Summary: Each chapter is its own stand alone short about various mundane, but hopefully humourous, things the boys might encounter while on the road.
Disclaimer: I don't own them, the show, the Impala, or anything else related to Supernatural. I'm just a fanfic writing doing what fanfic writers do best, write fanfic.
Author's Note: At the time of me posting this, there are 17, 565 stories up. Woot! I have read, oh, um…maybe 1 percent of that. I don't get much time for reading, and I'm only writing these because I love the show and while I should be working on other things these thoughts and ideas kept popping up. Much to the efforts of my friend AuroraDannon. I'm only updating this whenever the inspiration hits. To be honest, I'll be surprised if someone else hasn't already had an idea like this one. No infringement is intended, I have not read any story like this, and this is just my own personal take on things. It's all just fanfic people. We write for the fun of it. That's it, that all.
Hope you enjoy. :) Chapters will be updated as inspiration strikes. But I do have five ready to go, so I'll put one up each week till I run out.
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Out of Salt
Dean wiped the dirt from his face but he was so covered in sweat he only ended up smearing the dirt around. Considering his clothes were soiled and dark with more than just dirt, he really didn't care.
They were running out of time. He and Sam had already gone one on one with the vengeful spirit and nearly lost. They'd used the last of their salt just repelling the entity in an attempt to protect a family who had the unfortunate luck of moving into the house of a long deceased murderer. A murderer who'd died only to become a spirit intent on killing anyone who dared to lived there.
Several shots of rock salt had scared the evil ghost off, but it wouldn't stay gone long, which was why Dean was up to his neck in dirt. His shovel finally hit the bottom of the grave, a wooden clang echoing up through the six foot deep hole. The hunter quickly worked to uncover more of the rotted coffin, clearing enough away to ram the shovel down through the old wood.
Thankfully the man had been buried in the simplest of wooden boxes. Newer coffins were a much tougher nut to crack, but soon enough Dean had a sizable hole and he look down at the ugly skeleton in disgust. The ghost hadn't really been much of an improvement.
Finished as far as he could go, Dean climbed out of the hole and checked his watch. Almost two in the morning. He was sure the ghost would try again that night. They needed to do this soon before there was another fatal attack. The only sure way to kill a vengeful spirit was to salt and burn the bones.
Dean had the kerosene. He was just waiting on the salt. It was at least another twenty minutes of tense anticipation before his tall beanpole of a brother finally showed up.
"What took you so long?" Dean demanded in a hoarse whisper. The graveyard was empty except for them, but that could easily change in a heartbeat.
"Do you know how hard it was to find an open store?" Sam returned.
"This is an emergency! You should have just broken in the first place you came across!" But his brother just gave him a look. Pansy, Dean thought. He grabbed the bag from Sam's hands and pulled out… "What the hell is this?"
Sam squirmed. "They were out of regular rock salt. It was the best I could find on short notice."
Dean held up the box of lavender and mint herbal bath salt. "Are you trying to kill it or cleanse its spirit?!" he asked sarcastically.
"Look, it should still work. They only use pure sea salt in this stuff," Sam argued.
"Ya? How do you know?" Dean questioned, raising an eyebrow at Sam in question.
Giving him a look only a brother can, Sam grabbed the box from Dean's hands. With deft fingers he had it open and was pouring the purple crystals down into the opened grave. To finish the job, Dean doused the corpse in kerosene, lit a match, and flicked it in.
The corpse, the rotted box, and any dirt wet enough from the gas, burst into flame. Usually burning a body, no matter how far it was along the decaying process, was messy business. And while the bath salts had a relatively nice fragrance, them, combined with the burning bones was like adding air freshener to one really really bad odor.
"I think I'm going to be sick."
"Next time I'll get vanilla jasmine."
"What do you mean next time?"