Desert Sunset

The sun is setting and it's soft, warm rays bathe the dessert floor with stripes of gold and bronze. Sam is almost finished filling in the grave and the familiar smell of burnt bones is redolent in the dry air.

He pauses, slightly winded as he leans against the long-handled shovel and squints at his brother through the evening shimmer. Sweat stains his filthy grey t-shirt and he rubs a dust-covered forearm over his brow making rivulets that trickle and tickle his nose.

"How ya doing, Dean?"

He looks down to where the older man sits on the parched earth, swaying gently as if a non-existent breeze is blowing on him. His long, if slightly bowed legs, are extended before him and he is using his right hand to absently sweep the silky dust over the torn denim of his old jeans, almost like he is trying to bury himself alongside the long-dead bones.

His left arm is held into his body, his wrist discolored and clearly broken and a lump the size of a duck-egg is starting to bruise his brow.

"'M'good...S'mmy..."

He smiles up at his brother; a lop-sided, slightly concussed, impossible-not-to-love smile that defies anyone not to return it. So Sam does.

"What you digging for?"

The younger man's voice is hoarse as he thankfully nudges the last remaining shovels of arid earth over the bones. He stretches then, muscles bunching as he works the kinks out of his back. Job done, he jabs the shovel into the soft earth and moves the few steps to crouch down before his wobbly sibling. Dean's unfocussed green eyes weave to his.

"Not sure, S...am." He shakes his head a little but stops quickly, putting his good hand to his temple. "Oooo...". He sighs in pain and Sam notes he is pale in the golden light.

"You feel sick?" Sam's hand rests on Dean's shoulder, steadying him.

"Nope, Sam. P...peachy!" The older man's response is emphatic but Sam note's that every one of Dean's freckles is obvious against his increasing pallor and that rarely bodes well.

"You ready to go then?" Sam shoulders their duffle and stands to his full height causing Dean to resume his sway as he leans back to follow his giant sibling's rise.

"We not going for a swim then?" The older man looks around him, as if searching for something.

"Swim?" Sam shakes his head, not understanding his brother's chain of thought and Dean

huffs out a breath, frustrated at his college-boy, sibling's apparent lack of smarts.

By way of explanation he lifts his arm to point but the movement makes him gasp softly and he settles for jutting his chin toward the distant, heat-hazy horizon. "When the tide comes in...I thought we could go swimming..."

Sam shakes his head and crouches down again so he is on eye-line. "We're not at the beach, Dean." He explains patiently.

"Aren't we?" Disappointment rings in the injured man's slightly slurred response as he unconsciously pulls his swollen arm in closer to his body.

"No, we're in the desert. Remember? We came to find the grave, to salt and burn..." Sam pauses, seeing only confusion in the dilated green eyes and reminding himself Dean's memory is not at it's best just now.

"How 'bout we just go, get you some tylenol for your arm?"

Dean sleepy eyes look down at his cradled wrist, pain written all over his suddenly young face. "Hurts, S...Sam..." The slurring is worse and Sam nods sympathetically.

"I know."

Sam stands again and reaches down to Dean, taking him by his good hand and the other shoulder, pulling him carefully to his cotton-wool feet. Dean leans against him.

"Let's go home." His voice is soft, like the shush of the susurrating sand and slowly they make their way through the warm evening to the Impala.

To their home.

The end