A/N: Warnings, spoilers, notes and such are mentioned in chapter 1.
When she showed up again at sundown, no marks of her tears were visible. Usually, she didn't let the frustration out that way, but then again, usually she could prove her often-doubted skills with a shove and a fist and a glare. The language hunters used and understood. Without Sam in the room earlier, she would have resorted to it again. At least she didn't need to think about it tonight as she was supposed to help Sam when Dean was distracting Linda the hitchhiking spirit.
She knocked and Sam answered the door.
"Hi."
"Cathy, hi."
Sam cast a quick look over his shoulder. She suspected that he was checking up on Dean. The friendly smile on Sam's lips didn't falter a bit and he let her in. Dean was stuffing his bag with relevant items: salt, lighter fluid and shells for his shotgun. She spotted an assortment of other weapons and a pair of flashlights as well, but concluded that Dean had been in the business long enough to be rather safe than sorry.
Sam was also arranging his stuff so she just stood there watching the brothers. Cath had to admire the purpose in their every move and the methodical way they went through their bags, checking that they had everything, checking that the other one had everything. She just used a mental list, packed and knew that she had the entire list with her. And at the bottom of her bag and in her pockets were usually some random items she thought could come handy because she believed in being ready for the unexpected.
"Cath."
She was a little surprised to hear Dean acknowledge her. His tone was even although he made it sound like it he was giving her an order. If he was really giving her a chance, she was happy to prove herself. A chance was all she had asked --hoped-- for. She stepped to Dean's side.
"What?"
She hoped that it hadn't come out as flippant or angry.
"You got a first aid kit in the car?"
Dean gave her a quick glance sideways, still mostly concentrating on his bag.
"Yes."
For some odd reason she nearly called him 'sir'.
"Sam's got the rock salt shells for you."
His voice was low and calm and tight, like he was restraining himself. The collar of his leather jacket was up and gave him an air of danger. He zipped his bag closed.
"Sam, load this up."
Dean threw him the keys and handed over the bag. She observed how Sam asked nothing despite the slow look he shared with Dean. As soon as Sam was out, Dean turned to her. Cath stared back at him for a moment, waiting for the 'Stay out of our way' or 'I'm doing this only because Sam asked me to' but got neither.
"Just cover Sam's back and make sure the job gets done."
It felt like a hearing a big secret or an apology for earlier --maybe because of Dean's conspiratorial tone-- but there was a built-in threat in there also: if Sam got hurt, Dean would come after her.
Cath nodded quickly. "I will."
The second the door opened, Dean grabbed his shotgun that laid on the comforter and took off. Sam hovered in the doorway and Dean shouldered him on the way out.
"Jerk." Sam didn't sound angry and although Cath couldn't discern the words in Dean's reply, it was short and low enough to indicate that it wasn't anything serious. Just brotherly banter, she figured and felt a twinge of jealousy. It was the first time when she hoped that she would have a brother or a sister to share this life with. But it was much too late for that.
Sam hid his smile, hesitating for a moment but asking her anyway, "You okay?"
He was clearly a little concerned about whatever it was that Dean had said to her. As if his brother was a cannibal or something. Cath couldn't help the amusement seeping into her voice.
"I'm fine."
Dean had her puzzled. Disbelief, hostility, cold shoulder and suddenly something akin to acceptance. She knew that there was some logic in there and suspected that Sam was in the middle of it. Maybe there was something else but she couldn't afford to think about it right now.
---
Even though Sam had defended Cathy and been more willing to give her a chance, he began to see some wisdom in Dean's reluctance to take another hunter along. She had seemed nervous when Sam had dug up the rock salt rounds for her, her feet had been in constant motion tapping her heels against the floor. Now the car was void of any of the familiar pre-hunt routines Dean had; no lame-ass jokes, no fingers drumming against the steering wheel, no Zeppelin blaring from the speakers.
The trees lining the dirt road here and there created hulking shadows on the road, illuminated from above by the waning moon. Sam glanced at his watch. Dean had headed to the main road half an hour ago and they were now just outside the Parker farm. Cath eyed the rear view mirror periodically and drove trying to avoid kicking up any bigger trail of dust than was necessary; the fact that she paid attention to such details relieved the tension in Sam's shoulders by a degree. Things could have been worse.
They arrived at the farm and Cathy parked her Ford in the middle of the front yard, before the old decrepit house that stood a little crooked and had white paint flaking off. Sam hopped out first after he sensed that Cathy wasn't having second thoughts about this and didn't need a talk-through. They pulled out shotguns, shovels and a duffel packed for a salt-and-burn from the trunk. Sam instructed Cathy to take her flashlight and a shotgun while he carried the rest of their gear. The long, dewy grass parted beneath their steps and Sam let his flashlight sweep the ground farther out; his breath hitched when two slender but crooked crosses were revealed under the oak tree that looked like it had been planted to guard the dead. This was it, another hunt, no backing out now.
Sam set his light on the ground to cover the graves. Wordlessly, Cathy mimicked his moves, and grabbed the other spade and got to work.
The first foot of grass, roots and dirt was always the quickest to get rid of but never enough. Sweat beaded on Sam's forehead and when Cathy took a small break --switching the spade in her hands for a shotgun-- he simply shed his hoodie that was no longer needed in the chilly night.
Cathy was no match for Dean when it came to shoveling but she had a logic to it which Sam picked up fairly quickly. She let Sam work down deeper, while she got rid of the topmost layers and widened the hole to cover both graves. For the deepest points to reach two feet took them an hour which he considered a good result.
They took a quick break and drained a small bottle of water each. Sam could see how Cathy's chest was heaving from the hard work when she sat on one of the tree roots.
"I take it that this wasn't your original plan?"
He leaned on his spade and tossed the empty bottle near the duffel.
She looked up with a dry chuckle.
"Hell no. Was gonna pretend a government official and have someone else dig them up." She paused to catch her breath. "Walk straight up to the sheriff and be a real stiff. Plan B was to start early."
"Bureaucracy's always good."
He received a simple nod as confirmation and left it at that.
The sharp shrill of his phone was dampened by the jacket bunched around it, but the remaining volume was enough to make Cathy jump up and mutter a few curses for being so jittery. The caller id told it was Dean.
"Yeah?"
"Dude, I've got nothin'." Sam could tell by Dean's voice that he wasn't happy at all. "I could drive around with my eyes closed and not crash by now."
"Dean, we haven't reached the remains yet. You gotta keep your eyes open."
Of course Dean was bored after an hour on the same stretch of road, Sam knew how it was with him. Dean knew the routine, too, and sighed loudly in protest even if it was just for show.
"Yeah, I know."
Sam had some encouraging words to irritate the hell out of Dean but he didn't get the chance.
"Whoa!"
Sam had heard that particular exclamation so many times that he knew something supernatural was up and about.
"What?"
"I think I just found lil' Miss Linda. Man, she's hot!"
Yep, it was his brother alright.
"Dean, just watch out."
Dean didn't comment and next Sam heard the dial tone.
He dropped the phone in his pocket and grabbed the shovel. Cathy didn't have time to even ask what the call had been about.
"Dean found Linda."
They started shoveling with renewed vigor; Dean would arrive in half an hour's time and the bones weren't exposed yet.
Sam dug deeper in one spot to find out how much work they still had cut out for themselves. The dull thud sounded in somewhere between three and four feet and Sam honestly hoped that Dean's charm would work on the spirit so that they had more than thirty minutes.
Twenty-five minutes later, he had a foot left on the other side of the shared grave. He noticed that Cathy had given up on the shoveling and was just peeling off layers of dirt to the edges; her side had maybe about half a foot more to go than his. Their eyes met briefly and he understood that she was doing the best she could.
Sam's spade hit the coffin again, this time earning a more resonant thud due to the lessening of the dirt on top of it. He raised the spade in his hands to have another determined go at it, but before he could put serious muscle into the blow, he sensed that something was wrong. However, there was nothing he could do about the sudden steely grip on his shoulder, yanking him out of the grave and onto the grass. He fell hard on his back and a second later, Sam was eye-to-eye with the spirit of Temple Parker. His appearance was like any farmer's forty years back but his eyes were cold, dark and sunken to the skull which had a point-blank-ranged chunk missing underneath the wild, gray hair. Sam was about to reach for the man --the spirit-- to throw a punch but the image vanished with a gunshot.
Sam jerked up and saw Cathy with the shotgun and the first thing he could think of was Dean. The near-hate in her eyes, the set of her jaw, even the way she looked at Sam. And the fact that it lasted only a fraction of a second.
"You dig, I'll cover!"
Without hesitation, Sam picked up the discarded tool and started working. He shoveled the next five inches of soil away on pure adrenaline alone.
The easily discernible sound of the Impala's engine drilled through Sam's determination. He needed to get Linda's coffin dug out before Dean found himself playing peek-a-boo with Temple's gun. Ignoring the burning in his lungs, muscles and the abused shoulder, Sam continued the work in a rhythm that made his head spin. All he could see was the shovel, dirt, grass and dirt again. The Impala was closer now, almost on the front yard, when Sam's task was interrupted for the second time. Only this time the yelp came from Cathy.
Temple Parker's spirit held her by her throat so tight that her screams were reduced to hisses and moans. Her shotgun had dropped to the ground and her hands tried to pry away the death grip on her windpipe. Sam grabbed his shotgun off Temple's grave marker without stopping to think and fired a round with a dubious aim. Fortunately, his target was close enough to take a hit and dissolve into nothingness. Cathy fell down in a heap, gulping for air and holding her left hand on her throat while the right hand sought out the fallen shotgun.
Sam could see only from her alarmed expression what was about to happen. His reflexes made him tackle the dark shape on his left --one that had came from nowhere-- but the figure knocked him out despite his two extremely well-placed punches.
---
He would have recognized the gunshot anywhere; Dean knew that Sam was in trouble, but he forced himself to trust Sam, maybe even trust Cath, and he followed the pale ghost to the porch regardless of the cold ball rolling in the pit of his stomach. At least he had managed to stow his shotgun under the leather jacket without the bitch noticing. He just needed to distract it while Sam and Cath dug open its grave. The tall, dark-haired spirit opened the door for him and Dean wore his shit-eating grin perfectly.
---