Whiplash

Chapter 11

Joe's grave lay in a pretty secluded corner of the cemetery, but it was reasonably illuminated by the almost full moon that peeked through the cover of clouds every now and then, bathing the whole graveyard into an eerie, silvery light. It made digging as easy as it got since they didn't need to rely solely on the light of a couple of flashlights perched precariously atop a gravestone or duffel bag. Or in the hands of Dean, who sat leaning against Joe's headstone, left shoulder against the slab of granite, back as straight as possible as he tried to keep his balance without touching any part of his body that would hurt. Which didn't leave him with too many options, unfortunately.

Bobby paused in his work, leaning on his shovel as he wiped at beads of sweat collecting on his forehead, tugging his ball cap back in place when he was done. He watched Dean from the corner of his eyes as he shuffled over, giving up his position in order to let Sam dig his own shovel into the dirt in his stead. Bobby hoisted himself up to sit on the edge of the grave, taking a swig of the water bottle that Dean handed over to him.

Dean looked a bit pale, his eyes well hidden underneath long lashes, lips slightly parted over clenched teeth. His freckles stood out a little too prominently in his still bruised face, the moonlight probably only enhancing the effect even further.

"Thanks." Bobby muttered when he'd drained the bottle, crunching it up and dropping it on the pile of dirt next to him.

So far Joe had failed to make an appearance – which was unusual, but just as well. Bobby was old (and wise) enough to not need the action anymore, more than content with a salt and burn going smoothly and without incident. The young ones always liked to shoot something, Bobby knew that, but right now he was pretty sure that even Dean – adrenaline junky that he was more than alright to have this over and done with without any further disturbances.

They were almost done – only a foot or two more and they should have uncovered his coffin. Bobby really wanted this done as fast as possible, bringing this whole damn mess to a close. They had other things to worry about, other vital things, matters of life and death, so to speak. And they still weren't one step closer to finding a solution…

The clunk of Sam's shovel hitting something solid reverberated loudly through the otherwise still night, making Bobby start out of his thoughts. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Dean flinch, then tense as well as the kid gripped his shotgun which he'd kept lying in his lap, closing his fingers around the hilt in preparation.

Almost done.

Bobby eased himself down into the grave again, determined to help Sam with the last shovels of dirt, digging in with renewed vigour now that the end was finally in sight.

Ten minutes later the lid of the coffin was laid free – and for once luck was on their sides as the coffin was made of ordinary wood and not one of those modern, vault-like caskets that would have been a bitch to get into. Apparently, for all his family's wealth, Joe hadn't gotten too big a piece of the cake his father had baked.

Bobby was dimly aware of Dean shuffling awkwardly closer to the grave, shoulder still against the headstone as he angled himself to be able to peer into the hole and keep track of Bobby's and Sam's progress.

Bobby scraped the remaining dirt off the lid, then stepped back to hoist himself out of the grave again while Sam drove the tip of his shovel into the wood, managing to crack it but not shattering it completely. It took another three or four full-force swings that had Sam grunting with effort until the surprisingly sturdy wood gave way and Sam's shovel slipped into the interior of the casket, momentarily getting stuck there.

Sam was working hard on prying the shovel free, when suddenly an icy wind swept over Bobby's back, making the hair on the back of the hunter's neck stand on end.

"Bobby, down!" Dean's voice was a harsh command and Bobby reacted instinctively, trusting without questioning as he dropped to the ground just seconds before the boom of a shotgun almost deafened the older hunter.

Damn it.

"Dean!" Sam's voice came dulled from within the freshly dug grave he was still protected by and Bobby rolled himself over, his own shotgun at the ready while yelling towards the direction of the youngest Winchester:

"Stay down, Sam…salt and douse him and fucking set him on fire – NOW."

Bobby's voice brooked no argument and thankfully Sam, for once, didn't dare to argue with him.

Another shot cut through the night, followed by a grunt of pain and Bobby's feverishly searched the immediate surrounding of the grave, looking for Dean. He'd been here - right next to the fucking headstone just a second or two ago…

The space was empty now, but there were clear sounds of distress coming from somewhere behind the headstone of an adjoining grave, spurring Bobby into action quick as lightening. He was on his feet and around the huge and bulgy slap of granite of the neighbouring grave in an instant, only to find himself face to face with the deceased, live and in person – or at least the ghostly apparition of Joe Stinetti.

Bobby only knew him from pictures, and while he hadn't been the best looking man to begin with, the pictures still didn't even come close to who Bobby was facing now.

Joe was right there, in front of him, the side of his face that was turned towards Bobby disfigured by a large gash on his forehead, a shattered cheekbone and an impressively split and swollen lip. He didn't seem to have taken notice of Bobby yet, all his attention focused intently on Dean, who he had pinned against the large and unshapely stony boulder of a praying angel, almost translucent hands closed in an seemingly iron grip around the young man's throat.

Dean was struggling, gagging his shotgun at his feet as both his hands were clasped around Joe's wrists, trying to pry them away from his throat.

His lips were parted in a desperate attempt to draw in air, his feet shuffling for enough leverage to get the man off of him. His face was scrunched in pain and Bobby could only imagine the pain he must have been in, his tortured back pressed against the praying hands of the weeping stone angel…

Bobby didn't waste another minute but took aim at the ghost, aiming the muzzle of the gun towards Joe's head, high and a little off center in order to not hit Dean and add even further to his injuries. The load of rock salt barely hit the apparition – scraping the back of his head only, but it all Bobby wanted was a short reprieve from the spirits strangling hands, only wanted to get him the fuck away from Dean.

Joe dissolved with an angry screech and a whoosh of ice cold air prickling Bobby's skin and he couldn't quite make the one big step to catch Dean before he slid to the ground, slumped forward to take some of the pressure off his back, hands braced on the ground in front of him.

He was on all fours, gulping and hacking, trying desperately to bring some air to his starving lungs again.

Bobby was on the ground next o his friend, hand hovering over the young man's shoulder, remembering at the last moment that touching him there wouldn't be a smart move right now – and not for a while to come.

"Dean…hey, you alright?"

Tragic eyes rolled up to meet Bobby's, words still lost between harsh and painful breaths, arms shaking ever so slightly as he reached for his shotgun despite barely being able to move at all, starting to push himself back up to his feet.

Bobby huffed in frustration, but knew full well that there was no use in telling the stubborn, mule-headed Winchester to stay down, so he reached to help Dean stand on wobbly legs again.

"Sam…?" Dean rasped, wincing, and Bobby winced right along with him at the raw sound that was his brother's name.

"Digging and burning…come on, let's make sure we have his back."

Another gust of wind hit them both, sending them to their knees and Bobby had to shout at the top of his lungs to be heard over the roar of wind and the clattering of object flying around the graveyard all of a sudden, hitting headstones and trees, toppling over lovingly placed floral arrangements and candles.

"Sam, what the hell is taking you so long?"

"Coming out – gotta give me cover…" he shouted back and it was only a second till Bobby could see the shaggy head peer over the edge of the grave before the kid hauled his too tall figure out of the hole with an ease that made the older hunter just a tiny bit jealous.

Sam hadn't even waited for Bobby's confirmation – in their line of work they learned to trust in situations like this, and Sam definitely knew that both Bobby and even Dean, with his dying breath, would give him all the cover he needed to finish any job, ever. Both had proven it more than once already.

As soon as Sam had cleared the grave's edge he was already striking the first match before even being back on his knees, hands cupped around each other to keep the flame burning in the crazy whirlwind of freezing gusts that raged all around them all of a sudden. The air felt like it was loaded with electric static, prickling and ice-cold.

Damn, Joe was powerful – Bobby had clearly underestimated him. Which had been a mistake, most definitely, and a rooky one at that – after all they'd had a pretty decent display of what the stupid fuck was capable of…

When the match had finally caught the flame, Sam lit the whole damn pack of matches on fire before dropping it into the depths of the grave. He immediately covered his head with his arms as the flames screamed and screeched, angry fingers of fire gripping for Sam, trying in vain to get a hold on anything within their reach to be consumed with quick efficiency.

Bobby and Dean mirrored Sam's motion, shielding their eyes and turning away from the heat emanating from the grave.

The fire was almost white hot – Sam had apparently gone a little overboard with both salt and igniter fluid - and it didn't take long before the flames had exhausted themselves and eaten away everything within their reach.

When the flames had finally died down to a smouldering see of red that barely grazed the open lips of the grave anymore, everything was suddenly quiet. It was as if the night had been robbed of its breath, its voice, night-time noises sucked into the grave along with the heat retreating into the depths of the damp ground.

After a minute of absolute silence, Bobby dared to lift his head again, picking himself off the ground carefully while looking around with stinging eyes. He could see Sam doing the same, the kid brushing off his jeans and shirt as his eyes frantically flickered over the graveyard, finding first Bobby, then something else behind the older hunter. He started forward before Bobby could as much as turn his head.

Only a second later a low, definitely pissed off groan reached Bobby's ears and before he even had time to be concerned about Dean, the young man's curses and expletives made him smile. As long as he still had that foul mouth on him, he couldn't be all that bad off…

"Please tell me you wasted the sucker, 'cause I swear to god …"

Dean was huffing and still a bit gravelly sounding, but he seemed to be alright, otherwise. Sam was fussing over him in his best style, giving him glares whenever Dean moved but finally relenting and helping his brother to his feet again. Dean stood, a bit shaky and definitely in need of a serious dust-off, but he did so on his own two feet. It had to be enough. After this they all deserved time to recoup. Bobby only needed to make sure that those two did it properly this time around.

"Seems quiet enough to me." Bobby grumbled, once again turning himself around, checking their surroundings.

Slowly, nocturnal sounds were taking over the formerly silent as dead night again, birds and critters picking up on their nightly concert now that the imminent danger was gone.

It felt safe.

The three hunters shared a look, a breath.

It was over.

Dean was the first to turn away, setting his jaw, his throat bobbing for a second before he forced his lips to unclench again.

He looked…deflated, for a lack of better words…but he didn't look relieved.

Maybe it just took a while for him to let go of this – of something that had been with him for so long.

It had to feel strange, almost, to walk without that burden all of a sudden. Even though, Bobby knew, Joe had only been one of them. Only one piece of the puzzle. Still it had to be a strange feeling…

"Alright, let's get back to the cabin, then." Sam cut through the laden silence, threw a pointed look at Bobby, who didn't miss the way Dean huffed and rolled his eyes as his brother. But he didn't speak up to correct Sam, and that alone was a clear enough sign for Bobby that he wasn't all that opposed to getting back to bed as soon as possible.

Hell, he had to be hurting still.

"Tell you what – you guys go back, get Dean settled in and then Sam can come and pick me up again. I'll just finish up here, fill the grave back in, cover our tracks. Shouldn't take me more than a couple of hours."

Sam looked more than a little doubtful, as did Dean, but in the end, Bobby had a far easier time convincing both Winchester's to finally call it quits and give in to his call. Which, again, spoke volumes as to their current states of both body and mind.

"I'll be back as fast as I can, help you clean up." Sam promised and Bobby only grumbled something like 'you better be', before shooing them off.

He stood for a minute watching their retreating backs, Dean's slightly slumped and definitely listing sideways, Sam's like a pillar, making sure Dean didn't fall until they were finally back in the safety of the Impala's rump.

Only then did Bobby turn around and start the tedious task of shovelling all the earth they'd so painstakingly removed from the grave back into the hole, choking out the still lingering flames.

God, he loved those boys more than was normal for a guy that never wanted to have kids to begin with.

Those Winchesters definitely were going to be the end of him one day.

OoOoOoO

Dean woke to what had become an all too familiar level of pain coursing through his body, a constant pull of skin and muscle on his back and side that never seemed to be able to be shut off completely anymore.

And last nights activities certainly hadn't helped his body to heal further, unfortunately.

And, as usual over the past months, there was something else, a deep, underlying blanket of…unease…fear, that remained well buried for the most part but still managed to make its presence known especially in the early hours of a new day. Another day closer…

Dean waited for what felt like an eternity, lying flat on the bed, face squished into the pillow, hoping for the pain to recede again, for sleep to carry him away once more. It wasn't as bad as it had been only a couple of days ago, was a walk in the park compared to that, really, but it still was insistent enough to not let him drift off again.

After about 30 minutes Dean finally gave up.

Sitting up still was kinda tricky, especially when he'd been lying down, but he tried to be quiet about it, his eyes skimming the still dark room to find his brother splayed out on the rug in front of the fireplace like a giant, shaggy sheepdog, limbs akimbo and tangled into one of the comforters, face relaxed in sleep. Bobby lay on the bed next to Dean's, ball cap still perched crookedly on his head, hands folded on his belly.

They were exhausted, Dean knew. Sam had dropped him off early last night – or early this morning - had gone back to help Bobby fill Joe's grave back in. They'd returned at around 8 o clock am, dirty and tired, had taken a shower and had slept for a couple of hours only before again getting up to not waste any daylight, as Bobby had called it.

Dean had no idea what the two had been doing all day, but they'd seemed rather busy, and he simply didn't have it in him to hold them back, so Dean had slept and eaten, had watched some soap opera on the far too grainy TV before giving up again. They didn't even have cable out here – could you believe it?

It was now close to midnight the same day, and both Bobby and Sam had been out as lights again fairly early that night, catching up on some much needed sleep.

Dean didn't begrudge them their coma-like slumber. They'd worked long and hard enough for it. Sam barely slept while Dean had been out for the count, he knew that, plus he'd spent the whole last day fussing about Dean some more, too, had made sure he'd had everything he needed without being forced to set as much as a foot out of bed unless he had to go take a leak.

They'd decided to leave the next morning, go to Bobby's, regroup, Bobby telling Dean he needed some help with a couple of cars he'd gotten a hold of. It actually did sound kind nice – a couple of days off and some greasy hoods to stick his head and hands under, and Dean found himself actually looking forward to it.

It would give Sam some time to unwind, to let down his guard, his ever present state of alter, now that Dean wasn't able to claiming the position of protector for himself. At Bobby's, they'd both be able to let go a bit, take a breath.

God knew Sammy needed it. And maybe, Dean needed it, too.

And Dean really wished that he could sleep as obliviously as those two did right now.

They were both out cold, both snoring not so softly at all.

Dean smirked. He really wanted to snap open his phone, film those two to use it in times of need, but first things first.

A bathroom-trip and some pills, then a couple of minutes till they kicked in, before he'd be able to do much of anything at all.

It all took a little longer that Dean was used to, his body not quite obeying his commands just as willingly as it used to, moving stiffly and painfully, sometimes outright disobeying the commands his brain sent its way. It was damn frustrating, that's what it was, and Dean found himself sitting at the small table in the corner of the cabin about 15 minutes later, pills swallowed, body tense, to wait for the effect to finally kick in.

He'd never had been good at waiting.

He'd never been good at doing nothing, either.

And since there was nothing much to do besides sit and just stare ahead into the dark room, Dean flipped open Sam's laptop that sat abandoned and humming lightly on the tabletop in front of him. The little digital clock on the bottom of the desktop announced the time to be 11.04 pm. God, another eight to ten hours of sleep, at least, were exactly what Dean craved right now, more than anything. As soon as those damn pills did their work...

Dean briefly considered surfing the net for porn but quickly discarded the idea as he really didn't feel like it, strangely enough. That, plus the fact that Sam and Bobby were still sleeping in the same room, and mute porn just wasn't any fun to watch at all.

He called up some of the pages Sam had saved in his favourites, skimming them without really reading, waiting, when suddenly the newsflash of a local online newspaper caught his eye. The second, closer look confirmed what he'd first thought to be just a trick of his tired and drugged up brain.

Another person had been taken – a young woman. Apparently, she'd been taking an early morning walk with her dog and had failed to return home to her husband and child again. Of course, officially, it wasn't even a missing person's case yet, she'd hadn't been gone long enough, was an adult woman that wouldn't be officially declared missing for a while to come. Family and police had searched the immediate area but couldn't do much more till the ominous 24 hour period. It could just be a regular disappearance, she could have run away from her family, hell, she could have very well fallen into a ditch or off a cliff.

But Dean knew.

Inside, he knew.

Call it gut-feeling or sixth sense – but he just knew.

He thought his heart stopped, and he must have blanched to a pretty impressive chalky white when he looked at the time she'd apparently vanished.

It had been this morning, at about 07.30 AM.

Long after Joe had been burned to a crispy heap.

Which could have served to make Dean believe in a perfectly normal explanation - only, again, it didn't quite work that way.

Dean felt his heart rate quicken, his breath getting stuck in his throat.

Joe was still…well, not alive, not exactly – but definitely still up and kicking. Damn. Something hadn't worked out as planned – which really shouldn't serve to shock him anymore, considering their history, but somehow it worked pretty well in making him panic this time.

Later, Dean would decide to blame it on the drugs coursing impressively through his system for days on end now, the pain sill making him a bit hazy, the overall confusion that had a death-grip on his already mangled brain. But no matter what he would choose to blame it on later, one fact remained the same, no matter what:

The next thing Dean knew, he was sitting in the car – Bobby's car, for it had been parked behind the Impala, blocking the exit – painfully straight so his back wouldn't touch the backrest, gently guiding the car out of the parking spot in front of the cabin. How he'd gotten dressed, jeans and t-shirt, even shoes, he didn't remember. Didn't want to know, either. All he knew, all that mattered was the fact that both Sam and Bobby apparently were still asleep, and Dean was on his way towards that cursed hell house again, trying to determine if his suspicions were a mere imagination of his boiled brain or in fact very much true.

He hoped, with all his heart, it was the first.

But inside, he knew…

Sam was going to kill him. Bobby too, come to think of it.

Either way, he wasn't going to get out of this alive.

Dean raised his eyebrows, cocking his head to the side as he mused at himself.

Yeah definitely not going to get out of this alive.

But at least it would end at the hands of his friends, not some stinking hellhounds tearing him to shreds…

Dean covered the distance to the little side road that he knew led towards the cabin without being aware of much, occupying his mind with making up explanations for his incoherent behaviour. Because, honestly, what the hell was wrong with him, again not trusting his brother and friend enough to let them in on this? He'd practically given his brother a goddamn oath, had sworn to not sneak behind his back anymore… Why the hell did he always have to play the fucking hero here?

But maybe he was wrong, maybe he was imagining things, looking for hunts, for problems were in reality non existed. Maybe Joe was dead and gone, not bothering anybody anymore. Which was why he decided to check it out alone, to not turn around and wake his brother, take him along on the journey. Which, yeah, probably a mistake – but since he was already on his way…

At least the pills had kicked in, finally, which maybe helped to explain his sudden take-off as well. He knew he tended to get a little…unreasonable when on pain meds – and those pills Bobby had scored where pretty darn strong. So, that had to be it. Would be the explanation he'd try to sell Sam and Bobby as well - if he ever got the chance, that was.

Dean was so lost in his flitting thoughts, so distracted by musings and what-ifs, that he didn't see the dark and looming form suddenly blocking the path, the car's headlights illuminating the barely recognizable form in the overgrown road far too late.

When he finally did, there was hardly any time left to react anymore.

He jumped onto the breaks with a shout of surprise, practically every muscle in his body tensing up as he braced himself against the impact that was unavoidable.

The car swerved and skittered sideways, a small fountain of leaves and loose earth kicking up, before abruptly coming to a sudden stop when the rear bumper slammed into the fallen trunk of a huge tree lying across the street.

Suddenly all went silent.

OoOoOoO

tbc

AN:

Today, I wasn't sure I'd be able to post at all - I was so dissatisfied with myself, this chapter, the whole story (maybe life in general...who knows)

Then, as I started my computer to at least spellcheck the chapter, my harddrive crashed, taking with it all my photos and, most importantly, all my fanfic-documents I already wrote and of course didn't save anywhere else but on my laptop.

First, I panicked. Then, maybe, I hyperventilated a little, but my awesome, amazing, wonderful brother in law managed to not snap my neck while actually fixing the computer, with me breathing down his neck, saying over and over again that this is just the typical end to a typical week in my typical life... anyways, he's a saint, and he fixed it - so I dedicate this chapter to him, even though he'll never know...

At least it showed me that I actually, truly, do still care about this.

Right now I have a hard time accepting the fact that I just can't do any better than this, that no matter how hard I try, can't improve my writing, that I actually get worse instead of better.

Thanks to those who still encourage me, it means so much.

I'll be gone for a little while - vacation, and as soon as I'm back I'll have the next chapter ready, if you want to read.

thanks for listening. Don't think I'm crazy (even though - yeah, i might be...) I'll probably delete this AN tomorrow..hope nobody remembers...