"Dig in boys!" The sergeant yelled to his platoon.
The 101st airborne was stationed in Bastogne to hold the line in October of 1944. They were the first outfit out there, so they needed to dig the first holes. Basic training had taught them the proper way to do it.
Samuel Colt shivered slightly as he dug his army issue shovel in. He was determined to fight no matter what his father said, he believed in the cause. He signed up when he was 17, lying to the recruiting office. God only knew why he chose the airborne; here he was stationed at the front completely surrounded by the enemy. It was a miracle him and Dean Starr made it this far.
Dean was twenty one, four years his senior, but he watched out for him. He was like a big brother through all of the training. They even jumped out of the same plane. It was three days though before they found each other in Normandy. Someone screwed up royally, but no one would say anything. Dean was the gun hoe type; he stormed across the countryside killing as many Germans as he could. It was like he was made for war- fearless, ruthless, a warrior.
Dean dug into the dirt quickly, his hole done long before Sam got his 3 foot by 6 foot hole past his knees. Jumping over, Dean dropped down and started to help Sam.
"How deep do you want this thing, Sammy?" Dean asked him as he dug; they were getting about mid thigh level.
"It's Sam, and just dig till it's deep enough." Sam replied, huffing as he lifted shovel full after shovel full.
"Deep enough to be your grave, you mean." Dean sneered.
"It won't be, Dean, and you know that." Sam replied. He knew Dean cared about him. Sam was the only one Dean would let any of his fears or concerns out to. They were like brothers. War did that to people, bring them closer together. Dean just huffed as he made easy work of the rest of Sam's foxhole, setting Sam up in a very defensible position.
"Thanks, I can't-" Sam began to say when Dean cut him off.
"Shut up, Sammy." Dean replied, getting out of Sam's foxhole.
"Jerk." Sam told his retreating figure.
"Bitch." Dean threw back over his shoulder as he dropped into his own foxhole.
"Dig in, boys." John whispered as he sat on the front of his truck, standing watch with his flashlight out.
Seventeen year old Sam sneered at his father as he grabbed the old army issue shovel. They were digging up a pair of twins that were haunting an old Victorian style manor in Massachusetts. They almost killed the child of the last two people that lived there, and were working on killing the new child. It turned out to be a simple salt and burn. That meant that the one week Sam spent in school would be for nothing, as they would be moving on in the morning.
Dean, who was twenty one now, was working on the grave next to him, making quick work of the dirt. He was taught by his father the first time he dug a grave, to dig it three feet by six, the size of a standard foxhole. The only difference was a foxhole was not as deep as a grave, though many foxholes were graves for many poor souls of long forgotten wars. He dug quickly, grunting with effort as he reached near his thighs in depth. About two hours later he felt the top of a coffin. Slamming his shovel into the top he exposed the body of one of the twins. He dumped salt and lighter fluid over the body, but they wouldn't burn it yet, in case the twins decided to show up.
He pulled himself out of the hole and dropped into Sam's. He was about at his waist, but still had quite a bit to go. Dean dug in. Sam barely noticed as he dug more dirt out of the hole. They made good work of it, almost past their heads when Dean broke the silence.
"So, How deep do you want this thing, Sammy" Dean grunted.
"It's Sam. And just dig till it's deep enough." Sam grunted in reply, still moving dirt.
"Deep enough to be your grave." Dean half-heartedly joked. Sam looked up sharply. They hadn't discussed the pamphlets Dean found in his backpack or the application to Stanford. But there was something about how Dean looked at him, it was different. Like Sam was planning to commit suicide or something.
"It won't be, and you know that Dean." Sam replied. He hoped that his brother could accept him doing something for himself. That his brother could accept, he didn't want this life, that he never wanted this life.
Dean just huffed as he struck the top of the coffin, a rounding crack cutting off any other conversation. He jumped out of the hole, reaching back after Sam had exposed the body. Dean pulled him out of the hole and the two of them put salt and gas on the body.
"Dean, Thanks- I- You don't k--" Sam began, momentarily forgetting that his father was right there.
"No chick flick moments." Dean replied putting up his hand.
"Jerk." Sam replied as Dean turned to his own grave.
"Bitch." Dean threw back over his shoulder as he threw a pack of matches into the grave, the blaze growing.
[Author's Note] This is what happens when I watch Supernatural and Band of Brothers one right after another. Please review, tell me what you think. I don't know why I wrote this like this. My big question is, was it effective, did you get it? Please some constructive criticism would be amazing. If I get enough good reviews, I may continue. I have a few other ideas, but I mainly want to know if this was effective, if it got a point across or just seemed weird (bad weird, not Supernatural weird).