Dean knew from personal experience that there were worse things than being buried alive. He still shuddered as the first clod of dirt hit the coffin lid.
Another thud. Soon dirt was raining down on his prison and, with each passing moment, the sound of the men's taunting laughter grew fainter.
After a while, silence.
Dean strained to hear something, anything, but there was nothing. It took everything he had not to scream out his rage, his disbelief, that he had allowed himself to be taken and bound.
By humans!
Hell.
Sam would never let him live this shit down.