'How many do you think we've dug?'
Dean was perched on the edge of the grave, his legs dangling down into the hole where Sam was shovelling out the last spadesful of dirt covering the lid of the coffin.
'Too many,' Sam puffed. 'It's time we left digging holes to the next generation. We must've shifted tons of soil.'
'On the positive side, shovelling dirt has helped us keep our boyish figures,' Dean chuckled. 'If we weren't hunters, we'd have beer-bellies by now.'
'Speak for yourself, Dean. You're the one who gulps down crates of the stuff,' Sam declared, climbing out, while Dean grabbed the accelerant and squirted it abundantly over the open coffin, lighting up the skeleton with a fiery roar.
:
'Just the thing for a cold, windy night,' Dean grinned, warming his hands over the fire.
'Next time it's your turn to do the heavy digging, dude,' Sam said, sweat pouring off him, despite the chilly air.
'Have I ever welched on our agreement, Sam?'
Sam gave his brother a smile. 'No, you haven't. We make a good team, we always have.'
'And we always will,' Dean sentenced, a twinkle in his eye. 'When you find the ideal hunting partner, you never let him go.'
'No, no you don't,' Sam agreed.
:
The brothers watched as the flames consumed the bones, wondering what Fate still held in store for them, but whatever it was, they'd face it together.