Whumpers-Monthly Issue no 38 - Duct tape
@witchermonstermayhem @whumpers-monthly
Fandom: The Witcher & Supernatural
Caretakers: Milva, Regis, Dean Winchester
Summary: Sam and Dean enter a somewhat peculiar shop. Later in the evening there are unexpected consequences.
Mature, Gen, Chapters 6/?, Words: 6,973
Excerpt from Chapter 6: Something wicked in the water of A Magical Game
Milva comes crashing through the thicket of birch and willow trees and bushes. Thanks to Melitele, her friend is alive, but on his knees, the blade of his sword dripping with blood. Blood is gushing from his nose and he is clutching his left hand to his chest. There is blood all over Cahir's clothes, lots of it, but no monster or enemy in sight.
"There— there's something in the water," he pants through gritted teeth and, shakily, struggles to his feet, his vision swimming. Milva rushes to his side.
"Let me see," she says and grips his left arm. Cahir groans, going white in the face.
"Shit!" Milva curses. His hand is a bloody mess, the ring and little finger missing.
"We— we need to leave," he wheezes. "It might come back."
"What was it?" Milva asks while ripping a piece of cloth from the sleeve of her blouse and pressing it onto the injury. Cahir suppresses another groan, going even paler under all the blood in his face.
"Looks like a giant spider or something," Dean says, swinging what appears to be the lower part of an arthropod's leg in the air, only that it is not a few centimetres long, but more than a metre, and thicker than a man's thigh.
Milva's eyes widen. Cahir is right, they should run. Judging by the size of the monster's severed limb, it must be enormous indeed. Definitely not a creature she has any desire of meeting.
"Think you can make it to camp, Cahir?" she asks.
He nods. Not a good idea after having been hit in the face by a nightmarishly huge monster spider with a carapace harder than any knight's armour. A wave of nausea washes over him, his legs turning to jelly. Milva quickly grabs her companion around the waist to keep him from collapsing.
"Fuck. Don't you faint on me!" she swears, warm blood dripping down the side of her neck and into the neckline of her blouse from Cahir's nose as he leans heavily against her.
Having spotted something else between the trampled sedges and rushes, Dean lets go of the giant spider leg, bends down, picks whatever it is up and puts it in the breast pocket of his checkered shirt. Then he hurries over to help Milva manoeuvre Cahir further away from the water's edge and toward an old ash tree. With a low groan, the injured man slumps down against the tree trunk, his face ashen in the falling twilight of the evening.
Dean reaches inside his pants pockets that are always stuffed with the most essential things to survive whatever catastrophe, and fishes out a hip flask filled with cask strength whiskey, a Swiss pocket knife, and a roll of duct tape.
