Mouthwatering: Part VI

[musicalluna]

Title: Mouthwatering: Part VI
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: MusicalLuna
Rating: T
Characters/Pairings: Sam, Dean
Genre: Horror, Suspense
Warnings: Creepy.
Complete: Yes
Summary: Sam and Dean find themselves in a dank underground prison in the clutches of a creature that wants more than just a taste of them.
A/N: I started this for Skysalla in chat one night. Then a month later, I added some more. And then a little more. And then suddenly it needed to be a real story. In the end, it got what it wanted.
Disclaimer: I don't own either Sam or Dean, tragically. I do own the creature-feature of this fic, however. :)

 Note: This takes place somewhere in season one or two, where in particular is up to you.

The back “yard” of the plantation is even more expansive than the front. There's one enormous old weeping willow in the center around wide spaces of the same calf-high grass from the front yard. The entire thing is ringed by bayou, trees with extruding roots crowding close together in waterlogged soil.

 

“Ah ha!” Dean crows triumphantly, pointing to their left where an old wooden shack is hunched down. A long handle is propped next to it's door, head hidden by the long grass.

 

“You don't know that's an ax,” Sam says, skeptical because if it is an ax, the odds that it's going to work are--

 

Dean grabs the handle and pulls out the--ax.

Sam shakes his head and sighs. It's like Dean has a homing beacon for weapons. He's irresistibly drawn to them, no matter where they are.

The ax head clangs noisily against the iron poker already in Dean's hand.

Both he and Dean wince. Up till now they've managed to be fairly quiet. "Guess now's as good a time as any to ring the dinner bell," Dean mutters.

"You think it's already after us?" Sam asks, eyes sweeping around the yard.

"I figure we been out almost three hours, give or take. That, plus the hour and a half or so we were inside means it's been maybe five hours since it fed last. Now, I know I'm not totally reliable right now, but I think it was about that long the last time, too." He glances over at Sam for confirmation and Sam shrugs.

"Yeah, about that."

 

“So she should be coming back for a snack that isn't there pretty soon. I doubt it'll take her long to figure out where we went.”

 

Sam murmurs an agreement, but he's distracted. Something suddenly feels off. He frowns, eyes scanning the quiet ring of trees. It looks the same; a light breeze rustles the grass and the tendrils of the weeping willow flutter gently. But something...

 

Then it hits him.

The frogs and crickets have gone silent.

Sam's breath catches in his throat. "Dea--"

Behind him, Dean lets out a cry that's half-expletive, half-scream and Sam snaps back around, horror bubbling up in his chest.

Dean's own fingers are wrapped in a crushing grip around his wounded hand. The creature looks exactly like his brother now. A little younger, a little paler, and still with that disturbing hint of Sam's nose, but otherwise a perfect likeness. He's dressed in in a tattered old white tunic and breeches that Sam guesses the creature found somewhere in the house or in the tunnels.

 

Dean lets out a panting noise of pure agony, his face bleached white.

"Dean!"

Sam hobbles forward, knowing he has to help his brother, even if he doesn't know how.

Dean has fought with worse though, and Sam sees it the second he manages to regroup. Color floods into his cheeks and his teeth grit together. The iron poker and the ax still in his hand swing up, ramming longside into the monster's head with a clanging sound that hurts Sam's ears.

The creature howls and loses it's grip on Dean's hand. He immediately stumbles away, flapping his hand at Sam. “Go, go!” he barks.

 

Sam does. Moving so quickly hurts so bad he thinks he may have gouged open the flesh under his arm, but he goes anyway, hoping Dean has some kind of a plan. They're plowing through the hanging tendrils of the weeping willow when Dean snarls and shouts, “Get off of me, you son of a--”

 

The loud whoomph of bodies hitting the ground follows and then Dean screams again.

 

Sam turns back and hurls himself at them, barely visible in the long grass. “Get off of him!” he yells. He slams into the creature like a linebacker, but its teeth are already firmly embedded in the muscle of Dean's shoulder. He's thrashing around, cheeks flushed red and standing out starkly against the deathly pallor of his face. Sam shoves and shoves, but it's no use. It's like trying to move a boulder.

 

Dean's struggling weakens, flailing arms reduced to twitching, then his eyes roll back in his head and he goes still.

Before Sam can work up to a real panic, the creature draws back, lifts its head, and smiles at him.

 

Terror shudders through Sam in waves. That smile is Dean's.

A ring of blood circles his mouth and Dean's tongue slides out, licking it clean. His eyes close in rapture. "He tastes so good."

Sam feels like he's going to be sick again.

Sam gropes for the weapons, his breathing harsh, and pulls back with the poker in his hand. He scoots back through the grass on his butt, propelling himself with one leg, ignoring the sharp protests of the other as best he can. The creature follows him, a predatory grin on Dean's stolen face.

Sam hits the tree and scrambles to his feet with the help of it and the poker. For a second his vision explodes in a burst of white. When it fades, he's face to face with his brother.

Only he's never been terrified of his brother.

He stumbles back, slipping around the tree and he waves the poker at

notdeannotdeannotdeannotdean

"Stay away from me," he rasps, knuckles going white around the poker.

Dean smiles, teeth gleaming in the moonlight, and Sam swallows, trying hard not to hyperventilate. It's not Dean, he knows it's not Dean, but he's not sure he can kill it when it looks like--

It steps closer and Sam swings the poker; the sharp point catches not-Dean across the chest and he hisses, ordinary blood springing up in a long line. It feels the pain, but otherwise the iron seems to have no effect. Great.

It looks up at him, a black expression on its face, and growls, "Why must you do this the hard way?"

The words sound foreign on Dean's tongue and Sam shudders. "You're not going to take my brother," he says, fighting against the quivering of his jaw, "And you can't have his body, either!"

He lashes out with the poker again, but the creature deflects it with a move that's pure Dean Winchester. Sam falls back, moving around the tree again. Another strike is blocked.

Then it makes its own move and Sam's head snaps back from the blow. It aims a fist at Sam's broken leg and he only just manages to block it with the poker. Fear prickles up the back of Sam's neck, writhes in his stomach. He never could beat his brother sparring. If the creature absorbed his skills, too--

Dean's fist hits him in the jaw, only there's no pull-back, no softening of the strike. Sam's head snaps to the side and he sways back precariously, stars exploding behind his eyes. Dean's hand fists around the front of his shirt--hits him in the solar plexus and Sam's grip on the poker starts to flag.

Then callused fingers wrap around his own and his brother rasps in his ear, "Die, you little bitch."

Sam's stomach settles, determination stealing through him. Dean stands behind him, he can feel his familiarity, his strength leeching into him. Their hands thrust forward together and the poker plunges through not-Dean's chest, through its heart, and imbeds itself on the other side in the trunk of the willow tree. He and Dean grunt at the reverberations from the impact.

 

Not-Dean gurgles, eyes wide and the expression wrenches something in Sam's chest. Dark blood oozes up between Dean's lips and dribbles down his chin, a strange choking sound slipping out along with it.

 

Then Dean's hand--the real Dean--wraps around Sam's arm and he says, “Come on, Sammy, let's finish this.”

 

Sam tears his eyes away from the image of his dying brother.

 

Only his actual brother, holding on to his arm like it's the only thing holding him up, might still be dying. There are dark circles around his eyes that weren't there minutes ago. His whole body sags like the mere effort of standing is too much.

 

Dean looks away, ashamed, when he says breathlessly, “You're gonna hafta...get the head. I don't think I can...” He waves his hand and looks exhausted.

 

Sam nods and despite the anxiety fluttering low in the base of his throat, he croaks, “Yeah, okay.”

 

He finds the ax in the grass and then uses it to limp closer to the pinned creature and the tree. Taking a deep breath, he tries to look without seeing and then swings the ax awkwardly. The sound it makes when it hits will fuel nightmares for years. He swallows back a surge of nausea, grimly determined, and wrenches the ax free. It takes almost a dozen more of the wobbling blows of the ax before, finally, the creature's head separates and drops to the ground with a soft thump.

 

Sam barely restrains a convulsive gag and Dean seems to realize that something is wrong.

 

“ Hey,” he breathes. “'s okay, Sammy. It's not me.”

 

Sam nods, not knowing how to explain that it doesn't matter. That seeing it just grants his worst fears a greater clarity. He breathes heavily and waves his hand at the tree. “Just...light it up.”

 

Dean nudges the head back to the creature's feet with the toe of his boot, grimacing at his own upturned face. Fortunately, the old fabric it had selected for clothing lights fairly easily. Accelerant would do a better job, but beggars can't be choosers. Dean steps back as the flames crawl up one pant leg and he shoos Sam back. Eventually the whole thing will catch.

 

Together they hobble away from the tree. They're just reaching the shed when the monster's corpse goes up with a fwoosh of abruptly consumed oxygen. Sam looks at Dean and sees the same thought go through his brother's head.

 

Good thing they didn't skip the fire.

 

After that, the flames quickly creep from the body onto the trunk of the willow and, from there, up into the branches, out onto the gently swaying leafy tendrils. Within ten minutes, the entire tree is alight, flames crackling so loud it's a dull roar, the heat almost unbearable, even from the back porch. The long dangling branches burn into ash and then crumble into tiny glowing embers and bits of ash that catch in the breeze, swirling around the yard like fireflies. He and Dean watch until the leaves are all gone, the branches and trunk blackened and smoldering orange in patches, like hidden gold twinkling in the dark. The fireflies return, along with the chirping crickets and it's that sound that convinces Sam it's really over.

 

“Let's get out of here,” Dean murmurs wearily.

Part I   Part II   Part III   Part IV    Part V   Part VI   Part VII

Comments

[zara-zee.livejournal.com]

I enjoyed this...but couldn't open the last chapter.
That was one creepy monster you created. And I loved the snark between the boys! Glad you developed this into a full blown story!

[musicalluna.livejournal.com]

That's because I hadn't posted it yet. ^_^

I'm glad you enjoyed it and that you liked the monster. She was a lot of fun to make up. Thank you so much for your comments.