On the way to the cemetery, Sam turns in his seat, and tells me about his first monster kill experience. "When I was a kid I went just as blank as you did the first time I saw Dad kill a monster. Then it happened again when I watched Dean kill a werewolf." He smiles, ducking his head in embarrassment. "It's called disassociation. The brain can't process something so far outside it's experience, so it creates a kind of barrier between you and your feelings." He lays an arm across the back of the seat.
"But it happened twice. At first it was like it was a tv show, and then it was like you were a stranger." I lean forward and lay my hand over his.
"Right. First you were numb to the whole situation; then you saw me as a stranger. That's exactly how I reacted to Dad and Dean."
Dean glances at him in surprise. "When was this?"
"I'm not sure. Summer after I turned 14 I think. It was either a ghoul or something equally gross."
"Oh right! At least you didn't throw up. Man the first time Dad killed something bloody in front of me I barfed everything I'd ever eaten." Dean grins as though he's just shared a Disneyesque story about going fishing with his dad.
Sam rolls his eyes, "Trust you to make vomiting over a fresh corpse heartwarming." Dean's smile just gets bigger, and I have to laugh. "I'd been on dozens of ghost hunts with them and never reacted like that." Sam continues, "When you destroy a vengeful spirit, it burns up – sort of like a life-size paper cutout of the person. But a werewolf or a witch is a living being, so they die like one. Suddenly, my dad, the great hero, killed someone, and there was blood all over the place. I couldn't interpret what I was seeing so my brain sort of shut down my emotions."
We pull up to the gates of the cemetery, and Dean gets out of the car, leaving the engine running. He trots up to the gates and bends down to the lock.
Sam turns further, bending one leg up on the seat so he can face me fully. "We cleaned up the place and ourselves, buried the body, and started back to the car. I tripped over a rock or a root and started to fall. Dad caught me and pulled me back to my feet. I pulled away from him and ran to Dean without thinking about it. Oh, his face! Shock and hurt like I'd never seen in my life! Like a snap of the fingers, suddenly he was my dad again. I was 14, but I ran to him and threw my arms around him, and he held me hard."
A tear runs down his cheek and he looks away; I see it all. Their iron father staring at his younger son, the one he never wanted to drag into this life, horrified at his touch. The poor man must have been wounded right down to his soul. Thank God Sam recovered so fast.
"And with Dean?"
"In a lot of ways, it was worse. With Dad I wasn't expecting it, so we could chalk it up to first time experience. He wasn't usually very understanding of failure, but he understood being unable to control your reactions your first time out. That night we got my favorite food, and Dean let me pick what we watched on TV. After it was over, Dad took me for a walk and when we came back we sat on a picnic bench and looked at the stars and he told me about his first hunt where he had to kill a creature rather than destroy a spirit. He said his hands shook for days." I watch his face as he looks off into the distance and resolve to find out more about this interesting father of theirs.
Before he can continue, Dean is back in the driver's seat, and we zip through the now open gate. Sam jumps out and shuts the gate behind us before he climbs back in the car.
The guys carry the body. I carry the equipment bag over my left shoulder, and a big industrial flashlight in my right hand. It's not far from the car, but it's thankfully far from the road. They set to work and within a few minutes they're a foot deep into the grave.
"Man you guys are fast!" I compliment them.
"We've had a lot of practice." Sam reminds me. He pauses and sticks his shovel into the dirt. He strips off his hat and coat and throws them to me. Dean nods and does the same.
"So, you were telling me about the first monster kill of Dean's you witnessed?"
"A few months after I saw Dad kill a monster, I watched Dean kill a werewolf. The guy was huge, not just tall, but built, you know?" He looks up at me, I nod, and he continues digging, "Dean was almost as tall as he is now, but he hadn't put on the muscle mass. He shot the guy with silver bullets three times, and took the guy out, but on his way to the ground the guy flung himself at Dean, snarling and bleeding. I was sure Dean was dead or turned, but no, he managed to pull his knife before the guy collapsed on him, and gut him."
"Ew, gross!" I make a face.
"It was! And that's part of what I reacted to later, but before I could even get to him, Dean's shoving the guy off himself, climbing to his feet, and shouting at the guy something like-"
"And stay down, you son of a bitch!" Dean shouts.
Sam laughs, "He's covered in blood, his shirt's torn, he's panting like he just ran 10 miles, and he's grinning like a madman with the rush of survival." Sam shakes his head. "I'd seen him celebrate destroying a ghost that beat up on us, but this was – he looked like-"
"Rambo? John McClain? Arnold Schwarzenegger in Predator?" Dean asks with eager enthusiasm.
"Yeah, all rolled into one. But I couldn't get past the sight of my big brother, the goofball who always took care of me, soaked in gore and reveling in it." He looks at Dean all apologetically. "I'm really sorry for the way I reacted, man."
Before I have to endure a 'bro-moment' I speak up. "Let me guess, it took until you killed your first monster to truly get over it?"
They pause and look at me in surprise. After a moment Dean smiles, shakes his head, and goes back to digging. Sam grins, "I keep forgetting how perceptive you are."
"Why? Have you been hanging out with self-involved douchebags most of the time?"
Sam plants his shovel, climbs out of the grave, and focuses all his attention on me. It's a little unnerving. He examines me in detail, then slides his arms around me, pulling me in close. "No, it's just, regular people miss out on a lot of what's really going on right under their noses. I often wonder how the majority of people go through life not noticing what we see every day. You found out that monsters are real less than 24 hours ago, and yet here you are now, helping us bury the corpse of a demon I just killed."
"WE just killed." Dean puts in without pausing in his work.
"Right." Sam agrees with an indulgent smile.
"I've been reading books about demons for five years. I told you that most of the restoration work I do is on Medieval books, and most of those that need restoration are about demons. If you accept that monsters, including demons are real, it's not a big stretch to deduce that people are going to handle that information differently." I look down at Dean. "Your mom died when you were a baby, and Dean was just old enough to form long term memories. You guys grew up with one parent, which means you were really close. Dean going from his normal self to Rambo in the half a second is going to be hard to reconcile…especially for a fourteen-year-old."
"Sam, I'm glad it didn't work out between you and Sarah, because this girl is the one you should marry." Dean winks at me, "Now get your ass back down here."
After that, it takes them only a few minutes to reach a depth they feel is safe. They lower the body into the pit, coat it with salt, douse it in lighter fluid, and then Dean tosses in a book of matches he's lit all at once. It burns like merry hell and wisps of smoke or steam rise up speaking in strange voices.
When the flames die down to almost nothing, they pick up their shovels and fill in the hole. They put the green fake carpet cover back in place, knock the shovels against a tree to remove the clinging dirt, and put the shovels back in the trunk and close the lid. We get back in the car without a word to acknowledge her passing.
Dean decides to sleep on the couch. It's warmer, he can watch TV, and besides, He tells me with a waggle of his eyebrows, the guest bedroom is right across the hall from my room.
"You have no shame at all do you?"
"What are you talking about? Sam snores like a sawmill full of werewolves."
"Yeah, I'm sure that's the only noise you're worried about."
"Well…you do kinda look like a screamer…" He ducks my slap.
"Whatever dude. Don't eat all my Cheetos."
"What? No way, Cheetos are gross!"
I gasp in horror, clutching my hands together. "Dean Winchester you take that back! Cheetos are the perfect snack food. Sam, back me up here."
"Cheetos are…ok. Funyuns are better."
"No way. Funyuns are weirdly sweet. Cheetos go better with baloney sandwiches."
"No, no, Fritos go with baloney sandwiches." Dean puts in.
"Dude, Fritos go in tomato soup."
There is a moment of profound silence.
"She's not wrong."
"Agreed. Now will you go upstairs and have noisy sex? I want privacy to eat all her Cheetos."
"I knew it!"