"Domain of the Beloved" by Tidia

Chapter 5

Dean remembered being ten years old and asking Pastor Jim why everyone just didn't get cremated.

The question should have been disturbing coming from the mouth of a youngster, but he had already been marked by death. The family friend had patiently educated Dean about the burial rites of common religions.

"This sucks," Sam replied, wiping his forehead and incurring a smudge of dirt for his effort. Opening graves was the repulsive part of their job. Grave robbers had a connotation of being sick and insane, and the Winchester brothers did not want to be connected to such a depraved act.

Dean had piled the top grass away from their digging. He would return the grave to its previous condition. Christy Kenney was a fresh grave, less than a year. Her cemetery plot had been well tended to and there was evidence of frequent visits. Little mementos and effigies decorated the stone tablet. His mother's grave on the other hand was empty and cold. It was not a reflection on how loved she had been, on how loved she still was in the present.

"Bathroom break," They had dug down three feet. Dean pushed his shovel into the mound of dirt they had created.

"Now?" Sam questioned with a snort.

"Yes, now," Dean said peevishly. He did not like to be questioned about his bodily functions. Sam could continue on for a few minutes. This was after all part of their job description. Demons existed. Sam, Dean and a few others knew that bones needed to be salted and burned so that they did not rise as a nasty spirit.

He walked calmly through the graveyard, weaving through the cemetery markers, being careful to show respect to the dead and not trample their graves. Surrounding the cemetery was some bordering woods, the solitude of the greenery providing comfort for the mourners.

He charged in, away from Sam's eyes. A few feet in he stopped, rested his hands on his knees, and he threw up. Dean spit a couple of times, clearing the bile in his throat. He rubbed the back of his neck, calming himself with a low growl.

Cassie had power over him in death, more than in life. A memory was more insidious. It brought up the passion inside of him. He didn't want to call it 'love.' Love was sacred. It had been reserved for his mother.

"I love you, Mommy."

Dean didn't recall saying it to anyone else. Not John Winchester, and not to Sam since he was about 4 or 5. No one had said it to him and had meant it.

"Get a fckin' grip, Dean." He whispered harshly, gripping his hair within his fists in frustration. He didn't want to see the body of the young girl. He knew he couldn't avoid it without raising his brother's suspicion.

"Arrr," He made a throaty noise of aggravation. Cassie wasn't lying in her coffin. He knew why Sam could not find peace with Jessica. It was because she had no resting place.

He wiped his nose on the back of his hand, and looked up to the shadows of the tall trees. He exhaled the breath he had been holding, motivating himself to return to help Sam. Dean placed one foot in front of the other and began the walk back.

Long ago Dean knew he had sacrificed a bit of his sanity to live in the supernatural world. He pretended that everything was fine. He would pretend now. He made some noise so his brother would be aware of his approach.

"Good timing," Sam was in the cemetery plot, and tapped the shovel against a hard surface. A hollow sound reverberated through the night. He had reached the coffin.

Dean set his mouth in a grim line. "Let's open it up." He pulled his shovel from the mound of dirt, angling it under the rim just like his brother. They forced open the wood lid.

Both Winchester men averted their eyes, catching each other having the same reaction. Dean cleared his throat. "I'll get the salt." He sprinkled the crystals over the body, trying hard not to study the decomposing form. She was still intact, still sleeping eternally surrounded by remembrances of her time on earth. Christy was dressed in a pink fluffy prom gown, a small stuffed volleyball by her hand, a team picture, and some folded letters.

Sam stood near him and squirted the kerosene. The younger Winchester fished out a matchbook. With a snap, he struck a match and lit the whole book, dropping it in the coffin.

The flames ate at the satin lining; the heat flamed up at them before continuing its slow burn. Dean didn't know how long they both stood sentinel over the grave. The flames had died down, and quickly he closed the coffin and tried to shake the disgust he felt.

The brothers worked in precision, and it took less time to bury the coffin than to unearth it. Once completed, Dean placed the chopped up lawn on top.

"Dean, it's good enough." Sam said, holding both the shovels.

It would never be good enough, Dean thought, but followed his brother to the Impala. Morning would come all too soon. The older hunter looked out the car's windshield into a sea of grave markers. "Do you want to leave?" He asked his brother.

Sam sighed loudly, "God, yes." He scratched his scalp, and then looked at the sheen of dirt on his hand, lifting it to show his brother. "But, I want to take a shower too."

Dean nodded. He could make it through one more night in Dumas. "Yeah, a shower would be good. Don't touch anything with those hands." The older Winchester tacked on the warning with a twitch of a smile.

Sam placed his hands on his thighs. The younger hunter's eyes narrowed. "Something going on with you, man?"

"No, I, no," Dean interjected with a frown. He turned the key in the ignition. "We're outta here in the morning."

By nine Dean was packing the car with a purpose. In fact, each thought and action had been for a single-minded reason - to keep his mind occupied and not drift to thoughts of Cassie. Neither Dean nor Sam knew how extensive his 'shining' was, and Dean did not want his thoughts leaking out for his younger brother's viewing pleasure.

"Get a move on," Dean said to his brother, who was folding clothes. "I'll meet you in the car." The older brother glanced at the motel room, making sure they were leaving nothing behind.

"I'm coming," Sam announced, not bothering to zip his duffle. "We're getting some real breakfast-right?"

Dean nodded. They were heading to the unofficial town hall. In Dumas it was the diner that Sam and Dean had eaten lunch at earlier. It was a throwback to the 1950s with its metallic exterior, and red vintage booths. Weekends meant a long wait for a hearty and cheap breakfast with a side order of gossip. But, the weekdays brought a quicker turn around on service.

Dean was determined to place the correct order this time. Nothing would deter him from pancakes, home fries, coffee and orange juice.

A booth became available as soon as they walked in. Immediately, the brothers were enjoying a hot cup of coffee. Sam bowed his head and gestured to an elderly couple behind the older hunter.

The younger Winchester smiled at the stranger. "Town seems to be buzzing today-what's going on?" He said, engaging the elderly man in a moment's conversation.

Dean never understood why people were so forthcoming with information, and willing to talk. But, he thought his brother had a talent for it. Sam was good cop and Dean was the bad cop.

The stranger replied with the latest news. "The police arrested the school janitor for killing one of the high school girls. Man should be shot."

"Wow, glad they caught him." Sam answered, closing the conversation.

The two brothers clinked their coffee mugs together in satisfaction of a job well done. It wasn't often in their line of work.

The waitress came around to take their order. Dean placed his order first, so that he could complete one mission for the day. The waitress turned to the younger hunter,

"Two eggs sunny side up, sausage and wheat toast."

For a moment Dean was tempted to change his mind. But, he held steadfast. He was looking forward to this breakfast. "Sam, you were right."

Sam coughed, and put his mug down. "What? Say it again."

The reaction from his brother made him think twice. He didn't need to build Sam's ego when it came to his brain. The older Winchester shook his head, denying his brother the compliment. "No, forget it."

"Sorry, Dean, please tell me what I was right about?" The young hunter was eager for a flattering remark, and the begging was annoying.

The older hunter hoped he would not regret praising his brother later. "Letting the police handle it." Dean admitted, seeing his brother bask in acceptance, that he was making a worthwhile contribution. "We have our job and they have theirs."

Breakfast came, interrupting Sam's retort. Dean picked up a chunk of potato with his fingers and popped it in his mouth. He grinned at his brother, who slathered a piece of toast with butter. "Course, this being Texas, he'll be dead sooner rather than later." And Dean had to admit he would be satisfied with that result. "So where to?" The breakfast was warming his stomach, and he had a sense of wanderlust mixed with the need to move on, and away from a reminder of Cassie. He never wanted to return to Dumas again, it would be forever attached to her death.

"Missouri," Sam bit into his toast, chewing and swallowing so that he didn't speak with food in his mouth. "There's an antique shop and. . ."

Dean stopped listening after his brother said Missouri. The older hunter remained silent. He knew it was impossible to avoid a whole state, but it was too soon.

"You can stop by and see Cassie." Sam suggested with a wolfish grin.

Her name lingered on the air. The corners of his mouth turned down. Sam noticed the reaction. "I know you love her, man. I don't know why you won't admit it."

Dean stared at his brother, caught in the spell of his words. Sam misinterpreted his brother's lack of response incorrectly. It was a verbal attack. Dean willed himself to have a stony expression, placing a barrier in order to protect his soul.

Sam continued. "You know Jess taught me that having someone in your life makes you stronger, a better man. There's nothing wrong with loving someone and wanting to make a life with her."

And Dean understood. His brother's speech was for his own benefit to allow him to believe a transition into normal life was still available to him. Sam believed that their lives could evolve into normal at some point in the future. Ordinarily, it would have struck Dean as pathetic, but a normal life meant Cassie alive and well.

The older Winchester cleared his throat, trying to get past the lump that had formed. He speared the pancake, and cut into it. "She doesn't live there anymore." He explained and continued to eat his breakfast. He chewed the pancake in his mouth. The taste of the desired breakfast evaporated on his lips.

Continued in the epilogue.

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