A/N: And now I know how long it takes the average person to dig an average grave on their own (2 - 3 hours, FYI). I'm beginning to think this fic is my Winchester education, too... And yes, the ending may be sort of cheesy, but I like the mental image it gives me. So sue me (but really don't). Anyway, sorry for the delay and enjoy!

Unlike the other things Dean had deemed learning opportunities, this was unpleasant in every conceivable way. His arms ached as they never had before, sweat dripping down his brow; he had long ago discarded his trenchcoat to combat the heat.

This was an entirely new activity for him, and not one he particularly relished. He took only the barest comfort from the knowledge that very few human beings enjoyed this task, with or without the added implications. Even with the semi-positive connotations their reasoning had, to enjoy it would imply that there was something very wrong with his psyche. Or so Dean said.

The Winchester brothers worked silently with him, either ignoring their fatigue or completely unfazed by it. Either option wouldn't surprise him–they'd spent their entire lives being trained for this sort of thing. He, on the other hand, was trained for myriad things most humans could barely begin to imagine, but none of them came even close to digging a grave.

As he had been with them when the hunt arose, Dean and Sam had both encouraged him to come along, and with no new leads on the whereabouts of God, he agreed. Dean said it was a part of his Winchester education–hunting spirits was one of the first subjects when it came to actual hunting, apparently. In this case, it was a simple salt and burn for a pair of murdered young lovers seeking revenge for their deaths. The job had been relatively easy, especially in the scope of the whole Apocalypse. At least, it had been easy up until now.

Now, he was more tired than he had ever been. When he was connected to the Heavenly Host, he had been able to avoid that sort of human experience, but it seemed now that the limitations of a human body were catching up to him. He was exhausted and sore, and the handle of the shovel dug into his hands as he pushed up more dirt.

They had been digging for more than an hour now; according to Sam, two graves took longer than this with only two people. With a third set of hands, things were apparently running a little faster, which made him wonder how they endured such a repetitive, tiring task. They took turns digging, with one person in each grave and one person resting at a time. Even with short breaks, it wasn't getting any easier. Any time a set of headlights illuminated the cemetery, they ducked down; Castiel was fully aware of how illegal this was, and didn't argue when Dean ordered him to lay flat in the grass each time.

The dirt built up around him as he slowly worked lower into the ground. He had reached something Sam had called his 'second wind' several minutes ago, and while his arms and back still ached beyond reason, and the handle still bit into the palms of his hands, the work didn't seem as difficult anymore. He pushed the shovel into the dirt, suddenly jarred by a firm resistance. Sam, who had been leaning on his shovel, looked over, a hint of a smile on his lips.

"Cas got his before you did, Dean," he laughed; Dean's head popped out of the nearby hole, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. This only made Sam laugh more, seeing his brother looking like a dumbfounded groundhog.

"Dude, there's no way," the elder Winchester shot back, somewhere between shocked and outraged. "He's never even done this before." Sam just shook his head and grinned.

"What do I do now?" the angel asked, ignoring their exchange. Dean just snorted and ducked back down into his hole, dirt flying up in quick bursts now; the taller man grinned at his brother and glanced back down to Cas.

"Open up the casket and then climb back up here." The angel nodded and spent a minute finding the release before lifting the lid open. A puff of stale air whooshed out at him, assaulting his sense of smell with the scent of a decaying body. Sam chuckled at his disgusted expression, but blinked when the angel was suddenly at his side.

"Should I apply the salt now?" Castiel asked, nodding to the cans scattered unceremoniously between the two graves. A clunk echoed behind them; Dean coughed, nose wrinkled as he pulled himself out of the fresh hole.

"Done," he gasped, obviously trying to rid himself of the unwanted coffin smell. He grabbed a can of salt and tossed the other to Sam, who caught it with ease. "Let's just get this over with." The younger Winchester passed the can to Castiel, who opened it up and began pouring it over the young woman's corpse. Under Sam's close eye, he emptied the can evenly over her and tossed it to the side.

Before he could ask for the matchbook, a sudden force threw him away from the grave. He was momentarily blinded by the force, but he could hear Sam and Dean shouting, followed by the crack of a gunshot. His vision seeped back as he tangled with the assailant, revealing it to be the spirit of the girl he had just salted. Dean had mentioned that this was to be expected, but that had somehow escaped him in the digging process.

He wrestled with the corporeal ghost, who was much stronger than one would expect such a young girl to be. Fortunately, his residual angelic strength was enough to combat her spectral power; he managed to push her off and stand himself up. Seeing Sam behind the girl, he ducked down and allowed the hunter to release a shell of rock salt. Cas was at his side as the girl wisped away, taking the matchbook Dean proffered.

"Just light it up and toss it in," the older hunter barked, shooting the male ghost away before lighting his own book. The angel followed orders, striking the matchsticks to life as the female tackled Sam. In his peripheral, he saw the young man's specter consumed by flames; he dropped his flickering matches into the grave in front of him. An echoing scream pierced the air as the second spook disappeared in a flash of red and orange fire. Sam instantly quit struggling, looking around cautiously as he stood up.

"Thanks, man," he said, smiling faintly at the angel. Castiel only nodded in response, weariness hitting him like the proverbial ton of bricks. Dean smiled like a proud parent, patting his friend on the back.

"See, not that bad," he said happily, breath only slightly ragged after fighting with the ghosts. The elder Winchester holstered his shotgun in his belt and turned to smile at his friend. "You did pretty good there, man. I knew you had it in you."

"Thank you," Cas replied with a small smile, trying to suppress the utter exhaustion overwhelming his body and failing stupendously. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment before he forced them to snap back open, only to see a grinning Sam and Dean. "I believe I need to sleep."

"No shit," Dean replied, blessedly uncouth as ever. He glanced around, eyes running over the still burning corpses and empty salt cans, and pursed his lips. "Just help us get the dirt back in the graves and we can go back to the motel." Castiel nodded in agreement as Sam pushed the coffin lids shut, eliminating the little light generated in their depths.

All three went about quickly refilling the holes, which was, to Cas' great pleasure, much easier than digging them. In a matter of minutes, they were back at the Impala, stashing their shovels and empty salt cans in the trunk before climbing tiredly into the car. As they barreled down the road, his thoughts drifted to his surrogate family and how much he enjoyed doing strange human things like this with them. Physically demanding and foreign as it was, he liked it.

Unbeknownst to the angel, he fell asleep in the Impala's backseat with a broad smile across his face.