Okay, don't quite know what prompted this, other than a funny dream of Dean with a dead chupacabra hanging off his leg. Lack of sleep, I tell you. That's the excuse I'll use for now. The ending is a bit abrupt, but I couldn't really find a better stopping point. Sorry. Otherwise...the usual. A little gory, I apologize, more cursing than usual. Bad Dean and bad Sam! No pie for you!

Can be set anywhere in the series, no spoilers, nothing like that. ^_^


The inhuman scream, and the subsequent gunshot that sounded right on it's heels, had Sam sprinting in that direction. "Damnit." A second shot, and Sam aborted sprinting for all out hell-busted-loose dashing.

Freaking Arizona. Freaking chupacabra. Freaking older brother. It was supposed to be an open-and-shut hunt…simple chupacabra, out in the wastelands of nowhere. An easy hunt, one that was supposed to give Dean a chance to get back in the game, without overtaxing his shoulder. The same shoulder that he had wrenched out of place a week ago, that was still swollen and tender.

Sam broke through the last of the trees, and slid to a halt.

Well, this was new. The nasty, seriously ugly critter was still clinging to Dean's leg, teeth secured in the bulge of his calf, body limp as it dangled from its grip. The blank eyes and the blood trickling down it's face left no doubt that the thing was dead, so Sam had no clue how its jaw was still clenched.

"Dude, what the hell?" Dean's voice was a bit higher than normal, disbelief and pain raising the octave, and Sam shrugged as he knelt by it.

"This is one messed up 'Cabra. This doesn't even look like the normal ones." Sam scruffed the nasty thing, and tried to gently shake it loose. Dean's yelp quickly cut that attempt rather short.

"In case you hadn't noticed, it's still attached!" Dean snorted in a combination of disbelief, frustration and pain. "Great. I get bit by a freakin mutant 'Cabra. Lovely. That's something you can add to the journal."

Sam tried to pry it's jaws apart, one hand under its jaw, the other over the top of the muzzle, like Bobby did when Rumsfield needed meds and was being cantankerous. The thing's jaws were clenched, teeth scissoring through to poke through the other side, and still, it wouldn't let go. "This goes against basic biology. It's like it's in rigor or something." The rest of the body dangled limp, just the jaw and head still rigid and tense.

"There's a crowbar in the trunk." Sam cast wide eyes at his brother, and Dean shrugged. "How else are we gonna get the fucker off? I sure as hell ain't walking to car like this."

The trip was quick…the pursuit hadn't taken them but maybe a mile from the Impala, and Sam was back within minutes, wincing as he contemplated the situation. Dean had sat on a nearby fallen log, leg angled out and away from him. "You, uh….you do realize this is gonna hurt. Bad. Right?"

Dean nodded, teeth clenched almost as tightly as the chupacabra's, and swallowed hard. "Yeah. It's gonna be messy. Just try to leave the bulk of the muscle attached, would ya?" Sam nodded, and knelt beside the dead thing, sliding the edge of the crowbar in between the teeth as he held it's heady steady with his other hand. The hisses of pain from his brother had his stomach twisting and churning, but Dean was right. They couldn't exactly head towards the car with a chupacabra dangling off his brother like a bizarre decoration.

"Ready?"

Dean nodded, and set his hands on either side of the jaws, trying to minimize the tugging and pulling that was bound to happen. Sam grit his teeth, and yanked the crowbar down, gagging as the jaw crunched sickeningly. It worked though, and he dropped the iron, gently tugging the teeth back out of his brother's flesh as gingerly as he could.

"Looks good. We'll clean it at the room, douse it in holy water, but I think we can wait that long. Doesn't appear that bad." He knew he was babbling, trying not to notice the way Dean's breath panted through clenched teeth, ignoring the way his normally golden brother had gone pale and sweaty. Dean nodded tensely, and pushed himself up, swaying for a moment before regaining his balance enough to deliver a sharp kick to the Chihuahua-sized corpse.

"Fuckin chupacabra."


Dean had insisted on pressing a towel to the bite, trying to stem the flow of blood before it covered the vinyl of the Impala, the slight hiss of air between clenched teeth the only sign of pain he was willing to reveal. By the time Sam had Dean situated on the bed, jeans tossed in the dirty clothes and a small mountain of towels under the left leg, the bleeding had slowed to a lazy trickle. He spent a moment gathering the peroxide, the jug of holy water, and the med kit. It was gonna take some stitches to close that off, and he was going to need to the antibiotics. Sam rested a hand on Dean's knee, eyeing the bite before eyeing the man. "Want some painkillers? Something tells me this is gonna hurt like hell."

"Nah."

Sam snorted. "You sure about that?" Dean nodded, settling in against the pillows before putting his arm over his eyes, and Sam patted the knee before getting to work. Four holes went cleanly through the muscle, but there were multiple other teeth marks surrounding them, all sluggishly oozing blood. Sam took a breath, steeling himself, and poured the holy water over the lacerations. Dean gasped, low and throaty and harsh, and his entire body tensed as he groaned low and ragged, the smoke billowing out of the marks thick and roiling. Sam knew from experience that things like 'sorry' and 'it's okay' and 'shh' didn't really help, but they still sprung to his lips, trying futilely to reassure and comfort his brother. Instead, he just squeezed the knee, and doused it again. He could feel the tremors racing through Dean, the harsh panting loud in the silence. This time, the smoke was just wisps, fading almost instantly, and the third douse Dean relaxed, the water no longer burning and boiling in his blood. "One more time."

This time though, Sam reached for the bottle of peroxide, drizzling it in a steady stream until the bubbling stopped, and the runoff was clear instead of pink. "Done flushing it man. Just relax a bit, okay?" Dean nodded, breath slowing and steadying out, and Sam squeezed his knee reassuringly again before putting away the holy water and the peroxide. He fished out the antibacterial soap, and scrubbed his hands, idly watching the suds sluice off under the water. He brought the towel back with him, gently patting dry the area before taking a better look, now that it was cleaned up.

"Think it's gonna need stitches?" The words were worn and weary, and Sam cleared his throat in sympathy.

"Yeah, I think a few. At least on the ones it went through. I'm thinking just one on each of the four, just to keep it from gaping so bad. We'll take 'em back out in a few days." The sigh from Dean was resigned, and he shuffled, sitting up more. "You sure you don't want some pain killers? It'd just take a second."

"Nope. Stitches don't hurt near as bad as that damned holy water. Little fucker," Dean growled, and Sam chuckled.

"Alright. Stitch and we're done."

By the time he's done, the top bite marks have 2 stitches, the bottom only one each, and he slathers a thick layer of ointment over the top of them before fishing out the syringe and the antibiotics. Dean flinches as he slowly injects the solution, the muscle tense around the needle, and he rubs a thumb soothingly against the site as he withdraws. A quick wrap with gauze twice, and he tapes the filmy fabric down, and pats his brother's leg. "All done."

Dean is sliding into oblivion, into the peace that slumber is offering, and Sam eases the limb under the sheets before tossing the white-turned-pink towels to the floor. He tugs the blanket up closer around his brother, and is rewarded with a murmured 'thanks'. He thumps the lump under the blankets fondly, and sets about cleaning up the mess left from putting his brother back together.