Leaning on a Shovel, Hoping for a Hole
Disclaimer: I don't own the Winchesters, but the other characters are all my own.
Fifteen year old Sam Winchester's mind was a million miles away. Katie Hacker the only thing he could consciously think about. She was beautiful. He could still see her sitting next to him in sixth period, long brown hair cascading lightly over her shoulders, twinkling blue eyes gazing over at him. She was beautiful. He sighed; the thought of her velvety hand holding his making chills run up his spin. She was just perfect.
Sam's stood, body slouching, head propped up on his hands, both fingers grasping at the shovel that was stuck in the dirt. Dean gazed at his dreamy eyed brother, standing in the middle of a dark, cold graveyard; thoughts obviously somewhere else.
"Sam, Sammy Winchester….yoo-hoo." Dean quirked up his eyebrows, eyes taking in his little brother, hand waving haphazardly, fingers snapping in his baby brother's face.
"Sam, What the hell you doing over there, son? Leaning on a shovel, hoping for a hole?" John Winchesters firm voice boomed through the air and pierced Sam's daydreaming mind. He pushed off the shovel pulling his head up to his full height, eyes blinking as he looked owlishly at his dad.
"Damn Sammy, look alive. You got to move the shovel to dig the hole." John snorted out; eyes squinting over at Dean; John's own lips curling up slightly at the edges.
Dean shook his head; his brother was a real freak of nature. No where is it written that little brother's grow 4 inches taller than their older brothers in three short months. Sam was all legs and arms now. The clothes purchased not four months ago hanging limply on his thin frame
"Huh?" Sam blinked his dazed eyes at his Dad.
Dean broke out in a hearty laugh piercing through the silent graveyard. Not only did he look like a freak, he acted like one too. "Sammy, Sammy, Sammy." He shook his head as he pushed his shovel into the dirt and flung it over his shoulder.
Sam had recently turned into a daydreamer, gazing out into nothingness constantly. So very Un-Sam like; John had been shocked with his recent behavior. Sam had always taken everything so seriously. Hell, since he was two years old, he had attempted to run the Winchester house single-handily with his stomping foot and demanding attitude. John had to nip it in the butt constantly with his youngest; keep him under control, so this turn of events had John quite perplexed. Who was this gangly daydreaming boy and what did he do with Sam?
Sam quickly focused on the task at hand, glaring over the shovel at his older brother, who was still laughing like there was no tomorrow. He dug the shovel in the cold hard ground as he mouthed at Dean, "Shut up." Dean snorted and only laughed harder as he continued to dig.
John Winchester glanced around the dead grass and rocks of the old graveyard, shotgun slung to his shoulder, eyes piercing the icy black air. He was keeping watch while his boys dug up the remains of Beauregard Plymouth. 'Ole Bo', as Dean liked to call him, was buried in the middle of no where Illinois at an old family plot. It had taken 19 year old Dean Winchester, and his Dad, a week of research to locate the graveyard. Seems 'Ole Bo' had taken to haunting the woods surrounding Standing Rock, Illinois exactly fifty years since he committed suicide. "Ole Bo' had killed four young men in the last month, one every Wednesday, like clockwork. The research had been vague as to why he did himself in or what he was after; and hell John didn't care; just salt and burn the bones, so the killings ceased and move on. John snickered to himself. It would have been nice if his 'book smart son' had done some of the background, he was always quicker on the uptake and would have probably untangled the mess with a lot more answers; but John couldn't seem to get the teen focused that long these days. He was starry eyed and engrossed in his own thoughts most of the time now. John wouldn't have a clue about it if Dean, his oldest, had not given him the lowdown; a new girl at school had Sammy all tied up in knots. He shook his head; he remembered that feeling, to be that young, infatuated. The overwhelming urge to talk to someone so bad that it made your palms sweat, your chest hurt, and no words capable of coming out of your mouth. He knew, it was every boy's passage to adulthood, and he would try and let Sam suffer through, and get past it on his own. He chuckled, Dean on the other hand, well he would continue to make Sam's life a living hell, because, well, just because.
"Dean, climb out of that hole and let your brother do it." John's eyes glinted down at his oldest. Dean grinned up at his dad and threw the shovel out of the hole and clambered over the edge of the dirt mounded on the sides.
"Aw Dad, come on. I hate doing this part by myself." Sam whined. He gazed up and out of the hole at his dad and brother who both stood at the mound of dirt grinning down at Sam.
"Oh come one Sam, it's the first time you been focused on anything but girls this week." John winked at his youngest; Sam feeling his face flushing a bright red, he lowered his head in an attempt to hide his features under his long bangs. "Humph" he muttered, as the shovel fell heavily to the top of the casket, sending dirt and wood splinters flying out around him.
Dean let out a loud cackle as he nudged his dad with his elbow. Both John and Dean slid back a few feet, to escape the wrath of Sammy busting open the casket with a good amount of force. Sam continuing the pounding with the shovel until the top of the casket was a shredded mess, and the bones of 'Ole Bo' were staring up at him.
"Guess we pissed him off." Dean grinned at his dad. John merely winked at his oldest, eyes still watching his youngest in the whole. The gun was still perched in his fingers, his ears tuned to the noises around the dark cemetery.
The coffin broke open easily and Sam leaned the shovel to the side as he moved the wood and splinters away with his gloved hands. Sweat perspiration rising on his forehead. "I need a light" he yelled, never looking up from his work.
Dean took opportunities to mess with his kid brother very seriously, and this seemed like a good one. He raised his hand and flung the flashlight from his fingers into hole, bouncing it lightly off Sammy's head with a plunk. The light fell to the uncovered skeleton, shining around on the rotting bones of 'Ole Bo'. The image of the dead man sent a slight shiver through Sam's body.
"Damn it Dean." Sammy removed one glove and rubbed his lumpy head with it. He leaned over to pick up the flashlight, leaning the shovel against the dirt wall with his other hand. The light glimmered off something that 'Ole Bo' seemed to have clutched in his rotting fingers. Sam pushed the flashlight to his gloved hand and reached his cold fingers down through the bones to pick up the tarnished object; his own eyes peering at it interestingly.
"Get a move on son; we ain't got all damn night." John Winchester's stern military tone caused Sam to flinch to attention. He quickly shoved the object in his coat pocket and yanked up the shovel, climbing out of the hole.
Dean covered the bones with salt and gasoline, eyeing Sam's close position, he pushed him back from the edge with his hand, Sam stumbling and falling to the ground with the motion. "Shit Sammy, get back."
"De...eeean." Sammy whined.
Dean struck the match on the box with a bright sizzle and flung it into the hole. The bones of Beauregard Plymouth cracking and fizzing as the bright orange flames licked around the open grave.
Suddenly the wind took on an ominous howling as it grew in intensity around them. A large grey mist began wafting out of nowhere and hovered over the burning bones. Sam shimmed like a turtle on the ground with his hands and legs pushing him to get away from the ghostly figure. Dean stumbled over Sam's long legs and fell on his face to the ground, arms catching him with a grunt. John Winchester pulled his gun to his eye with a steady hand and leveled the sights on the apparition of Beauregard Plymouth; he eased his finger lightly across the trigger.
"Go straight back to hell, you son of bitch." John growled at 'Ole Bo' as his face came into the view, large ghostly fingers grabbing down at Sam. Sammy brought his arms up across his face to shield it from the ghoulish figure as the ghost ripped at his sleeve, claw like fingers cutting through the fabric. He felt the pain as it sliced through his forearm, blood rapidly soaking into his coat. Dean lay face down next to Sam, left arm covering his head. He quickly reached his right arm over and pulled Sam toward him, pulling him close to his body and pushing him into the dirt. His right arm holding Sam firmly beneath it.
"No." The ghost of 'Ole Bo' screeched as the rock salt shot rang in the still graveyard and he hissed and moaned loudly before he screeched off into the night air. The sound grew to a standstill, the graveyard quiet. Dean raised his head from the ground and quickly assessed that his brother was hurt; he leaned in to look at the wound. John stepped swiftly to his youngest and gently rose up his bloody arm; Sam wincing with the motion. Sammy squinting up at them both and then back to his arm.
"Damn it Sam, can't you get out of the way, like you're brother told you? You almost got you both killed." John Winchesters words cut right to the core of Sam Winchester, they always did. He grimaced in response, and bit his lower lip. Now was not the time to get into a verbal sparing match with is dad. Dean winked at his kid brother and pulled a dirty bandana from his jean jacket, wrapping it around his damaged arm. Sam nodded his appreciation as Dean pulled him to his feet. Sam swayed momentarily at the motion, but then took a deep breath and his vision steadied; Dean's hand never leaving his arm.
"Let's get back to the motel, and I will check it out." John let out an exasperated breathe as he ran his trembling fingers across his hair. Damn kid, about gave me a heart attack. He picked up the supplies and started back toward the Impala.
Dean and Sam followed, walking slowly behind. Dean was mindful of Sam's injury, watching Sam, as he held the injured arm to his chest. Dean walking right next to him, making sure he did not stumble along the way. Dean noticed that Sam's long bangs hung over his eyes, a dejected look plastered on his face. Once again, Dad made Sam fill like crap. How can he do that so easily to Sammy? Dean didn't understand how his Dad could make his brother feel so stupid with only a few words. He really wanted to say something, but he was at a loss as to what exactly to say, so once again, he bit his tongue.