Disclaimers: Don't own a thing. Making no profit. Simply amusing myself cuz I can. If you find yourself amused too, then good on ya.
This is just another hunt gone wrong story.
Don't Wanna Be Dinner
This was messed up.
Just a rugaru. Find its hunting ground, burn the sucker, then maybe get a bite to eat before crashing at the motel. Dean wasn't supposed to become dinner.
And he sure as hell wasn't supposed to be decorating a cave wall like some prehistoric hieroglyphic, pinned by the hardened saliva of the creature he had been hunting. Crap, did it smell. That's the first thing Dean noticed when he'd entered the dark cave's chamber. That and the scattered bones. Lots and lots of bones. And discarded back packs, coolers, brief cases and purses. Purses? Just how far into the city did this thing go to hunt?
Balancing the rigged propane torch and flashlight in one hand, Dean pulled his phone out, uncertain he could even get a signal down here to let Sam know the tunnel's fork he'd followed was where the beast enjoyed its meals and for Sam to backtrack toward him when a guttural rumble vibrated behind his left shoulder, washing hot rancid breath across the side of his face.
Dean's lips quirked up. He loved it when they came out in the open. It made his job easy, none of that hide and seek crap, just come to papa. Spinning, he stepped back and blasted the rugaru with a spray of flame.
Except . . .
The fire just danced over it. Dean's eyes widened, his head craning up, way up, to take in the full height of—whatever the hell it was. Not a rugaru, that's for damn sure. Scaly, gray, large, the freaking creature of the black lagoon, and apparently fire resistant.
The stream of fire spent, Dean dropped the torch and whipped the pistol out from the back of his jeans to fire round after round into the advancing creature's chest even as the beast plowed into him like an enraged bull, carrying him backwards to smash against the rock wall. The hit left him momentarily stunned, shaking his head until the first spout of saliva hit him, spraying across his chest. He grimaced against the stench, fisted his hands to pummel the beast holding him against the wall, but—dammit! His arms wouldn't move.
The thing was still spitting out a fine spray of . . . gross stinky stuff . . . splattering all over Dean's body, tightening as it hardened around him. Shitshitshitshit. Bunching his muscles, Dean pushed against the encasing saliva, trying to dislodge himself.
The creature lowered its head to Dean's, pulling back bloodless lips over sharp stiletto teeth. "Breath mints, buddy," Dean said, turning his head to get as far away from those teeth as he could, but the beast just moved in closer, moist leathery heat wafting onto Dean's cheek.
Tense moments passed all the while a chant scrolled through Dean's brain-don't eat me don't eat me don't eat me-until the thing shifted back.
Dean watched as the monster went to the other side of the cave where the wall was uneven. The beam of his dropped flashlight slanted across the darkness. His heart gave a little jolt. Oh, man, he hadn't noticed before. All around him were people- corpses?- pinned to the cave wall in these freakish saliva cocoons. Most of them were old, rotting, the cocoons torn through to get to tender stomachs that were also ripped out. Dean was going to vomit. Whatever this thing was, it liked its meals tenderized and aged. This wasn't just the feeding ground, this was a friggin pantry.
"No, no, no, aaaaaah!" a weak voice screamed out from the guy the beast had gone to on the opposite wall. Had to be Bill Gentry, the second missing guy that had first gained Sam's attention in the Louisiana paper to a possible hunt.
"Leave him alone!" Dean shouted, jerking when he heard bones snap and Bill's whimperings went silent. Dean squinted, trying to see what was happening in the low light, and then wished he didn't as the scaly creature turned, holding Bill's severed arm in overly long swollen knuckled fingers like a man would hold a watermelon. The sharp teeth stripped flesh from the bone like a heaping southern portion of pulled pork.
Unable to watch, Dean tilted his gaze up to the sloping ceiling, wishing he could eliminate the sound of sucking and swallowing as easily. In frustration, he tried to form a fist inside the shell, punch his way out, but he couldn't so much as twitch his fingers. This was bad. This was real bad. He was stuck to the wall, a munchie on display like the giant-assed creature's personal vending machine and Sam was out there in the tunnels with no warning about what they were really up against . . . and worse, it was getting hard to breathe. Damn saliva was pressing tighter around him as it hardened.
He could yell, warn Sam that fire wasn't going to cut it. Problem was, he didn't know what would work on the thing, nor did he really want to bring the swamp lizard's attention back to himself without even knowing if Sam was within hearing distance. His head felt light, body tingly. He forced his eyes to remain open and locked his gaze on the entrance he thought Sam would come through. First glimpse of that overly long hair and Dean was going to start shouting.
Dean lifted his eyelids to more darkness, striped in muted flashlight beams.
"Thank God." Sam's face was just below his own, forehead lined in concentration, liquid eyes spilling over with worry. "Dean, stay with me. What the hell is this stuff?"
Dean felt the back of Sam's callused fingers curl by his cheek as he pulled a broken piece of the cocoon away from his face. The muggy cave air felt cool on his skin where the hard saliva had just been. The piece thudded to the floor where Sam dropped it and inserted his fingers between Dean's neck and the shell, attempting to rip it. The noise brought Dean's foggy mind into focus.
His eyes darted around the cave. "Did you get it?"
Sam shook his head, his lips pulled tight in concentration. "The rugaru? No sign of it. This isn't working." Sam pulled his hands back, dragged his palms along his forehead. "I need something to pry it off."
"Something that won't hurt you."
"Sam." Dean's voice was weak, but impatient, finally gaining Sam's attention. "It's not a rugaru."
Sam's gaze met his, studied the warning Dean tried to convey with his hard expression. "Okay, obviously." Sam went back to trying to pry the cocoon off with his hands. "Cause this stuff isn't from any rugaru. Wendigo either. What is this crap? How'd it get on you?"
"It's saliva, Sam."
Sam froze. Instinctively his hands snapped back. His brows squished together even as they rose up to be lost beneath his long bangs. "Uh, that's . . . gross. Saliva? Eeww. Really?"
"Listen, Sam." Dean's chest was heaving. It was getting more difficult to pull in a breath. His body wanted to shut down, sleep. "The thing's huge. Fire didn't touch it. My bullets bounced off it like rubber."
"Silver?" Sam pulled another chunk away and brought it to his nose. His face scrunched upon itself as though he was trying to place the scent.
"Didn't get a chance, but I doubt it. I don't know how to kill it. I don't know what the thing is. Sam, you know what you have to do."
"Yeah." Sam's head swung up. "Get you out of here."
"Not enough time. It could be back any moment." Dean ignored the stubborn forward tilt of Sam's head. He felt like wiping his hand across his own face except his hands were pinned. "Have you looked around? Noticed the decorating scheme of the place?"
Sam grimaced. "I noticed."
"Then you know whatever this thing is likes its food rotting. I have time here. But I won't if you go and get yourself caught." He could tell by the way the tightness around Sam's mouth loosened that the logic was winning him over. "You need to get far enough out that your cell can get a signal, call Bobby, then you and him can come save my ass. Trust me, I'll still be hanging around."
"Sounds like a good plan, Dean, except . . ." Ah, crap. Every one of Sam's facial muscles had firmed up again. "Not chancing it."
"No. No way."
"You're a stubborn bitch, you know that?"
Sam lowered and started rummaging through the pack that he'd dropped near his feet by his own propane torch.
Dean thumped his head back against the cave wall. "I'd leave your ass here."
Unsatisfied with his search, Sam started going through the belongings scattered around the floor. "Yeah, tell me another one." He upended a woman's purse, pulled papers from a briefcase, opened the old cooler, then kicked it over in frustration, spilling water and an unopened six pack of coke. "Dammit." He went back over to Dean, started tearing at the hard cocoon again. Tendons in his arms stood out.
"Sam." Dean's eyes were slipping closed. "Getting Bobby's our best option. Just go."
"Not leaving you so just shut up." Lips tight, Sam drew his knife out from his boot.
That snapped Dean's eyes open. "What are you gonna do with that?"
"Hopefully not cut you."
One side of Sam's lips hitched up in a half smile. "Pressure points. Trust me?"
Dean's brows winged up into pointed arches. "Do I have a choice?"
Blowing out a breath, Sam pulled his Baretta from the back of his waistband. "Nope." Placing the tip of his blade near where Dean's right arm should be, he tapped the handle with the butt of the gun into the shell.
Dean looked down at his chest, holding his breath, trusting that his brother knew what he was doing. "Hey, I get dibs on naming the sucker, right?"
"What?" Sam moved the knife to the other side and began tapping.
"You know, like when a new species of plant is found. The guy that finds it, gets to name it."
Sam glanced up at him through his bangs. "You want to name the monster?"
"Hell, yeah." Dean grimaced. "I'm the first person to see it and live. Man, I hope I live."
The tapping paused. Silence thrummed through the air for a beat. "You'll live." Sam moved the blade again and this time the tapping seemed to be a little more forceful. A muscle jumped in Sam's clenched jaw. "So what are you going to name it?"
"Oh, I don't know—Sam! Look out!"
The creature loomed out of the darkness directly beside Sam. They'd had no warning. Stealthy bastard hadn't made a sound. Whirling at Dean's cry, Sam flipped the pistol around and emptied his rounds into the beast's chest point blank with no effect. One of the bullets ricocheted, lodging into the cocoon holding Dean. Sam cried out, but whether at the bullet or the uselessness of the gun, Dean couldn't tell. Sam's eyes were huge, his neck craned back to take in the enormity of the monster towering over him, at the long arm that slashed across Sam's chest in a swipe so forceful it spun the young hunter through the air. Knife and gun clattered against stone.
"Sammy!" Dean strained at the hard saliva pinning him as his brother crashed to the cave floor among partially eaten bones and discarded belongings. Angry red gashes scored Sam's flesh from shoulder to navel beneath his shredded T-shirt. Shaking his head, obviously disoriented, Sam tried to get up, but the monster was on him again, lifting Sam high over its head and running with him to slam the young man against the wall. "Sammy! Sam!"
"Arghhhh!" Every muscle in Dean's body strained to get loose, get to his brother before that thing killed Sammy. He felt the sweat break out around him. Oh God, oh God. No. Horrified, he could only watch as the beast spat saliva across Sam's neck. Okay, okay, it was saving him for later. That shouldn't make Dean feel better, but it did, gave them some time at least, except Sam's chest was ripped open from here to Sunday and the kid would probably bleed out. "Sammy!" Dean bunched his arms again . . . and felt some give. He pushed some more. He looked down. Tiny splinters were cracking across the cocoon. Sam's pressure points! Exhaling, Dean pushed out with every part of his body. "Sam, stay still. I'm coming!"
But Sam wasn't staying still. He was shoving against the scaly beast, punching, kicking, though his feet dangled above the ground. The young hunter was putting up the fight of his life. Having enough of it, the beast subdued Sam in pure animal fashion. Teeth clamped over Sam's already wounded shoulder.
The kid's scream reverberated around the stone walls, drilling like an auger into Dean's chest.
Sam's arms dropped to his sides. His legs stopped gouging the wall behind him for purchase. Dean's heart was ready to burst through his chest. His mind replayed the image of the creature chowing down on Bill Gentry's severed arm with those same teeth that were ripping into Sam. Dean's chest rose and fell against the cocoon. Dean couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't tear his eyes away from the back of the beast covering his brother who hung limp and lifeless in its grasp. In its mouth.