Hi, guys, I'm back!
I previously posted this fic on my DA for a Supernatural episode-themed contest a group was holding (I didn't come anywhere close to winning, but no biggie xD)
The title is also a song by Motörhead - Stone Dead Forever.
I reviewed the text and filled in some parts I had cut out from the DA-version, as I was unsure of how many words I was allowed to write.
Behold this original version in all its beauty!
Notes: This was written shortly after the 6th season, so there is nothing from the 7th.
Stone dead forever
Dean slammed his computer shut, rubbed his hands over his sweat-covered face. For days the heat waves had hung over the States like a giant bird whose wings spread from one edge of the map to the other, and messages of ruined crops and interdictions to wash cars had started coming in. He stood up, walked to one of the two beds and dropped himself on it, tired eyes closed for a second. Sam leaned back in his chair and looked at his brother.
''What's that, you're giving up?''
''Dude,'' Dean answered crankily, ''gimme a second to breathe. The heat is killing me and we've been doing this crap for almost two weeks straight.''
He turned to lay on his side, facing Sam.
''I mean, what the hell! Vampire nests in warehouses, ghouls in basements, poltergeists and even a werewolf! This town's like an amusement park for monsters!''
He sighed and mumbled:
''Why can't the freaks hold their little parties in Antarctica for a change?''
''Well,'' the younger brother answered, ''Bobby proposed we take these jobs to keep your mind off..''
Dean's green eyes hardened.
''Off what? Cas?''
''Yeah, sort of.''
''Just so you know, it ain't working.''
He flipped back onto his stomach, cheek pressed down into the pillow. Sam continued to browse the internet on his own computer, casting an eye on Dean now and then.
Three weeks had passed since Castiel had become the new 'God' and his brother had taken the change pretty badly. Sam knew him better than anyone else and could tell that something bothered Dean just by looking at him. To Dean, Castiel had been like a second brother. How many times had they saved eachother's skin? How many times had they been standing side by side fighting both demons and angels? Bonds had been created between them, the very same bonds shared by soldiers fighting together day after day with the furies of war raging around them. They became part of the same family.
At first, Dean had refused to believe that Castiel had let Crowley live on purpose, had refused to even consider the possibility that the war in heaven had changed him. When confronted with the obvious, he had been forced to accept the truth. Out of his brotherly love for the angel, Dean had then tried to stop Castiel from realizing his foolish plan to use the souls of dead monsters in Purgatory as an energy source to beat Raphael. They all knew that nothing good could come from it. Unfortunately, Dean was not the best person in the world at expressing what he really felt and thought, and Cas had seen his reluctance as betrayal. From that moment, the angel's pride had caused him to put their friendship behind bars, and he had become what they feared he would turn into: a feelingless, stubborn and indestructible creature which stopped at nothing to achieve its goals.
Dean was still lying on his stomach, eyes nailed to the wall, thoughts wandering aimlessly. Sam had to come up with something, and fast. Like he had done so many times during these last weeks, he clicked open articles from the local newspaper. The most recent was from the day before.
''Listen here,'' he said out loud, ''two people went missing a couple of days ago.''
Cursing the heat, Dean sat up slowly while his brother continued:
''Sarah and Wade Millers were last heard of monday night. They were respected archeologists with a passion for local history.''
''What, you think they might've dug up something that didn't fancy being disturbed?''
''Maybe. Anyway, I think we should have a chat with a miss Donovan. She's the last person to see her sister alive and she was the one to report them missing.''
Dean dropped back on the bed.
''I ain't going nowhere, man, I need to sleep and think. You wanna talk with the lady, fine, but I ain't coming.''
''You're not gonna get better if all you do is lie there all miserable.''
''Maybe I wanna take my time being miserable for once, all right?'' Dean snapped.
Sam knew it couldn't be helped. If his brother wanted some time for himself, it would be better for everyone if he got it. Hell, this whole buisness with Cas stung him, but not even half as deep as it stung and bothered Dean. Sam felt that he could not squeeze his brother's shoulder to say I know how you feel. He had no right to say that because it wasn't true. He could be there for him, could try to offer some consolation, but he could not lie and didn't want to either.
He slipped his jacket on, grabbed the keys to the Impala and cast a last eye on his brother's outstretched form.
''I'll be back in a couple of hours.''
Sam shook Dean awake and sat himself on the edge of the mattress, making it sink under his weight. The older brother rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.
''You got something?''
''Yeah, I think so. I spoke to miss Donovan. She said that the Millers were planning on taking a daytrip into the woods just outside of town. Apparently, they had found something of intrest there and wanted to check it out.''
''Did she tell you what it was?''
''Her sister didn't tell. But big surprise, the Millers were avid fans of the occult and magic.''
Setting his feet down on the floor to sit by his brother's side Dean clapped his hands on his knees:
''Sweet. So for all we know, they might have pissed something off. Any history of dark magic in town?''
''That's what we need to find out,'' Sam answered, standing up and walking to the table, opening the lid of his computer, ''I'll run a search.''
To his great surprise his brother stood up also, grabbed his own computer and went back to bed with it. Sam watched Dean make himself comfortable with his back against the headboard and open the black computer on his lap. Their eyes met.
''What?''
''I just thought you said you wanted to take your time being miserable.'' Sam smiled.
''Nah, I'm done. Let's do this.''
Dean's attention went to the screen but Sam knew him too well to be fooled by his seemingly careless expression. He was too familiar with what Dean did when something bothered his so much it felt like it gnawed on his bones. He put on this face, tried to act his normal I-don't-give-a-crap-and-bite-me-if-that-makes-you-mad self, but his tensed shoulders and stressed gestures gave him away.
They did not have to search for long before finding what they were looking for in the town archives online.
''Found something,'' Sam said, dark grey eyes running over the text as he read out loud, ''from may 1863. Apparently, the local doctor's daughter, Maria Alexandra Carpenter, was accused of witchcraft and killed the same year. There was no official trial, the townspeople carried out the execution themselves. They hung her in the woods.''
''So, a pissed spirit? If she's the reason for the Millers' disappearance, her being taken for a witch certainly explains why they were in the woods in the first place.''
''Yeah.'' Sam scrolled down the page. ''Says here she never was burried in the cemetery...''
Dean shrugged:
''Goes without saying. Bet ch'a ten bucks those superstitious sons of bitches burried her in the forest.''
''Actually, yeah.''
''Told ya! I'm awesome.''
''But the paper doesn't say where. Seems like they dug a hole close to the tree where she was hanged and threw her in it. Didn't even bother with a coffin.''
Dean got out of bed, sat down on the chair in front of his brother and said:
''Ok, so let's say we're sure the Carpenter girl is the one making people vanish. I couldn't find other articles about people gone missing in those woods, so they must have made sure to kill her in a place where few would go.''
''A clearing, maybe? Those woods are rather thick, but at this sort of execution the whole town was present, they needed a place where people could stand and watch. The tree used for the hanging is also gonna be kinda old if it's still there.''
''A big, old tree in a clearing far into the forest... sounds like we're looking for a goddamn needle in a goddamn haystack. Or one goddamn needle in several goddamn haystacks.''
''Yeah. But that goddamn needle needs to be found.''
The Impala stopped on the side of the road and the brothers got out. Dean popped open the trunk, jammed it and began digging through the arsenal that followed them on every mission. He handed Sam the EMF-meter, a shotgun and a bag with two telescopic shovels, a box of salt, a map, a compass and a small can of gas before grabbing his own shotgun. The cartridges were filled with rock salt. The older brother assured himself of the presence of his zippo lighter in his pocket and slammed the trunk shut as Sam pointed a finger at a slight space between the otherwise dense trees.
''This must be what's left of the old road. It's the only one that existed back in 1863.''
Using the archives, Sam had managed to retrace that old road with red on a map. The path was overgrown with tall grass and bushes, and the few trees that had grown there since the road stopped being used were thin and small, most of the sunlight being blocked from them by the older, taller trees. Their senses sharpened from the first step they took into the forest, the hunters let very little escape their attention. They progressed through the woods as fast as the grass reaching their waist allowed them to, the silence only disturbed by the singing of birds, the running of small rodents at their feet and the 'sonovabitch' escaping Dean's mouth when his boot got caught in a root. The heat was crushing, the trees also blocking out the soft breeze that had been blowing out in the open. Both men started sweating.
Dean dropped his jacket off his shoulders, took out the few things its pockets carried and slung it over the low branch of a nearby tree with the intention of retrieving it on their way back. Sam watched him, an eyebrow raised in wonder.
''Why aren't you just taking it with you?''
''Because if I keep it, it'll slow my movements if I need to aim quickly.''
They continued walking, Dean first, never looking back. Had they looked back, maybe they would have noticed the pale figure half-hidden behind the thick trunk of an oak, watching the Winchesters fight their way through the grass with its tired blood-shot eyes. The figure stepped forward without a sound, stretched out a white, bruised hand and touched the jacket Dean had left behind, eyes still fixed upon the brothers' backs.
Half an hour later the air was getting impossibly warmer, Sam and Dean now being far enough into the forest to hope for something. Sam pulled aside the bangs the sweat had glued to his forehead, took the EMF-meter out of his pocket and held it out in front of him. It emitted a couple of weak sounds. Dean turned around:
''What's it saying?''
''There definitely is something off with this place. There's some spiritual activity, but it's not big. We're not there yet.''
''Yeah, well, keep your eyes open.''
The deeper into the forest they went, the louder the EMF-meter became. Sam eyed it with a frown, pointing it in all directions:
''Dude, the EMF here is crazy.''
Just as he finished his sentence the white figure suddenly appeared right in front of his brother, snarling, dry lips uncovering grey teeth.
''Holy crap!'' Sam shouted, taken completely by surprise.
A loud, threatening guttural growl came from the spirit's skinny throat, but Dean was a rapid gunman. Before the spirit could come any closer the shotgun was aimed at its head and the trigger was pulled. The weapon loudly spat a cloud of rock salt, dissolving the ghost immediately.
''That's right, bitch, you better run!'' Dean yelled out.
The younger brother's heart was running wild in his chest. He had been far too concentrated about the EMF-reader.
''You OK?'' Dean asked, lowering the shotgun.
''Yeah, it just came out of nowhere.''
''Don't turn your back to it next time. You sure you didn't crap your pants?''
Dean's lips streched into a small, teasing grin.
''Ha-ha. Very funny.''
The other grinned wider.
''Well, the manifestation of a spirit means we're going somewhere. Look, there's a clearing.''
The Winchesters ran as fast as the grass let them to the edge formed by the trees. The sun bathed the place in bright light and Sam and Dean found themselves before an enormous grey, dead tree. Its naked branches were twisted and hungered, just like the little grass that grew on the dry ground around it.
''I'd say we found our tree,'' Sam said, ''it's the only one looking that horrible for miles around. Witch or not, something's definitely poisoning the ground.''
They came closer to the tree and examined its skeletal form.
''Lookey here,'' Dean said, kneeling down, ''someone carved some numbers in the bark.''
He passed his hand over the carvings to rid them of dirt and moss.
''1839-1863. That's the date of birth and death of our girl, no?''
''Yeah.'' Sam answered. ''Hey, do you smell that?''
A small current of air had shifted directions and was now blowing towards the hunters, bringing the horrid smell of putrefaction to their noses. Sam dropped the bag he carried by his brother, shotgun ready. He went east to the edge of the trees, trying to find the source of the smell. He almost tripped over it. The youngest Winchester lowered his weapon and stared at his feet. On the ground were two entangled bodies, or rather what was left of them.
The grass was blackened with dried blood and the stinking air was filled with flies attracted by the corpses. Several limbs and chunks of skin were missing, the stomachs were ripped open and the flesh was burnt in several places. The content of the corpses' backpacks was scattered around the owners, also carrying burn-marks. The mouths hung open, and the eyes were no more than the black, gaping holes of the sockets.
''I found the Millers. Poor bastards.''
''Great. Get your ass back here, I think I found what made the spirit attack them.''
Sam went back to his brother by the dead tree to see what Dean had found. The ground under the numbers on the bark had been disturbed, freshly poked at with shovels.
''I guess she attacked them when they tried to dig her up, and she came at us knowing we'd try too.''
While Sam spoke, Dean was busy searching for the salt in the bag. He found it and poured some in a large circle around them:
''Well, she won't be jumping us again. I just hope I encircled the whole grave.''
They started digging, and shortly after their shovels hit the ground, the pale form of Maria Alexandra Carpenter appeared just outside the ring of salt. She stared at them with hateful, reddened eyes. She tried to cross the ring several times without success, anger building a little more at each failure, her ragged breath scraping in her throat. A perfect image of how the young girl had been at the moment of her death, the spirit looked like it had been through hell. Her blonde hair was messy and dirty and her dress was ripped to sheds, showing nasty bleeding bruises on her arms, legs, feet and shoulders.
''They treated her like an animal.'' Sam said, stopping his digging to look at the deep cuts made by ropes around her ankles, wrists and neck.
''Well, she's dead and pissed, your pity ain't gonna help her. Keep shoveling!''
The spirit suddenly held her hands out in front of her and a loud creak was heard, coming from the tree from which she had been hung. Dean lifted his head.
''What? Nononono!'' he shouted, irritated. ''The bitch can't touch us so she's bringing the tree down to force us out of the circle!''
The sound of cracking wood became louder and louder as the many thick roots were slowly ripped out from the ground one by one. Sam's shovel finally hit something. Bones. The spirit's eyes widened at the sight of her own discarded and mistreated skull. Gritting her teeth she tried to tip the tree over the two men but the roots were strong, ran deep and did not snap easily. More bones were uncovered and soon, the whole skeleton lay bare, dirty grey and broken. Sam poured salt and gas over it and Dean flipped open the zippo-lighter, flicked the wheel and stared into the spirit's face:
''Game over, witch!''
He let the lighter fall, flame setting fire to the sloppy grave in an instant. The spirit of Maria Alexandra Carpenter wailed loudly as she burst into flames like paper before disappearing, never to be seen again.
Dean slammed the door on the driver's side shut and turned the key in the ignition. The Impala's powerful engine roared to life and the car rolled slowly to rejoin the road, the leather seats pushing into the hunters' backs as it sped up fast. For once, the car radio was silent and no rock music came from the speakers. Sam glanced quickly at his brother. Although the movement was subtle, it did not escape the other's attention.
''What?'' He asked.
''I don't know,'' Sam hesitated, ''now you wanna talk about what bugs you?''
Dean's eyes did not leave the road.
They could hunt all they wanted, trying to believe that life went on like normal. Talking about what bothered him wouldn't change anything, wouldn't change the fact that things never would be the same again with Cas. The bond they had shared was severed forever, and he preferred being taken for an insensitive and stubborn jerk rather than to show how deep it hurt, even to Sam.
''No.''