By: Karen B.
Summary: One shot…Something has captured Sam. Injured him and is holding him captive. Gotta love the guys in hunter mode.
Story loosely based upon an actual Ohio urban legend -- The Frogman.
Disclaim…only own my crazy dreams. Non profit at that!
"The Rainbow Connection"
written by Kenny Ascher and Paul Williams
(The beautiful opening number of "The Muppet Movie"-- one that turns me into soup. Unrelated to my story -- other than the fact the song is sung by a frog…Laugh out loud!).
Kermit: (The frog)
Why are there so many songs about rainbowsAnd what's on the other side?Rainbows are visions, but only illusions,And rainbows have nothing to we've been told and some choose to believe itI know they're wrong, wait and we'll find it, the rainbow connection,The lovers, the dreamers and me.
Who said that every wish would be heard and answeredWhen wished on the morning star?Somebody thought of that, and someone believed it,And look what it's done so 's so amazing that keeps us stargazingAnd what do we think we might see?Someday we'll find it, the rainbow connection,The lovers, the dreamers, and me.
All of us under its spell,We know that it's probably magic...
... Have you been half asleep? And have you heard voices?I've heard them calling my name.... Is this the sweet sound that calls the young sailors?The voice might be one and the sameI've heard it too many times to ignore itIt's something that I'm s'posed to be...Someday we'll find it, the rainbow connection,The lovers, the dreamers, and me.
Laa, da daa dee da daa daa,La laa la la laa dee daa doo...
I curled into a ball on the cold, wet floor, trying to hold on to consciousness, and hoping that thing didn't come back anytime soon. There was no way I was going to be able to fight the less than human form off any longer.
"Dean, hurry." I shivered hard, huddling against the damp wall, sweaty and dirty, my favorite gray hooded sweatshirt clinging to the stonework.
They say all the warmth in your body leaves through your head. Who 'they' were I couldn't be certain. I barely could move, guiding my eyes to the little light coming from my flashlight that somehow had escaped my grasp and now lay a few feet away. I tried to calculate how long I'd been here. More than likely, not too long since the flashlight's beam glimmered brightly cutting through the darkness.
I wanted to get to the flashlight, get up on my own two feet and figure out where I was -- but we don't always get what we want. I cringed reaching for my hood, pulling the material up to cover my head and stuffing my tightly fisted hands into the front pockets. That small action made my heart react in a bad way, sending the muscle pounding deep within my ear canal and making me dizzy. My head was spinning, and all I could hear was Dean's last words to me before we split up to track the slimy thing through the abandoned slaughter house.
"Sam." Dean punched me in my shoulder. "Hunting is getting easier all the time."
"Ha," I whispered, startled by the weakness of my own voice echoing through the dungeon.
The abandoned slaughter house was a solid stonework building. A cement shelter, not a window in the place. There was little in this job that took us off guard. Dean and I had read on the net about a dozen or so people disappearing after they'd come here out of curiosity to meander through the old building -- never to be heard of again. I figured the culprit to be the vengeful spirit type. During my research I came across a man by the name of Victor Browning. He worked in the slaughter house during the early 70's. Browing had accidentally slipped and fell off a catwalk to his death. Fall guy had to be our ghost --the facts were a Cinderella fit.
I shivered upon the cold hard floor, regretting the fact Dean and I had split up. Closing my eyes, a picture of the thing's fiendish smile flashed before me. Thing took me off guard. Fall guy was not our ghost -- creature wasn't even human. At first, it was just a shadow flickering on the wall, but suddenly the harmless shadow was gone. Replaced by the cold deadly stare of a strange form; so unreal I had to wonder if fall guy had gotten his hands on a gruesome latex mask. The green, leathery skinned creature was crouched low in a corner. I could tell however, it wasn't large, maybe four or five feet tall and weighing sixty to seventy pounds.
"Dude, Halloween was last month," I muttered going for my gun.
The creature was a faster draw, springing from its crouched position, knocking into my chest and driving me straight to the floor.
"Umph!" The breath driven out of me, I fell backward, cracking my head against the cement.
Damn froglike being had the strength of three pro-football players. I struggled to get back to my feet, but wasn't fast enough. I knew the exact moment I was in real deep trouble -- the creature had stood up, its eyes glowing red with anger. In an instant frogman's jaws were latched onto my left calf, sharp, sinking teeth ripping out a large chunk of my flesh.
That was the last thing I remembered. Until I came to, lying on the floor, in some small four by four stone cell, shivering, dizzy, and more than a little confused.
Sam! You in there?" A frantic voice penetrated the thick cloud that was my head.
I opened my eyes, seeing a glimmer of light under the door frame. A shadow dwelled there, the silent stalker moving back and forth. Was frogman back to raid his fridge? Me being the only thing in his fridge. A horrible image came to mind. Frogman devouring me, starting with my legs -- payback for all of frog-kind. I shrugged off the image, struggling to get to my feet.
"Sam, answer me when I call you!"
Dean. Realization pierced my brain like a arrow. I took a deep breath and opened my mouth, but didn't have a chance to answer as the force that was Dean, kicked the door in.
Everything was fast and blurry. I zeroed in on my brother's face. Dean looked like a young Jedi knight storming the rebel base as he barged inward.
"Dean," I sighed and closed my eyes.
"Sam." Dean's breath in my ear. "You okay?" He touched my leg.
"Gaaa!" My eyes snapped open. "Dude, are you serious?" I gave Dean a cold look. "You'd never get a job as a doctor."
"Ummm…" Dean ignored me as he checked my wound.
"How'd you find me?" I tried to sit up scrunching my eyes against the burning pain.
"I'm awesome," Dean said dryly, pressing me back down. "Don't move."
"Dean, we have to get out of here," I complained, staring at the dark ceiling, my body trembling.
"Just stay put a minute."
I didn't have to look to know, Dean was slipping his belt off. Next a hand gripped my leg and raised the ligament up off the ground.
"Ow," I moaned.
"How'd you like that entry, little brother?" Dean's calm tone distracting me from the pain. "Was cool, huh? Like Owen Wilson and Ben Stiller, cool." He wrapped the leather strap around my leg.
"Starsky and Hutch…" I gritted my teeth. "Cool." Our eyes met, both going wide as he tightened down the makeshift tourniquet. "You're a real…" I flinched against the pain.
"Easy." Dean flinched, too.
"A real superhero."
"I am a superhero." Dean smiled. "But without the tights."
"Ew." I cocked a brow to the disturbing image of Dean in red leotards.
"Hold on, Sam. Your leg is still bleeding."
"Yeah, okay." I braced myself knowing what was coming next. "Just don't break my leg the way you broke that door, superman," I chuffed.
"Hey," Dean chuckled lightly. "That wasn't easy. You ever bust down an eight-inch thick wooden door with your bare boots?"
"No." I winced as Dean tightened down the belt further.
"Good." Dean gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Don't."
"You kill --"
"Prince Charming?" Dean cut me off by disappearing from my sight.
Confused, I turned my head to see him flanking along side the half-kicked in door, searching the hallway he'd come from.
"Guess not," I surmised.
"Thought you said this place was haunted by the spirit of Victor Browning, not some Teenaged Mutant Ninja Turtle."
"He's a frog, Dean." I rolled my eyes.
"Whatever, Sam. We can talk fourth period biology later," Dean grumbled, now crouched back at my side. "Think if I help you…you can walk?"
"Yeah," I said fisting both hands into the front of Dean's jacket.
"Good." Dean took me by the arm. "Come on." He pulled me to my feet and I staggered. "Sam?"
"I got it."
"Yeah, sure." Dean didn't buy my lie, moving his arm to my waist for more support. "Easy, Sam. I said I'd help."
We turned toward the one and only door just as it slammed shut.
"Nonono!" Dean let go of me, and shot forward shoving a shoulder hard against the door. "Sonofabitch!" He cried, bouncing off the door like a rubber ball.
Stripped of my crutch, I wobbled to and fro struggling to remain standing, watching Dean ram his shoulder against the door again and again.
"Damn it." Dean turned back to me. "Sam!" He snagged my arm holding me upright. "You okay?"
"I need a day off," I admitted.
"Maybe next semester, Ferris."
"Ha. Ha." I glanced around. "Now what?" I asked, feeling weird. I rubbed my forehead trying to ignore the pain in my leg and the icy feel that washed over me.
"Now we are not getting out the same way I busted in. Raphael is smarter than he looks. He's got us barricaded in here somehow."
"What? Superhero powers only work from …" I broke off, everything including Dean was rolling around like a pair of loaded dice.
My legs gave out and I started to go down.
The room was a blur, but I was aware enough to know Dean had scooped me into his arms, and eased me to the floor.
"Hey!" Dean leaned over, watching me. "Can you hold the flashlight?"
What my brother take me for -- an idiot? I wanted to tell Dean that I was fine. That I could man more than a little flashlight, but something totally different came out.
"I'm cold," I said in voice that sounded foreign.
Dean stroked the back of his hand against my cheek. "Sammy." His voice was soft. "You're burning up."
"No." I shook my head. "Cold."
"Sam!" Dean snapped in anger, frowning down at my leg. "I told you hunting should get easier -- not harder. How'd you let Kermit get the drop on you like this?"
"Stupid," I muttered, feeling sweaty, my heart racing. "Thought his name was, Raphael?"
"Yes you are." Dean smiled, but his tone was tight with frustration.
"Stupid," Dean whispered. "Where's a dungeon master when you need one?"
"Dean," I coughed, desperate to slow the hammering in my chest down. "This isn't Dungeons and Dragons, and if it was, we rolled a double zero, man."
"Wonder what Gygax would do in this situation," Dean said, glancing around then back at me. "Sam, that lizard bite…"
"Whatever. I don't think…." Dean looked away, but not before I say the fear in his eyes.
"I don't think this is a case of a simple bite," he said, still not looking at me. "It might be poisonous. Judging by how you're looking. You're probably infected."
"What? You mean like rabies or something?"
Dean nodded, seemingly distracted.
"What do we do?"
"Just don't go 'Old Yeller' on me," he mumbled
"'Frothing at the mouth isn't my style, Dean."
"Got a knife." Dean suddenly asked.
I winced at the strange request, thinking of the old Western's where they'd cut open a snake bit and suck the poison out.
"Sam!" Dean snapped his fingers. "Knife."
"You going to suck the poison out?" My voice shook.
"Don't be a pansy. Besides, that only works in the movies." Dean gave a weak smile.
"Right boot," I complied, hoping the weapon was still there.
Dean rolled up my pant leg.
"Jumangi!" Dean took the hidden knife, moving away from me to the farthest corner of the room.
Actually, Dean was wrong. Sucking the poison out could slow the progress of the venom. In my case though it'd been too long since the bite and we didn't even know if the frogman was poisonous. Judging by the way I felt however, I was beginning to wonder.
"Where's your knife?" I asked, but Dean didn't answer. "I suppose superheroes don't need knives."
"Sam, not only is Kermit on steroids, the slippery little sucker is a purse snatching pickpocket that can leap tall buildings in a single bound."
"He stole the weapon's bag?" I asked in shocked dismay, watching Dean's shadow in the dark corner of the room.
"And my knife."
"Great. What are you doing now?" Dean didn't answer, just kept fumbling and bumbling about. "Dean!" I demanded loudly. "How are we going to kill this thing if all we have is my little pig-sticker?"
"Point a finger at it and yell bang," Dean said sarcastically. "I don't know, Sam. We'll figure it out. First things first. You ready?" Like the wind, Dean was by my side again.
"For what?" I swallowed, my mouth going dry and my stomach going into spasms.
Shoulder's hunched against the dampness, I leaned hard against Dean as we headed down the creepy twisted pipeline. A disgusted twitch came to my lip, we were in the bowels of the slaughter house.
"Gheeeeeee," I ground out, pain lancing up my leg, I gripped the flashlight tighter noting the beam had faded some.
"Can you keep walking?" Dean asked, in that tight worried tone of his.
"Is that what you call what I'm doing," I stated, noncommittally. "Dean, I'm slowing you down."
"Nothing can slow Batman down." Dean's voice echoed through the long tunnel, along with the sloshing of sewage water beneath our feet.
"You think there are alligators in this sewer?" I joked, trying to get a smile to form on my brother's poker-straight face.
"The old urban legend did cross my mind." Dean's expression, deadly serious.
"This drain is like a whole other world. It could go on for miles," I muttered.
"Frickinawesome," Dean said, angrily.
"I'm just saying, Dean."
I compressed my lips together, feeling Dean's concern mount, and trying not to say another word. An angry Dean, was a scared and worried Dean.
Looking down the tunnel, I wished we had a blueprint to this place. I shivered, the six-inch deep water was cold and soaked my jeans up my to my knees. I wasn't feeling so good. I concentrated on walking. Right foot -- breathe in. Left foot -- breathe out. I could hear the break of water, sloshing up against the sides of the stone tunnel.
"Saaaam." Dean's voice was a dull, white buzzing in my ear.
"Wha'?" Black on black blurred my vision.
I dutifully acknowledged Dean with a small head nod, holding tighter to the flashlight. I stumbled over something. An alligator? My head drooped forward, then back. The flashlight's beam bounced off the water, light shining on the black ripples distorting my sense of up and down.
"Just a log." I swayed away from Dean, barely able to keep my head upright.
"Come on, Sam, stay with me." Dean pulled me back.
My leg was killing me. I couldn't stop shivering, couldn't focus. The pain was like thorns and knifes ripping at my flesh. Suddenly, the water that was cold felt hot. Like the sewage had turned to acid and my skin was dissolving off bone.
"I'm good, Dean,." For a moment the pain brought back my concentration. "You remember anything in Dad's journal on how to kill these things?"
"Man, I never even knew these things existed. Dad must have forgotten to buy his copy of How to Kill a…" Dean scratched his head.
"Frogman." I filled in.
"For Dummies," he added "My guess is a simple bullet to the heart."
"Which is in the weapon's bag." I shivered, the heat gone but the chill back.
"Which is why I have to get us back to the car -- pronto. Gun. Glove box. Sure as hell not going to kiss the thing to death," Dean deadpanned.
"Is that even possible?"
"Kissing someone to death."
"Not in your case," Dean said dryly.
I couldn't help but laugh at that, the action nearly bringing me to my knees, but I managed to catch my balance.
"Sam?" Dean asked, his voice deep and loud in my ear.
"My leg hurts, but I'm okay," I replied.
We staggered on. Hither and thither, me desperate not to drop to my knees in the inky, sewage water. I looked down the jet-black abyss before us -- the abyss looked back. The nothingness moved inside me, and the ground was no longer under my feet.
"Damn you, Sam!" Dean hauled me up. "Not yet. Wait until I get you back to the car."
My heart pounded.
"Gonna pass out." I said, grinding my teeth against the cloud that wanted to kill off all six of my senses.
"No. No, you're not, man!" Dean yelled, the father-like drill sergeant in him appearing.
"Think I might," I whispered, listing to the left.
"Don't argue with me!" Dean shook his head violently
Dean kept talking, but his voice was growing fainter. I was damp, cold, getting wetter by the moment. There was a foul stench in the air. One I couldn't quiet put my nose on to explain. I stiffened, noticing a couple of cat-sized shadows patrolled along the slim covered wall. Relieved when my flashlight's beam identified them as rodent, not amphibian. The whisker twitching, pointy-nosed rats only added to the ominous disgust of walking in sledge. Even in the dim lighting of the flashlight's beam, I could see the revoltingly, goopy walls as they spun around me. I gulped at the pungent air trying to hold down my early morning short stack with blueberry syrup, side of extra crispy bacon, coffee, and juice.
"Sam, you think this tunnel leads straight to the heart of hell?" Dean asked
"From where I'm standing, it looks crooked, "I chuckled lightly.
"C'mon, Sam, you would so never be the last comic standing."
Silence stretched between us. For how long I had no clue, until alarms started to sound off in my head. The kind of alarms that tell you…you're about to take a header.
"Where?" I squinted, watching the dimming flashlight's beam dance around the walls erratically. "Dean," I breathed, the pain in my leg blasting like a furnace, darkness disorienting me.
"Sam, come on man, take a few breaths. You're passing out on me."
"No, kidding," I mumbled, my feet seeming to evaporate.
"Sam!" Dean's panicked voice didn't stop me from cascading down to the slimy slab.
There was a filmy haze, and utter silence, broken only by the beating of my rapid heartbeat, and Dean's distant voice.