On our anniversary
27. On our anniversary
“What is the thirtieth anniversary?” Dean asked his brother as they both sat in a dark corner of the living room of America’s most haunted house. It would probably be a bust, but at their age they figured the young ones should have a chance. Not that that didn’t mean they wouldn’t kick said young ones’ asses should the need arise.
“Well silver is twenty-five.” Sam provided, staring down at the GD Mark 5 in his hand.
Granted the little device wasn’t the latest standard in the ghost hunting business, but Dean and Sam had designed and put her together themselves, so there was a bit of nostalgic attachment going on there.
“I know that, bitch.” Dean sniped. “I’m asking about 30. Our anniversary is coming up and I need to get an appropriate gift.”
“I thought you got Buffy weapons.” Sam offered distractedly, there was something setting off the GD.
“Well, it gets kinda old, you know. And she already has so many, that we are going to have to expand the weapons cabinet soon. There are only so many ninja stars a man can give his wife before she starts mentioning about how other women get jewellery for their anniversaries."
“Hmm.” Was Sam’s only response.
“Hmmm? Is that all you gotta say?”
“What?” Sam tuned back in to what his brother was saying.
“Honestly, can you keep your head in the game for just one minute. Swear to God, around fifty years we’ve been doing this shit and you zone out on me.”
“Ghost, Dean! Duck!”
Dean turned just in time to see an axe come flying at his head and pass through harmlessly. Good thing too, because if he died on this job, Buffy would never let him hear the end of it.
“Right, now it’s on.” He snarled, readying his shotgun.
The next few minutes were rather busy and, well, tedious to be honest. This particular ghost hadn’t really got the hang of manipulating things on a physical level so resorted to scaring people to death. That had worked just fine until Dean and Sam came along, who had pretty much seen everything already. The bones were found, salted and burned with a minimum of fuss and a maximum of efficiency.
“Why does it matter what kind of anniversary this is, Dean?”
“Cause thirty is a big deal, dimwit. Look at the party you and Dawn threw for your twenty-fifth two years ago.”
“Yeah, but that’s silver, pretty big deal.”
“In our trade any anniversary is a big deal, Sammie.”
“So take her on a road-trip like you guys have been yammering on about ever since you came back from your honeymoon. And don’t call me Sammie. I’m 54.”
Dean laughed. “I’ll call you Sammie when we’re both chasing ghosts on rocket-propelled Zimmer frames. The road-trip’s a good idea. You think you can rustle me up another one of those notebooks full of fuglies to kill?”
“How about an integrated navigation system, monsters included?”