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Title: Cave In
Season: 2
Category: General, Action, One Shots
Warnings: None. It’s all good.
Tagline: Trapped, hurt...in total darkness
Total Word Count: 3908
Total Chapters: 1
Beta: ziggyuk
Story Banner: Chasidern
This was an experiment. Ages ago, I’d read a Star Trek fan-written story in a published collection, set during the original series. Two main characters were trapped in a cave, and the whole story was just dialogue. You had to guess who was speaking, but it was pretty easy, as it was Spock and McCoy, and they have very distinctive speech patterns.
The novelty of the idea stuck with me, and years later, when Supernatural came along and I started writing fanfiction of my own, I wondered whether I could try a story based on the same concept. An analysis of the boys’ speech patterns and phrases told me that I just might be able to pull it off, so I tried it...and here is the result. Hope you enjoy.
Disclaimer: As usual, don't own them, not making any profit, yadda-yadda-yadda. And of course the usual effusive thanks to my awesome backup team - Chasidern for the banner, and Ziggy for the beta. Thanks, auntie and sis!
Hour 1
The hiss of falling dirt, the sharper clacking of bigger pebbles and the groan of stressed timbers tapered off into silence, punctuated by a fit of coughing.
“Uhh.”
“Son of a bitch!”
Groans sounded in the stygian darkness. Clothing rustled, debris clattered and slid as bodies shifted position.
“Hey – you alright?”
“Yeah, super. You?”
“Yeah…I think…”
Human movement stopped again as the earth moaned and settled. Rocks skittered and bounced in the pitch-blackness.
“Well, that’s just great. I think half the freakin’ roof just came down on us. Can you see anything?”
“No, nothing. Do you still have the flashlight?”
“No. You got yours?”
“Uh – hold on….” A faint rustling was punctuated by the tinkling of broken glass and plastic. “It’s busted.”
“Great.” A hollow thump sounded – a fist striking the ground. “Why the hell did you have to blast the support frame?”
“You’re the one who told me to shoot the thing!”
“Yeah, the freakin’ ghost, not the support frame!”
“The ghost was in front of the support frame.”
“And you missed the ghost, Dead Eye Dan!”
“And who picked up the buckshot cartridges instead of the rock salt, genius?”
“Shut up!”
“Maybe if you tidied up the trunk once in a while…”
“Shut up, okay?”
“Well, don’t pin this on me!”
“Oh, did I hit a nerve, Princess? Seem to recall it was your idea to come down here.”
The silence screamed louder than words.
“You gonna talk to me?”
“No.”
A heavy sigh drowned out the soft skitter of dislodged pebbles. The sibilant hiss of cascading dirt blended in with the rustle of clothing.
“Okay, I’m sorry. Happy now?”
The silence stretched on. The earth moaned softly. A soft grunt and a muttered curse followed.
“I said I was sorry. The least you can do is get over yourself and answer me.”
“Why don’t you just bite me!”
“Oh, now, that’s very grown up of you.”
“Shut up!”
“That the best you can do? Easy to see that I got the brains, and the charm, in this family.”
An annoyed snort echoed softly in the darkness. “Yeah, you just keep telling yourself that.”
“And the looks, too.”
A low groan came from one side of the cramped space, a hitched breath from the other.
“You…you gonna talk to me?”
“No.”
“Son of a bitch…”
“Asshole!”
“I wasn’t talkin’ to you. Don’t get your panties in a knot.”
“Do you see anyone else down here?”
“I don’t see anyone at all, Einstein! It’s freakin’ pitch dark in here!”
“Oh, and you think I can’t see that for myself?”
“Well, why the hell did you ask if I saw anybody else? If that doesn’t rank right up in the top ten most stupid questions of all time…”
“Who else were you calling a son of a bitch if it wasn’t me?”
“I wasn’t calling anybody a son of a bitch! I was talkin’ to myself, okay? Did some asshat politician pass a law that says I can’t talk to myself?”
“Well, excuse me for interrupting your conversation. I’m sure you and your split personality have a lot to talk about. I hope you’ll be very happy together.”
“You can be such a bitch, you know that? What’s the matter, forget to take your Midol this morning?”
No answer floated out of the dark.
“You gonna talk to me?”
The silence stretched on.
“Great!”
* * * * *
Hour 2
“Out to lunch, speak your piece
Good and drunk, back on the street
What you see is what you get
No matter what you say
No time for anything to take the pain away
You sure ain't the chosen few
You sure turned trick or two
You pulled the deuce this time
Another perfect day
Golden boy, take a chance
You're a clockwork toy, you're a dime a dance
The truth is only black and white
No shade of grey
It's easy answers babe
But it's the hell to pay
You know it's just the same for you
Ain't nothin' you can do
No chance to change it now
Another perfect day”
Silence fell as the singing ended, punctuated by an annoyed huff. The singing began again.
“She gave me the Queen
She gave me the King
She was wheelin' and dealin'
Just doin' her thing
She was holdin' a pair
But I had to try
Her Deuce was wild
But my Ace was high
But how was I to know
That she'd been dealt with before
Said she'd never had a Full House
But I should have known
From the tattoo on her left leg
And the garter on her right
She'd have the card to bring me down
If she played it right
She's got the Jack.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“You just don’t appreciate the finer points of classic rock.”
“What’s to appreciate in a song about some girl giving some guy – you know…”
A sarcastic chuckle rumbled through the stillness. “It’s about poker, you little pervert. I can’t believe your warped and dirty mind would think it was anything else.”
“Poker – yeah, right – ‘poke her’, you mean.”
“Hey – that’s kinda funny – even for you.”
“Whatever.”
“Guess that means you’re talkin’ to me again, huh?”
“No.”
“Look…I don’t blame you for this, okay? I was just – you know – blowing off steam.”
A soft snort drifted from one side of the black cavern, met by an equally soft sigh from the other side.
“Are you gonna answer me?”
Clothing rustled as a body shifted position. A low groan followed.
“Hey, I’m sorry, okay? Now quit sulking and help me, here.”
“I’m not sulking.”
“Sure you are. Now get over here.”
“Over where?”
“Here!”
“I can’t see where ‘here’ is. Bet you’re waving – like that’s going to help.”
“Follow my voice, Professor. Didn’t they teach you anything at school?”
“I skipped the ‘How To Survive A Mine Collapse’ lecture.”
“Probably washing your hair.”
“Ha, ha. You’re funny.”
“Just get over here, will you?”
“Why can’t you get over here?”
A deep, drawn out sigh floated on the still, slightly warm air. “I can’t.”
“Why?”
The sigh came again. “Because I can’t move. My leg’s pinned under the rubble.”
“Oh, God…” Debris shifted, tumbled, as a body dragged across the confined space. “Keep talking.”
“Now he wants me to talk to him. You are so hard to please.”
“Shut up!”
Ragged breathing cut the air.
“Shut up – keep talking – make up your freakin’ mind!”
“Can you just – is it possible for you to say one thing – just one – without turning it into a smartass comment or an insult?”
“Yes.”
“Well?”
“That was it.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“I know. It’s a gift.”
“All right. I’ve got you.”
“Hey! Watch your hands.”
“You wish, jerk.”
“Make my day, bitch.”
“Alright, I’m gonna try to lift this off you.”
Pebbles slid and bounced. A strained grunt, a thud, and the creak of timber against timber punctuated the stillness.
“Ohh…God….” Timber clattered against rock, followed by a heavy thump.
“Hey.”
A low, gasping moan filled the silence.
“Hey! Talk to me.”
“Can’t…can’t breathe…”
“Okay, it’s okay.” Clothing rustled against the dirt floor. “Okay, I got you. I got you.”
“Can’t…”
“It’s okay. Come on, just calm down. Breathe – don’t try to talk – just breathe.”
“Hurts…”
“Where does it hurt?”
“Gut…”
“Okay, man, okay. I’ve got to check it out, all right? I’m just gonna press a little…”
“Aaarrrghh! Don’t…don’t…” Ragged sobbing breaths stirred the blackness.
“Okay, okay.” A fist smacked the hidden ground. “Internal bleeding, maybe. Dammit! Wish I had a flashlight.”
“Cold…”
“I know. I know, brother.”
A sharp click ended a string of muttered curses. “No signal on the phone. Dammit, dammit, dammit.”
Teeth chattered in the darkness. “C-cold…”
“Hey!”
“So cold…”
“Okay, all right. Hold on.” Dirt and debris skittered softly. Material rubbed on material, making a faint slithering sound. “Here.”
“Can’t take…your jacket…”
“Yes, you can. It’s warm in here, anyway.”
A sharp cry rent the air.
“Hey, don’t try to move, okay? Just lie still, brother. It’s okay, I’m right here. I’ve got you.”
Silence descended, punctuated by a low groan. A muttered string of curses followed a hitching gasp.
“Hey, dude, stay with me. Help’ll come.” Clothing rustled sharply. “Hey, I’ve still got my knife. We can dig our way out.” Tiny thumps issued from the ground.
“Dad’s gonna be pissed.”
“What? Dad - what?”
“Didn’t mean to break it.”
“Break what? Hey – break what?”
“The window. Dad’ll have to get it replaced, and he’ll have to wait around. He’ll be pissed. We’re supposed to be leaving today.”
“What window?”
“The car window.”
“Oh, God….okay – it’s okay, Dad’s not mad. The window’s fixed, okay? He – he got it fixed.”
“He’s not mad?”
“Nah. Not a bit. It’s all right.” The cursing began anew, softly and passionately, and then abruptly cut off. Silence descended once more.
* * * * *
Hour 3
“You don’t think I’m a good hunter.”
“Wh-what? What the hell…are you talking about?”
“You don’t think I’m any good as a hunter.”
“That’s crap.”
“It’s true.”
“I never said that.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Hey, listen to me…” The stern words were cut short by a stifled cry of pain. “Oh, God….that hurts…”
“It’s okay…”
“No – no. Listen. I think you’re…a good hunter.”
“No, you don’t.”
“No-one I’d trust at my back more than you.”
Stunned silence permeated the close atmosphere, broken only by ragged breathing.
“You can’t stand to see anything or anyone hurt. You don’t like to kill things, but you do it to protect people who are threatened by the evil crap we hunt. And that’s what makes you a good hunter. I admire that.”
“You – you do?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“But why do you always push me back?”
“’Cause it’s my job to protect you.”
“No – it isn’t.”
“Yeah – it so is.” A harsh, indrawn breath cut across the blackness. “Jeez….”
A stifled cry of agony ripped through the too-small space.
“Easy, easy – don’t move. Just stay still, okay? Easy, now.”
“We’re not gonna make it, are we?”
“Don’t talk like that! We’ll make it.”
“Nobody knows we’re here.”
“HELP! HEY, CAN ANYBODY HEAR ME? HELP US!”
“No-one can hear us.”
“HEY, ANYBODY! HELP!” Dirt and stones cascaded as the knife thudded against the ground.
“No-one’s coming.”
“Hey! Don’t talk like that. Someone will come. Someone will see the car, and figure out we’re in here. You’ll see – it’ll be all right. You’ve just got to hold on, okay? Come on, man, you have to hold on.”
“Hurts so bad…”
“I know, I know. But you gotta hold on, all right? For me, dude – okay?”
“O-okay.”
“Okay.”
* * * * *
“Hey. Hey, you with me?”
“Yeah.” The voice from the blackness was faint, weak.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.”
“You still cold?”
“Nah – okay – warm…” A soft sigh drifted out onto the stuffy air.
“Hey, stay with me, here. You gotta keep awake for me, okay?”
No answer.
“C’mon, man, answer me.”
No answer.
“Hey!”
No answer.
“HEY!”
Silence.
“No, no…”
“Hey – anybody in there?” A faint voice called from the other side of the collapsed wall.
“Here! We’re down here! Help us!”
“I hear someone – hey, we found them.” Muffled thumps shook the debris wall.
“Help us!”
“We hear you, son. Just hang on!” Dirt and stones trickled, tumbled, slid.
A faint, ghostly glow grew slowly into diffuse light as more dirt and debris cleared from a widening hole.
“Here – over here!” The light grew stronger. “Please, hurry! My brother – he’s hurt bad.”
“Okay, son, we’re nearly there.”
The light flooded into the space, illuminating two faces, both pale and streaked with dirt, one conscious, one not. Rescuers clambered over the remains of the blockage and dropped to the young man’s side as he turned his worried gaze to his sibling.
“Please – hurry.”
“Okay, son, we got you – hey, this one’s in a bad way. Get the doc!”
* * * * *
A soft, rhythmic peeping gradually crept into Sam’s awareness. He slowly opened his eyes, finding himself looking up at a bag of blood attached to a tube. His eyes followed the tube down to a shunt in his arm. Transfusion? I’m in hospital. Someone found us. He shifted his gaze to the left, to find a monitor peeping softly in time to the beat of his heart. A soft light illuminated the head of the bed, leaving the rest of the room in shadow. He weakly turned his head to the right.
Dean sat in a wheelchair by the side of the bed, his right leg heavily bandaged from ankle to mid-thigh. His chin was propped on one hand, and his jade green eyes appeared almost black in the subdued light as he gazed at his brother’s face.
“Hey.” Sam’s voice was a mere whisper, weak and thready.
“You feeling okay? No pain?”
“No.”
“You were in surgery for over two hours.”
“Surgery…”
“Internal injuries. Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt so bad?”
“Why didn’t you…tell me…your leg was crushed?”
Dean looked down at his injured leg. “I told you I was pinned.” He rolled the wheelchair closer to the head of the bed. “You didn’t even tell me you were hurt, let alone bleeding to death.” His low tone was hurt, angry.
“Didn’t know,” Sam whispered.
“College boy didn’t know he was bleeding to death?”
“Pre-law, not medicine.” Sam closed his eyes, infinitely weary, not wanting to start up with their bickering again.
“You should have told me you were hurt, at least. You shouldn’t have tried to lift that plank off me.”
“Didn’t know.”
“Dammit, Sammy…” Dean ran a hand through his hair, remembering the panic that had gripped him in the darkness of the mine, listening to his brother’s raspy, pain-filled breathing and unable to do a thing to help him.
“Thought…just bruised…from the rocks …”
Sleep claimed the dark haired hunter before he could finish his sentence.
Dean watched as Sam’s chest rose and fell in shallow but rhythmic breaths. He studied the too-pale face of his younger brother, noting the frown that formed between the dark brows. He reached out a hand and rested it on Sam’s shoulder, and the frown disappeared. Dean smiled softly, his thumb rubbing a soothing circle on his brother’s shoulder.
“Well, aren’t we a pair, kiddo?” Keeping his voice low so he didn’t wake his sibling, Dean grinned wryly at the situation they found themselves in.
Sam’s eyes fluttered open at the sound of his brother’s voice. “Pair of what?”
“Nothin’. Just thinking out loud. So, you ready to hit the road?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, you jump on board, and I’ll wheel us out of here.” Dean was rewarded with a faint, dimpled grin.
“I’m driving.”
“When pigs fly. You can’t even stay awake.”
“Can too.”
Dean held up his hand. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
Squinting, Sam tried to focus on the gently waving hand. “A hundred and two.”
“That’s your temperature.” Dean sighed. “Face it, Sammy – we’re stuck here until one of us gets better.”
“Mmm….”
“Hope they got cable…”
“Porn…”
“Pervert!”
“Jerk.”
“Bitch.”
“We gotta go back.”
“What?” Dean’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “What do you mean, we gotta go back? Back where, Sam?”
Sam rolled his eyes, and sighed softly. “To the mine. We didn’t get the ghost.”
“Oh, for the love of…” Dean smacked himself in the forehead. “Dude, where’s the call button – I think the doctors missed a head injury.”
“We gotta finish the hunt, Dean.”
“Yeah, okay – but not right now.” Dean’s sweeping gesture took in his bandaged leg, the drip hanging from a pole welded to the back of the wheelchair and running a broad spectrum antibiotic into the vein on the back of his right hand, and the bag of blood attached to the tube in Sam’s left arm. “How about we get rid of the intravenous crap first – that sound like a plan to you?”
“I don’t mean right this minute – but we gotta go back, Dean. We gotta…”
“Yeah, okay, okay, I get it. But let’s get you glued back together first, okay?” Sighing gustily, Dean put his left foot up on the edge of the bed as he reclined in the wheelchair. “In the meantime – what’s on tv?”
* * * * *
The rising flames illuminated their handsome faces as they stood at the graveside, watching another pile of bones go up in smoke. Sam shook his sweat-soaked bangs from his eyes and smiled wryly at his brother balanced on crutches beside him. “Does this rank as the longest we’ve ever taken to salt and burn someone’s bones?”
“Dude – I’d have been out here two days ago if it hadn’t been for you. I didn’t think you were ever gonna get out of that hospital bed.” Dean smirked as his little brother let out an annoyed huff, and transferred his weight to his left foot, easing the strain on his injured right leg.
“Me? You’re the one who couldn’t walk, Dean. The only reason we stayed in the hospital the extra day was because you wouldn’t leave in a wheelchair, and you couldn’t get out any other way.”
“Oh, come on, Sammy – could you see me coming out here in one of those freakin’ things? Not gonna happen – not unless it’s got a motor attached.”
“You want one of those motorised wheelchairs? Like old people have?” Sam chuckled, ducking a swat aimed for the back of his head.
“I was thinking more along the lines of a 427 big block V8, with a 770CFM Holley Street Avenger four barrel carburettor.” Dean slowly swung away from the smouldering grave and scooped a shovel off the ground, tossing it to his brother. “I’d have that wheelchair smokin’.”
Sam shook his head, am amused smirk tugging at his lips as he began to fill in the grave. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I know – it’s a gift.”
“It wasn’t exactly meant as a compliment, Dean.”
“Sure it was.” Dean picked up the second shovel and thrust both crutches under his right armpit as he balanced on his left leg.
“Dean – what are you doing? I can fill in the grave – you should rest.”
Dean sighed as he rolled his eyes. “Sam – internal injuries, remember? Two blood transfusions – two.” He held up two fingers to illustrate his point as his sibling glared back in exasperation. “So shut up, and let me do my bit before you tear something open, lose those two bags of blood they gave you, and end up in the hospital again. Because if you do, I swear I will kick your ass – there were no hot nurses on that ward.”
“You’ll kick my ass because there were no hot nurses?” Sam winced as he tipped the loaded shovel over the grave, letting the dirt slide onto the blackened ashes at the bottom of the hole.
“Damn straight.”
The brothers concentrated on filling up the hole as quickly as their various injuries allowed, and both breathed a sigh of relief as the final shovelful of dirt was tamped down.
“Rest in peace, George – or whatever the afterlife holds for you.” Dean hefted the shovel, balancing it across his shoulder as he made his way back to the waiting Impala, his brother by his side.
Sam turned to glance over his shoulder at the raw mound marking the grave of the mineworker they had laid to rest, and a frown appeared between his dark brows. “Hey, Dean?”
“What?” Groaning softly, the elder brother popped the trunk and tossed the shovel inside.
“Back in the mine – after the cave-in…” Sam hesitated, his teeth worrying his lower lip as he avoided his sibling’s gaze.
“What already? Come on, Sammy – I’m not getting any younger, here.” Dean spread his hands out from his sides, his green eyes widening in impatience.
Sam’s soulful eyes sought out his brother’s. “What you said – did you – did you mean it? About – about me – being a good hunter?”
Dean groaned again as he limped slowly and painfully to the passenger seat. “Aw, come on, Sam – how many times do I have to tell you about chick flick moments?”
Letting out an annoyed huff, the tousle-haired hunter folded his long frame into the drivers seat, leaning forward to turn the key in the ignition and bring the big Chevy roaring to life. “You know, Dean – for someone who hates any kind of chick flick moments, you sure have your fair share of them. I mean, you’re the most tactile person I know.”
Eyeing his brother uncertainly as the younger man guided the Impala out onto the road, Dean scowled at the accusation. “No, I’m not.”
“Yeah, you so are.” Sam grinned as his brother swatted him on the shoulder. “I rest my case.”
“Ooh, college boy – thinks he’s so smart,” Dean mumbled in an atrocious southern accent, smirking as his brother gave a soft laugh. He settled back against the seat, his eyes straying to the passing scenery as the big black classic rumbled toward the Interstate. “Yeah, I did.”
Sam’s gaze flicked to his sibling as he guided the Chevy up the entrance ramp. “Did what?”
Dean wriggled uncomfortably on the seat. “Did – mean it – back at the mine.”
“Oh.” Concentrating on the traffic as he merged, Sam fell silent, not knowing how to respond.
“Okay, end of chick flick moment.” Dean slapped his hands against his thighs, wincing as his right leg throbbed painfully in protest. “Ow – son of a bitch – remind me not to do that again…” He slid the box of cassette tapes from under the seat, selected one, and pushed it into the stereo.
Sam rolled his eyes as Dean turned the volume knob to the right. “Dean, do you have to have it…” He broke off as the music thrummed through the solid frame of the Chevy, and his brother began singing along at the top of his lungs. “Dean…”
“I said baby mama, I don't know your name
But I said baby, sugar I can play your game
Every night when we leave the hall
I see you hanging around
You wanna ride in my big black car baby
Wanna go uptown.”
“Dean, turn it down…”
Dean grinned as he turned the knob further to the right. The speakers vibrated in time to the beat of the chorus.
“I know who you are baby
I know what they call you girl
Never put you down baby
I'm just like you baby, I'm on the hunt.”
“Dean, I swear…”
“Aww, come on, Sammy – live a little.”
“I’d rather have my hearing.”
“I know lady
People gonna talk about you and me
Let me say one thing mama, sugar I do as I please
And if you wanna love me baby, I'm your man
And all those high-falutin' society people
I don't care if they don't undertand.”
“Dean!”
“Can’t hear you, Sammy – music’s too loud!”
“My daddy told me a long time ago
Said there's two things son
Two things you should know
And in these two things you must take pride
That's a horse and woman, yeah
Well both of them you ride.”
The big black car growled throatily as she headed down the Interstate, eating up the miles as the music played on.
End.
Songs in order of appearance:
Another Perfect Day – by Motorhead
The Jack – by AC/DC
On The Hunt – by Lynyrd Skynyrd
Jules
no subject
Date: 2016-12-11 08:38 pm (UTC)From: