PART ONE: FAMILY VALUES
CHAPTER FOUR: SALT AND BURN
TEAM WINCHESTER, BERKITSVILLE, USA
Dean thrust the shovel deep into the dirt and hauled another mound over the side of the grave. Sweat beaded on his forehead and he paused to hastily wipe it away. He looked across the grave to his brother who hardly looked to be breaking a sweat. "What are you? Half Sasquatch, half strong man?" His brother didn't even blink as he heaved another shovelful up and over the edge.
"Nope, I just workout Dean, builds endurance."
Dean rolled his eyes and made a tired stab into the ground again where he heard a hollow thump. Both brothers paused and looked up to each other with raised eyebrows. "Looks like we found her," Dean said and they dug in with a renewed vigour, removing the last few scoops to pull back the lid. With a look of agreement they moved in a synchronized gesture that had obviously been built up over years of practise and threw back the coffin lid.
"Salt and burn Sammy!" Dean roared, relieved that the dig was finally over. Sam pushed his shaggy brown hair back and pulled himself up out of the grave, disappearing from view. A few minutes later he reappeared, preceded by a white box flying over the lip of the grave. Dean snatched it out of the air and tore into it, ignoring the 'pull here' tab labelled on the side. He tossed the cardboard top over his shoulder and started dumping the contents over the rotting skeleton.
He made sure, as he did every time to dump a little extra over the skull, just to watch it stream over the edges and sink into the asshat's head. When the box was empty he threw it down and grabbed for his brother's outreached hand. Unlike Dean, Sam had a solemn puppy dog looking face that screamed 'I'm so sorry!' every time he lit up the bones of a vengeful spirit. They stood staring down at it for a while, the beam of a flashlight the only thing lighting up the grave.
"Bueller... Bueller... Bueller," Dean droned in a monotone and Sam reacted by swatting him. "Well hurry up already, let's torch this bitch and get out of here!" Sam sighed and pulled out the zippo, flicking it to life and dropping it into the hole. The flame sputtered out and died.
"Ah, you gonna go get that or..." Dean asked, shoving his hands into his pockets and looking off towards his car. Sam rolled his eyes and hopped back down into the grave, snatched the lighter from between the ribs of the dead body and hauled himself out again, making it look easier than Dean remembered. This time when the zippo dropped, the dry garments that the skeleton swam in licked into flames. Slowly at first and then all at once until the coffin was a blazing beacon in the night.
A scream cut across the graveyard and the brothers immediately reacted, muscles tensed as they searched wildly out into the black night. "Dean," Sam said, nudging his brother with his elbow, gun up and trained on the wailing woman that stood barefoot in the dew covered grass only a few feet away. His brother turned and eyed the woman up and down, feeling a flicker of pity towards the very solid, very real looking woman before them.
Her screams grew in volume and her face contorted in anger as she made a last ditch attempt to lunge at them. Sam fired, knowing it wouldn't do much but remembering Dean's words the last time they faced a woman in white. It did no good to shoot casper in the face, but it certainly distracted her enough to buy Dean a few seconds of solace.
Seconds was all he managed to get. The red head appeared to his left, and she grabbed him. Dean yelled out as her fingers dug at his chest. Their screams mingled together in a chorus of throaty baritones and ear splitting sopranos that left Sam feeling a little helpless. All they needed was for the bones to finish burning, all they needed was time. Sam scooped a knife from the nearby bag and slashed at the woman. She hissed at him like a feral cat and then did the worst thing she could have possibly done - she pushed.
Dean stumbled, gasping for breath as her fingers left his chest but he was quick to realize he had a bigger problem. The momentum of her shove sent him stumbling towards the burning grave and he imagined falling into it as he desperately tried to catch his balance. "Dean!" Sam shouted out, too far away now to be of assistance to his brother and horrified by the sight before his eyes. Of all the ways Dean Winchester had been killed, over the burning body of a simple spirit ranked at the bottom of the dignity list.
Sam watched wide eyed as Dean fell forward, his upper body dropping into the flames. His brother screamed and Sam ran forward but was stopped. The woman looked blacked and burnt now and he knew she was only moments away from disappearing altogether. He shouted for his brother, slashing carelessly at the woman in white, trying to get around her as she struggled to plunge her fingers into his chest. She collapsed to her knees before him suddenly and then slowly keeled over, her screams silenced only to be replaced by Dean's.
Sam's eyes searched the edge of the grave frantically and he ran forward to search the flames, his brother's body no longer laying at the edge. He might have thought his brother had gotten out if it weren't for the terrifying screams that cut the night. No longer the throaty deep shouts his brother has made earlier, these were high pitched screams that made Sam's blood run cold.
Dean thrashed wildly about the flaming coffin as he burned alive. His body was immersed in pain, unlike anything he had felt in the living world. He felt himself giving up, he had reached hell on Earth he realized and no one escaped hell without consequence. He knew Sam would be there even with his eyes squeezed tight he reached up for the hand of his brother. He knew at this point he probably wouldn't make it out of this alive and his screams changed as he felt movement nearby.
"Sammy! Sammy!" but every breath he took scorched his lungs and his words turned to choking coughs as his outreached hand shook uncontrollably as his body became overloaded with pain. He felt his fingertips graze the wall of the grave and he tried to reach out further but they met nothing but cold air and dirt. His body screamed in protest and his hand fell to his side, betraying his mind and his will. With nothing but his brain obeying him any longer he prayed for the last thing he could - that his brother with wings would take care of his brother without them.
"Dean!" Sam screamed, getting as close to the fire as he dared and blindly plunging his hand into the flames in reach of his brother. It was no use, without getting in the grave himself, there was no way he could reach him. He stretched, the flames singing his hair and his jacket. His arm felt as if it had spontaneously sunburnt but he wouldn't give up. His fingers grazed Dean's before his hand fell to his side and his brother's movements became smaller. "No! No! Dean!" He shouted louder and reached harder.
A strong hand gripped the back of his jacket and hoisted him away from the flames. "Sam," the commanding, familiar voice reasoned. "There's nothing you can do," the voice said with a marked calmness that irritated Sam and soothed him at the same time. He ripped his watering eyes away from the fire and to the blue eyes that danced in the light of the flame. Cas evened him with another look and repeated himself, his face blank and his voice calm. "There's nothing you can do."
And Sam felt his world close in and the only thing he had left in it leaving in a sickeningly all too familiar feeling. It hit him, Dean was gone. He turned and looked at the Impala, unable to look at the fire any longer as the night turned silent. The flames made the chrome and glossy paint dance with life in the night and it made Sam feel sick. He held his trembling, burnt hand out in front of him and felt the tears slip down his cheeks. He had failed his brother again and even worse he had given up, Cas had pulled him away and he had just accepted it. Cas had pulled him away.
"Cas," he finally choked out and turned in search of the familiar beige trench coat but it was nowhere to be seen. All that remained was the flaming trench, the Impala and Sam in the silent night. He felt himself snap and he sunk to the ground, alone and feeling more lost than ever before. He stayed there for a while calling into the night for Cas and hoping for anyone he knew to appear. But Cas did not appear, Dean did not climb out of the grave and the crickets continued to chirp loudly.
He forced his limbs to move, and they did in dragging, slow motions. Mechanically and without feeling he gathered up the shovels and the duffel bag and threw them into the trunk of the black car. Once again Baby was left in his possession, once again he wondered how the hell it had happened. He went back for the last thing that sat beside the grave, a small dark mass on the ground.
He felt the pit in his stomach widen as he bent to pick up Dean's jacket with his good hand. He eyed the grave one more time and couldn't bring himself to do it, he couldn't look back into it. He turned, feeling like a coward and slowly moved away from the hole for the last time. He felt empty and lost, and from the past multiple times he had mourned Dean's death, he knew the feeling would eventually pass. Despite that, the feeling never got easier and all he could think about was drowning his sorrows in a case of beer or a bottle of whiskey.
He winced as he switched the jacket to his burnt hand and felt the heavy pockets with his good hand for the keys. With them tight in his grip he cast one more glance back at the slowly dying flames and got in the car. The Impala rumbled to life and Journey blasted from the speakers before Sam jabbed the power button and threw it into drive.
The graveyard began to shrink into the darkness of his rearview mirror and the headlights lit the way before him. With sleep hardly a thought on his mind, he drove to the motel for his things and to leave Berkitsville behind him once and for all.
A/N - Sorry this is such a short chapter compared to the last one, but I hope you enjoyed it. I'm sure I'll probably receive some flack for it's contents so fire away!