Mouthwatering: Part VII

[musicalluna]

Title: Mouthwatering: Part VII
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.

Sam quickly realizes that the hunt may be over, but the ordeal is not. It takes he and Dean nearly an hour to hobble down the old dirt driveway to the road. They have to stop six times because Dean's so dizzy he feels like he's on a tilt-a-whirl. Two of those times they stop because he almost goes down--it's only Sam's arm and Dean's stubborn determination that stop him from passing out.

When they do get to the road, Sam is not encouraged. It's dirt, too.

"Shit," Dean mutters wearily and flops down on the ground. "We might be in trouble, Sammy."

"No," Sam says stubbornly, scouring the road for any signs of recent use, "We did not get this far just to give up now!" He knows Dean's willingness to throw in the towel is the blood loss talking, but that doesn't reassure him in the slightest.

The road isn't overgrown so there have to be at least a few cars that travel this way everyday; that's something.

 

Despite the night's warmth, it doesn't take long before Dean is shivering uncontrollably. Sam unwraps the t-shirt from his crutch, tossing it into Dean's lap. He stares at it blankly for a minute before it finally seems to dawn on him. With stiff, uncooperative hands, he pulls off his flannel shirt and tugs the t-shirt back on. Then the flannel goes back on, pulled tight around him, but unbuttoned. The shivering continues.

 

Sam eases himself down as best he can, wincing as he lands on a pointed rock and then edging as close to Dean as he dares. He gets a dirty look for his efforts, but Dean's basic self-preservation instincts won't let him reject a perfectly viable heat source. Within minutes their sides are pressed flush together, Dean's shivering vibrating against Sam's shoulders, ribs, and hips.

 

The moon inches lower on the horizon and Dean's head sinks down onto Sam's shoulder. Sam looks at the sky and closes his eyes, his fingers curling around his brother's clammy forearm. He's afraid of shock and infection and exsanguination wouldn't be a problem if it were just the wounds, but there's no way to know how much the creature took during its feedings. Then there's the fact that he has no idea when either of them ate last, or drank, or any of that. Any of those things could be the thing that tips Dean past the point of holding on until they get back to civilization and dying out here in the middle of nowhere.

 

Sam doesn't realize he's on the verge of hyperventilating until Dean prods him in the ribs and murmurs, “Wha's the deal, Sammy? Calm down. 's dead, remember?”

 

Sam gulps and tries to control his breathing, to stuff down the panic that's seething up the walls of his insides. “I know,” he says. “I just--” He can't lose Dean, too. Not like this. Not so soon after-- His throat pulls so tight it feels like the flesh is splitting.

 

Dean's eyes crack open and creep over to look up at him. “'m gonna be fine, Sam.”

 

“You don't know that!” Sam bursts and then presses a hand over his mouth, smothering the outburst before it can get out of control.

 

Dean's shoulder rises and falls against his in a sigh. “Do, too,” Dean mutters. “'ve felt like this before.” He snorts and then amends, “Worse'n this.”

 

“That doesn't mean you're going to--”

 

Dean huffs, irritation tensing his body and abruptly Sam realizes that it doesn't matter. If Dean's going to die out here, he's going to die out here, and arguing about it isn't going to change anything. “You're right,” he mumbles. “I'm sorry.”

 

Dean's confusion is palpable and Sam smiles. “Come aga'n?”

 

“You're right and I'm sorry. I'm sorry about the tantrum, too. From before... It was stupid and pointless and...well, I'm sorry.”

 

If Dean is going to die, which he isn't, they're going to part on good terms.

 

Dean sniffs, relaxing against Sam's side again and he mutters, “Me, too.”

 

“You, too, what?” Sam cajoles, teasing in his voice.

 

He can feel Dean's glare despite not being able to see it. “I'm sorry for treating you like a kid, okay?” He grumbles unintelligibly for a minute and then tacks on, “Bitch.”

 

Sam's smile breaks into a grin. “Jerk,” he says fondly.

 

Later, when dawn is just a blush on the horizon, a truck comes. Dean is groggy, but still conscious and it's then that Sam knows they're going to be okay. They'll live--both of them--to fight another day.

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

Comments

[borgmama1of5.livejournal.com]

This was scarily intense--that was a nasty creature!