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fannishlisstitle: "Ashes to Ashes, rock salt and fire"
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fannishliss
PG, Gen, no pairings, 867 words
references to 1.18 Something Wicked and this story.
Thanks toithilien22 for her prompt and her donation to help Haiti :)
If you would like a lightning fic to be delivered within 48 hours, go to my thread!
The car rolled quietly into the cemetery, winding along the narrow gravel lane to the spot they'd scoped out earlier.
He took a deep breath and let it out as his brother put the car in park and pulled the key from the ignition.
They silently pounded fists, and before he knew it, his brother was already out of the car and around to the back, pulling out the shovel. Crap! He had to stay on his toes, keep up. No need to feed his brother's complex about keeping him safe -- he'd risked his life for him before -- and regardless of his protests, big brother would do it again -- but this time, he was ready to hold down his own share of the Hunt.
No matter how hard you trained, he thought, nothing could prepare you for the real thing, until you were out there, under a waning moon, cold wind blowing down your neck, digging supplies out of the trunk, and hoping you got this job done, and done right, before any restless spirit has figured out that you're turning the tables -- tonight, it's the target.
He propelled himself out of the car, long limbs shaking with a mixture of fear and excitement.
"Okay, everything's in the bag, right?"
"Right. Salt, kerosene, 2 lighters, and three books of matches."
They grinned at each other, knowing it never hurt to bring more fire than absolutely necessary.
"Shotgun?"
"Loaded, and extra salt shells in my pocket."
"All right, then, let's do this thing." His brother's teeth gleamed in the moonlight -- days of research under their belts, now he was pure enthusiasm.
Keeping watch while his brother dug into the grave was a study in nerves. Waiting, anxious, searching the night for any unnatural movement, second-guessing every little breeze that ruffled the hair at the back of his neck, starting as the shadow of a dead branch reached its leafless fingers across the top of the headstone... he'd broken out in so many cold sweats he'd soaked through his tee shirt by the time the shovel hit wood.
"All right!" his brother shouted, excitedly. "Almost there! Keep an eye out -- this is when it might get hairy!"
He kept his eyes straining as his brother shifted to the mattock, hacking through the rotting wood, strength fueled by adrenaline.
Between one blink and the next -- there she was, her long hair wet and wrapped around her sparsely clad, shivering frame.
"You pushed me! You pushed me!" she cried, afraid, angry and dangerous.
He recognized the apparition from their research, but he wasn't prepared for the surge of emotion that welled up in him at the sight. She was a dangerous vengeful spirit -- this salt and burn would save lives, no doubt. But her spirit had protected several young women from aggressive guys -- and he couldn't really blame her, since a guy like that had killed her.
Still, at this moment, protecting his brother was his first priority. He cocked the shotgun and fired.
Now he knew she'd be furious when she reappeared.
"Action, man! Come on!" he shouted down into the grave.
"Almost there!" his brother repeated, swinging the mattock harder into the splintering lid.
The bones were revealed.
"Salt!" he shouted, tossing it into his brother's waiting hand -- then he fired again at the ghost, who was closer this time -- and reloaded, just like drills.
"Kerosene!" his brother shouted, clambering up out of the grave. This was the trickiest part, getting the bones lit without accidentally dousing yourself as well. He had to fire the rock salt at the ghost again before his brother lay panting on the ground beside him, scrabbling in their duffel for the kerosene.
The ghost was furious, reappearing more quickly every time, but he had plenty of ammo.
At last the corpse was doused in accelerant. His brother pulled a matchbook out of his pocket, lit it and tossed it in. The corpse went up in flames and the ghost, one last scream of anger dying on her lips, dissolved into flakes of ash.
"Sorry," he mumbled. "Rest in peace, maybe?"
His brother patted him on the leg as he lay there, filthy, in the gravedirt.
"All right, little brother. Fill this in while I call Mom."
He shovelled the dirt back into the hole while he listened in on the conversation.
"Yeah, Mom, we're fine! Clockwork! Asher did great! He's a better shot than I'll ever be. You called it. Felt sorry for her though. I know. Sleep of the just, right? Tomorrow, but victory breakfast first, okay? Love you too, Mom. Bye!"
His brother closed the phone and lay exhausted on the soil. Asher knew he had the easy job filling in so he let his brother lie there.
"Dude, you drive back, okay? I'm wiped!"
Asher didn't say anything, but he was happy to drive. He and Michael were Hunters now, ridding the world of things few people had the nerve to acknowledge. Their Mom had overseen their training-- with a few good pieces of advice from guys like the Winchesters-- so they were well-aware of the risks.
But it was worth it. Saving people, hunting things -- the Carroll family business.
author:
fannishliss PG, Gen, no pairings, 867 words
references to 1.18 Something Wicked and this story.
Thanks to
ithilien22 for her prompt and her donation to help Haiti :)If you would like a lightning fic to be delivered within 48 hours, go to my thread!
The car rolled quietly into the cemetery, winding along the narrow gravel lane to the spot they'd scoped out earlier.
He took a deep breath and let it out as his brother put the car in park and pulled the key from the ignition.
They silently pounded fists, and before he knew it, his brother was already out of the car and around to the back, pulling out the shovel. Crap! He had to stay on his toes, keep up. No need to feed his brother's complex about keeping him safe -- he'd risked his life for him before -- and regardless of his protests, big brother would do it again -- but this time, he was ready to hold down his own share of the Hunt.
No matter how hard you trained, he thought, nothing could prepare you for the real thing, until you were out there, under a waning moon, cold wind blowing down your neck, digging supplies out of the trunk, and hoping you got this job done, and done right, before any restless spirit has figured out that you're turning the tables -- tonight, it's the target.
He propelled himself out of the car, long limbs shaking with a mixture of fear and excitement.
"Okay, everything's in the bag, right?"
"Right. Salt, kerosene, 2 lighters, and three books of matches."
They grinned at each other, knowing it never hurt to bring more fire than absolutely necessary.
"Shotgun?"
"Loaded, and extra salt shells in my pocket."
"All right, then, let's do this thing." His brother's teeth gleamed in the moonlight -- days of research under their belts, now he was pure enthusiasm.
Keeping watch while his brother dug into the grave was a study in nerves. Waiting, anxious, searching the night for any unnatural movement, second-guessing every little breeze that ruffled the hair at the back of his neck, starting as the shadow of a dead branch reached its leafless fingers across the top of the headstone... he'd broken out in so many cold sweats he'd soaked through his tee shirt by the time the shovel hit wood.
"All right!" his brother shouted, excitedly. "Almost there! Keep an eye out -- this is when it might get hairy!"
He kept his eyes straining as his brother shifted to the mattock, hacking through the rotting wood, strength fueled by adrenaline.
Between one blink and the next -- there she was, her long hair wet and wrapped around her sparsely clad, shivering frame.
"You pushed me! You pushed me!" she cried, afraid, angry and dangerous.
He recognized the apparition from their research, but he wasn't prepared for the surge of emotion that welled up in him at the sight. She was a dangerous vengeful spirit -- this salt and burn would save lives, no doubt. But her spirit had protected several young women from aggressive guys -- and he couldn't really blame her, since a guy like that had killed her.
Still, at this moment, protecting his brother was his first priority. He cocked the shotgun and fired.
Now he knew she'd be furious when she reappeared.
"Action, man! Come on!" he shouted down into the grave.
"Almost there!" his brother repeated, swinging the mattock harder into the splintering lid.
The bones were revealed.
"Salt!" he shouted, tossing it into his brother's waiting hand -- then he fired again at the ghost, who was closer this time -- and reloaded, just like drills.
"Kerosene!" his brother shouted, clambering up out of the grave. This was the trickiest part, getting the bones lit without accidentally dousing yourself as well. He had to fire the rock salt at the ghost again before his brother lay panting on the ground beside him, scrabbling in their duffel for the kerosene.
The ghost was furious, reappearing more quickly every time, but he had plenty of ammo.
At last the corpse was doused in accelerant. His brother pulled a matchbook out of his pocket, lit it and tossed it in. The corpse went up in flames and the ghost, one last scream of anger dying on her lips, dissolved into flakes of ash.
"Sorry," he mumbled. "Rest in peace, maybe?"
His brother patted him on the leg as he lay there, filthy, in the gravedirt.
"All right, little brother. Fill this in while I call Mom."
He shovelled the dirt back into the hole while he listened in on the conversation.
"Yeah, Mom, we're fine! Clockwork! Asher did great! He's a better shot than I'll ever be. You called it. Felt sorry for her though. I know. Sleep of the just, right? Tomorrow, but victory breakfast first, okay? Love you too, Mom. Bye!"
His brother closed the phone and lay exhausted on the soil. Asher knew he had the easy job filling in so he let his brother lie there.
"Dude, you drive back, okay? I'm wiped!"
Asher didn't say anything, but he was happy to drive. He and Michael were Hunters now, ridding the world of things few people had the nerve to acknowledge. Their Mom had overseen their training-- with a few good pieces of advice from guys like the Winchesters-- so they were well-aware of the risks.
But it was worth it. Saving people, hunting things -- the Carroll family business.
