The moon hid behind the clouds, offering no light for the young men in the back of the cemetery. Dean stood on the ground above Sam, who was halfway through digging their third hole in less than twenty-four hours.
"You ok?" Dean called down. Sam was hunched over, his hands on his knees. At the sound of Dean's voice, he looked up wearily and gave a thumbs up.
"Just catching my breath."
Dean dropped down next to him and picked up the shovel. "It's my turn. Let me take over."
Sam straightened up and wiped the sweat from his face. "No, man, I'm good. It can't be too much further."
"Sam, you're hurt. You shouldn't be doing this at all. Now, get up here and give me some light."
Sam took the proffered flashlight and pulled himself out of the grave. He was a little frustrated that Dean had to take over for him, but his side was in much more pain than his pride. "So, how are you going to explain the gun to Emma?"
"I'll just tell her the truth." Dean said.
Sam raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "Really. When's the last time you were honest with a woman?"
Dean decided to ignore the snide remark for the moment. He put on his best innocent expression. "I'll just tell her my dumbass brother decided to play cowboys and indians, and lost it in the woods."
Dean laughed to himself. He felt something brush onto his shoulder. He ducked as Sam kicked more dirt at him. "Dammit, Sam, cut it out!"
For a few minutes the only sound was the shovel smacking into the ground. Sam watched Dean dig while he got up the courage to voice the thought he'd been wrestling with.
"So, do you think it was me?" Sam asked in a small voice.
"Oh geez, what was you?"
"You know, that made the gun fall."
Dean chewed his bottom lip as he struggled to find the right answer. He finally decided on the truth. "I don't know, Sam. I just don't know."
A little while later the brothers stood side by side watching the fire slowly ebb away. "Well, I guess all that's left is to fill the hole." Sam handed the shovel to Dean.
Dean shook his head. "Nope. I dug most of that hole, now you can fill it."
"Hey, I'm injured. You shot me, remember?"
"Yeah, and I've got a gash about a mile long on my hand. And don't forget, you shot me first!"
"What are you, ten?"
"Fine, give me the damn shovel." Dean grabbed it and began filling in the hole.
Sam took on a somber tone. "So, do you think it's really over?
Dean nodded. "Yeah, I think so."
Neither of them spoke as they took turns filling in the hole. The next time the moon broke through the clouds, it shone upon the two Winchesters leaning against the back of the Impala.
"Hey, Dean?" Sam looked straight ahead.
"Yeah, Sam?" Dean answered.
"This was a lousy vacation."
Dean nodded his head. "Yeah, it was."
"So, we drop the keys off while the diner's closed?"
Dean pulled his own keys out of his pocket. "Let's hit it."
The quiet of the night was broken as the engine of the black Chevy Impala roared through the Pennsylvania streets. As they passed the cabin's turnoff, Dean rolled down the window to give a final one-finger salute, while up the dirt road all was still, except for the tire swing, which began to swing back and forth, back and forth.
Author's Note: Well, there it is. Thanks for reading, and an especially warm "Thank you" to all those who reviewed….it means so much. Until next time, take care!