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Sam was certain he'd died during that tussle with Jake, despite Dean's protestations to the contrary. That look of pure shock, then utter heartache on Bobby's face when seeing him up and around again, said it all.
He also felt like he'd been somewhere far away, even though his recovery hadn't taken long. And that ever present feeling of having missed Dean so badly his heart ached like it would crack if he couldn't hold him for days on end.
"Whatever. Keep looking at me like that, I just might have to pull over and find a motel for the night. We don't have the cash for it until we get into Missoula first, then see about a few more credit cards."
Dean's aura was pulsating, the way it made those forests of green shine, had Sam's heart going pitter patter like a teenager, pining for him all over again. Sam laughed, but kept himself on lock down for the rest of the drive.
"Family claims the activity started the night after Old Man Metzger died. His rare stamp collection books, apparently worth a pretty penny, are constantly pulled out and scattered around the house and front porch. His eight year old great grandson even awakened to one of the books floating over his bed, flapping open and closed like bird's wings, it scared the crap out of him," Sam read aloud from the article on his laptop hours later while driving through Missoula.
"I'll bet," Dean concurred, as he pulled into Dix Motor Lodge.
When settling in their room, of course Dean gasped, "and there was only one bed!" like the occurrence hadn't happened a hundred times or more to them in the past.
He dumped their bangs in the closet, hopped on the bed and within five minutes Sam heard him snoring like a chainsaw had been ripped to life. Sam took that chance to thoroughly examine him without Dean's incessant pestering over how much he was ogling.
Admittedly, ever since he'd recovered from this mystery injury, it was odd how he'd been seeing a band of colors around people. It was neither constant, nor always strong, but it was new.
Eventually, Sam clocked in some shut eye, the chilly October spent prowling around marble orchards wasn't fun. When they awakened, they grabbed warmer work clothes for the night and stopped at a Taco Hell drive thru, for which Sam gave him every reason to roll the window down and complain, then pulled into the decrepit cemetery.
Sam had hacked into the property's directory earlier that day, so he pointed Dean to the back east section where a row of rather ornate headstones greeted them. Collecting their flashlights, they hauled their shovels, lighters, and bulk sized container of good ol' Morton's ionized, then shoved off.
Several minutes later they stumbled across a large headstone adorned with a nimbus, halo-like ring around the top of the cross. The headstone bore the name of one Jedidiah Metzger born 1919 and died 2006. Dean plunged the shovel downward into the undisturbed dirt twice, each at a different angle before huffing, "X marks the spot."
The moon had climbed quite high by the time they hit the wood of a casket. Dean had had a musical bug up his butt, whistling while he worked so when Sam felt the familiar 'thwunk' with his shovel, he let his concerns for the time being, drift away and comically hummed Toccata in Fugue under a most glorious harvest moon.
Dean looked at him like he'd grown a few sets of antlers. "Dude what is with you lately?"
Sam noticed the green band pulsate around Dean, then flicker a few shades paler. Smiling, he confessed, "I've been seeing people's auras lately, not sure why. But yours is indicating the desire to unite with others right now."
"Unite? I'd like to not be in a beetle infested dirt hole freezing my balls off, not sure how you're getting a 'desire to unite' vibe from me. What color is it?" He wondered, with delayed curiosity.
"Green," Sam impishly replied, slinging the last chunk of dirt up and over his shoulder.
He watched Dean trying to pry open the coffin and stepped back, bracing himself against the dirt wall.
"What shade of green?" He prodded Sam a little further.
If Dean could just see how his aura was glowing like a-
"Green M & M," Sam stifled a giggle.
A Wile E. Coyote grin plastered itself across Dean's face when angling himself right into Sam's space. "Makes sense cause I'm horny all the time."
"Does sound like you," Sam answered, his youthful hormones beginning to fire up.
"I mean, sure this guy's dead and all, but uh.." Dean quieted to an almost whisper, "He ain't exactly the stiff one right about now."
Sam felt his brother grab his hand and place it over the sinful tent in the front of his Levi's. He knew what came next and was definitely on board.
"Finish this up, I don't wanna get dirt and bugs up our asses," Sam urged his brother before palming that delectable bulge.
"You're really gonna make me work up a sweat like that tonight, huh?" Dean asked in minor frustration. But more than anything, he galvanized at the prospect he'd be getting some.
"Technically twice, because after the sweat, I'm gonna work up the stiff," Sam smirked, kissing Dean's pumps lips, giving the bottom half a quick bite.
"See Sam? Normal people don't know what they're missing out on. A graveyard in the moonlight, pawing around on some dead guy may not sound romantic to some, but for you and me..this right here's date night."
Dean didn't even question how or why Sam was now reading auras, but he soon would. For tonight though, Sam just appreciated the spooktacular ambiance of some boneyard bliss under a harvest moon with his favorite person in this life and the next.