Nothing but nefarious
E/O Drabble Challenge, 10-word-special.
Summary: A little Winchester adventure which finds our brothers in deep trouble, features some creatures from "The Elder Scrolls" and makes you happy about the fact that your computer doesn't have a scent button.
A/N: My deeply felt gratitude to Enkidu and her very special special challenge, which provided me with some words I had been utterly unaware of before – and with the task of writing something, anything larger than a hundred words after what feels like a very long time. So: Here are a 1000 words on the dot, including "stale, suspension, nefarious, impish, contrite, blue, laugh, pencil, tongue, sunshine." Go out and seek, infidel.
Any unsuspecting cave explorer making the mistake to roam the dark tunnels of Avery Mountain on that special day would've turned on his heels, running for dear life at the sight of the creatures staggering through the stale air 140 feet under the ground. Given the fact that Avery Mountain was currently closed to explorations after the disappearance of three visitation groups nobody was around to watch.
Or hear.
Or smell.
Which was probably a good thing. Because the creatures dimly lit by something that looked suspiciously close to a torch made from a thighbone wrapped in old rags were covered in black soot and shredded clothes. Angry grumbling mixed with the tired rhythm of their boots. And the smell that emanated from their bodies was so far beyond despicable that a skunk would've been green with envy.
"Ouch! Dammit Sammy, would you shine your light on me? I don't wanna look like friggin Frankenweenie if we ever find our way out of this stupid shithole."
"Maybe you shouldn't have hung your flashlight from that suspension bridge to see how deep the gap was."
"Maybe you should shut your pie-hole because it sure wasn't me who threw his flashlight in crowd of mad trolls."
"A crowd of mad trolls that was trying to make you the next dish of the week."
A soft laugh, followed by a contrite grunt.
"Yeah well. You know I would've worked my way out of that bunch of fuglies. I've had worse."
"Worse than a horde of Rock Trolls who turned up in this area out of the blue to develop a special liking for well-hung cave explorers?"
Silence.
"Dean? DEAN!"
…
"Jeesh, don't wet your knickers – 'm coming."
"Where've you been?"
"Leaving my scent-mark over there, alright? No-mercy-for-monsters territory."
Sam lifted the makeshift torch to look at his brother.
Bloodshot green was trying to make an impish appearance in a face glistening with grime, filth and sweat. The crew cut seemed slightly singed. Sam's left hand was twitching to check his own scalp for missing parts, but he forgot about that when he noticed the dark gash at his brother's neck.
"What's…"
Dean fended off the searching fingers with an annoyed huff.
"Dude, stop the touchy-feely thing, okay? It's nothing, not even bleeding anymore. Let's find the exit before we're out of light. Besides, you're reeking like road kill."
Sam turned to follow the signs they'd set when they had first made their way through the maze of tunnels.
He'd never been claustrophobic, but the notion of being trapped deep down in eternal darkness, hung up alive under the dripping bones of the mountain to be eaten by Trolls? He shivered.
"Sammy…"
A warm hand on his shoulder.
"What?"
"I never knew how inventive these fuckers are when it comes to cussing."
Sam chuckled.
"Guess they learned a lot of expletives from their victims over time."
"Expletives. Really nice, college boy."
"Jerk!"
"Oh, come on. You can do better than that. What was it ol' Grandpa Troll shouted when we started the barbeque?"
Sam recalled the moment when they had finally found the lair, led by the increasing stench of decay and the strange pattern of claw marks on the rocky ground. How they had entered the cavern, flamethrower at the ready, nearly gagging from the smell. How the beam of the flashlight revealed nothing but scattered heaps of bones and torn clothes and some kind of cave paintings drawn in blood that made even the hardened hunters sick to the stomach. How they had walked deeper into the cavern, searching for secret pathways, when he heard a tiny scratching.
From above.
And as soon as the light reached the ceiling, all hell broke loose.
Shadows falling to the ground screeching and shouting, limbs too long and motions too spidery. Building a circle around the hunters, twitching and crouching whenever the beam of his flashlight hit them.
And then a single cry that made his blood freeze.
His brother, dragged from his side and held like a ragdoll from the ugliest creature Sam had ever seen. White talons drawing a thin line of blood from Dean's neck like a pencil on white paper, the snoutlike mouth contorted in a triumphant sneer.
That's when Sam lost it, throwing his flashlight right into its ugly face.
Not his smartest idea.
So no wonder the Trolls where laughing their mossy asses off.
Until a small flicker in the utter darkness of impending doom reminded Sam of something vital.
His flamethrower.
"Sam?"
"Wha… yeah, right. I think I recall something like 'nefarious scoundrels', 'dishonorable spawn' and…"
"… here's my favorite: 'I'll have your guts for garters'."
Dean's snort was followed by a small gasp.
This time there was no chance of fooling Sam.
He turned, his mouth a thin line of worry and anger.
"Where'd he get you?" he asked, starting to work his way from the cut at his brother's neck to several scratches and blisters along his arms and shoulders.
"Sam, get off me, seriousl… hunnngh!"
Dean's legs gave way when Sam found the dark spot at the back of his shirt.
"Thanks. Hurt like a bitch" he whispered.
Sam could see small lines of pale and freckled skin where sweat had washed the soot away. Dean's forehead was hot to the touch, his eyes dark pools of pain.
"You stupid dumbass", Sam whispered softly, grabbing his bottle and forcing the last water down his brother's throat. Dean coughed, licking his parched lips with his tongue.
"Now let's hope Bobby was right about the Troll grease" Sam said, helping his brother up and cautiously supporting him.
"Huh?"
"About its healing powers."
"Wait, no way you're gonna smear that stink on me."
"Try me!"
"Sam!"
"Dean!"
And two tall figures stumbled through the darkness under Avery Mountain, soothing each other with an endless stream of affectionate insults until the light of their torch was beaten by the sunshine painting the opening of the cave in warm gold.
A/N 2: I don't know "The Elder Scrolls", I just did a little research about Trolls and what might kill them. And I thought the fact that Troll grease has healing abilities might come handy