1 Partridge
sisterofdream wanted Dean and Castiel to fight zombies.
Dean/Cas. If you watch the show, you don't need warning. If not, mild gore.
The cemetery was quiet, save for the sound of the shovel biting into dirt. Dean was waist-deep in the grave of Mr. Marley, former accountant, when a soft noise caught his attention. He looked up from his work. No lights, flash-, head-, or otherwise, and no sign of spirits. He went back to his work.
Both Castiel and his brother were around town somewhere. Cas might still be in the library. While he and Sam had dug into county records, Cas had discovered the fiction room. The bookcases were loaded with pulp paperbacks, from which the angel had flatly refused to be moved. Dean had noticed part of the 'Winchester gospel' down the aisle from the book Cas had been scanning through and, recognizing it as the one with the sex scene, had left him to it. He preferred teasing the angel about sex to the reverse. Not that he thought Castiel would -- whatever, he didn't want to witness Castiel reading about him getting down and dirty with Cassie.
So he and Sam had gone on to the cemetery, where some of the graves did show signs of having been desecrated. Which explained the recent sightings of deceased loved ones. They'd located the Marley and Dickens grave sites and found the dirt disturbed. Dean had also found the neighboring orchard and liberated a number of pears. Sam accused him of scrumping, Dean accused him of making up words, and come nightfall, Sam had decided to stay in and sulk.
'Research,' his ass.
Not that he needed help for a simple salt and burn. It was just boring, and company would have been nice.
The noise came again, and Dean dropped the shovel for the shotgun. The night was fairly bright, thanks to a nearly full moon overhead. He peered around the graveyard, waiting for the noise to recur. There, to his left. He swiveled, bringing up the barrel to sight. The figure moved closer between the gravestones, and Dean recognized Marley's ugly mug moving towards him. He fired. The salt shot visibly connected, and Marley shambled closer.
Dean cursed and scrambled out of the hole. That was not normal ghost behavior. "A zombie? Are you freaking kidding me?"
He emptied the second barrel into the creature's face and grabbed the gas can. The shot caused barely enough damage to disorient it. He sloshed gas at it and scrabbled for his lighter, backpedaling out of the zombie's reach.
"Dean." Castiel stood very close by him, his focus on Dean and not the still shambling former accountant. He barely even startled at Cas's sudden appearances anymore, but a split second's distraction was enough for the zombie to make a grab for his arm. He cursed, trying to free himself. Cas frowned, plucked the creature away, and tossed it aside like it weighed nothing. Dean dug out the lighter, lit it and threw it after.
Marley stumbled back up, burning. Dean kept out of lunging range and idly hoped the dry grass wouldn't catch. It toppled, and he dialed Sam.
"Thought you were reading," he said, as it rang.
"Yes." Cas replied. Then he resumed staring at him. Okay, then.
Sam picked up, and Dean turned away. He was pretty sure he heard Sam shut the tv off. "It's not ghosts. We've got zombies."
"Zombies? Are you sure?"
He rolled his eyes. "Pretty damn sure, since I just burned Marley's walking corpse. This one was slower than the last time, though."
"Okay." Sam sighed heavily like he thought the situation was somehow Dean's fault. "I'll look into who'd know the rituals."
"Great." Dean closed the phone. He should check the Dickens grave, see if he was still in there or if he needed to go hunting. He turned and Cas was still right there.
"The resurrection of bodies is a bad sign."
"No kidding."
"No," Cas replied seriously.
The tone, as usual, had flown right over his head. Dean shook his head and went to collect his shovel, Cas at his heels as he made his way to the Dickens plot. He pushed the blade into the sod. The top layer was always the toughest -- compacted and full of roots. Cas watched.
"Did you come here to stare or to help?"
"I have a question about a book."
Dean's foot missed the shovel. He set his foot correctly, not glancing over at Cas. "Yeah? You try reading Vonnegut again?"
"No. Route 666."
He sighed. Figured. "Do you want me to draw you a diagram?"
"That would be most helpful."
Okay, that got his attention. His head jerked up. Cas's expression was ... amused. "You're not funny."
He tipped his head to one side. "Yes, I am." He stepped even closer and took hold of the shovel's handle. When Dean didn't let go, he pulled him closer still. "I can dig faster," he stated, lips brushing Dean's. "And then we can leave."
Dean cracked first and pressed their lips together in a real kiss before letting go. "Right. Dig."
Dean/Cas. If you watch the show, you don't need warning. If not, mild gore.
The cemetery was quiet, save for the sound of the shovel biting into dirt. Dean was waist-deep in the grave of Mr. Marley, former accountant, when a soft noise caught his attention. He looked up from his work. No lights, flash-, head-, or otherwise, and no sign of spirits. He went back to his work.
Both Castiel and his brother were around town somewhere. Cas might still be in the library. While he and Sam had dug into county records, Cas had discovered the fiction room. The bookcases were loaded with pulp paperbacks, from which the angel had flatly refused to be moved. Dean had noticed part of the 'Winchester gospel' down the aisle from the book Cas had been scanning through and, recognizing it as the one with the sex scene, had left him to it. He preferred teasing the angel about sex to the reverse. Not that he thought Castiel would -- whatever, he didn't want to witness Castiel reading about him getting down and dirty with Cassie.
So he and Sam had gone on to the cemetery, where some of the graves did show signs of having been desecrated. Which explained the recent sightings of deceased loved ones. They'd located the Marley and Dickens grave sites and found the dirt disturbed. Dean had also found the neighboring orchard and liberated a number of pears. Sam accused him of scrumping, Dean accused him of making up words, and come nightfall, Sam had decided to stay in and sulk.
'Research,' his ass.
Not that he needed help for a simple salt and burn. It was just boring, and company would have been nice.
The noise came again, and Dean dropped the shovel for the shotgun. The night was fairly bright, thanks to a nearly full moon overhead. He peered around the graveyard, waiting for the noise to recur. There, to his left. He swiveled, bringing up the barrel to sight. The figure moved closer between the gravestones, and Dean recognized Marley's ugly mug moving towards him. He fired. The salt shot visibly connected, and Marley shambled closer.
Dean cursed and scrambled out of the hole. That was not normal ghost behavior. "A zombie? Are you freaking kidding me?"
He emptied the second barrel into the creature's face and grabbed the gas can. The shot caused barely enough damage to disorient it. He sloshed gas at it and scrabbled for his lighter, backpedaling out of the zombie's reach.
"Dean." Castiel stood very close by him, his focus on Dean and not the still shambling former accountant. He barely even startled at Cas's sudden appearances anymore, but a split second's distraction was enough for the zombie to make a grab for his arm. He cursed, trying to free himself. Cas frowned, plucked the creature away, and tossed it aside like it weighed nothing. Dean dug out the lighter, lit it and threw it after.
Marley stumbled back up, burning. Dean kept out of lunging range and idly hoped the dry grass wouldn't catch. It toppled, and he dialed Sam.
"Thought you were reading," he said, as it rang.
"Yes." Cas replied. Then he resumed staring at him. Okay, then.
Sam picked up, and Dean turned away. He was pretty sure he heard Sam shut the tv off. "It's not ghosts. We've got zombies."
"Zombies? Are you sure?"
He rolled his eyes. "Pretty damn sure, since I just burned Marley's walking corpse. This one was slower than the last time, though."
"Okay." Sam sighed heavily like he thought the situation was somehow Dean's fault. "I'll look into who'd know the rituals."
"Great." Dean closed the phone. He should check the Dickens grave, see if he was still in there or if he needed to go hunting. He turned and Cas was still right there.
"The resurrection of bodies is a bad sign."
"No kidding."
"No," Cas replied seriously.
The tone, as usual, had flown right over his head. Dean shook his head and went to collect his shovel, Cas at his heels as he made his way to the Dickens plot. He pushed the blade into the sod. The top layer was always the toughest -- compacted and full of roots. Cas watched.
"Did you come here to stare or to help?"
"I have a question about a book."
Dean's foot missed the shovel. He set his foot correctly, not glancing over at Cas. "Yeah? You try reading Vonnegut again?"
"No. Route 666."
He sighed. Figured. "Do you want me to draw you a diagram?"
"That would be most helpful."
Okay, that got his attention. His head jerked up. Cas's expression was ... amused. "You're not funny."
He tipped his head to one side. "Yes, I am." He stepped even closer and took hold of the shovel's handle. When Dean didn't let go, he pulled him closer still. "I can dig faster," he stated, lips brushing Dean's. "And then we can leave."
Dean cracked first and pressed their lips together in a real kiss before letting go. "Right. Dig."