donutsweeper (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
donutsweeper) wrote2008-10-20 09:49 pm
donutsweeper) wrote2008-10-20 09:49 pm
Entry tags:
Unsaid
Title: Unsaid
Pairing/Warning/Rating: Supernatural fandom, rated G
Word Count: 542
Beta:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
_medley_
Summary: Sometimes the hunt itself is the least of Sam and Dean's problems.
Author's Note: Now with a remix! Shock by emerald_embers
They’d spent six hours spent digging, trying to find the bones before they finally came across them.
“You said this was going to be an easy salt and burn,” Sam huffed as he half turned to speak to Dean, leaning on the shovel for a moment.
“You said you’d tracked down the burial site.” Dean kept his eyes on the tree line, the shotgun held loosely in his hands.
“I did.”
“Trial and error doesn’t count, dude. It’s almost dusk, keep digging before it comes after us.”
“We’d be done faster if you helped dig.” There was a dull thud as Sam finally struck the coffin.
“I did help.”
“Not for hours.”
“One hour. Besides, you’re doing fine on your own.”
“I’m getting blisters.”
“Wimp. You should’ve done your research better.”
“I am not a wimp. And there was nothing wrong with my research!”
“Right, because it’s supposed to take seventeen tries to track down the bones.”
“It would have gone faster if you didn’t wander off after the first 15 tries.”
“I had to lug the supplies here while you got the bones uncovered.”
“You drove them here!” Sam gestured wildly at the Impala.
Dean shrugged. “So?”
“You could’ve offered a hand after you got back!”
“And ruin your rapport with that shovel? Nah.”
“Rapport? You’re lazy, admit it. You’d rather just make me do all the work.”
“Hey, right now I’m protecting your ass while we finish the job.”
“You mean while you stand there and I dig.”
“Division of labor, Sammy.”
“Dean...”
“Quit whining, Sammy and salt them already.”
“It’s SAM!” Sam yelled, spinning around. The shovel slipped from his hands and flew at Dean, who immediately ducked as the projectile sailed over his head and straight into the rear window the Impala with a sickening crash.
“Shit! Dean?” Sam ran up, only to stop short at the look on his brother’s face. It was a look of shock, surprise, perhaps even fear. But not anger. “Dean?” Sam called out again, quieter. “You alright?”
Dean didn’t acknowledge Sam, he just stood there, staring at the car.
“I am so sorry! Dean?” Sam reached out to touch Dean’s arm, only to have Dean jerk away before he could make contact. “Dean?”
“Dude.” Dean’s voice was flat and emotionless. “The bones.”
Chastened, Sam grabbed the salt and went back to the grave. Ten minutes later it was all over, the bones burned and reburied, the ghost gone. Dean had carefully swept all the broken glass out of the backseat and was sitting in the driver’s seat, staring straight ahead, his jaw tight and set. Sam slid into the car quietly.
“It’s done.”
Dean grunted and started up the car.
“When we get to where there’s cell reception I’ll call Bobby and see about getting a replacement for the window.” Sam looked over at Dean, and bit his lip when there was no response. “And then I’m going shopping for some gloves. I think I’m really getting blisters here, Dean, which totally sucks, I hate blisters.”
With a slight shake of his head, and a low snort, Dean flicked on the radio, tapping the steering wheel to Metallica’s "Nothing Else Matters," thus drowning out the chance of any further conversation Sam might attempt.
Pairing/Warning/Rating: Supernatural fandom, rated G
Word Count: 542
Beta:
_medley_ Summary: Sometimes the hunt itself is the least of Sam and Dean's problems.
Author's Note: Now with a remix! Shock by emerald_embers
They’d spent six hours spent digging, trying to find the bones before they finally came across them.
“You said this was going to be an easy salt and burn,” Sam huffed as he half turned to speak to Dean, leaning on the shovel for a moment.
“You said you’d tracked down the burial site.” Dean kept his eyes on the tree line, the shotgun held loosely in his hands.
“I did.”
“Trial and error doesn’t count, dude. It’s almost dusk, keep digging before it comes after us.”
“We’d be done faster if you helped dig.” There was a dull thud as Sam finally struck the coffin.
“I did help.”
“Not for hours.”
“One hour. Besides, you’re doing fine on your own.”
“I’m getting blisters.”
“Wimp. You should’ve done your research better.”
“I am not a wimp. And there was nothing wrong with my research!”
“Right, because it’s supposed to take seventeen tries to track down the bones.”
“It would have gone faster if you didn’t wander off after the first 15 tries.”
“I had to lug the supplies here while you got the bones uncovered.”
“You drove them here!” Sam gestured wildly at the Impala.
Dean shrugged. “So?”
“You could’ve offered a hand after you got back!”
“And ruin your rapport with that shovel? Nah.”
“Rapport? You’re lazy, admit it. You’d rather just make me do all the work.”
“Hey, right now I’m protecting your ass while we finish the job.”
“You mean while you stand there and I dig.”
“Division of labor, Sammy.”
“Dean...”
“Quit whining, Sammy and salt them already.”
“It’s SAM!” Sam yelled, spinning around. The shovel slipped from his hands and flew at Dean, who immediately ducked as the projectile sailed over his head and straight into the rear window the Impala with a sickening crash.
“Shit! Dean?” Sam ran up, only to stop short at the look on his brother’s face. It was a look of shock, surprise, perhaps even fear. But not anger. “Dean?” Sam called out again, quieter. “You alright?”
Dean didn’t acknowledge Sam, he just stood there, staring at the car.
“I am so sorry! Dean?” Sam reached out to touch Dean’s arm, only to have Dean jerk away before he could make contact. “Dean?”
“Dude.” Dean’s voice was flat and emotionless. “The bones.”
Chastened, Sam grabbed the salt and went back to the grave. Ten minutes later it was all over, the bones burned and reburied, the ghost gone. Dean had carefully swept all the broken glass out of the backseat and was sitting in the driver’s seat, staring straight ahead, his jaw tight and set. Sam slid into the car quietly.
“It’s done.”
Dean grunted and started up the car.
“When we get to where there’s cell reception I’ll call Bobby and see about getting a replacement for the window.” Sam looked over at Dean, and bit his lip when there was no response. “And then I’m going shopping for some gloves. I think I’m really getting blisters here, Dean, which totally sucks, I hate blisters.”
With a slight shake of his head, and a low snort, Dean flicked on the radio, tapping the steering wheel to Metallica’s "Nothing Else Matters," thus drowning out the chance of any further conversation Sam might attempt.