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04 March 2007 @ 09:06 pm
Graveyard Shift, a Supernatural fic  
Title:  Graveyard Shift
Author:  bardicvoice
Rating:  G
Word Count: ~900
Summary:  What impression might an outsider get of the Winchester brothers on a salt-and-burn mission?
Spoilers:  None

If this story sounds familiar, well, it might be: as of July 28, 2008, I'm bringing over to LJ the stories I originally published over on fanfiction.net, just to make them easier to find.

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Graveyard Shift
Copyright 2007, Bardicvoice
 
 
Freakin’ huge, man.
 
What? Honest first impressions, that’s what you said. That’s what I’m givin’ you. You want somethin’ different, you should’a said so.
 
Okay, okay, fine. Start at the beginnin’. Right. So, I’m a night watchman, okay? Didn’t used to be much of a problem. I mean, always had some hooligans would mess around with the headstones an’ such, an’ some of ‘em were mean, but mostly it’s just kids. Past few years, got more of ‘em, ‘cause of those dumb-ass television shows, you know? The vampire stuff? Used to be it was just ‘round Halloween, now it’s all year round. Jeez. Kids come to scare the crap out’a each other.
 
Right. Sorry. Anyway, so it’s what, about two in the morning, I hear this noise. Knew right off it would be trouble. Ain’t nobody belongs here would drive some bad-ass muscle car with an engine like that. Couldn’t rightly place where it was straight off, though. They wasn’t usin’ headlights, an’ sound bounces all over, what with the trees an’ the mausoleum an’ all. I just knew they’d stopped somewhere inside the fence, so I went lookin’.
 
After a bit, I heard shovels. Made me mad. You don’t screw around with graves, man. Ain’t respectful. I get a bit closer, an’ I see these two guys diggin’. Looked like they’d done it a lot. Real practiced, if you know what I mean. Hell, the guys workin’ here ain’t even that good. Use backhoes these days. Anyway, these two were really puttin’ their backs into it, an’ bitchin’ at each other the whole time, too, ‘bout how one of ‘em should’a caught on faster, or somethin’. Didn’t make any kind’a sense, you ask me. They was talkin’ crap about spirits like they meant it. Crazy talk.
 
Anyway, I figured I’d better call the cops on this one. Kids, I can deal with, but these two? Like I said, one of ‘em was freakin’ huge. I mean, he could probably stand next to Shaq an’ still look normal, you get my drift? The other one just looked hard. Military, you know? Moved like a S.E.A.L. or somethin’. An’ then I saw what was on the ground next to ‘em. Weapons, man. A sawed-off shotty, couple of pistols, gas can. An’ I swear to God, a bag of salt. I mean, what the hell?
 
So I start backin’ up, but I must’a made some kind’a noise, ‘cause all of a sudden the big one’s comin’ at me like a freakin’ freight train, an’ the other one’s rollin’ up out’a the grave and grabbin’ the shotty like he’s in some action movie, yellin’ somethin’ ‘bout a ghost. Next thing I know, the big one’s tackled me right down, an’ the other guy puts a couple rounds right over my head. That close, it’s like Judgment Day, goin’ off in my ears. Couldn’t hear a thing for a bit. Thought for a second I saw a flash of somethin’ there, somethin’ white, an’ it felt kind’a cold, but it was probably just my head hittin’ the ground, makin’ me lose it for a bit.
 
Anyway, I come to, an’ the big one’s tyin’ me up. An’ get this – he’s apologizin’ to me while he’s doin’ it. Ain’t that enough to beat all? The other one’s dumpin’ salt an’ gas in the grave, an’ then he lights it off, casual as you please. He stands there like it’s some kind’a marshmallow roast, or somethin’. Since I got nothin’ else I can do, I take a good look at both of ‘em, an’ I see they both look like they was in a fight. I mean, the hard one’s got a split lip and blood on his ear, and the big guy’s got a shiner comin’ up on his left eye. But once they got me tied up and the grave burnt, well, they was just as polite as you please. Seemed kind’a embarrassed about it all, tyin’ me up, I mean. Then what do they do, but fill in the grave again, once the fire goes out, and neaten up the place. I mean, they freakin’ laid the sod back down, man! It’s like they didn’t want to leave any trace behind, except for me. Funny, after all that, but it was like – it was like they had respect, you know? Even though they dug somebody up an’ burned him – her, whatever – after, they acted like, like … like it was a funeral again, maybe.
 
So that’s what happened. They picked up all their stuff an’ put it in their car – black job, somethin’ old, but with a real sweet set of chrome wheels on it. Classic, you know? The hard one said somethin’ ‘bout gettin’ a beer. The big one patted me on the shoulder an’ said they’d call the cops to find me, an’ he apologized again for hittin’ me so hard an’ tyin’ me up.
 
An’ I guess they must’a called you, ‘cause you got here maybe thirty minutes after they left.
 
Nah, there’s nothin’ else. Mug books? Yeah, I guess I could do that. They didn’t sound like they was from around here, though. Where? Don’t know where. Just – not here, is all. But I’ll look.
 
Freakin’ weird night, man. I gotta get me a different job, that’s all I can say.
 
Freakin’ weird.


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Comments are love and much happiness.
 
 
Current Mood: amusedamused
Current Music: "Ramblin' Man" by the Allman Brothers Band
 
 
 
(Deleted comment)
bardicvoice: Boys toysbardicvoice on September 3rd, 2008 02:56 am (UTC)
Thank you! I'm delighted that you enjoyed it, and hope you might choose to visit some of my other maunderings as well!

I heard this guy's voice drawling in my head with the opening few lines, and knew that I absolutely had to write this, if only to shut him up! *grin*

And your icon is so perfectly and hilariously appropriate for this ...