Mink (minkmix) wrote,
Mink
minkmix

SPN Fic: Dust to Dust

Title: Dust to Dust
Author: Mink
Rating: PG - Gen
Spoilers: None
Disclaimers: SPN & characters are owned by their various creators.
Summary: Once again they break into a cemetery and once again they almost get caught.



It was funny what wherewithal could really get you.

Besides what you actually required anyway.

Sam jumped down easily from the locked gated fence and waited until Dean had done the same before moving into the trees. It had just stopped raining. Leaving the air crisp and cold, the leaves whipped wet and slick across his face as they made their way. The moon was hanging too large in the sky, every stark detail of its face hidden and then revealed by the heavy languid drift of the low clouds.

He had always thought that when it came down to resources, what you needed and what you owned were vastly different things.

What an average person did to witness a sundown after their sunrise was usually pretty basic and uncomplicated. Sam had spent years on the road living that lesson without ever noticing he had learned it. It came to him only after he had left it behind. The realization of it came hard when he suddenly had an entire apartment that people expected him to fill with things. Something to put on the bathroom floor. More than one comfortable chair in case he had company. A stereo. A microwave. A small cactus someone assured him he couldn't kill.

The rules of status had made sense to him in various degrees throughout his life. Growing up he knew his clothes weren't the best and he knew his sneakers weren't the type you caught the cool kids wearing in commercials. He remembered looking at the sleek air conditioned, air bagged and antilock braked pictures of moderate success that drove along side them on the highways.

Sam had always felt somehow apart from the set of the world's most basic standards. They never really seemed to apply to him. Even after he had settled into the groove out in California, he always felt a little like he was faking it. He would have been just as comfortable in the stripped down version of what he knew. Half way embarrassed at times at the ridiculous accessories of his newly found domestication, he was forced to wonder many times why exactly he did it at all.

He remembered vividly the day when a fellow University student had asked in all honesty how he could possibly get by without his own cappuccino machine.

Sam followed his brother over a low rock wall and paused to take a good look around at the small winding road ahead of them. It was neatly lined with mausoleums and the sloping hillside of erected stones. The place dated back to when the city had begun, filled with the rich men who had set the economy rolling. Not just anyone could be laid to rest here. This dirt was harder to get into than a country club with a five digit member fee.

Most places of eternal sleep weren't always exactly as well maintained and pleasing to the eye as a golf course. The perfect green lush grass cut down to a uniform carpet like quality was something only the affluent could afford to rot under.

Sam wondered at the logic behind the expense of keeping up appearances after you left the mortal coil. It was a very king like to desire to leave some monument to yourself that generations could visit and wonder at. Although, to be fair, Sam knew it wasn't something only the very wealthy wanted. It was human to want to leave something of yourself behind.

Some people left their fortunes to a charity and their solemn cause. Some got a college dorm titled after them, their precious family name doomed to be hyphenated by the stoned frat boys who lived there. Some people just vanished with their ashes in moving water and left only a memory to return to.

But some went much further than others.

Like the pyramids for example.

"Would ya look at that." Dean mumbled in a mixture of awe and bewildered disgust.

It wasn't exactly to scale but a very wealthy man who had seemed to admire things grand and large had made a landmark of his own.

"How much concrete you think it took to set up this thing?"

His brother appraised the fifteen foot and four sided structure. With his hands settled on his hips, it was a gesture that reminded Sam of their father when he thought he saw a job he could have done better himself.

"How the hell are we gonna get in there..." Sam wondered aloud.

Unfortunately, architecture wasn't the only thing the deceased man admired about royal ancient customs. He had also brought a few things with him into the afterlife that unlike the dead, would not stand to sleep for long.

"Maybe we have to solve a riddle." Dean suggested idly while running a hand down the sealed seam of the tomb.

Sam smiled at the strange mixture of historic fact and late night movie watching that made up his older brother's responses.

"Hey," Dean's voice dropped to barely a whisper. "Over there."

Sam turned to see the swing of a far off approaching flashlight. It was moving erratically through the rows of mismatched stones, flickering side to side and coming in their direction.

"Grounds keeper." His brother said.

Sam turned and moved, his eyes adjusted perfectly to the dark and easily spotting what little cover he could find. It looked like a pile of soil and gravel, covered up with a plastic blanket of astroturf. Some lame cosmetic gesture for visitors lest they forget why piles of earth would be displaced in a place like this.

He meant to just climb it in one jump and slide silently onto its other side.

Much to his surprise, there was no other side. Just empty space.

Sam landed hard in the mud from the recent rain fall.

He lay panting for a moment, the air gradually returning from where it had been knocked out of his lungs. Sam rolled onto his back to look at what he assumed was the approximate six feet he had just fallen. It wasn't exactly the kind of cover he had meant but it was as good as any for the moment. Cold rain water that had collected in the hole seeped and soaked his jeans and jacket. He shuddered with the chill and damp, the strong scent of wet soil and churned up ground flowing over him as the wind picked up and blew down softly in his face.

Sam briefly wondered who would soon be laying right where he was this time tomorrow.

A senator. An artist. A child.

The footsteps of the curator came closer, the beam of his flashlight swaying yellow and dull overhead. Probably hired to keep the teen drunks from tagging the expensive marble and leaving beer cans in the drooping wilted heaps of left over flowers. Some incoherent grumbling and the man came close enough that Sam could smell the cigarette he was smoking.

He heard the man pause and the flashlight beam suddenly turned away. Dean was somewhere out there, whistling and drawing the attention elsewhere. All Sam had to do was wait for the right moment to make his exit.

With a sigh, he folded his hands behind his head in the mud. The perfect rectangle of the night lay just above. It framed a neat bright strip of the sky. The soil black against the deep purple roil of stars and their planets. Their fires. Their frigid silence. Their distance and the light that found its way all the way down here despite the unthinkable miles.

It really was funny what wherewithal could truly get you. But no matter who you were, Sam was fairly certain of one thing.

The view at the end would all be the same.

Tags: gen, sam pov, spn one shot
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