Stir of Echoes - Part 1
Title: Stir of Echoes - Part 1
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam and Dean, Sam/OFC
Written by: deandemonhunter & candygramme
Rating: PG-18
Beta by: ailurophile6 for which much thanks.
Summary: Sam and Dean finish a job in Petersburg, Virgina. That's when Dean decides that it's time to see things he might not get to in his last year of life and wants to go down to Key West to see the beaches. There's a hurricane is approaching, a Category One, but Dean wants to have a hurricane party with the locals. When a White Lady appears, preventing the Impala from starting, the boys find themselves alone and stranded.

Disclaimer: No profit was made off this. The characters belong the originators of Supernatural. Was all in pure fun.





Dean seemed satisfied as he was packing his bag with his previously worn jeans, dirty shirts and underwear. There was a contented glow about him. He was happy the job was done, another spirit had been put to rest, more people saved. Dean liked jobs like this, which had been in old haunted grounds full of history. The Civil War had produced a huge number of unquiet spirits, but Sam had been sure what they'd dealt with was one of the demons that had escaped from the hell's gate, and he'd been proven right. One down and two hundred ninety nine to go.

Since the Hell's gate had opened during the final battle with the demon, there was no telling how many of them had gotten loose. The tracks had been broken, allowing them to scatter to the four corners of the world. It was taking all the hunters there were to battle the threats that had been unleashed. Some were none too happy about the situation, but work went on as usual, for all that.

"Hey," Dean looked up cheerfully, "What do you say we go down to Florida? Huh? We'll avoid that waitress I ran into, 'cos, whew, don't wanna do that again! I'd kinda like to catch a few rays on the beach. You look like someone dunked you in bleach anyway, and I heard they have this awesome key-lime pie on a stick dunked in chocolate down there."

Sam had been stuffing his bag with his own clothing and stopped midway to study his brother. He gave Dean a confused look. What had come over him? He had been this way since that awful day Sam had told him it was his turn to take care of Dean for a change. Sam furrowed his brow at his brother, "Um... you sure?" He asked.

"Yeah Why not? Dude, we might even find some hot ladies, have a little beach bonfire," Dean was still beaming as he grabbed his bag and passed Sam, slapping his butt, "Time to get you back on the saddle, or someone on your saddle."

Sam's butt rocked forward from the smack, and he shot a dirty look over his shoulder at his brother’s departing back, "I can get my own women when I want to."

"Yeah, but you don't." Dean climbed into the car, waiting for Sam to follow.

"When I'm ready, Dean, I will," Sam finished up as he closed the door.

"You're ready," Dean smirked.


*****


Special Agent Hendricksen stood in the field, looking at the freshly dug mound of dirt with the tracks all around it. The grass had been burned on the sides as if from a deliberately set fire. Without a doubt, it was them, the Winchesters, and they were gone again. It seemed that he was destined to be not just two steps behind them but miles, always arriving too late.

"Want me to gather what we can?" His partner asked.

"Yeah, the usual." Hendricksen looked about himself with a scowl. "I'm gonna catch up to you two yet."

*****

The sky was full of clouds, hanging heavy and leaden. There were reports of storms rolling in, but Dean ignored them as Sam slept beside him in the front seat, head against the window, rocking somewhat as the car went over the bridge. Dean was smirking, full of excitement. There was a chance the damn hurricane that was brewing might miss, and he really didn't want to miss this - literally for him - once in a lifetime chance to experience the fun of the beach. He was excited about it, and not just kind of excited but nearly bouncing with anticipation.

As a kid, the two brothers had never had the chance to go to a real beach. Their father had spent his days obsessively concentrating on their training, taking them out to wooded areas to learn the skills of tracking, bow hunting and shooting. Dean had always wanted to dig his toes into the sand, make sand castles and just feel the salty air against his skin. A sand box had never quite cut it for him. But as a kid, he'd never complained the way Sam often did, saying his friends were going to Disneyland, Busch Gardens or some place like that. He'd often gotten into arguments with their father over things like that and it had always ended up with Sam being sent to his room and being grounded. Dean suspected it was sometimes, or most of the time, done on purpose so he wouldn't have to train. It gave Sam time to study, or when he got older, sneak out of the house.

Dean drove slowly, taking in the view. Some people were already leaving in advance of the storm, but some shops were still open, giving out supplies for those who were staying. Dean pulled into one, leaving Sam sleeping as he got out, gathered some supplies then got back in, getting them to the beach house he'd rented. He didn't wake Sam right away, just sat in the car, staring out at the view of the beach. Even with the high surf, the wind and a faded sun cutting through the darker clouds that loomed, Dean felt at ease. The feeling in the pit in his stomach wasn't tight, for the first time since his father's death.

He shifted his gaze over to Sam, admiring the dark lashes resting over fair cheeks. His moles stood out, and in his eyes they were cute. Dean could still remember picking on Sam about them when they were kids, telling him they were worms trying to poke out, or huge growths that would take over his face, but as he looked at them now, he wouldn't say that. He would love to kiss each one, to caress Sam's cheek with his thumb and nuzzle against his neck. It was only when Sam started to move that Dean looked away and opened the door, "Hey, Sammy, we're here, get your ass out, help me get this stuff inside."

Sam blinked, rubbing his eyes, "Where are we?" He asked, looking over his shoulder at the back seat, seeing groceries along with their bags. "When did you stop? And you just let me sleep?"

"You looked like you needed it," Dean grabbed the bags, "Move your ass, will ya? At least get the door for me." Dean tossed him the keys before grabbing an armload of grocery bags and heading up the bungalow stairs.

The place they were staying in was a little more up-market than their usual cheesy motel stops, and Sam stretched, raised his eyebrows, then dutifully followed his brother in, carrying the remainder of the groceries and their bags, only to stand in the doorway and whistle. "Dude, this is pretty cool. You sure that we can afford it?"

"Shut up and get the groceries sorted out, bitch!" Dean grinned at him, delighted that he'd surprised his brother. "I'm gonna go take a shower."

"Good deal, jerk! You need it. Make sure you get all the funk off. Can't leave this place smelling bad." He snickered as Dean threw a wadded up pair of jeans at him and turned to his task of stowing Dean's purchases.

****

Sam had watched his brother dive into their most recent job with an enthusiasm he hadn't seen since before he went off to Stanford, and while half of him rejoiced to see him so happy, the other half felt as though he were watching a train wreck. He felt powerless. A year was such a short time, and Sam didn't know how he was going to save Dean from the demon who had a lien on his soul. He only knew that he would, if he had to give his own soul to do it.

For now, he was content to indulge his brother, happy to see the flush of enthusiasm in his eyes again, believing that Dean had narrowly escaped a breakdown. So they headed for Florida, hoping to spend a few days just chilling out on the beach.

Key West was perfect. Lying on the sand, watching a frigate bird circle lazily overhead, Sam admitted to himself that the two of them had needed a break after the stress, panic and loss they'd incurred during their final battle with the entity that had killed their parents. Dean was happily excavating a creation in the sand using a spoon as a digging tool. He'd declared that his creation was going to be the Millennium Falcon, and was keeping up non-stop chatter about it. Sam was ignoring him almost completely, and life, for this day at least, was good.

Dean was happy to feel the sand under him, to be here and with his brother, even if Sam was ignoring him. He just kept chattering on, "Maybe I'll make this into the Death Star instead." He stabbed the spoon into the sand, hitting a shell. He dug around and pulled it out; it was an enormous conch shell. He held it up to his ear, trying to hear the ocean. "Hey, Gillian, look what I found!" He held it up proudly as he showed his brother. When Sam didn't look he flicked a spoon full of sand at him. "Hey!"

He paused as he heard thunder and looked out at the water, seeing the approaching storm form a squall line that was definitely moving in. He got up, staring at it, mesmerized by it. Some of the birds were still circling, but now some of them were landing, looking for shelter. Lightening danced in the distance, and Dean was just amazed by it: the power of nature, so strong, fierce, and scary and yet so beautiful.

Sam had exclaimed crossly when the sand had been dumped on his belly, and rose to his feet to shake it off. Caught by Dean's apparent jubilation, he came to stand beside his brother and look out at the ocean. "Dude, we need to leave," he murmured to his raptly watching brother. "We need to get back to the cabin and listen to the weather report. This is hurricane season, and that doesn't look too good to me."

"Awww, come on, Sammy! Live a little, why don't you? People have parties to watch this kind of thing! I wanna watch it too." Dean didn't move so much as a muscle. "Just look at it. It's pretty; besides I already checked the weather for today, and it's just a storm. It's not even gonna reach the shore. They said it would just go up the coast."

Sam frowned. "Just a storm? You sure? Supposing it does come ashore. What happens then?"

"Well, if it does, then I guess my Death Star is toast." Dean hadn't taken his eyes off the dark presence on the horizon. "Come on, Sammy, life's too short. Stop worrying so much, you'll get warts from being a worry wart."

And those words made Sam pause, shiver and then nod, because for Dean, life was indeed going to be way too short.

Dean looked back at his brother and then sighed, rolling his eyes, then in bare feet he tracked back over to his taller brother, "Fine, we'll go inside. Here." He handed Sam the large shell, turning to go to the stairs that led up to their bungalow. He went up to the house, entering from the back porch, and disappeared inside, making straight for the fridge to snag a beer. He brought one out to Sam, who'd followed him in. "Here," he said, handing it over as he flopped down on the couch beside him.

Accepting the can with a grunt of thanks, Sam popped the tab and took a long pull at the cold, refreshing liquid. "Gotta tell you, I was having a really good day till the weather started to turn." He gave Dean a smile as he took in his brother's excited expression. There was something really heartwarming about seeing Dean so alive and in the moment. "You think that it's really going to just go by and not be a problem? We really don't want to get caught this close to the beach with a hurricane coming in."

Dean didn't respond, merely stared at the blank TV before them. Turning to Sam, he smirked. "See, I told you we needed a break. Hey!" He got up quickly, bounded over to the fridge and pulled out the large, chocolate dipped cheesecake on a stick he had bought. It was key-lime flavor, and Dean couldn't wait to taste it. He returned, big grin on his face, "Want some?" he asked before taking a huge bite.

"Nah, I’m okay, dude." Sam grinned at Dean's enthusiasm. "Just so you know, I can feel your arteries hardening from here. Maybe we need to take it easy, if you're sure that we're not gonna be in danger from the storm." Dean was eating, apparently unconcerned, and Sam let his tense muscles loosen. His brother might be a child in some ways, but he knew that Dean wouldn't be irresponsible enough to put the pair of them in danger. Maybe the storm would blow away up the coast, and they could get out there on the sand again and relax. He was looking forward to that.

Dean looked at Sam, "Dude, you gotta try it! C'mon," He leaned over, forcing it toward Sam, trying to put it in his mouth. "Take it, you know you want to." He was pinning Sam as he was doing so, grinning widely as chocolate and cheesecake smeared across Sam's cheek and lips.

"Get off me, asshat!" Sam was laughing as he tried unsuccessfully to fend his brother off. Sighing gustily, he took a bite of the offered treat and glared at his brother. "A minute on the lips, a lifetime on the hips, chubby!" he said, licking his lips. "Dude, you're suffering from a mental age of around five, aren't you?" Outside, they could now hear the rising wind rushing against the bungalow walls. "Man, listen to that. I'm not sure your forecast was right."

Dean sat back, just enjoying his cake. He shook his head, "I was told the wind always blows like that on the beach." He went back to eating. "Why don't you go take a nap? Maybe it will get rid of your grumpiness." He was eating.

"You think I'm grumpy?" Sam looked a little stunned. "Sorry, dude, maybe you're right. I'm really tired." He rose to his feet and stretched, feeling the kinks and aches that came from spending too much time sleeping in a car that didn't allow his limbs full range of movement. "Okay, I'll go check out the bed. I'll give you a report in a while." Smiling down at his brother, he shook his head. "Cheesecake Popsicles. What will they think of next?"

He ruffled Dean's hair and turned to go back into the bedroom. It was a good size, and the beds were springy and comfortable. He kicked off his shoes and stripped down to his boxers, then sat on the edge of one to test it. Lying back, he yawned and sighed, and a moment later, he was asleep.

Dean looked back at his brother after swatting away the hand that was ruffling his hair. He waited 'til he heard the door close and a little longer for Sam to get to sleep, before he rose, tossed the clean stick that had held his cheesecake onto the table and went out the door onto the porch, smiling at the storm. Thank goodness they were far enough away from the beach, and that the house was up on stilts, as was the car. He would have been worried otherwise. Besides, from what he'd seen when he checked the storm's progress earlier, it looked like it was gonna hit north of them. They would still get some pretty heavy rains and gusts of wind, but on the whole they'd be okay.

****

She moved along in the darkness, pushing black curtains back out of her way. She was looking for him. She could hear him. Blonde hair with large curls spilled about her tanned shoulders. Her dark eyes sought desperately to find him as she pursed her full lips. She was wore a tiny top that was made from lace that flowed down over her hips, and low rider jeans that exposed her belly piercing.

Groping through the never-world, Ashley found him at last. His back was to her, and she reached out to touch that strong back. "Sam?" she breathed, her voice coming to him like the wind that kissed his ear.

"Huh?"

Sam turned, not sure what was happening. "Hello? Do I know you?" She was pretty, that was for sure, and he moved uneasily, worried that his waking hard-on would be too obvious and scare her. He felt, rather than saw her come to sit down with him.

"I've been looking for you," she murmured, lowering her eyelashes demurely. "I've got a lot to tell you."

"What do you mean?" Sam's forehead creased as he frowned at her. "How do you know me? What do you have to tell me?"

"So much," she said. "I've been dreaming about you for a long time, Sam." She placed her hand upon his chest, and a tingling sensation passed between the two of them. She gazed into his lovely green eyes, "Sam, it's about your brother. Dean. He needs you to help him in more ways than just saving his life." Reaching up with her other hand, she brushed his hair back from his eyes. "Dean is..." She gave a shrug, "You have to help him. I know you want to, and I can help you. I came to help you."

"Christo," whispered Sam, suddenly aware that this beautiful young woman knew far too much about him and his brother to be anything other than a demon. Her eyes didn't flare red or roll with sudden blackness. "You'd better tell me why you know about me and what you've got to do with my brother, because right now I'm getting really bad vibes about this."

She kept her hand on him. "Sam, since I was little, I've dream-walked. I dream of things, events I know nothing about and then I read about them in the paper, or hear about them later. I dreamed of your family. I didn't even know you, and I couldn't, at the time, talk to you the way I am now, because there was a demon guarding you. But I always knew one day our paths would cross. I can help you save your brother. But you must find me first."

"Find you? Why? Where are you?" Sam looked around himself and suddenly realized that he was asleep, dreaming. "Tell me how I can save Dean. I can't let him give up his life for me. How could I ever live with myself if that happens?"

Ashley leaned in, caressing his cheek, "I won't let you. You'll save your brother. You two have so much more you have to do. Come and find me in New Orleans." She leaned down and kissed him softly.

Blinking, Sam responded to the kiss, a little belatedly. "Wait. Who are you? I don't even know your name. What do we have to do? Where in New Orleans?" He cupped her face with his hands, staring into her eyes as if he could determine her thoughts that way. "You have to give me more information."

He pulled her against him, forgetting for a moment his semi-naked state. "Don't go without telling me what I need to know."

Ashley pressed against Sam, "My name is Ashley, but I don’t have time to tell you right now what you need, because you must go outside, Sam." She leaned in and kissed him again, "Go outside."

***

The dream faded as suddenly as it had come, and Sam awoke, sitting upright, the sweat starting to break on his forehead as he was filled with an uneasy presentiment that there was something he had to do. He stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom, emptied his bladder and rinsed his face, and the words the dream-girl had spoken suddenly rushed back to him. Go outside... He pulled on his jeans and as he did so he became aware of the wind, which was now howling around the building. "Oh, God," he whispered and ran through to the living room, looking for his brother but not finding him.

Dean was nowhere to be seen, and it suddenly became clear to him what she had meant. Go outside...

He couldn't see his brother at first, and felt himself panic. He checked out the Impala, but Dean wasn't sitting inside. Then Sam finally saw him, down on the beach. "Oh, God, Dean!"

Dean had a bottle of beer in one hand, his arms spread as the wind and rain whipped at him, making his jeans cling to him. He was shirtless, and he was laughing. He turned when he thought he heard his name and spotted his brother. "SAMMY! Come to join the fun?" he asked. Water dripped off him, sluicing over his shoulders as more water drenched him.

"Dean?" Sam reached his brother and grabbed for him. "What the hell? Are you trying to get killed?" As he was speaking, there was a huge rolling boom as thunder broke overhead, followed almost instantly by a hiss and flash as lightning drove through the leaden sky. "Jesus, Dean, you have to come in. Don't you know the first thing about thunder storms?" He began to pull at his brother, dragging him towards the stairs. "We need to leave, or we're gonna be in trouble."

Dean jerked his arm away, "I know about storms, and I don't want to go inside. I wanna stay out here." He turned away from Sam.

Behind Sam a woman appeared. She was dressed in white, with blonde hair that flowed over her shoulders, dry and silken despite the lashing rain. She reached out to touch him, "You can't go either," she hissed. Reaching out, she touched Sam, her nails sinking deep into him, agony spreading through him like the lightening flashing above him. She tipped her head towards him.

For a moment, Sam thought it was the girl, Ashley, who'd come through his dreams earlier, but no, it was a different face, older, harder. He screamed in pain and stumbled back. "Jesus! What the hell? It's a white lady."

Dean jerked around, seeing what was attacking his brother. He dropped his beer and rushed over, reaching out to grab Sam and toss him behind as he grabbed a shovel and swung at her. She dissipated in a puff of smoke. "What the hell?" Dean looked back at Sam. "C'mon, you're right." The moment had sobered him up, and he knew he had to get Sam to safety despite his desire to see the storm close up. "We need to get out of here," he yelled. He ran for the house, pulling Sam after him. "We get to the mainland, find out what happened here to cause that, then come back and end it. But we need to get out of here, now!" He was dripping wet as he rushed through the house grabbing things, apparently frantic to get away from Key West.

Sam followed him in, equally wet. He grabbed a towel from the bathroom and toweled his head and shoulders dry, shucking his soaked clothing. "Here, dude. Catch." He flung another towel at Dean and reached for his duffel, dragging out the last of his clean underwear. "Best dry yourself off; you're gonna catch your death, if you aren't careful." He moved swiftly, pulling on fresh jeans and T-shirt, and a hoodie. "We ready?" he asked as Dean laced up his boots.

"What the fuck, we don't have time, hurry up and get in the car," Dean tossed the towel to one side and rushed to grab his bag, making for the door, "Let's move it!" In no time at all, Dean was out at the car, Sam behind him and they were both climbing in. Dean put the key into the ignition and tried to start the car. The Impala coughed, struggling to turn over. "C'mon, baby, start."

The engine choked, coughed again and then died as Dean cursed. "You can't leave." The woman in white appeared again, visible through the rear view mirror as though she were sitting in the back seat.

"Who are you?" Sam was worried now. This had come out of left field, and it seemed to him that there was a reason they'd come to this place. He hoped that Dean would be okay, because he knew that Dean was exhausted and had hoped to rest for just a little while. "Why are you keeping us here? Don't you know that we're in danger from the hurricane?"

Dean looked at Sam, "Have you lost it? Why d'you keep asking her that? Just get her out of the car, so it will start!"

"You can't," she said, reaching out to touch Dean. He felt a sensation like electricity go through him, and he screamed out, jolting in pain. "You won't leave me like before!" Her fingers started to dig into Dean, making him scream louder.

Fumbling under the seat for a canister of rock salt, Sam flung a handful at her and watched her flicker out of sight. He grabbed at Dean, "Try now, bro," he said. "Come on." He rapped the dashboard with his knuckles. "Let's go, car!"

Dean was panting, still hurting where the bitch had touched him. He did his best to start the car again, but it still would not turn over. "Damn it!" He pushed the door open and clambered out with Sam following, and then they were running towards the house and back out of the rain. "That bitch did something to my car. Damn her!" A few more curses flew from Dean's lips as he looked up, and the lights flickered; Dean wasn't sure if that was the ghost or the damn storm. He grimaced at Sam, rubbing the shoulder that was still showing the evidence of being manhandled. "Okay, let’s start looking around, see what we can find out about this woman. Gotta be something here." He headed into the bedroom and began to rummage through the closets.

Sam sighed and booted up his laptop, trusting that there would still be service there, despite the weather. "Looks like we're going to get to experience a hurricane whether we like it or not. Better dry off and get dressed, dude. We're gonna need to stay warm." Muttering to himself, he began to try and find some information about the white lady who was so determined to keep them both there for the duration of the storm.

Dean took off his pants, tossing them away and digging in his bag for another pair, pulling on fresh jeans and tee shirt. "It must have been recent, gotta be," He rummaged through closet after closet and eventually turned up a photo album. Pulling it down off the top shelf, he came over to join Sam, and the two of them began to go through them. The lights flickered and then went off. "There goes the power; want me to kick on the generator?"

"Yeah," nodded Sam. "Sounds like a good plan." He raised his eyes to his brother. "You said it wasn't going to touch the coast. Guess your weather forecasting is just a little sucky." Pulling the album towards him, he started leafing through it. "Looks like someone forgot to take this with them," he murmured. "I was just going through back copies of the Key West Gazette, looking for missing persons, but I think that I'd do better in the Library. Their website sucks rocks."

Dean had gone and started the generator under the covered porch and now he turned on the radio, listening as they said the storm was going to head north once it had given Key West severe storms. He returned to the table and sat down, looking through the album, "Of course it sucks," he muttered. He was looking at the photos now. "Dude, see if you can look this up," he said to Sam as he pulled a photo out, "Earl and Emily Griffin." He held up the photo to his brother as he read the back.

Typing rapidly, Sam began to search local news reports for the names and almost right away came up with a list of hits. "Looks like you nailed our woman in white," murmured Sam. "Apparently she's missing. She disappeared during the big storm a couple of years ago that blew through here. Her husband reported her missing, and nobody's managed to turn her up. It's feared that her body was swept out to sea. The husband hung around for a couple of weeks, then went back home to Chicago."

Leaning in, Dean looked over Sam's shoulder, reading with him. "Well, we can't go to Chicago and talk to him, and we've got no body to burn. I think something is keeping her here. There’s a reason she’s here, and we gotta find another way to put her to rest." He looked at Sam. "In other words, we could very well be screwed."

Neither of them were prepared for the sudden clap of thunder that sounded overhead, and a moment later the lights went out, although they could still hear the ice-maker in the fridge chugging away as they stood together. A moment later, the ghost appeared once more.

Sam looked up at her. "Emily?" he asked her.

"You left me here," said the ghost and reached for him.

Dean threw himself to the side and rolled towards his bag, digging inside to get at the rock salt gun. He rolled again and saw that the woman had nearly reached Sam. "SAM! Get down!" Dean shouted as he lowered the gun and pulled the trigger. Dean watched the blast sail out from the barrel just as Sam dropped, in time for it to strike the ghostly woman, breaking her apart in the salt, sending her away.

Dean scurried over to Sam, "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good," said Sam, a little shaky as he got up from the floor. "Looks like her body's around here somewhere, doesn't it? She's pretty mad about being left behind. I wonder how we're gonna find her."

The lights had come back on as Emily disappeared, and Sam returned to his computer, pulling up more of the reports. "It says here that she went out to watch the storm and vanished. You think that's true? We've only got the husband's word for that."

Dean was reloading the shotgun, "Who knows? Bad enough we have to deal with a passing hurricane, we have this as well, jacking with the lights." He closed the gun with a loud click then looked around. "I say we search the house. She might be in one of these walls or something. Kind of like that creepy chick in Baltimore?" He gave a shrug as he crouched back by his bag, fishing out the home-made EMF detector and showing it to Sam. "Let's start down here, work our way up. If there's nothing here, we might find her outside."

"Good call." Sam took the shotgun and re-loaded it, then gestured to his brother. "Lead on, Dr. Livingston. Let's find this crazy lady and salt the shit out of her."

As Dean set(got) the EMF working, Sam followed behind, darting glances everywhere, waiting for the spirit to manifest itself again. Overhead, the thunder growled and there was the smell of ozone, sharp and coppery as lightning struck close by. Twice he thought he saw her begin to appear, and twice, as he jerked the gun around, she faded.

"Dude? Anything yet?" he asked, hopefully.

Dean moved around the house, going from room to room, looking around. The EMF flickered, the lightning making it jump at times as the air filled with static, but he kept trying, ignoring the spikes. "Nothing here," he said, cursing under his breath as he headed for the stairs to climb to the next level. At the top landing, Dean resumed his scanning, pausing at a window to watch the large surf pound the beach. A flash of lightning lit up the surreal landscape, and it made Dean do a sudden double-take. He thought he saw a figure up on one of the dunes.

Dean called Sam over, pointing out of the window, excited. " Check it out, dude, when the lightening flashes." He gestured out the window towards the rapidly eroding dune. It wasn't long before another flash illuminated the landscape, and Dean saw what looked like a skeleton hand sticking out of the sand. "She's out there!" He said. And wasn't that just great for them? Now they'd have to go out in the storm to put a spirit to rest. "We are gonna be entering the wet T-shirt best body contest. Go get the gas cans; I'll get the salt. Hopefully we can burn her remains around the side of the house, where it's not so windy." He was already hurrying Sam down the stairs.

"Dude, you telling me that we're gonna have to dig her up and carry her corpse over here? That's just fucked," Sam grumbled, and started down, more by feel than vision. The lights had gone out again, and there was a kind of tightness in the air that suggested that something dreadful was going to happen. "Can't we wait til the rain stops a bit?" Sam sounded cranky. "This is my last pair of clean pants. We so need to do laundry."

"Oh, since when has rain ever hurt you? What you think you are? A little girl made all of sugar, gonna melt away? Look, the body is out there. If we don't get her now, she may not be there in the morning. The way things are going she'll likely be washed out to sea, and that means that we could very well be washed up. Now c'mon, stop your whining," Dean tossed the EMF down on the couch and made for the door, keys of the Impala in hand.

Grumbling, Sam followed him out, grabbing one of the shovels and a couple of cans of gasoline from the trunk while Dean took a container of rock salt, the other shovel and the shotgun. The wind howled around them and the sea boiled up over the sand as if reaching towards them to suck them away. Within a couple of minutes they were soaked to the skin.

Reaching the dune where Dean had seen the apparition, they dumped their burdens and started to dig, cutting through the sandy soil easily. "You really think she's here, dude?" asked Sam as the lightning flickered again.

Dean said nothing, merely digging, water in his eyes, in his ears, pretty much everywhere it could go. His clothing stuck to him along with the sand. He looked up, about to answer Sam when he struck something. Dean looked down as his shovel uncovered a skull. "Answer your question?" he asked, tossing the shovel aside and starting to dig with his hands, getting to the rest of the body. He looked up at Sam, eyes squinting in the rain, and then reached down and pulled her up, motioning for Sam to get the rest of their things.

Stumbling, nearly falling several times on the way, Dean got the body around to the side of the house where it was more sheltered from the wind. He dumped her onto the ground, opened the gas can, and as Sam sprinkled her with salt, he set the gas to work. He searched his pocket for his Zippo, pulling it out, looking at Sam with a smirk. "Hope this works," he growled as he set the bones ablaze, backing up as the remains fizzed and then flared into flame.

"I guess the best way to find out if it worked is to try and start the car," murmured Sam, watching as the flames sizzled and danced despite the foul weather. "If the car starts, we've laid her to rest, and if it doesn't, I guess we go dig some more." He jumped as lightning zapped across the sky again, and the thunder crashed loudly. "Dude, we need to get indoors, because if one of those hits us, we'll fry along with Emily there."

Water dripped off Dean, and he turned to look up at Sam, jumping at the thunder along with him. He nodded. "We'd better get inside. I don't think we can drive on these roads anyway." He pushed Sam toward the stairs and up to the first level and the back door. Thank goodness they were on the lee side of the island, or the surf would be reaching the car with the surge of the tide.

Dean stood dripping wet... again. This was not how he'd expected things to go.

"That was unpleasant," growled Sam, who was not only soaked and covered in sand, but who also had black smoke smuts on his face from standing too close to the fire. "I'm going to shower and wash this shit off me and then I'm going to drink beer." He tossed his soaked T-shirt into the corner of the room and followed it with his soggy jeans and underwear. Once he was naked, he made his way to the bathroom and into the shower, groaning happily as the hot water massaged his aching shoulders.

Dean wiped his hand over his face, bringing it away full of black soot as well. He would have to wait his turn for the shower, and he watched Sam strip, those muscles moving as he dragged his T-shirt over his head. He could feel his gut tighten with something he knew he shouldn't feel for his brother and licked his lips, "Leave me some hot water," he shouted after his brother in what he hoped was a nonchalant attitude(tone).

As Sam walked away, Dean turned away, running his hand through his short hair. He was so not gonna risk taking his own jeans off. He feared if he sat there, listening and waiting his turn, Sam would come out and be disgusted by his hard-on, not knowing that he was the cause of it. God, what would his father think of him?

It didn't take long for Sam to emerge, clean and damp. He fumbled through his kit looking for something to wear and finally dragged out a pair of sweats and pulled them on. Heading out to find his brother, he pulled a T-shirt over his head and raised a hand in greeting. "Dude, you're as black as the hubs of hell. Go get clean; that shower is awesome. I feel like a new man."

Dean was standing by the window, looking out as the rain began to lighten up. The clouds were getting lighter, drawing away from the earth and losing the leaden tint that had been there at the height of the storm. The ocean was still pounding the shoreline, but it was clear the hurricane was passing well away from them, and they were merely catching the outstretched bands of weather surrounding it. Dean could see the woman's remains outside, no longer smoldering now. They would have to bury her as soon as they could. That was Sam's way. His little brother had always felt the need to put them to rest at last.

Dean turned his head when he heard Sam, "You'd better have left me some hot water," he murmured, moving past his brother, pulling at his pants so Sam couldn't see the partial hard-on he was sporting. Unlike his brother, Dean stripped in the bathroom, dropping wet clothing on the floor before venturing into the shower. The hot water was perfect, and soon he saw the black soot drip down his body onto the white of the tub. He closed his eyes as the hot water caressed his back and sent streams down over his chest.

With eyes closed, Dean tried very hard not to think of his brother, but Sam's well formed body kept rising unbidden to taunt his imagination with the way his muscles moved, his dark, tousled hair, and Dean could just picture looking down at him as those perfect lips surrounded his cock. Now his cock was hard - hard and aching. Dean couldn't help but grab for the soap, lathering his hand up and slowly curling it around his shaft. He gave a little moan, biting his bottom lip to keep more sounds from escaping, and his hand moved with knowing care.

His fingers moved down to his sac, caressing and giving a little squeeze to make his hips jolt. He had to place a hand upon the tile to keep from falling over as he started stroking himself. His cock was stiff, aching and seeping. He knew exactly where to rub his thumb, drawing it along the thick vein up to the ridge, running it around the crown and pressing at the eye of it, which made him shiver. His teeth bit hard into his lips; he swore he could taste the salty tang of blood.

Pressing his back against the tile while the water hit his chest and cascaded down, Dean stroked himself to pleasure. He pictured his brother kissing him, caressing him, taking his cock into that wide, perfect mouth and soaking it with the slick wetness within. He could feel his breathing getting labored, and he fought harder not to cry out, especially when he pictured himself taking his brother from behind, pushing him against a wall or shoving his face down in a pillow as he fucked him.

His legs shook so badly, Dean felt as if he was going to fall. The water felt cool upon his heated body as he tightened up, every part of him tensing, before he splattered into his hand. His cum mixed with water as he milked his seed to be washed away.

Drained at last, Dean slumped. His head felt light, and his skin felt flushed. Washing himself off, Dean groaned. He knew that he shouldn't think about Sam like that. His father would hurt him for doing so, but his father had been the one who'd pushed them together. How could he not have expected this?

God, what had happened to him? Dean could feel his life getting darker. More so, it seemed, with each passing day.

Finally emerging, towel around his waist, feeling safe that his erection was spent and not likely to show, Dean went to his bag and dug out his clothing. "Got something to eat?" he called out to his brother.

There was no immediate answer. Sam lay on the couch, the length of him stretched out on his back, feet hanging over one side, and it was obvious that he was having a dream. His cock stood proud, tenting the front of the loose sweat pants he wore, and his hips were working, shuddering as he pushed them up, seeking friction, his head rolling back and forth on the arm of the couch.