Last Chance

AN: The last few months have sucked big time, (whoa, major surprise there! This is me after all, whoda thunk?) I went to Kazcon, had a great time bullying my Hellhounds and wearing my new belt buckle with the .38 holstered on it. (Gift from my husband) Met a lot of people I had seen before but not really interacted with, as Gaelic will tell you I'm not the most interractive person with new people. If anything I become even more obnoxious than normal. Does, however, wave to everyone I met there. As always it's a treeat to meet the people I talk to all the time in person.

Serbella the next time a girl with black and white hair wearing a gunbelt stands near you, staring expectantly, speak.

I WAS going to go to the Chicago Con, was SO looking forward to going with Gaelicspirit and Amy Blair. I was actually gpoing to get the guys autograph in person (ta Amy so much again) have 3 minutes of ecstasy (How in the HELL do you spell that?) then die happy. But due to my general state of suckage I was forced to cancel, a blow from which I may never recover. Everyone who IS going enjoy yourselves and I wish I could have met some of you. (I wish i could have met THEM) I'll have to watch the vids and enjoy it vicariously like always. If it works for anyone, tell the guys Terry says hi. (If that sounds pathetic, it was meant to) Deangirl1, I wanted to meet you in person, I'm sorry it won't happen, maybe in another life. I know you're as terrific as Gaelic says you are.

Still searching fruitlessly for new employment, I don't know how much longer I can stay where I am without killing someone. I've noticed a definite arm's reach distance between me and everyone else. It's JUST possible I may be projecting.

Let's see, I was climbing the racks at work and caught my sterling silver replica of Dean's ring on a shelf bracket. When I climbed down, the ring didn't. The ripped flesh of my thumb and the fact that I had to go home to find some tools to cut the ring off were nothing compared to the loss of the ring itself. Thank God it was sterling, the other ring is steel and I'd still be hanging there. It's pretty much healed now, ta, and my husband gave me a new ring to replace it for a 30th wedding anniversary present. (Yes, I'm THAT old)

My website is mostly repaired and I have a lot of new stuff on there, thruterryseyes dot com, if you're interested or just need a good laugh.

And as Gaelic put it the other day, the world is ending, I am now on Facebook. I also have a Deviant Art account, as Silver4456, my alter ego. (I've just become the true social butterfly, hell I thought LJ was confusing, I look at my facebook page and just go WTF? (I accidentally changed my daughter's sex for God's sake)

I'm trying to think of somethig clever to write since it's been SO long since I've done anything, I don't even have time to play that drabble game anymore, but my mind is a blank, so with that fact in mind, once again I have dragged my reluctant carcass into the open air and feel compelled to inflict on you all yet another dismal offering. This is an auction story for Vanessa Sgroi, my most patient friend. I asked her what she wanted to see and this is her list, my comments are in bold:

1. Dean has to writhe in pain and arch his back in pain at least once. (Well, hell yeah)

2. Dean has to throw up at least once. (that was a given)

3. Sam leaves a bloody handprint somewhere. (works for me)

4. Would love some loopy Dean on painkillers. (Have to wait til the end)

5. Stories with scenes where Deans hands are out of commission, where he's slightly embarrassed, where he's tired or grumpy, or where his skin is hyper-sensitive are always a hit with me. (you're only gonna get one hand, and I'll do my best with the rest)

I'm am totally not opposed to some delicious claustrophobic Dean. :-) (Me either)

(And dude, you left out rats, where are the rats???)

It is my duty to honor her requests and add some of my own. I know a lot of you will find, in pain, nauseaus, shaky, loopy and arching Dean repellant so I understand if you choose not to read. I have created my own monster (Poster can be found on my website or on Deviant art if you're curious) and there may be some semblance of a plot but it's thin, it might break if you walk on it and you'll fall in.

I cannot be responsible for accidents.

Even if I am the cause of them.

On your own head be it.

Teaser

Brightline Coal Company Show Mine

3:48 pm, Thursday, July 17th

The small coal car made it's slow rumbling descent down the shallow incline one hundred feet to the bottom of the mine, its occupants, three service techs investigating the sudden electrical shorts that had sent the last tour back in darkness, early, with a promise of refunds and apologies, rode in bored silence. It had been a small tour group and the last of the day but there were several field trip tours scheduled for the next day and they needed to find the problem and get it fixed.

Ruth Denby, a robust woman of mid life years and tougher than most of the men she worked with rode the car with comfortable ease, obviously used to the rocking and swaying as it crept down the inclined tracks. Dark red hair shot through with strands of gray was pulled into a tight bun at the base of her neck, her helmet resting lightly on the ball of hair. She used the lamp on her helmet to mark off items on her clipboard list.

She looked up once to grin at Carl Reynolds, the newbie, who rested stiffly against the broad wire of the cage enclosure. His eyes darted nervously to the rough hewn stone walls then to Ruth, his face shifting instantly from unease to cool nonchalance.

Ruth snorted softly and shot a quick look at Grant Carson, one of the regular guides who manned the controls. Grant glanced at Carl, rolled his eyes and shook his head.

Most of the workers at the Brightline Coal Mine slash Show Mine Tourist Attraction were former coal miners and knew the ropes but Carl had only been on the job for a few days as a college intern studying various types of mining and their past and present impact on the environment and hadn't actually made it down to the mine itself yet.

Early twenties, going prematurely bald under his own helmet, eyes magnified by heavy Buddy Holly style glasses, Carl glanced around at the timbered walls creeping past him.

They had emergency lighting rigged but it was still half dark and he couldn't help but feel as he looked at the blackness ahead, that he was being pulled down some creatures throat rather than a simple mine tunnel.

He jumped as a sharp finger poked him. "Ow!"

"It's a mine tunnel, kid," Ruth growled, sarcasm in her voice. "Not the gates of hell. You sure this is the right business for you?"

Grant's bark of laughter was lost in a smoker's cough.

Carl ignored her.

The car lurched to a halt when it got to the bottom, some three minutes later.

Grant locked the brakes and slid the door open.

And the screaming began.

When the little elevator car failed to return as scheduled and inquiries to the car call box went unanswered an accident was assumed and a rescue crew was quickly dispatched to assess the situation.

The car was sitting askew at the bottom of the shaft.

Glaring lights found Carl Reynolds crammed into the corner of the car, rocking and weeping, clawed, battered and covered with blood, holding the distorted, heavy wire door closed with his booted feet, , eyes frozen wide in shock.

When the lights from the headlamps hit, dispelling the darkness that had protected him, he began to shriek and try to shove himself even further back.

The only sign of Ruth Denby to be found was a wad of bloody hair, the bun she'd worn, torn from the back of her head, still bound by the green band she had fastened it back with that morning.

Searchers scouring the tunnel up ahead found Grant Carson's body several hundred feet away.

Most of it anyway.

Clutching Grant Carson's severed right arm to his chest in a death grip Carl Reynolds continued to rock, hissing in a low voice, "I've got you...I've got you..."

Chapter One: Once in a Lifetime

Avae (Ah-vey) are burrowers. They dwell in caves and tunnels made either by themselves or those conveniently made for them by man.

Like most cave creatures, Avae are blind, relying on an incredible sense of smell to locate prey or territorial encroachers. If they come into the upper world, forced there by hunger or other needs, they come out only at night.

Fiercely territorial, they spend most of their lives roaming their underground lairs for intruders: their own or any other kind. The only time they willingly encounter each other is during rare and short lived once-in- a-generation mating seasons.

Neither male nor female, each Avae is capable of bearing offspring once they exchange necessary bodily fluids—or whatever they did—then getting the hell away from each other as fast as possible to avoid post-coital death.

After that, the search for a host in which to deposit their progeny becomes paramount. The body of the other Avae is more than satisfactory if they don't make their escape fast enough.

Like wasps that lay their eggs in the paralyzed bodies of caterpillars or other creatures then leave their young to develop and feed in their live enclosure, to an Avae, as long as it was warm blooded and alive, any creature of decent size would work fine as a pseudo womb.

Unlike wasps, however, Avae guard their host until the young are born. Territorial imperative forces the older Avae to abandon the area to the younger at that point lest they kill their progeny.

If they were to destroy it, it had to be now.

Tracking so-called random attacks over a 50 mile radius that left two amateur spelunkers and a cave diver dead had also produced a witness who described their attacker as a deformed white bear. Drawing on resources he wasn't sure still existed, Bobby had managed to pull together the probable culprit.

The guy who had died from blood loss after his arm was ripped off would never know how lucky he had been.

As he brought the Impala to a halt, Sam glanced over at Dean, slumped against the car window, dozing fitfully. The line between Dean's brows that had appeared a few days ago appeared to have taken up permanent residence there.

With obvious reluctance, Sam reached over and gently shook Dean's arm, accompanying it with a soft, "We're here."

Despite his efforts, Dean jerked awake with a startled snort, looking almost guilty as he raised himself and looked blearily at their surroundings.

"Sorry," Sam offered. "I didn't mean to spook you."

Dean coughed, cleared his throat and massaged his right temple. "You didn't...I just...had my eyes closed."

He squinted through the windshield where the headlights reflected on a large sign attesting to the fact that yes, the Brightline Coal Company Show Mine was indeed a for-real coal mine that people could tour with a former mine worker as a guide. Nine to five, Monday through Saturday, open on Sunday for special events. After being closed for two months, it was opening again in two days with added activities.

Bring the kiddies for special walking tours.

Open the buffet, Dean thought.

"Shit..." he grunted, rubbing his eyes and slowly pulling himself together, taking a deep breath that ended in another throat-clearing cough.

"You sure you're up for this?" Sam said hesitantly, but still unable to stop himself.

Dean had been dragging around for the past few days running a low grade fever off and on, due to a raging sinus infection that had laughed at every antibiotic Dean had taken. He was achy, with a sore throat, mildly nauseous and cranky—emphasis on the cranky. He felt almost bad enough to justify going to bed but not good enough to do much more than bitch at Sam, stare moodily at nothing in particular and be difficult to get along with.

Including refusing to wait on this hunt until he felt better no matter what Sam had to say about it.

"Don't start," Dean rasped, cutting him off. "You know time's an issue."

"I know, but-"

"How many times have we had arguments about stuff like this?" Dean stated flatly, turning to fix Sam with a slightly out of focus glare. "And how many of those arguments did you win?"

Sam glared back, but he knew he was beaten, settling for rolling his eyes and shaking his head. "Fine, but you better be damn glad this thing depends on its sense of smell 'cause otherwise it'd hear you coming a mile off."

"Screw you," Dean growled, pressing his fingertips against the ache below his right ear. He opened his door and slid his feet to the ground, pushing himself upright.

The sudden increase of pressure behind his eyes left him expecting to feel his eyeballs burst from the sockets and go bouncing across the dusty ground.

With a wordless noise meant to convey agony, he clapped his hands to his forehead and cheeks to hold the bones in place. "Uuuggghhhccchhh..."

Sam sighed and opened the driver's door with its signature scrinch. "I'm just saying you need to take it easy for a few days and get over this-"

"I can't take it easy!" Dean snapped. He grimaced, holding the heel of his hand against his right temple, lowering his voice, "That woman could be down there somewhere...still alive...that thing using her as...as an incubator." Dean raised bloodshot eyes to look at Sam over the roof of the car. "Seriously, can you take it easy?"

Thinking about Ruth Denby, still missing, made Dean want to throw up. Even though realistically he knew there was nothing they could do but end her suffering if that thing actually had her, it didn't mean it had to go any longer than necessary.

"Hell, Sam," Dean added. "Even if it's not using that Denby woman… if she's actually dead … that just means it would go on hunting for something or someone else to use instead!"

Sam shook his head, "You know I didn't mean it like that. I know we have to get this under control as fast as we can. I just wish it didn't have to be when you're sick. Not being 100% is dangerous." He sighed, "I know there's nothing we can do about it."

Dean straightened slightly and tried to compose his features into a look of health. "I understand that, and we'll be extra careful. I'll be extra careful. I promise."

And we all know what those kind of promises, coming from you, are worth, Sam thought to himself. If Dean had had his arm torn off, he would have still tried to beat whatever evil bastard he was after to death with the severed appendage, even while the words "I'll be careful," were still falling from his lips.

"I'll hold you to that," was all he said. "Let's just get to it and get finished." He walked back to the trunk and opened it pulling out the bag with their supplies for this hunt.

Dean closed his door and moved to join Sam, stretching stiffly. "This is a tourist attraction?" He finally said as Sam unloaded the bag. "A coal mine? You sure Bobby didn't get his wires crossed?"

Sam nodded enthusiastically, "Yeah, Dean, they run this sort of excursion train into the mine and one of the former miners describes what working in the mine was like and stuff, then the train follows the route around the mountain and back down. There's a restaurant and a museum. It's a recommended tourist attraction. Fun and educational." Sam reached into the bag and grabbed some pamphlets, handing them to Dean who took them automatically.

He would have asked who the hell would want to see a thing like that but the tone of Sam's voice made it clear the answer was, Sam. Glancing at the pamphlets, Dean rolled his eyes and threw them back in the trunk in disgust as Sam's ever-present geek gene reared its ugly head.

"Sounds absolutely thrilling," Dean grumbled. He glanced around at the encroaching darkness. Night was falling. He knew from experience that in the woods, dusk became darkness in the blink of an eye. Luckily, the three-quarter moon and a cloudless sky dispelled some of the gloom as light wavered through the gnarled fingers of the leafless branches of the trees.

"We need to hurry up," He commented, watching as Sam removed two cloth bags the size of oranges. Dust puffed up as Sam handled them.

Even with his sinuses ravaged by disease Dean could still smell the homemade pomanders: sweetish, spicy, pungent and strong as hell, not really bad, but a little overwhelming.

"We have to cover ourselves with this dust," Sam said, demonstrating by beating the cloth bag lightly against his arm. Sparkling clouds of fine dust were released with each hit, settling on his clothes. "Bobby says it'll hide out scent. Be generous." He handed Dean a similar ball. "We can help each other with the places we can't reach."

"Awww, you gonna powder my back for me, Sammy?"

Sam gave Dean a small shove, secretly pleased to see Dean at least felt well enough to be sarcastic.

Dean coughed as the dust he was pouncing onto his clothes puffed up in clouds and got sucked into his mouth and nose as he breathed. He sneezed repeatedly, swearing in between wheezes. "What is this shit?" he finally demanded, wiping at his face , swearing again as the whatever the hell it was burned his eyes.

Sam, fighting his own urge to cough, one hand cupped over his mouth and nose, paused in the act of dusting his own clothing. "I dunno. Bobby made 'em. Said that friend of his guaranteed them to work. He'd been working on it for years. Tested them in the field."

"You mean with a live one of these things?" Dean stopped to give Sam a strange look.

"Yeah. Said it worked perfect." Sam continued to powder himself.

"That guy that has one arm?" Dean squinted at Sam.

Sam stopped and nodded, looking puzzled. "Yeah, I think so."

"Why does than not fill me with confidence?" Dean muttered, sneezing again before going back to beating the small bag of dust over his clothes.

End Notes: I kept it short to lessen the pain. It gets worse for Dean of course, and you to, I guess if you continue reading. Vanessa, I apologize, all I'll be able to offer is your requested list with a few additions of my own. (I do like my monster tho, I admit that)

Gaelic, as always.

Drags computer back into hole.