Dean was out of practice. At least, Dean was out of practice in the sense that every fiber in him was no longer constantly ready for a fight and it took more thought than well honed survival instinct to get him moving. He was out of practice in the sense that he was out of Purgatory. It caught up to him after a round in a vampire nest about an hour due west of Baton Rouge. He and Benny had tracked the place down, but when they got there it was clear right away that they must have missed something. The place had been cleared out before they got there. After one sweep, it looked completely abandoned, like all the vamps had picked up and went a different way. Dean had been ready to say so when three of them had appeared seemingly out of nowhere. Two of them had blades as long as their arms and looked like they might even know how to use them.
"Thought you'd gone and ran scared on us," Benny drawled, tightening his grip on his own knife. "Here I was thinkin' you forgot all your manners. You know what they say..." he began to circle. "Always greet your guests," one of the men dove at him but Benny was too quick, and in one fluid motion had opened up a gash that left his head hanging like it was on a hinge, "at the door." Before he could turn around, vampire number two had started after Dean. The first blow was met even – Dean raised his Purgatory stick and stopped the swing dead in the air. In the split second battle for leverage, he lifted his foot and sank his boot into the vampire's stomach. It looked like that was going to buy him time. The vampire stumbled back and nearly went down, but Dean miscalculated just how far away he'd gotten. As the vampire went reeling, he slashed sideways with his blade. Adrenaline left Dean thinking he'd only managed to rip his shirt.
It wasn't until a few minutes later, when Benny had dispatched number three and Dean had number two's head rolling a few inches from his feet, that he saw the dark blood soaking through his own t-shirt. "You're slowin' down, brotha. Goin' topside has got you all out of shape." "Fuck off," Dean muttered, trying to ignore just how fast the blood was coming. He took a few steps to the side and lifted up the bottom of his shirt just to see how bad the damage was. A long, nasty looking cut stretched from his ribs nearly to his belly button, and the waistband of his jeans was already sticky with blood. "Son of a bitch..." His back was still to Benny, so he didn't see the sudden change that came over the vampire's face when the scent of blood reached him. The fangs hadn't come out. He had at least managed to keep that part under lock and key, but only barely. His voice was deeper than usual when he spoke, and there was an obvious struggle to get the words out. "Ya alright over there?" "I'll be fine. Let's get the hell out of here. Think they were the only ones home."
Dean almost made it to the door. Almost. The blood kept coming no matter how tightly he pressed his shirt against the cut. Moving made it worse. His vision started to go black at the edges. Benny was a few feet behind, trying to talk himself down, when he saw him stumble. He got there just in time to keep the hunter's skull from hitting the ground.
Something like eight hours later, Dean opened his eyes to see a small room practically screaming for a paint job. It was sparsely populated, home only to a rickety looking nightstand, a lamp, and the bed that he had apparently been sleeping on. It was no memory foam, but he'd definitely slept on worse. He started to sit up and winced immediately as he felt a sharp pull in his midsection. "Don't you go tearin' up my handywork. Used up all the thread puttin' you back together the first time." Dean pushed away the blanket and looked down. A neat row of black stitches sealed the gash. "You did this?" "Come on now, don't sound too surprised. I'm a man of many talents." Benny smirked at him, but there was something else in the expression. Relief, maybe worry- like he hadn't been completely sure Dean was going to wake up again. "Next you're gonna tell me you knitted the pillowcase, too," Dean shot back, relaxing a little now that he was sure where he was. The slow rocking motion of the whole place told him one thing: houseboat. Benny's houseboat.
"You can keep on bein' a smartass or you can eat. Your choice." "Eat what?" Dean's interest was piqued. He didn't know how long he'd been out, but he did know that whatever smell was wafting through the place was making his stomach growl. "Felt a little bad you never got any of Lizzy's gumbo, so..." Benny disappeared around the corner, and Dean could hear the sound of dishes clanking against one another. The boat had enough of a kitchen to get the job done, judging by the giant bowl of steaming hot gumbo Benny came back with in a few minutes. "Gonna have to help me out a little, brotha." He motioned for him to sit up, and once he had Dean reached for the bowl and settled it on his lap.
He stared at it long enough to make Benny cross his arms. "Somethin' wrong? Stitches ain't comin' undone are they?" Dean shook his head. "No, no, it's uh..." he fiddled with the spoon, stirred it around the bowl a few laps. "You made this for me?" Benny quickly shrugged off the question. "Gotta get your strength up. You were fightin' like an old man back there." Dean managed a little laugh and finally took a huge bite. "Holy crap," his mouth was still full, but it was too good to wait. "Told you, I'm a man of many talents."