Beta: LivingForTV

Unimpressive

Chapter Two: How to do a Salt and Burn (properly)

The day's construction workers had done their jobs well, and a large open pit was exposed in the middle of the yard. The dirt was cold and hard, awaiting purpose. Melvin happily tossed the Winchesters into the pit. He looked around and cursed as he realized he had forgotten the lighter fluid.

Fuming, he stalked around the campsite as he searched for something combustible. Dean groaned and started to wake up. His noises alerted Melvin to yet another delay in his scheme. Stomping back over to the pit, he grabbed some rope and tied the Winchesters together before they were fully free of his temporary influence.

Satisfied with his work, Melvin resumed his search. Behind him, he could hear them stirring but he didn't think they could do much at the moment. Alive or dead, Melvin often made incorrect assumptions.

Sam stirred as Dean prodded him with his elbow. They were tied back to back in the middle of the pit. "Hey! Psychic wonder!" Dean hissed. "Get up!"

"Erm?" Sam blinked his eyes tiredly as he mumbled. "Was goin' on?"

"We're having a fucking tea party!" Dean growled. "What the hell do you think?"

Sam tried to turn to face Dean, but reality set into his dazed senses. He felt the rope cutting into his wrists. "Melvin." He said darkly.

"Exactly." Dean snapped. "Now use your freaky psychic powers and get these ropes free!"

"It doesn't work like that!" Sam said indignantly as his voice got louder.

"Great." Dean rolled his eyes. "Of all the psychics I could have gotten tied up with, I get tied up with the useless one. Any other ideas, Miss Cleo?"

Sam jerked forward, just to upset Dean's balance. "You could think of something too, you know."

As Dean opened his mouth to retort, Melvin came back and with a large red can of lighter fluid. As he unscrewed the cap, Sam cleared his throat loudly. Melvin looked up. "Oh, you guys are awake. Just in time."

"Uh, for what?" Sam looked up at Melvin. "You said you were going to tell us about the yellow eyed demon."

"After the prank." Melvin winked as the cap came free.

"What kind of prank?" Sam asked as he looked around nervously. Dean thought he already knew, and he dreaded to hear it said out loud.

"Well," Melvin explained patiently, "You guys are always doing salt and burns so I thought I'd salt and burn you!"

Melvin picked up the box of salt he had brought and shook it with a smile.

"Amateur." Dean coughed and turned his head away from the ghost's glare.

"Shut up!" Sam hissed.

"What was that?" Melvin glared.

Dean started to whistle as he looked up. "Hrm?"

"What did you say?" Melvin looked at him strangely.

"I said you're an amateur." Dean huffed. "I mean, really? A salt and burn?"

"I think it's rather clever." Melvin said crossing his arms over his chest.

Dean laughed. "Alright if you say so." He looked over at his shoulder at Sam. "Can you believe it Sam? He thinks that it's clever?"

Sam laughed nervously. Despite the fact that he didn't know entirely what his brother was planning, he went along with it. "Yeah, doesn't compare to what you've done to me."

Dean nodded knowingly. He looked back up at Melvin. "But it's your prank. I just thought you would want to do it right."

Melvin was pouring lighter fluid down the side of the pit. He stopped and looked up. "What do you mean?"

"Have you ever actually done a salt and burn?" Dean asked seriously.

"No." Melvin said warily.

Sam huffed. "Amateur."

"Everyone knows you don't burn the body first." Dean said slowly as if he was explaining the facts to a small child. "You dig the pit, start the fire and then…"

"Only then." Sam emphasized as he started to understand Dean's plan.

Dean carried on as if he hadn't been interrupted at all, "You throw the bones into the pit." Dean looked around the pit. "And it looks to me, like you got a little over eager here."

"Dean," Sam said casually, "if you were trying to impress someone do you think it would work if you got the tricks wrong? Twice?"

Dean paused as if he was seriously considering it. "No, Sam." He looked up at Melvin. "Not. At. All."

Melvin glared at them. As much as he hated to admit it, they were probably right. He was not, however, going to give the smug bastards the satisfaction of knowing they were right. "Not that I believe you," Melvin snarled, "I'm going to take you out of the pit so I can tell you about Yellow Eyes. That'll give me enough time to get a fire going."

"Good idea." Dean said sarcastically.

"If you untie us, we'll walk out." Sam tried helpfully.

"Shut up." Melvin snapped, shaking his finger warningly. "Just be quiet. You wouldn't understand how it feels to be under appreciated. If you knew, you'd understand why this has to be done right!"

Dean thought he understood, but there was no way he'd go on a killing spree just to get people's respect. Even with Dad's standing order to kill Sam, Dean wouldn't dream of doing it. He stayed silent as Melvin grabbed them by their elbows and dragged them to the top of the pit. Melvin threw the lighter fluid into the pit. "I think that's enough." He muttered to himself.

Whenever he looked over at the Winchesters for help they chimed in with as many suggestions they could muster. They patiently explained it as clearly as they could to Melvin, but often had to argue amongst themselves to get it right. Melvin listened as best he could to their stalling tactic. Lastly, Melvin liberally threw salt into the pit. Brushing dirt off his hands on his pants, Melvin smiled proudly. "Shit," he snapped, "I forgot my lighter."

Sam, who had been using a knife in the sleeve of his shirt to cut away at the rope for the past hour, froze his actions. "We can wait here while you go get one from our room."

Melvin rolled his eyes. "I'm not moron. I know that one," he pointed at Dean, "has a lighter on him."

Dean looked up and shook his head. "Nope."

Melvin reached over and touched Dean's pockets. He withdrew the silver lighter with a smile. "That's what I thought."

Melvin flicked the lighter open and shut as he played with the flame. Dean hung his head low and swore. Sam grunted and worked the knife faster, cutting rope and skin.

"See, here's the thing." Melvin spoke as he appeared and disappeared around the circle of the pit. "Yellow Eyes? Got something bigger planned than a bunch of psychics." Melvin continued to toy with the lighter as he decided on the best place to throw it in. "And you know how I know? 'Cause it's the one thing that doesn't get spread around the spirits for to gossip about. So I really don't give a shit. I just want ghosts to treat as more than a spirit to walk through."

Melvin smiled. "And now I'm gonna get it." He threw the open lighter into the pit, and the flame danced in the glass of his spectacles.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Mr. Owens was an exceptionally good at his job as the Motel Owner. One of his outstanding qualities was his curiosity that pushed him to know everything. The repeat customers were constantly amazed at his ability to recognize them and tiny details about their lives they had mentioned off handedly.

No matter what, Mr. Owens liked to know.

It was three am when he stepped outside. The newspaper delivery man would be there any minute, with a stack of one hundred fresh new papers. Mr. Owens considered it the best part of his night, when he got to walk around his motel and place a newspaper in front of each guest's door. Admittedly, a little boring, but it kept him awake when he worked night shift.

Tonight, as he waited he looked over in the distance. He stared at the construction site and wondered if a boutique would be good for business. Mr. Owens adjusted his horn rimmed glasses as he glimpsed a flash of orange. He blinked to clear his vision. But as he looked again, he noticed that a fire was indeed going. Mr. Owens took a step towards that general direction but froze as he heard a truck pull up.

"Good morning." The newspaper man said as he opened his door.

Mr. Owens took the paper as politely as possible and kept the conversation short. He set down the papers inside, made sure the safe was locked, and adjusted a sign that said: Thank You for Your Patience: I'll be right back.

Mr. Owens crossed the space quickly as he went to discover what happened.

He had to know.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Melvin looked at the blaze and smiled triumphantly. He turned to look at the Winchesters, expecting some sort of recognition or applause. He caught himself and shook his head; they weren't ready to appreciate the beauty of what he'd begun. Melvin wasn't done yet.

Rivulets of blood trickled down Sam's and Dean's wrists as Sam's blade repeatedly slipped. They ignored the pain and tried to move faster to free themselves of the ropes. Just as the rope seemed close to snapping, Melvin marched over. "Now," Melvin glared at Dean, "Do you salt and burn bodies one at a time or can I do two?"

"One." Dean said looking up with a forced smile. "I'll go first if you want."

Melvin shook his head. "Actually…"

"What the devil is going on here?" Mr. Owens yelled as he approached the roaring fire. "You construction people don't even know your own work code! You know perfectly well that you can't have open fi-"

Mr. Owens froze as noticed Sam and Dean tied together at the edge of the pit. "And kidnapping's illegal, too." He added weakly.

Melvin fumed. "I'm sick of interruptions."

He marched forward and dragged the stuttering hotel owner by the shirt collar. "You can go first."

"Me?" Mr. Owens stammered. "But I don't even know what's going on!"

Melvin jabbed his finger at the man's broad chest. "Don't pretend you don't know. I told you not to rent out 113! That's my fucking room to haunt."

Sam grunted and with a last tug, the ropes slipped off his and Dean's wrists. Dean kicked out his leg, and Mr. Owens fell flat to the ground. Melvin lost his grip on Mr. Owens and rationality. He was absolutely livid. Dean dove away from the ghost to get the open salt box.

Mr. Owens was struggling to get up as Melvin pushed him aside to get to Dean. Mr. Owens was thrown to the floor and his horn rimmed glasses flew off his face. They skittered across the ground and landed inside the pit. The last earthly remnants of Melvin Harbunkle were promptly lit on fire. Despite the Melvin's protesting, he was finally free of Earth and sent to a higher realm.

Sam and Dean watched the fire in the pit extinguish. Mr. Owens looked over the pit, flabbergasted.

"You owe me five bucks buddy!" Mr. Owens snapped, pushing himself to his feet. He hastily brushed dirt from his shirt as he attempted to regain his official tone. "I don't know what stunt you were pulling out here but those glasses were antiques!"

Dean rolled his eyes. If only motel owners knew what his job was, maybe he could get the room compensated more often. "Sure," Sam wheezed. "We'll drop something off at the front desk in the morning."

Mr. Owens glared and wondered if he should ask what had happened. But for some reason, his thirst for knowledge was gone, and all he wanted was a chaser of this-cannot-be-real.

He stormed off as Dean helped Sam shakily to his feet. "Amateur?" Sam huffed. "That's what's you come up with?"

Dean smirked and gestured at his mostly unscathed self. "We're here aren't we? That wasn't so bad."

"No." Sam looked over at the empty pit and back at Dean. "It wasn't." He bent down and tossed Dean one of their shovels that Melvin had taken. "But it's not the worst to come, is it?"

Dean grabbed his duffle and hefted it. "Sam, I told you—whatever it is that Yellow Eyes has planned, we'll take care of it."

Sam looked up at him. "Whatever it is, it scared a ghost Dean."

"It wasn't a very impressive ghost," Dean pointed out with a smile.

Sam nodded, and begrudgingly smiled as well. "Y'know, it'd be nice if all our ghosts were that moronic."

Dean nodded as they continued to walk towards their room. "I wish."

What a peculiar phrase, I wish. Dean Winchester didn't really realize what he was saying. I wish. Once upon a time, Melvin had wished the school bullies would leave him alone. They killed him. His luck hadn't gotten any better, and his wishes had never been granted. It just goes to show that, wishing is useless, and—

This isn't a fairy tale.

.:the end:.