Title: Rain Rippling over Muscled Abs
Summary: A crack remix of "Rain is falling down" by Rinne.
"Oh, geeze, Sam, could you be a bigger girl!" The short-haired attractive guy leaned over the hole that the really attractive guy was digging.
Liz sighed, leaning her insubstantial form closer to take a better look, but not close enough for the short-haired one to decide to hit her with rock-salt again. Man how she liked the way that shaggy mop of hair was dripping rainwater and mud into his face, or for that matter how the rain water was running down his defined arms that rippled with muscles as he worked. The guy was built. Pity he was trying to get rid of her. She could stand to haunt this guy for a while longer.
The really attractive one, Sam, stopped digging at the comment from his brother, rested attractively on his shovel and looked up. The expression he gave could have come straight out of a soap opera just before the advertisement break and Liz giggled forgetting where she was. Luckily, the brothers were too busy bitching to notice and a well-timed crack of thunder hid the noise anyway. She didn't like the rock salt they were packing. That stuff stung.
"You want to be down here?" Sam snapped at his brother.
The poor guy was never going to be dry again, but Liz was so not feeling any sympathy at the moment. If she could take a picture right now, she could sell it to one of those magazines. It would fit nicely beside those photo shoots with guys in various uniforms looking all sweaty and dirty that her big sister used to hide under her bed. If only the guy would take his shirt off. Well, even a dead girl could dream right?
So far the guy had dug about four foot down and was standing in two feet of freezing water. He looked mad as hell as it was, and there was no point in stirring up any more mischief. She'd be surprised if they even reached the coffin before night's end at this rate.
Sam irritably flicked hair out of his eyes, but it immediately fell back, dripping more water down his face and getting in his eyes. He leant the shovel against the side of the grave and pulled off his shirt and, after pushing his wet hair back, tied it around his head. Liz sat down so hard it would have hurt if she could even feel her body any more. She imagined her cheeks blushing red as they would have when she was alive.
"Woah, Sammy, do I have to provide you with some stripping music?" The brother smirked and wolf-whistled, and Liz crawled back to her feet and peered back into the grave.
"Dean, I'd suggest you shut up. I'm cold, I'm wet – don't you dare snigger! Do you have any idea how hard it is to dig when the ground is this wet? The shovel virtually doesn't move! I'm covered in mud; I think it's even down my underwear."
Dean raised his hands up in front of him in a stop gesture. "Just don't start stripping i them /i off. I really don't want to know, man."
A chant started in Liz's brain, almost like a little prayer - 'Take them off, take them off, take them off...'
She shuffled yet closer, only to suppress a chortle of pure voyeuristic delight as a perfect beam of moonlight made its way through the heavy cloud cover and, for just a few moments, clearly illuminated the sight below. She watched as Sam wearily picked up the shovel again and started flinging mud all over himself as rain water ran down his arms, his bare chest and back and the best damn set of abs she'd ever seen in her life, or death for that matter.
She had the sudden thought that, at this very moment, she could truly die happy, then remembered she was dead already and shrugged. Well at least she could move onto the next plane (or whatever) with a few happy memories.
Settling in for the long haul, Liz floated pleasantly above the grave, thinking this must have been the reason why she liked haunting the old mansion. It was fate. It had to be. She was meant to have this.
And, as she watched, she wondered if she'd get to see it all again tomorrow night… after they realised that this was the wrong grave.