SPN Fic: Mucked
Way back when, when I did a poll I think a total of 6 of you voted for it, and you know I could never let you guys down....not when Dean's life is quickly and sandily at stake. XD
-Mink
Title: Mucked
Author: Mink
Rating: PG - Gen
Spoilers: None
Disclaimers: SPN & characters are owned by their various creators.
Summary: Whilst on a hunt Dean blunders into a trap he's never encountered before.
There really was nothing like the feel of frigid wet denim against the skin.
The cold wet rot of the leaves sagged from the brittle sharp spines that had long since let go their grasp from the tree above. The dull unsteady drip of rainwater forced Dean to think just how far away he was from just about everything. The sound of it splattering heavily on his jacket between his shoulder blades was almost taunting him to move, just so the feel of its timed descent could be avoided. The damp made him shudder hard, his fists flexing in the masses of fallen leaves and mashing them until they oozed through his fingers with the sickeningly smooth mud.
Sometimes what you hunted, hunted you back.
And like a first year kid rookie he'd walked right into it, his eyes up in the trees when they should have been down at the ground.
He tried not to move his legs but they acted of their own volition, pushing back into the slick muck he had walked into. The small movement and desperate effort caused him to sink several more inches, the suck of the mud now up to his waist. He wasn't quite sure there wasn't something down there patiently waiting until he was completely submerged before it began to uncoil and open its gaping jaws--
"Shit." He willed his imagination to go vividly fuck itself.
Dean shook muddy rainwater out of his eyes and looked again through the sting for something to grab onto.
It was strange.
The pressure and power of the sinkhole that he had blundered into was basically slowly swallowing him alive. The sensation of being mindlessly eaten made the edge of his panic flicker and nearly made him lose his cool.
Almost.
The sink hole, quick hole, mud hole, whatever hole you wanted to call it was doing its job slowly. One might even want to call it a 'slow hole' instead. He laughed a little at his own joke, but sinking even a little bit further was sobering enough to refocus his mind on the task at hand. Every tree around him was woefully out of reach. There was nothing to hold onto besides the slick surface of the forest floor and his only back up was half a mile away reading a Time magazine in his car--
It was just about then that Sam suddenly and loudly appeared from the underbrush. He almost walked right into it like Dean had, but he stopped with the short shout of warning. It was low and hoarse, but it was all that he could get out of his squeezed chest and compressed lungs.
He wheezed his breath back in and felt the tight hold the mud had on his legs begin to not just grasp but crush. Dean slipped in deeper when he moved angrily with his feet, forcing him to tilt up his chin so he wasn't sipping swamp.
"How did you manage to find the only quicksand that exists in all of North America that's not in a cartoon?" His brother asked.
Dean was about to go under and didn't feel like explaining just exactly how the thing they were hunting lured him this way. He in fact had little time to even hold his breath and with one strong tug of suction and it was only his mud splattered hand that was left in fresh air.
Considering his options he gestured with it in the best way he knew how. With a finger. He only hoped it was pointed directly at his unhelpful brother.
Good bye cruel world and all that shit. He might as well pull in one good strong inhale of liquid mud and get this thing over with---
A hand grabbed his and pulled. Pulled so hard he thought his shoulder was going to dislocate. The earth didn't want to give him up, and for a second he thought this really was it, unable to hold in air any longer, he was about to lose it. When suddenly and thankfully, he broke the surface.
"I didn't think you'd actually sink." Sam gasped apologetically and somewhat guiltily, his grip shifting now to what was now exposed of Dean's arm.
While he thought about someday making a PowerPoint presentation about the nature of "sink" and "holes" for his younger brother, Dean could only cough out some mud he'd swallowed and draw in all the oxygen he could.
It was just about then, that the slippery mud that coated his jacket arm, slipped right through Sam's hands, leaving nothing but the dirty leather in his grip. Dean plunged back into the mud. He quickly realized he was worse off than when he had started, for his hands now thrashed in nothing but mud above him. His body reacted more in outrage than panic, his chest hitching and denied another lung full of air. Dean angrily jerked at both his legs briefly before letting his hands float away. He was stuck deep.
Okay. Fine. Good-bye cruel world... again. Thanks for the good times. Especially all the times named Lisa. Oh and Darlene. Dean allowed himself a smile as he drifted down to his watery doom.
But then something happened. He figured something might.
A vise like grip came down and caught his wrist, and another searched and found his arm.
Better make this quick Sammy, or you'll be pulling up a dead man--
With one long agonizing yank that didn't give or make any slack, he heard his shoulder crack and pop out of its joint before he felt the pain. The grip lowered and locked around his waist and squeezed, the crushing hold below the knees finally and suddenly gave as he exploded out of the water and landed hard on something warm.
Something warm and gasping for breath about just as hard as he was.
Sam's arms were locked around his waist and his brother didn't appear to be letting go any time in the near future.
"Can- Can't breathe..." Dean wheezed, his freezing hands shaking on the iron hold that crisscrossed his stomach.
Sam let go and Dean rolled to his side just in time to throw up some thick green swamp water.
"I-I really didn't think," Sam panted beside him. "That-that you'd sink twice."
Dean decided not to try to sit up just yet and lay shivering on his back.
"The leather." He said weakly. "Is it safe?"
"Where the fuck is quicksand? Fantasy Island, Gilligan's Island, it's always on some damn island!" Sam mumbled to himself.
"I think I lost a boot--" He started coughing up more stagnant water.
"Do you need CPR?" Sam suddenly needed to know.
"No." Dean cleared his ragged throat. "No please thank you."
"Are you sure?"
"The most I've ever been." Dean confirmed.
"Man Dean," Sam breathed out with a disbelieving smile. "If I hadn't come along--"
"You would have got the car and almost ten bucks in quarters."
Sam considered that thoughtfully.
"What about the glock?"
"Oh yeah, that too." Dean nodded.
They were both silent with the falling frigid rain.
"Ah well..." Dean pulled his cold mud soaked jacket over himself for some semblance of warmth. "Not your lucky day."
-Mink
Title: Mucked
Author: Mink
Rating: PG - Gen
Spoilers: None
Disclaimers: SPN & characters are owned by their various creators.
Summary: Whilst on a hunt Dean blunders into a trap he's never encountered before.
There really was nothing like the feel of frigid wet denim against the skin.
The cold wet rot of the leaves sagged from the brittle sharp spines that had long since let go their grasp from the tree above. The dull unsteady drip of rainwater forced Dean to think just how far away he was from just about everything. The sound of it splattering heavily on his jacket between his shoulder blades was almost taunting him to move, just so the feel of its timed descent could be avoided. The damp made him shudder hard, his fists flexing in the masses of fallen leaves and mashing them until they oozed through his fingers with the sickeningly smooth mud.
Sometimes what you hunted, hunted you back.
And like a first year kid rookie he'd walked right into it, his eyes up in the trees when they should have been down at the ground.
He tried not to move his legs but they acted of their own volition, pushing back into the slick muck he had walked into. The small movement and desperate effort caused him to sink several more inches, the suck of the mud now up to his waist. He wasn't quite sure there wasn't something down there patiently waiting until he was completely submerged before it began to uncoil and open its gaping jaws--
"Shit." He willed his imagination to go vividly fuck itself.
Dean shook muddy rainwater out of his eyes and looked again through the sting for something to grab onto.
It was strange.
The pressure and power of the sinkhole that he had blundered into was basically slowly swallowing him alive. The sensation of being mindlessly eaten made the edge of his panic flicker and nearly made him lose his cool.
Almost.
The sink hole, quick hole, mud hole, whatever hole you wanted to call it was doing its job slowly. One might even want to call it a 'slow hole' instead. He laughed a little at his own joke, but sinking even a little bit further was sobering enough to refocus his mind on the task at hand. Every tree around him was woefully out of reach. There was nothing to hold onto besides the slick surface of the forest floor and his only back up was half a mile away reading a Time magazine in his car--
It was just about then that Sam suddenly and loudly appeared from the underbrush. He almost walked right into it like Dean had, but he stopped with the short shout of warning. It was low and hoarse, but it was all that he could get out of his squeezed chest and compressed lungs.
He wheezed his breath back in and felt the tight hold the mud had on his legs begin to not just grasp but crush. Dean slipped in deeper when he moved angrily with his feet, forcing him to tilt up his chin so he wasn't sipping swamp.
"How did you manage to find the only quicksand that exists in all of North America that's not in a cartoon?" His brother asked.
Dean was about to go under and didn't feel like explaining just exactly how the thing they were hunting lured him this way. He in fact had little time to even hold his breath and with one strong tug of suction and it was only his mud splattered hand that was left in fresh air.
Considering his options he gestured with it in the best way he knew how. With a finger. He only hoped it was pointed directly at his unhelpful brother.
Good bye cruel world and all that shit. He might as well pull in one good strong inhale of liquid mud and get this thing over with---
A hand grabbed his and pulled. Pulled so hard he thought his shoulder was going to dislocate. The earth didn't want to give him up, and for a second he thought this really was it, unable to hold in air any longer, he was about to lose it. When suddenly and thankfully, he broke the surface.
"I didn't think you'd actually sink." Sam gasped apologetically and somewhat guiltily, his grip shifting now to what was now exposed of Dean's arm.
While he thought about someday making a PowerPoint presentation about the nature of "sink" and "holes" for his younger brother, Dean could only cough out some mud he'd swallowed and draw in all the oxygen he could.
It was just about then, that the slippery mud that coated his jacket arm, slipped right through Sam's hands, leaving nothing but the dirty leather in his grip. Dean plunged back into the mud. He quickly realized he was worse off than when he had started, for his hands now thrashed in nothing but mud above him. His body reacted more in outrage than panic, his chest hitching and denied another lung full of air. Dean angrily jerked at both his legs briefly before letting his hands float away. He was stuck deep.
Okay. Fine. Good-bye cruel world... again. Thanks for the good times. Especially all the times named Lisa. Oh and Darlene. Dean allowed himself a smile as he drifted down to his watery doom.
But then something happened. He figured something might.
A vise like grip came down and caught his wrist, and another searched and found his arm.
Better make this quick Sammy, or you'll be pulling up a dead man--
With one long agonizing yank that didn't give or make any slack, he heard his shoulder crack and pop out of its joint before he felt the pain. The grip lowered and locked around his waist and squeezed, the crushing hold below the knees finally and suddenly gave as he exploded out of the water and landed hard on something warm.
Something warm and gasping for breath about just as hard as he was.
Sam's arms were locked around his waist and his brother didn't appear to be letting go any time in the near future.
"Can- Can't breathe..." Dean wheezed, his freezing hands shaking on the iron hold that crisscrossed his stomach.
Sam let go and Dean rolled to his side just in time to throw up some thick green swamp water.
"I-I really didn't think," Sam panted beside him. "That-that you'd sink twice."
Dean decided not to try to sit up just yet and lay shivering on his back.
"The leather." He said weakly. "Is it safe?"
"Where the fuck is quicksand? Fantasy Island, Gilligan's Island, it's always on some damn island!" Sam mumbled to himself.
"I think I lost a boot--" He started coughing up more stagnant water.
"Do you need CPR?" Sam suddenly needed to know.
"No." Dean cleared his ragged throat. "No please thank you."
"Are you sure?"
"The most I've ever been." Dean confirmed.
"Man Dean," Sam breathed out with a disbelieving smile. "If I hadn't come along--"
"You would have got the car and almost ten bucks in quarters."
Sam considered that thoughtfully.
"What about the glock?"
"Oh yeah, that too." Dean nodded.
They were both silent with the falling frigid rain.
"Ah well..." Dean pulled his cold mud soaked jacket over himself for some semblance of warmth. "Not your lucky day."