Sorry for the wait on the update. I hope to get some work done this weekend, but keep getting distracted by other fandoms. Reviews, please!
It took every bit of willpower for Sam to make himself kneel and squeeze through the narrow cave opening, inching and squirming his way downward. He experienced a moment of panic as the stone pressed his chest and back, and his breath began to come in little gasps. Just when he thought he was going to have to scream for help, he emerged, head over heels, into a dark cavern, and the beam of Dean's flashlight played over his face.
"You okay?" Dean offered a hand up and Sam stood quickly, promptly cracking his skull on the stone ceiling.
"Shit!" he hissed, feeling a warm trickle behind his ear. He touched his scalp and his fingers came back red. He heaved in a lungful of air, forcing himself to relax the muscles that were straining in his neck and shoulders. "M'Okay." He switched on his own flashlight, and had to take another steadying breath as the light grew in the dim cavern.
The cave floor was soft dirt, sediment and soil that had washed through the cavern with a long-forgotten stream. The stone walls were close, and the ceiling was so low that Sam had to stoop slightly to avoid banging his head again. There was barely enough room for the two of them. A rough tunnel led away and downward, further into the earth. "I don't like this, Dean." Sam hated the quiver in his voice, and passed his palm over his mouth to hide it.
Dean opened his mouth to make smart remark, but when he turned and saw the look on Sam's face, he stopped. "Head topside, Sammy. I got this."
"No." Sam shook his head slightly, taking a deep breath and holding it for a few seconds. "You can't go alone, it's not safe."
"Sam." A warning in the tone.
"Dean." A stronger warning.
Dean searched Sam's face with his eyes, concern twisting a little furrow between his eyebrows. "Okay. But the second you start feeling funny, we're out of here." He ducked his head, seeking confirmation. When Sam nodded, Dean turned and strode forward, shoulders hunched, into the dark.
Sam dropped his chin, already feeling a crick growing in his neck in protest to the low ceiling. "Lead on, Fearless," he muttered, following on.
As the tunnel went on, Sam had to duck lower and lower to avoid bumping his head on the ceiling, dropping him into a sort of ungainly, modified duck-walk. The darkness was thick around him, the yellow glow of his flashlight barely penetrating the void of it. Sam couldn't see Dean in front of him, could only hear his footsteps and follow the bobbing of his light. A few times he heard what he swore was the skittering of little feet, dashing away at the intrusion of humans into the dark lair, and his skin crawled despite him.
The darkness seemed to compress Sam's chest, a palpable pressure on his lungs. It invaded him with every breath, penetrating deeper into his chest, filling his eyes and his throat and his brain. Dean's light carried on, pulling farther and farther ahead as Sam's steps faltered, until it disappeared altogether. Only his pride and his terror of being alone in that inky blackness pressed Sam on.
Finally he caught up to his brother. Dean was kneeling on the cool soil floor, one hand on the ground, the other on his jaw. Sam dropped to his own knees and crawled to Dean's side, finally defeated by the ever-dropping height of the rock-face above.
"You're not gonna like this." Dean's voice was grim. He dipped his flashlight to highlight his words. The passage had dead-ended into a wall, with only a small oval passageway continuing on. Barely big enough for a grown man to fit through. Barely.
Sam felt his breath catch in his chest, but he hid it with a shrug and a cough. "Lovely."
"Look, just stay here while I check it out. I'll torch her and then come back for you."
"Dean, I'm no expert, but I know enough about spelunking to know that you're not supposed to go by yourself. We're not separating."
Dean eyed Sam suspiciously and opened his mouth, but then gave up with a shake of his head. He turned from Sam and, without a word, shimmied into the crevasse. Sam watched the soles of Dean's boots disappear into the darkness, a knot of apprehension twisting in his stomach.
Finally, with a breath that dredged resolve from his gut, Sam crawled forward and slipped into the opening. There was barely room for his shoulders, with the walls pressing from either side. He could just pull himself forward with his elbows, his toes scrabbling to push from behind. The rock pressed him in an embrace, and the light from his Mag-lite jiggled crazily across the walls, strobing in his eyes. Stones dug into his knees and elbows, like little knuckles grinding against the bones. He clonked his head on the rock again, and a strangled whimper caught in his throat.
He could hear Dean ahead, scraping and crawling, but could not see him. All he could see was rock. He dragged himself forward again in a modified army crawl, inching along on his belly, centimeter by centimeter. The dark in front of him was like ink. There was no telling where, or if, this tunnel would end, no goal to fight toward. No going back. There was only darkness and stone.
The hair on the back of his neck stood up, and he had a sudden, terrible fear that something was creeping up behind him, reaching for his ankle with bony hands. He tried to crawl faster, writhing and bucking, each breath catching in his throat, but he could only move forward by agonizing inches.
Finally, panic would allow him to go no further. The rock held him firm, pressing arms, stomach, chest, back so tightly that he felt he could barely breathe. Terror rose and he felt, rather than heard, a shout escape him. "Dean!" He gasped, trying vainly to regain a sense of calm, but the pulse pounding in his throat made it impossible. "Dean!"
"Sam!" Dean's voice was dim, far-off. "Sammy!"
"Dean, help!" Fear was in control now, fully and completely. "Help!" It was pure and simple terror. He was entombed.