Dean fought against the maelstrom of dirt and small rocks, arm shielding his face as he bent into the onslaught trying to reach his brother. Every few seconds, the cloud of dirt surrounding Sam would break enough that Dean could see him twisting around and flinging his arms out in an effort to keep the swarming rocks away from him. They were encased in a vortex of earth, each being forced farther from the other.

“SAM! SAMMY!”

It appeared Sam heard him over the roar of flying earth, turning in the direction of Dean’s cries. He took a staggering step toward Dean only to be shoved two steps away.

Larger, heavier rocks clunked and crashed over Dean’s back, forcing him to hunch over in an effort to protect his head. Each volley turned from pebbles and smaller stones to larger, sharper rocks that battered at him until he dropped to his knees, back aching from the assault, throat raw from shouting to his panicked kid brother fighting the swirl of dirt blasting around him and separating him from Dean.

A sharp sting to the back of his head drove Dean completely to the ground. As darkness closed in from all sides he managed to flop onto his back and turn to see the spot where he’d last seen Sam.

Now there was nothing but a wall of rock where his brother once stood. As the crash and howl from the flying rocks faded into the background, the little bit of light filtering through the rocks winked out. Dean was alone and plunged into shadows.

Jerking and gasping air into his lungs, for a few minutes unsure if he was awake or not—Dean sucked in more harsh breaths and coughed when complete consciousness and reality came slamming back with a vengeance.

His head and neck ached and throbbed from the countless hits of rock and stone. Tiny rivulets of blood mingled with sweat coursed down his neck and across his hands making his skin tingle and vibrate.

Blinking, it took him a few seconds to realize his eyes were open, that it was simply too dark to see anything. Reaching out with hands that trembled, his arms extended about a foot above him before his fingertips skimmed cool stone. Rolling as far to one side as possible, then the other, Dean repeated the process. He was enclosed—trapped—in a prison barely larger than himself. One completely made of pebbles and dirt.

“Sa—” Coughing, Dean turned his head and rolled onto his shoulders as far as possible in the small space before wiping the back of one hand over his mouth. He spit dirt from his tongue and coughed again. Dust and dirt mingled with the blood and sweat of his hands and face.

Cold, raw tendrils wrapped around his groin then spiked through to his intestines, up to his stomach and clenched at his chest. They’d been buried alive.

He and Sam had been buried alive.

Flopping onto his back, Dean spent a few minutes trying not to hyperventilate and simply get his wits about him. He had nothing in his mental or emotional arsenal to deal with this. Demons, ghosts, scary nightmare monsters, those he’d learned how to cope with long ago and far away, but not this.

A sob rolled up from his chest and he shoved his fist into his mouth to stop it from becoming a full-blown scream.

Sam had spent the past twenty-four hours hallucinating and dreaming about being covered with tons of rock crashing down and now it’d happened.

Sam.

Christ, he had to get to the kid, know if he was still alive. Thinking of the terror his brother must be feeling ramped up Dean’s up tenfold.

To his left, small nuggets trickled down one side of his prison, making dirt slide into his arm. Gingerly turning his head, Dean was sure he heard a stifled moan. Inching on his back until his left arm was pressed against the pile of rocks there Dean called out, “S-s-sam. Sam-Sammy?”

More rocks tumbling free and a soft whimper sounding vaguely like his name answered him. Shifting up as far as he could so he was propped on his side on one elbow, Dean dug at the rocks.

“D-dean.” Sam finally answered, voice groggy and breathless. Another volley of stones tumbled free. “Wh-where…where are you?” He sounded as confused and disoriented as Dean felt.

“Can you see anything?”

The sound of Sam shifting around reached Dean’s ears. “A little. There’s some light from somewhere, but it’s really dim. We—we’re under…the rocks? Dean…?”

“Deep breaths, Sam. We’re alive, so—”

“They’re bones.”

“What?”

“Dean, I…I’m surrounded by bones, they’re in with the rocks.”

He heard Sam shift and move again.

“I’m lying on…they’re…Dean, they’re…all around…”

Dean started clawing at the rock barrier between him and his brother. “Sammy, help me.”

Almost at once he heard the slide of Sam’s coat over rock as he moved. Dean blew out a short breath of relief, Sam’s desire to get to Dean and freedom distracted him from the thought and fact he was likely sprawled on a bed of human remains. The idea made Dean shudder but didn’t slow his digging until a small hole and part of Sam’s face appeared.

“Dean!” Sam pushed the word out with a sharp gasp. Sam got a hand up and shoved his fingers into the small hole, pulling dirt toward him until it was bigger.

Shoving his own hand in above Sam’s, Dean worked on the top of the small opening while Sam scraped away at the bottom part. A tiny amount of light filtered through from where his little brother was encased in a sarcophagus of stone, dirt and bone making Dean’s stomach flip and his efforts double.

After a few minutes of Sam digging along the bottom and Dean prying away at the top there was enough space cleared he could see Sam’s head as well as shoulders. At once Sam’s arm reached through and he grabbed Dean’s jacket in a death grip.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. You?” Sam coughed and his voice sounded a bit rough. He was shaking violently, but otherwise looked unharmed.

“C’mon.” Dean reached through and got both hands under Sam’s arms pulling him along as Sam twisted and kicked with this legs to shove his upper body through the hole until from the waist up they were both in the same half of the rock prisons. Dean wasn’t sure which one of them had the worse shakes. He let go of Sam with one hand long enough to get his fingers cupped around the back of the kid’s head and ran them down until he could squeeze Sam’s neck, letting his hand just rest there.

Sam huffed out a short, jerky laugh. “I think we found what we needed to burn.”

“The damn ghosts just couldn’t point and say, bones here?”

“I think they did, Dean.”

Dean snorted and pulled his brother a few inches closer. “Let’s get outta here.”

He and Sam stayed still a few minutes longer simply clinging to one another until both of them were breathing calmer.

Using the arm not wrapped around Sam, Dean began working at the stones above him. Sam pulled his knees up as close to his chest as possible in the confined space and kicked against the stones repeatedly. All at once the rock walls encasing them gave way, sliding out in all directions leaving the two of them lying in the middle of large piles of dirt and rock.

Sam sat up and shook dust from his hair then wiped one hand over his face before offering that hand to Dean, helping him sit up. “You’re hurt.”

“It’s not so bad.” Dean pulled his shirt away from his body and dabbed at his face with it, grimacing when it came away spotted with bits of blood. “You’re cut up too.”

“I am?” Sam sounded surprised. Holding his hands out in front of him he turned them then let them drop to his knees. Sighing heavily, Sam leaned to one side and grabbed one of the packs he’d dropped when all the dirt and stone had begun to fly. Pulling it to him, he rummaged around, producing some antiseptic wash and gauze pads. Dowsing a handful of the pads down with the antiseptic he reached out, mumbling, “Sit still.”

Dean closed his eyes and sighed, willing to tolerate Sam dabbing and wiping at the small cuts and scrapes on his face simply because the boy seemed to need to be able to be sure the cuts were properly cared for. Sam repeated the same procedure on Dean’s hands.

“Any painkillers in there?” Dean nodded to the pack. “I got hit pretty hard on my back.”

“Let me see.” Sam scooted closer, two fingers pulling the back of Dean’s collar away from his neck before he could stop him. Twisting and ducking away, Dean swatted at Sam’s hand. “There’s nothing to see other than some bruises.”

“Dean,” Sam snapped.

Grabbing Sam’s wrist, Dean gave a gentle tug and squeezed until Sam’s gaze met his. “Just bruises. Nothing is bleeding, there’s nothing to see. I promise.”

Another warning of, “Dean.”

“Sammy. Quit. Your turn, dude.” Snatching the gauze and antiseptic from Sam, Dean washed the cuts and scratches matching his. Cranking his head side to side and rolling his shoulders a few times, he gratefully took the ibuprofen Sam produced and silently offered along with a bottle of water. He slugged a few gulps down before holding the bottle out to Sam with a stern look and quirked eyebrow. “You hurt anywhere else than that?”

Taking the bottle, Sam shook his head, smiled a bit and finished off the water. “No, same as you, just some small cuts. If your back gets worse—”

“You’ll be the first to know.” Dean packed their supplies away and pushed off the ground, brushing dirt from his clothes. He scanned the area around them, now quiet and thankfully free of flying debris. “How are you feeling?” He held one hand out to Sam.

“Cold.”

When Sam pulled up on Dean’s offered hand, he felt the fine tremors running through his kid brother.

“Well, at least we know where the bones are. Let’s get this done and get the hell out of here before they decide to throw more stuff at us.”

Nodding, Sam stepped over the mound of dirt and began picking up the bones from the rocks that once trapped him. After a few minutes of collecting the scattered remains of the long dead group of miners, he dropped an armload onto a pile Dean had started and stood staring down at them.

“Sam? You okay?”

Rubbing his hands up and down his arms then wrapping his arms around himself, Sam barely nodded. “I need to get out of here for a minute, need some air.”

“Okay, hang on one second.” Dean dropped more of the bones onto the pile and scooped his duffel off the ground, slinging it over his shoulder.

Sam had turned back to him, but otherwise wasn’t moving. “You don’t need to babysit me, Dean. I’ll be fine.”

“There is too much weird shit going on in here and way too much stuff for us to get buried under. We’re sticking together on this one, at least in here.”

The fact Sam simply stood quietly waiting for him was the biggest testament to what was going on inside his kid brother’s head than any words could have ever been. Dean saw plainly that Sam was more than a little unsettled having this odd connection to the spirits. Their recent experience with how far those spirits would go with the clever use of dirt and rock made Dean’s insides shiver.

Handing Sam one of the flashlights, he followed a step or two behind his brother as they made their way to the mine entrance. Cold bits of moisture trickled continuously down Dean’s spine. He had that being watched feeling and when he looked back over his shoulder for the fourth time he shook his head and pushed two fingers gently against the spot between Sam’s shoulder blades to move him along faster.

Taking Dean’s hint and not questioning why, Sam’s stride lengthened, only easing back when they could see the light from the mine entrance. Shuddering under his jacket, Sam pulled it closer and rubbed at his arms again. They stopped just inside the mine entrance, standing opposite each other and leaning against the edge of the frame.

Sam pulled a few deep breaths and let them out slowly, watching Dean, but not exactly looking right at him. He dropped his gaze to the ground for a few beats then looked out at the roadway leading up to the mine. The weather had gone from miserable to downright nasty. A sharp wind blew hard enough that even a few feet inside Sam’s hair ruffled away from his neck and forehead and Dean’s jeans were pressed back against his legs. The temperature had plummeted to somewhere around frigid and biting. Snow swirled in eddies, falling hard from the sky to be caught in the wind and twisted and flung in all directions.

Shoving his hands deep into his pockets, Dean considered digging his gloves out of the duffel but stilled when Sam sighed and turned a bit to stare out at the white haze shifting over the ground outside.

“They didn’t die right away,” Sam said softly. He pulled another shuddering breath in and let it out slowly, cheeks billowing out as he did so.

“Sam—”

Sam shook his head. “I have to…I can’t keep this inside…it,” he waved one hand near his face, “the dirt, it gets in your nose and ears, you swallow it, choke on it. The lucky ones were the ones killed when something hit them hard enough. The others, most of them, they drowned in the dirt, it filled their lungs, or poison gases, bad air. It hurt, excruciating…” his voice trailed off. “Then the fear…no, not fear, terror.”

Pushing away from the wall, Dean stepped over to his brother and laid one hand on his shoulder. Sam flinched, Dean could tell right away he hadn’t realized Dean had moved closer. Rubbing his hand up and down Sam’s arm a few times, Dean spoke quietly. “You hang here, watch for our car thief buddies. I’ll go back and take care of the remains.”

Wheeling away from the wall, Sam grabbed Dean’s jacket collar and shook him. “NO!”

“Sam.” Startled, Dean instinctively backpedaled, bringing his other hand up and knocking Sam’s grip away. “What the hell, Sammy?”

Stepping back, Sam ran one hand through his hair and looked around for a minute, breathing harder, obviously trying to calm down. “Sor-sorry…I…it’s just…” He offered Dean a quick, thin smile and shook his head. “I don’t know. I can feel all this shit in my head, from them.” He pointed down to the interior of the mine.

Taking a few deep breaths, Dean tried his best to relax and failed. “Okay, that’s new. I don’t like this.”

“Me either,” Sam snapped then in the next second his shoulders slumped and the expression on his face faltered. “I’m sorry.” He tugged at Dean’s arm, “Please, Dean, just go with me on this.”

Dean’s hand found its way back to Sam’s arm, giving a reassuring squeeze before letting his arm drop to his side. “It’s okay, this place has us both jumpy. Let’s get back in there and end this.”

Sam nodded and stepped away from the entrance, closer to Dean before he stopped and straightened, eyebrows pulling together. Dean twisted silently on his heels, having heard the same thing Sam must have. Lifting one hand to his lips, he reached out, grabbed Sam’s coat and stepped into the shadows near the entrance. They both leaned around and peered out.

“Shit,” Sam exhaled softly.

“Great.”

An SUV rolled to a stop a few feet from where they stood. Six men piled out, moving around the vehicle, opening the back and taking out tools. A second SUV pulled up as they watched, that one carrying four more. Dean recognized several of the men as those he’d played pool and poker with a few nights before. This was bad.

Sam snorted, echoing Dean’s internal sentiment, “You want to take the pissed off spirits on the right, and I’ll take the crazed car thieves on the left?”

“Seems we now get to do our job and someone else’s.” His fingers tightened in Sam’s jacket. Stepping away, he pulled Sam farther back with him. “Talk about a rock and a hard place. We’ve got two choices, take our chances with the ghosts or the guys with…” he squinted through the murkier light where they now stood, “really big ass guns.”

Sam followed Dean’s line of sight and groaned low in his throat. Along with tools, the men were unloading machine guns, sawed off shotguns and handguns. Their voices floated into the mine, reaching Dean’s ears. Sam’s eyebrows shot up when he too heard the words.

“Yeah…someone’s been here…Take care of them. That guy in the bar the other night…nosing around…saw that old car a few times…You see someone inside?...I’m sure someone’s in there…”

Dean pushed against Sam’s arm at the same time Sam was yanking on Dean’s. They looked at one another, each whispering at the same time, “Pissed off ghosts!”

Their choice seemed a unanimous one. They were both far better equipped to deal with spirits than these men. Dean had his pistol, but Sam had nothing except a hunting knife, and Dean would prefer neither Sam nor he get that close to these jerks. They’d left their duffels with supplies back near the pile of bones. Most importantly there was no way out of the mine without the group of well-armed men seeing them.

As the group approached the mine, large flashlights in hand along with their weapons they fanned out. Dean and Sam slipped farther into the mine, melting silently into the shadows of the tunnels.