, never having a chance to have a dog - Bones didn't count - friends, freshly mown lawns, a garden with white picket fence and kids and a barbecue with steaks on it...never having normal.
Sam swallowed hard again and opened his mouth a little to let a breath out.
"I…" had them, Dean. I did. Every Sunday we ever had, had been great, with Dad there or not, on a hunt or not, I had them, and I loved them and I still do. Even if I have to dig graves and stuff. They're Sundays.
"Anyway," he cleared his throat, "go to sleep Sammy."
"I…," Dean's words caught him completely off guard, "'m trying."
"Try harder."
Easier for you to say, you don't have to listen to you tossing and turning.
"Mhmm."
Dean saw Sam's eyes in the faded light from the parking lot as it shined straight on Sam's face. He noticed sleep taking his brother, saw his chest starting to rise up and down in neat measured flow and he wanted to keep that. It was great having his little brother back even in these circumstances. Just seeing his little brother safe in the bed next to his, protected and silent. As silent as Sam could be with all that breathing going on. In and out, in and out, in and out, in and out, in and out and…in…and…ouuuut.
Dean was lulled to sleep in mere seconds. A peaceful, nightmare free sleep occasionally interrupted by Sam's snoring but that just added additional sound to the lullaby.
-:-
The Impala was eating the road like she had been starving for days. The music was just loud enough that Sam didn't have a headache and that he could still hear himself think. Which was a bad idea, as Dean soon found out.
"What was all that last night? You trying to take my job?" he leaned his elbow out the window and looked at Dean.
"Huh?" he was startled by Sam's voice that cut through the music.
"Not sleeping." Sam offered.
"Oh, that job is all yours." a wide smile spread his lips up to his ears and Sam had to laugh. It was contagious, sort of like yawning.
"Whatever, man."
"Oh, Sammy what? Did you loose some of your beauty sleep?"
Sam looked out the window and feasted his gaze on the beautiful green pastures and mountains far in the distance.
"No. But you did, though."
"Nice comeback, bitch."
Sam tore his eyes from the view and plastered them on his brother. Yeah he definitely missed this when he was in college. The banter, the jokes, riding shotgun…yup definitely missed this. But he would never tell Dean that. Over his dead body would he ever mention this to his brother. He was a big pain in the ass as it was. No need to give him more material to work with.
"Jerk."
"A little late with the comeback, huh Sammy? Ah don't worry, it'll all come back to you." he detached one arm from the wheel and ruffled Sam's mop of hair that now went in all directions.
"Shut up and drive." he lowered himself down on the seat and looked straight ahead to the road.
Dean pressed his foot on the gas and let his baby fly down the road into anther town, into another case. But for now, he would just enjoy the ride. It was Monday after all. A new week, a new thing to kill, a new fresh day to annoy the crap out of Sam. Yes, it was gonna be a lovely Monday.
"You know, I always loved Sundays."
Ah, it would still be a great Monday even with Sam being all Mr. Touchy Feely.
Dean pressed his foot on the gas harder, sending his baby into a roar down the road.
The End