November 26th, 2011
Flick. Dean slid the switch up the long, silver tube, spreading a strong yellow light through the graveyard. He kept a trained eye on his brother, scanning the surrounding area with the other. He slowly raised the hand with a grip on the flashlight and perched it over the wrist of the left, which carefully held a gun. They stepped across the ground with a practiced serenity, only the sound of their shallow breaths accompanying them. Dean cringed as he stepped on a twig, hearing it crackle under the weight of his foot. He swung his head over his shoulder, checking once more to make sure nothing was following them. Seeing nothing but his shadow, he shrugged, returning his head to it's normal stance, his eyes following the movement of his brother. As his head swings over, a feeling of unease settles in his stomach. He wasn't scared. Dean Winchester, of all people, was not one to get scared. This was a typical job for him. But there was something, a silhouette that lay in the corner of his vision that caught his attention. Sliding his eyes to the side, he studied the figure.
It was a statue. A statue that took the form of an angel, with empty, lifeless eyes. He drew his eyebrows down, turning his head slightly to the left, studying it in confusion. It shouldn't have bothered him, really. He'd seen statues before. Still, a feeling of dread settled in his gut as he stared at it. It had his hands in a position that looked as if it had been playing a game of peek-a-boo, drawn down with just it's fingertips resting on its chin. A knowing smile played on its lips which Dean had to admit was extremely creepy. But that wasn't what bothered him. Nor was it the blank eyes that seemed to be perfectly curved. It was the nagging feeling, in the back of his head that somehow, the statue had moved. That two seconds ago the eyes were covered up. As he stared at it, he noticed that the eyes gave the illusion of a gleam to them, that they we're almost human-like.
"Dean? You coming?" His brothers voice called to him, half way across the field. Dean blinked, turning his head back towards his brother. Breaking out of his trance, he shook his head. He opened his mouth, allowing it to hang open for half a second before speaking.
"Yeah...Yeah, sure I just...Ah, it's nothing." He waved his hand in the air, signaling that he was okay. He took one last quick glance at the statue and, started forward once again, his eyes shifting absentmindedly.
Every step he took over the soft Earth, the more he tired. This was the biggest graveyard the brothers had ever searched, and it was a hard job to search for names out of the hundreds of gravestones when your eyes were crusting shut. It was worse for Dean, of course. He'd slept about a total of six hours the past week. Sam had told him to stay at the motel tonight, to get some rest, but being him, he had to refuse. As he rubbed his eyes again, Sam turned his head back to him.
"You okay?" He asked, a tone of worry etched into his tone.
"Hmm? Yeah, yeah..." He raised his brow, running a hand over his face. "I'm fine. You finding anything?" He spoke with a slightly louder voice this time.
Dean caught sight of his brothers raised brow before he turns back to the position he was in.
"It's a graveyard, Dean. It's hit and miss. We'll find it when we find it." He chided him. Dean rolled his eyes at the words and sighed, stepping to the opposite corner of the field.
"Well we might as well split up. Let me know if you find anything, yeah?" He tilted his chin towards him, showing the question was adressed to him. Sam nodded at him, busy with shining a light on a nearby gravestone. He crossed the ground, mimicking his brothers actions until coming across a gravestone with a name he recognized; Gabriella Heiss.
"Sam!" He called across the vast area to his brother. "I've got her!" He swung his arm out, extending two fingers and swinging them towards him, signaling for him to head over. He watches as his brother lowers his flashlight, heading in his direction for a moment before turning and striking his shovel into the packed ground. He turns the handle at an angle so a pile of dirt sat on the plate. He threw it over his shoulder and plunged it in again. After Sam caught up to him, he joined in, repeating the process until a dark brown coffin lid is revealed underground. Dean jumps into the hole, pulling out a matchbox. He crouches down and pulls the lid open with his free hand. Sam jumps in beside him, pulling out a bottle of kerosene from his bag, soaking the bones with it. He then grabs a box of salt, doing the same. When he finishes, he looks at Dean, giving him a nod. Understanding his signal, Dean strikes the side of the matchbox with one of the matches, throwing it onto the skeleton. They stood watching the flames rise for a short while before climbing out and heading back to the car.
On the way back, Dean stopped to look at the statue for a final time and shook off his suspicions. He told himself it was just a statue. Maybe he needed sleep after all. He shrugged and turned around, following his brother back to the car, unaware that there were more of them in the yard, each staring directly at him.