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For SPN Christmas in August...

[livejournal.com profile] ssstevie wanted I want to read about how SamnDean found a dead body and had to determine on their own if something supernatural killed the person.




It was supposed to be a a simple salt and burn. The previous occupant of a turn of the century Victorian had been terrorizing the new family living there, so her translucent ass had to go.

It had been ridiculously easy to track down the former owner's not so final resting place, and dig six feet down to the coffin. Salt, lighter fluid, and a matchbook later a small fire cast shadows around the graveyard.

The boys leaned against their shovels for a few moments, panting, sweat making their shirts cling uncomfortably.

"Well, that was too easy." Dean remarked as they started their trek back to the Impala.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Can you say gifthorse and mouth. Let's just be glad that for once neither one of us got-"

Whatever Sam was going to say was lost as he stumbled over something in the path, and arms flailing, went ass over teakettle.

Dean couldn't help the short bark of laughter at his brother's expense, but any mirth he felt vanished when he trained his flashlight on what had made Sam trip.

It was a leg.

"Dammit." Dean muttered.

Sam picked himself up. "What the hell?" He focused on the leg. "Oh."

"Yeah." Dean used his shovel to gently move some of the branches covering the rest of the body.

"Ghoul?" Sam asked.

"Don't know." Dean peered at the body. "There's a lot of blood, but I don't think he's been chewed on."

"Mauled?"

"Naw. Throat's slit. Clean cut, though."

"Sacrifice, then?" Sam frowned and looked around. "I don't see any symbols, or anything that could have been used as an alter."

"Yeah." Dean crouched down for a closer examination of the body. "I don't know, Sammy. No watch, marks where a ring was taken off." Wrapping his hand in a corner of his overshirt, Dean carefully checked the dead man's pockets. "No wallet."

Sam let his light play around the graveyard floor. "Wait, I think... Yeah, it's over here." He used his pocket knife to examine the blood stained bit of leather. "I.D. and credit cards are still here, but there's no cash."

Dean settled back on his haunches. "Looks like this ain't our kind of gig."

Sam nodded. "We passed a convenience store on the way here. We'll use the payphone. Call the cops."

"Yeah." Dean carefully erased his presence from the scene. "Let's go."

He and Sam trudged back to the car, and didn't give the dead man another thought until three months later when they heard stories of a bloody specter with a gapping wound in his throat wandering the graveyard.

Turns out it was their kind of gig after all.

Date: 2007-08-04 05:47 am (UTC)
ext_16747: Bob Bryar blogs (jensen bike)
From: [identity profile] snarkyrainbow.livejournal.com
awesome! i like. thanks.
ass over teakettle
bwah! poor klutzitron!Sammy.

Date: 2007-08-04 10:24 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] wirrrn.livejournal.com
Well, if Sammy's gonna trip over something... *g*

Your SUPERNATURAL bday fic is nearly a go. Only ten snippets more!

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