Chapter 2
February 2008
California- Elfin Forest
"A simple salt-n-burn, huh? It's kind of nice actually."
The sound of shoveling halted followed by an exasperated sigh.
"Simple for you, maybe, but flashlight duty hardly qualifies as labor," Sam replied. His voice was muffled by the walls of dirt and mud around him as he bent for another shovel-full of dirt.
"Whatever, Princess. You were supposed to get the shovels and I got the duffel and the shotgun. And the good looks and charm. It's not my fault you only grabbed one shovel." Dean adjusted the aim of the flashlight back into the dirt as he squat down. He didn't mention that he was also keeping watch with the shot gun. "Seriously, what was that about? If you didn't want to carry both shovels all you had to do was say so."
Sam wiped the sweat from his brow and back of his neck and didn't answer. They'd just driven from Broward County, Florida to California. It was Friday. It was the Friday after the hundred and then some Tuesday's, followed by the six months that he never wanted to think about again. He'd honestly forgotten to get two shovels. Just like he'd ordered a room with one bed by accident just that morning. Dean had grumbled all the way back to the motel manager's office to change the sleeping arrangements. Yesterday Sam had jumped into the driver's seat of the Impala and almost driven away while Dean was in the bathroom at the mini-mart. Once they got through Wednesday without another Dean death, he'd managed to stop following Dean everywhere he went. He'd also managed to quit jumping at the sound of his brother's voice. Sam was still compulsively checking to see if Dean was really there and he had not managed to stop his paranoia that he was in one of the Trickster's twisted mind-games. He knew Dean wanted to question him on the Broward County fiasco. His brother had shot him the worried glances more than once in their cross-country drive.
Taking another shovel full of dirt and tossing it out on to the growing pile, he realized he'd hit the top of the casket.
Dean heard the scrape of shovel on wood at the same time.
"Yahtzee! Let's burn this corpse and go find Bela."
Sam began clearing away enough dirt to open up the casket. "Bobby hasn't called us back with specifics yet, Dean. California's a big state. She could be anywhere." The casket creaked open and Sam handed the shovel up to Dean's waiting hand, exchanging it for the can of salt. "And the Colt's probably long gone."
"We find her or we don't. Whatever. There's got to be some more big evil brewing here in So Cal. We kill it. Good time for all."
They wordlessly exchanged the salt for the lighter fluid and Dean watched from above as Sam drenched the bones.
"Witches, man. I seriously dislike them."
Sam smiled at that. Dean was nothing if not consistent on his anti-witch stance.
"You know, though. Do you get the feeling that we're missing something here? I mean, yeah, we're burning the witch's corpse. Should be a done deal, right? But I keep getting this… déjà vu or something. I don't know, this whole back-woods windy-road forest doesn't feel right."
"Déjà vu, huh? Well, if you start reliving days over and over again, I might know a little something about that," Sam replied, his voice humorless.
"Oh, right. But, it's not like that. It's just like I've been here before, in these woods. But I know I've never hunted in Elfin Forest before." Dean capped the salt canister and retrieved the lighter fluid from Sam's waiting hand, digging in his pocket for the matches.
"Dean, when I mentioned a salt-n-burn in Elfin Forest, you thought we were going to hunt elves."
Dean chuckled at that. "Elves. That would have been awesome. Come on, Sasquatch.
Out of the hole so we can see some fireworks."
"Wait. You feel that, Dean?" asked Sam. The air had grown cold and the wind was picking up steadily. Trees rustled while a low moaning sound seemed to fill the night air. The temperature had easily dropped a few dozen degrees in mere seconds. Dean raised the shot gun. "That's not a good sign."
"Less talking. More burning, Sam." Sam reached his hand up for a boost out of the grave.
Dean had Sam hauled halfway out when an invisible force knocked Sam right back in, the clasp of their hands ripped apart quickly. That left Dean off balance and falling backward to land on his ass. He heard Sam hit, and knew from the position he'd fallen from that he'd have landed right in the casket.
"What the hell…" Dean muttered. He clenched his right hand tight around the shot gun. "Sammy, you OK?"
Sam grunted in response.
Not good enough, little brother, thought Dean. He hauled himself to his feet and peered over the edge of the grave, keeping his eyes alert for the spirit (or whatever the hell it was) that had knocked them both down. The wind was still whipping the trees wildly, the rustling of the leaves like waves crashing on rocks. Sam lay flat on his back, bones of the witch below him, and rubbing the back of his head where it must have glanced off the top edge of the casket. He pulled his hand away from his head to inspect the damage and came away with blood on his fingertips.
"Ow…" Sam groaned, wiping his hand on his jeans. "What was that?"
"Not sure. I think we pissed something off, though." Dean stayed alert, shot gun up, eyes roaming the tree line and nearby gravestones for trouble and keeping his brother in his periphery. "Listen, I'm sure it's cozy down there, but get the hell up."
"Yeah. M'okay. Gimme a sec."
It was the way Sam's words slurred that caused Dean to whip his head around to focus his full attention on his brother.
He must have hit his head harder than I thought. Dammit.
And then Dean was flying backward across the graveyard, shotgun in hand. He came to a sudden stop up against a tree, and groaned at the impact. He moved to raise the shotgun, but his entire body was pinned against the rough bark. He had flown only twenty yards or so and could still see his duffel, the shovel and the pile of displaced dirt. His eyes roamed the old graveyard, but he still saw no sign of their attacker.
What the hell? Why was the spirit or demon or whatever playing hide and seek?
He was about to start seriously struggling against his invisible bonds when the wind completely stopped, the howling ceasing right along with it, and the graveyard was silent and still once again. He slid down the trunk of the tree, his thin shirt riding up in the back. Tree bark scraped and cut all the way down. As soon as his feet hit the ground he raised the shotgun and headed toward the pile of dirt and his brother.
He was only a few feet away when the dirt pile lifted off the ground and was dumped back into the grave --
Right on top of Sam.
End Chapter 2