Standard disclaimer: I own nothing Supernatural.
Attack of the Toilet Monster
'Oh God' Sam's stomach nosedived to round about the level of his knee caps as he realized that he was well and truly trapped. He gave the solid metal door an equally solid kick. Nothing. 'For crying out loud!' One last time he tried to get the door open, putting the weight of his whole shoulder behind the attack. Once again, nothing.
He rested his head on the panel of the door his body aching from at least 40 minutes worth of escape attempts. Holy Crap, if Dean ever found out about this Sam would never be able to live it down. He dropped the now useless door knob that had so helpfully come away from its home in the door down onto the peeling vinyl floor. This situation right here was grade: A blackmail material, enough to last a lifetime. Worse than the time he accidentally ate cat food at the age of eight, worse than when he was convinced that the old lady next door was collecting evil lawn gnomes. Hell it was even worse than the time he threw up on Macey Dixon.
He might as well give up and face it; there was no way that Dean was going to ignore the fact that at the age of 23 he had managed to lock himself in a motel bathroom. What was even worse however (or better - depending on how you looked at it) was that Sam was not locked in alone. No. Sam Winchester, youngest son of legendary ex-marine John Winchester and out and out hunter extraordinaire, had managed to lock himself in one of the grimiest, most rundown and downright disgusting bathrooms in the country- with only an Akaname for company.
This was so embarrassing. Sighing in frustration he turned to face the grotesque but essentially harmless creature.
It was where he had left it, perched in the bowl of the toilet – draped over the rim languidly - beady eyes watching his every move.
Akanames or mud-lickers as they were sometimes known were sort of the guinea pigs of the supernatural world i.e. they were a bit pointless. Rating zero on both the danger and special skills factor they weren't really worth hunting. They were known however for their typically unpleasant odor and appearance, unsurprising really for creatures that habitually lived in bathrooms or more specifically toilet cisterns.
Sam sank slowly down to the hard floor, back against the door, one leg drawn up to his chest the other in the Indian position; his eyes never leaving the Akaname. Its body was almost humanoid in shape, small like that of a malnourished child or an old man, but its protruding bones and leathery skin made it impossible for anyone to mistake it for a human. It had a distended belly that reached down to its 'knees' and hung from its skeletal frame like a full sack. It had short arms that ended in small stubby webbed fingers, each of its feet ended in a single clawed toe.
It wasn't about to win any beauty prizes soon.
It seemed to be making an equally thorough assessment of Sam, dark eyes peering through long straggly hair. The deadlock was ended by the Akaname opening its putrid mouth so that its long, black, serpentine tongue could touch the air between them in a way that was clearly meant to pick up Sam's scent. Sam resisted the urge to shudder.
An hour later and Sam was still in the bathroom, the Akaname had decided to ignore him and had soon gone back to doing what Akanames did best, cleaning the inside of the toilet with its long dexterous tongue. It was oddly fascinating to watch and Sam couldn't help but admire the concentration and persistence with which the creature worked. It reminded him of the time Dean was determined to eat all 30 different types of pie on the menu at Oscar's House of Pie in Burketville. The look on it's toad like face was exactly the same, one of sheer determination.
Soon the toilet was the only clean object in the room, sparkling brightly under the grim strip lighting above. At this point the toilet looked cleaner than Sam himself who had originally entered what he was now thinking of bitterly as 'the room of eternal boredom' to wash the grave dirt off of his skin and out of his longish hair. It was whilst juggling with towel, soap and shaving kit that he had kicked the door firmly closed behind him with the heel of his muddy boot, which had in turn loosened the door knob enough to fall out of its mechanism. Sam had caught it as a matter of reflex (dropping his shower gel in the process) – but as he had tried to jam it back in he had heard the muffled thump of its counterpart hitting the balding carpet on the other side.
It was only as he deposited his stuff on the floor so that he could better pummel the door that he noticed the Akaname lurking around the S-bend.
Two hours later Sam was filthy, bored, and had gone beyond the stages of embarrassment into those of quiet acceptance. More importantly he had decided to name the Akaname Oscar.
He gave Oscar another glance; he was perched on top of the cistern, dozing after his hours of enterprise. He wondered what would happen if at any point he needed to pee before he was rescued.
After a time it also dawned on Sam that he didn't like the idea of being dirtier than a toilet (admittedly an Akaname clean toilet); he was stuck in the bathroom, so he might as well wash – right?
Was it weird to get naked in front of an Akaname? He had a vision of showering, with Oscar creeping around outside, or worse yet getting in there with him!
After another half hour and some deliberation he considered that unlikely, Akanames usually only came out at night because they were naturally shy creatures and were recognizable mainly through their habit of cleaning baths and toilets with their tongues. He couldn't recollect any mention of showers…
It certainly didn't look like Oscar regularly licked the shower clean judging by the layers of mould and water marks on it.
God he was bored, and tired and filthy. Who knew when Dean would be back from the bar he had headed out to, he could easily have picked up a girl, or gotten into a pool tournament, or hell got so drunk that he slept it off in the car. He could be stuck here all night. Dammit.
This was just his luck, how come Dean could manage to win the coin toss both for the grave digging job and for first dibbs on the shower and on top of all that not get locked in, not notice Oscar and therefore not have to consider the likelihood of an Akaname joining him in said shower.
Stupid Dean.
That's it he was getting in the shower Akaname or not.
Unsurprisingly Sam showered rapidly, the hot water making the metal plated industrial themed room steam up; Oscar watched the process with some interest whilst intermittently licking moisture droplets off of the wall. From start to finish the whole process must have only lasted about 8 minutes, but at least he was clean now, his muscles cramped from sitting on the floor had loosened a little. And hey at now he wouldn't have to come back in to this death trap before he left tomorrow. He put his underwear and jeans on before moving to towel his hair dry.
Oscar once again stuck out his tongue and tasted the air. He blinked once, a milky film covering his amphibian eyes and then, with clear intent he launched himself at the unsuspecting Sam, strong back legs enabling him to land with precision onto Sam's bare chest.
With his head in the towel Sam had little hope of anticipating Oscars dramatic leap, after having spent over five hours in each others company ( longer than Dean spent with some women before sleeping with them) and with very little action from the Akaname an attack was completely unexpected.
The first thing that Sam felt was a heavy weight plow into his chest knocking him to the floor, this was followed by an excruciating pain as the hornlike toe nails of the Akaname hooked themselves into the flesh and muscle of Sam's stomach.
'Aaaargh. Get off of me' Sam panted as he began to wrestle with the creature. This close up the putrid smell of excrement and rotten flesh was overpowering, the Akaname's open mouth overwhelming the senses. Oscars distended stomach rubbed against the flesh of his lower chest, Sam cringed as the cool, oddly dry skin came into contact with his own. Swiftly and without preamble Sam wrenched the Akaname away from him, disgust making his action a little more violent than necessary. Oscar was airborne and hit the wall with a thud before resting on the cold vinyle. There was an Akaname shaped outline on the steam misted walls were he had landed. Oscar righted himself, upper arms hugging his torso in a disturbingly human way dark eyes staring blankly at Sam.
Sam however had moved with speed, he was upright and ready for action, his stance mirroring Oscar's in that he had on arm held protectively over the ripped skin of his stomach which was now flowing with blood slowly but steadily. He was panting from the adrenalin burst but otherwise composed. He met Oscar's eyes; once again there was a deadlock.
An hour later and Sam had moved to the corner by the door, he was still in a defensive position but had changed to a sitting position for comforts sake. The adrenalin of the brief moment had worn off leaving him with the strange feeling of betrayal in addition to the steady throb emanating from his torn stomach muscles (Oscar's toes had acted similarly to fishing hooks – worse coming out than going in). The bleeding had mostly stopped now, and Sam had decided that he was more than ready to leave the bathroom.
Oscar was back on top of the cistern, eyes on Sam. As the initial wave of shock and anger had dispersed Sam's researchers mind began to question Oscar's behavior. He found it difficult to attribute the attack to a malicious nature, despite the Akaname's actions being unprovoked.
At that point he heard his phone ringing in the next room, the ring tone still set to Material Girl thanks to Dean. God he wished Dean was here right now. He would gladly accept the embarrassment just to get out of here. He was feeling pretty miserable. The once hot and steamy room had cooled leaving the metal walls and vinyl floor chilly, his hair was limp and still damp whilst the hair on Sam's skin was raised due to goose bumps; he realized that he was still only in his filthy jeans.
As he stood to reach for his relatively clean undershirt, Oscar (or Potentially Evil Oscar as Sam now thought of him) followed his movements with his black eyes. As Sam bent down, reaching for the bundle of clothes, Oscar struck out. Sam had moved within the range of that grotesque tongue, it hit him like a dart directly on the worst of the gouges on his stomach. The black tongue bore into the wound like a knife and left Sam gasping for breath. Sam rapidly retreated, curses on his tongue and blood on his hand from where he had checked the now reopened gash.
What the?
As well as blood there was a strange sticky substance on his fingers, Sam lifted it to his nose, it smelt like bile and ooze; evidently the source of the grotesque smell emanating from the Akaname's mouth. Before Sam could consider the implications of this his knees buckled, he managed to catch himself on the sink on the way down, his upper arm strength preventing him from dropping completely. He tried to get his legs back under him, to steady himself, but try as he might he couldn't get his long legs to comply. He was like an unsteady foal, with watery movements he could just about get his feet flat on the ground but there was no way that they were bearing any weight. All too soon they gave out completely leaving him a crumpled heap on the floor. He tried to raise himself to a sitting position but his upper arms seemed to have developed the same instability, he felt the strength flowing out of him until he was able to do little more than feebly turn his limbs from side to side and raise his head an inch from the damp floor.
Well, considered Sam, who knew that Akanames had venomous tongues? It must be what enabled them to make porcelain bowls whiter than white he thought grimly, and apparently it had the side effect of acting as an incredibly effective numbing agent. Great. He thought longingly back to four hours ago when he had merely been bored and worried about Oscar seeing him in the buff.
Speaking of which Oscar had slowly dragged himself over to where Sam currently lay. He peered over the rim of the wash stand directly above Sam's prone body, eyes drilling into Sam's hazel ones. All Sam could do was twitch his limbs and grunt in an attempt to frighten him off. No such luck, instead Oscar (or Definitely Evil Oscar as was his new title) licked his purple lips before launching himself off of the edge of the rim with the force, but certainly not the grace, of an Olympic diver. Sam watched in horror as seemingly in slow motion the splayed form plunged towards him, striking him once again firmly in the chest.
With all the wind knocked out of him as well as with partially paralyzed vocal chords Sam's whoosh of air followed by grunt didn't do justice to the discomfort of the weight of a small child landing on relaxed muscles and deep cuts. It was not dissimilar to being hit by a bicycle at high speed.
Oscar's toes lightly hooked into Sam enabling him to drag his way up his victim's torso. Sam's breathing was shallow, the extra weight making hard work for a barely functional diaphragm. Oscar stopped half way up, his face parallel with Sam's protection tattoo. Once again Sam was struck by how overpowering the stench from Oscar's open mouth was; unwholesome claws and scaly skin embracing him, bearing down on him. He groaned with the need to buck off the rotting animal, strength of will so strong but muscles unable to comply. The nerves in his left hand made his fingers twitch weakly and uncontrollably. All he could do was groan with discomfort.
Oscar's eyes met his, inky pools moistened rapidly with a translucent film, black tongue tip between fleshy lips. Then slowly, horrifyingly and with the tenderness of a lover Oscar opened his mouth, his dreadful wiry tongue moved like an eel outwards, round, down, finally coming to rest lovingly on Sam's tattoo.
Sam closed his eyes, revulsion coursing through him; if he could he would have retched. A thousand showers wouldn't erase the feeling of that tongue on his heart. Oscar must have been able to feel his racing pulse, a thought that only disturbed Sam further.
Once again he could hear Dean special ring tone in the next room, it helped him to concentrate on something other than the nightmarish moment. Sam forced himself to open his eyes; Oscar was still staring at him, and then, to Sam's further horror and with the same concentration that had struck Sam as admirable earlier Oscar began to lick.
After a few minutes Sam noticed that Oscar seemed to be concentrating solely on the area that was marked by the tattoo.
It suddenly struck him that Oscar must have seen him washing and considered the job only half done, mistakenly identifying Sam's permanent tattoo as an errant stain.
Gross.Gross.Gross.Gross.Gross.Gross.Gross.Gross.Gross.
Did this mean that Oscar was going to lick until Sam's flesh was rubbed away? No that was madness, Sam encouraged himself to get a grip, the numbing agent would wear off long before that could happen. But realistically he might well be in for several hours of intimate time with Oscar. The thought was not an appealing one.
Three minutes in and Sam was trying to tune Oscar out by mentally naming all the protection chants he knew by heart, five minutes in and he started to list all the types of pie Dean had had in Burketville before he had vomited.
Ten minutes in, and Sam had just moved onto state capitals when something changed. Namely the licking stopped. It seemed Oscar had given up.
Sam looked up at Oscar and was able to gurgle a panicked 'No!' just before the Akaname sunk his bared piranha like teeth into Sam's chest, his mouth clamped down on tender flesh with razor sharp teeth creating a perfect seal over the area of flesh that bared the tattoo. The pain was unbearable. Tears leaked from the corners of Sam's eyes, his back bucked a little and he whined in pained protest through his clenched teeth.