Sulfur and Smoke
Follow your nose. What kind of stupid fucking directions is that? Dean had been in the tunnels under Bartholomew Winston’s farmhouse for what seemed like forever and he still hadn’t found the rotting corpses Sam swore were there. Dean had asked for more specifics but the tunnels were twisty and featureless and Sam had been sure Dean would be able to find the bodies and take care of the salt and burn by smell alone. Seven months ago he would have been able to do it, but now it was all but impossible. Dean had been back from hell for two months and seventeen days and no matter how many times he tried to fill his lungs with the aroma of a cheeseburger and fries or to reacquaint himself with the long forgotten scent of the Impala’s interior, all he could smell was sulfur and smoke. He never thought he’d long for the ripe odor of a decomposed body, but now he’d give anything to be gagging over bloated flesh as he tried to cover up the smell with the sharp tang of gasoline.
Sam had found the bodies and could have led his brother right back to them if he hadn’t been waylaid by one of the spirits they were hunting on his way out of the tunnel. Salt, iron and Dean had gotten him clear eventually, but the spirit had gotten in a shot to Sam’s head that left him dazed and with a blinding headache. Dean had collected his supplies and tried to get Sam to give him an idea of where the bodies were, but his brother wasn’t in the best shape to even have ideas, never mind communicate them to someone else. Dean sighed as he navigated another twist of the tunnel. One hand held a flashlight that barely penetrated the pitch black he was traversing while the other scraped an iron bar along the wall, leaving a trail he could follow back when he was done. Assuming he ever was done. His freakin’ genius of a brother couldn’t have left signs on the wall. No. He had to send Dean in with instructions to follow a sense he no longer had use of.
Dean tucked the flashlight under one arm and pulled out his cell phone, but there was no coverage. Of course there’s no reception, you fucking idiot. You’re in a fucking tunnel God only knows how far underground. He put the phone away and pointed the flashlight back at the ground just in time to avoid being ankle deep in Bart Winston IV. A sweep of the light revealed Bart’s wife Rebecca and their seventeen year old daughter Brynn. All three bodies were slumped against the wall of the tunnel, their hands and feet bound. They’d been dragged down here and left to die and none of them were very happy about it. Bart’s brother Tobias had inherited the house and had moved in after Bart and his family had disappeared. The fact that he’d been responsible for their disappearance had not gone over well with his relatives and the resulting carnage was what had brought Sam and Dean onto the scene in the first place.
Dean shrugged his duffle off his shoulder and leaned the iron bar against the wall. He salted the bodies first, then doused them with gasoline before gathering up his supplies and dropping a book of matches onto each Winston. The fire lit with its usual satisfying whoosh and Dean stood mesmerized for a moment until the thickening haze forced him back along the tunnel. The taste of ash and burn of smoke in his lungs was as familiar as, well, breathing, and Dean didn’t notice that he couldn’t any more until he was face down on the packed dirt floor. He banged his head against the ground in frustration as he took deep gulps of the clearer air to be found in the lower part of the tunnel. That’s real smoke you moron, not just a leftover mindfuck from the pit. Keep low, follow your trail and get the fuck out of here before you die from being a complete idiot.
Dean pulled his t-shirt up to cover his nose and mouth and crawled through the smoky tunnel as fast as he could. He shifted his flashlight between the darkness ahead of him and the line he had scratched into the wall on his way in until the thickening smoke obscured it. Panic started a slow roll in his chest until he rounded the next corner and the breeze from the tunnel entrance flowed over his face. A few minutes later Dean pulled himself up out of the tunnel and collapsed on the ground, staring at the star filled sky and shivering as the cold air shocked his skin after the heat of the tunnel. He sucked in a lung full of what should have been crisp, refreshing air, and squeezed his eyes shut in despair at the feeling of the hot, smoky substance filling his already straining chest.
Even though he couldn’t feel it with his body, Dean knew in his mind that he was actually breathing fresh air so he continued to force himself to breathe deeply enough to start to clear his congested lungs, and a half hour later he was able to make his way back to the Impala. He leaned weakly against the driver’s side door for a moment before opening it and sliding wearily in. Sam was curled up in the passenger seat, but he slowly raised his head and looked at Dean as his brother sank down behind the wheel.
“You smell like a bonfire, Dean.”
Dean gave Sam a ghost of a smile and thought about lying, but he was too fucking tired and Sam would just think he was being sarcastic anyway. “Really, Sammy? I didn’t even notice.”