Wow. What a response! I hope this story lives up to your expectations.
'Unnatural'
Chapter 2 -
Dig.
Dig.
Dig.
Dean dug as if the devil himself was after him.
Maybe he was.
His injured shoulder protested but the frantic digger forced himself past the pain – one agonizing shovelful at a time.
Dig.
Dig.
Dig.
Sweat beaded Dean's forehead and dripped off the tip of his nose, slamming into the hard packed dirt – his brother's tomb. His eyes burned from the salt when he tried to wipe the perspiration from his face and he blinked past blurred vision.
He could not fail this.
He would not fail.
Dig.
Dig.
Dig.
His muscles burned as he thought about his brother opening his eyes to complete darkness –
The horror of blackness. Suffocating. Overwhelming.
Claustrophobia. Extreme. Paralyzing.
Helplessness. Dean helpless six feet above; Sam helpless six feet below. Dirt threatening a lifetime of separation.
The hunter ground his teeth and forced tiring muscles to work faster. To dig harder. His body quivered under the strain and his soul fractured at the perceived betrayal. He would not lose Sam again. He. Would. Get. His. Brother. Out.
Dig.
Dig.
Dig.
Morbidly Dean wondered how long it would take Sam to realize he was in his grave –
He had to force himself to breath, too easily imagining his brother's sheer terror…
The dank smell of dirt filled his nose. Cold. Hard packed. Black earth. Could Sam smell the grave?
And bugs. Oh God. Bugs.
A week in the ground. Decay brought bugs.
Nausea threatened and Dean fought for self control. Please, God, if there is one – oh God…
Dean took a deep breath to steady his unraveling mind. He had to focus and stay focused. Think about Sam. Not about the grave. Especially not about the grave.
Sam.
Dig.
Would Sam remember anything from the past week?
Dig.
Would he remember he was dead?
Dig.
Where he was?
Dig.
Who he was?
Dig.
Would he remember Dean?
Dig.
Would he still be Sam…?
That last question stuttered his progress and for one agonizing moment he could not bring himself to dig.
Sam had died. Sam was dead.
This wasn't right. His own words haunted his every moment – what's dead should stay dead.
But Dean hadn't been dead. Not really. Merely mostly dead.
If there really was such a thing…
And then a fleeting memory of a flash of dimples, an easy smile, puppy dog eyes – and he dug even faster, driven to make up the precious moments he had just lost. He could deny Sam, nothing.
What's dead should stay dead. As long as it wasn't Sam.
Dig… dig… dig…
Around him the cemetery was shrouded in silence but Dean afforded no luxury of time to wonder why.
Dig… dig… dig…
Oh God. Let him get to Sam in time.
A sudden wave of vertigo dropped Dean to his knees and he swore loudly. This couldn't be happening. He wouldn't lose his brother to his body again. NO. Using the shovel as a prop, the hunter forced himself to his feet. The world swam sickingly around him and he shut his eyes and swallowed hard.
"Please…" he whispered, anguished, although there was no one to hear his plea. "Please, I have to save him."
A motion over his shoulder and he cried out in an unexpected relief – it was Bobby.
Oh God. Thank you.
"Dean?" Bobby's voice was forever gruff, tinged with wary concern, "What are you doing?"
Dean had no idea what the other hunter was doing here, but right now he didn't care, and he clutched at Bobby like a lifeline that had been thrown.
"Bobby," Dean gasped the name, "you have to help me – we have to dig!" To punctuate the statement, he started again. Or at least he tried to but the shovel was suddenly too heavy, his body having decided enough was enough.
"We don't dig in daylight," the man glanced around the cemetery significantly, "you know that."
"He's alive!" Dean cried out, tears of frustration burning his face as he tried again to dig. He continued on to make the older hunter understand. "That yellow eyed sonofabitch brought him back but we have to dig him out."
The weight of Bobby's incredulity was his undoing.
"Please, Bobby, please! We have to dig him out!"
The hunter must have read something out his desperation or maybe he was just humoring him, either or Dean didn't care as long as the older man helped. And he did.
Jumping down into the hole next to Dean, Bobby gently took the shovel for him and then pushed him out of the way. Wordlessly the man begin to dig.
Dig.
Dig.
Dig.
Dean had to help. Dropping to his knees, he gasped in pain, sucked it up and then used his hands to try and move the soil, his sling buried somewhere under moved earth. The ground felt cold –
Sammy would be cold.
But he'd be alive. Everything else could be dealt with afterwards.
Dig.
Dig.
Dig.
Bobby dug with quick efficiency and when his shovel struck something hard, Dean knew there was a God. He'd never have gotten to Sam as fast.
Dig.
Dig.
Dig.
And then slam… slam… slam…
The digger slammed the shovel against the casket.
An axe, Dean thought, we need an axe! And then remembered he had brought one and thrust his body over the side of the grave, desperately reaching for the axe –
"Bobby, here!" he yelled already tossing the other tool to him.
The older man dropped the shovel, grabbed the axe and swung it hard. The lid splintered and Dean was scrambling towards it.
Dropping the axe, Bobby dropped to his knees and started pulling at the damaged lid. Too close now to risk anything if Sam as alive.
Coughing and sobbing…
A plaintive cry…
Who's?
It didn't matter because as Bobby pried at the lid, Dean saw his brother's face for the first time in a week and then turned his head to the side and threw up.
TBC
