We stand over the grave of one Eliza Marley. Well, Dean is in it. He grumbles as he digs. I just watch, hold the flashlight, rock on my heels and hum. It's cold, but I didn't want to stay in the car. Not that I'm uber excited to see Dean burn the bones of a crazy lady that killed girls because she thought they were prettier than her. Then she went and did it after she died. Crazy old hag. It starts to drizzle. Dean lets out a curse. He straightens, his back giving out a series of painful pops. I frown. He has to still be hurting from when the Marley threw him into a table yesterday. I wasn't there- he refused to bring me along on this one-, but he came back limping.
He catches me staring.
"Jacket," he says sternly. I look over at his jacket, hanging on the headstone by Marley's. I go and grab it, hold it out to him. He stares at it for a second. Shakes his head. "Not me, loser. You. Last thing I need is you getting sick."
"Oh." I look at it. It's the one he always wears, his leather one. It doesn't have a hood, but considering my short sleeve shirt and shorts, I'm not going to complain. Still. "But what if you get sick?"
He just laughs. "I don't get sick."
"Hmm." I put on the jacket. It's warm. The sleeves are too long and I have to push them up. I don't complain. "Thanks." He just grunts. Goes back to digging. After a while, there's a thump. I watch as Dean uncovers the last of the dirt to reveal a box. Without a single hesitation, he rips the lid off. A pile of bones in a tattered dress. Clumps of hair still cling to the skull, but it doesn't smell as bad as I thought it would. Dean makes a face before climbing out.
I hand him the salt and gasoline. It was by the same headstone his jacket was on. He takes it. "Thanks, half-pint."
I crinkle my nose. I'm not sure how I feel about the new nickname. If it's not half-pint, it's kid. Or loser. Nerd. Two days have passed since the diner. This is his first hunt since. He's slowly stopped using my name and replaced it with nicknames. It's weird.
My hair starts to frizz. I sneeze when he empties the gas and salt on the bones. He shakes his head at me. "Shoulda stayed in the car," he mutters. I don't say anything. He pull out a cheap plastic lighter from his pocket and holds it out to me. "Wanna grill the bitch?"
Despite the morbidity of the offer, I offer a small smile. "Do I just throw it in there?"
He nods. "Yup." He hands it to me. It takes me a couple tries to get a flame- my hands are freezing, my fingers don't really want to work. When I finally got it to work, I let it fall into the grave. Before it even hits the bottom, a ball of flame explodes with a small pop. We take a step back. I remember how in my ninth grade lessons, it talked about how fast gasoline evaporates. A spark just has to touch the vapor and boom!
We stand there, staring at the fire, a comfortable silence settling between us. The drizzle becomes a light rain, then heavy rain. I sneeze again. Dean looks down at me. He picks up the shovel from where he dropped it and nudges my arm with his free hand. "Come on, loser."
I follow him, the fire's warm glow behind me and the darkness of the cemetery in front of me. I don't like the dark. Dean smiles down at me. I smile back. The dark doesn't seem so bad anymore.
Three days since Marley. Dean doesn't take back his jacket. I stay curled in a ball in the back. Hug my bear. I sneeze. My head hurts. In the front, Dean mutters something. Then, "How you feeling, kid?"
"My head hurts," I croak. My throat feels raw. I want to tell him I'm cold, but decide against it. He already has the heater as high as it'll go. His face is red because of it. He doesn't complain though. I feel bad. Maybe I should have stayed in the car. He got me medicine, but it doesn't want to work. I cough, pulling his jacket tighter around me.
"Dean."
"Yeah?"
"I don't like being sick," I say quietly. I hate how it comes out like a whimper. He's quiet for a while. I notice how his music isn't as loud as it usually is. I close my eyes. It starts to rain. I hear it hit the car with a soft PatPatPat. Dean curses. I don't have to look up so see him turn on the wipers. If I didn't want to shoot myself, I'd find it all calming.
"Lex. Hey, wake up, kiddo," He says softly. I shake my head, hold the bear tighter. I don't feel good. Well. Whatever. "Lex." I hear a door open, then close. The door my head is by creaks open. "Hey." I squeeze my eyes shut.
"Lemme 'lone," I mumble. A hand touches my forehead. He curses.
"Damn. You're burning."
"Wanna sleep."
He sighs. The door closes. I try to go to sleep. Sleep doesn't come. Annoyed, I struggle to sit up. It makes my head spin, but I manage it. It's still drizzling. I frown. Where are we? I see Dean go up to a run down old house. Is he gonna hunt something? I look around. It doesn't look too great. There's a fence, and behind it I can see how there are old cars stacked up. I look back at Dean. He's waiting at the door.
I open the door. he doesn't notice. I stay there, door open. I feel sore. I don't want to get up, but I don't want to just stay in the car. I'm sick. I don't know what I'm thinking. He knocks. I see, don't really hear. My head hurts. The door swings open. A man stands there. He's older. He wears blue jeans, a t-shirt, and a plaid over shirt. A trucker hat covers his greying hair. He looks at Dean in shock for a second. I blink away sudden light headedness and when I open my eyes, he's hugging Dean. Dean hugs him back. I frown. The man speaks.
"Damn, son, took you long enough!" he exclaims. He doesn't see me. "I should beat your stupid ass."
"Yeah, missed you too, Bobby," Dean laughs lightly. Bobby? He never talked about a Bobby. My head pounds. How do they not hear it? I close my eyes. Dean's talking.
"...Won't eat... Sick as hell, I didn't know..."
My head hurts. BoomBoomBoomBoom. Everything feels wrong. Wrong and broken. Like something wants to rip out. Alien? Call me Newt. But she doesn't die like that. I close the door. Tighten my hold on the bear. Feels dark. I don't like the dark.
Where's Dean?
