E/O Drabble Challenge
Challenge Word: RAW (Additional challenge if so inclined: how about use the word in a 100, 200, 500, or 1000 word story). I made it a 700 word story.
Word Count: 700 words on the nose.
Other players in the challenge are now too many to list here! There're lots of people raking up these Supernatural leaves. You can find the list of names at Enkidu07's profile page and/or OnyxMoonbeam's profile page. Also, to find all of the lovely drabbles, there's a sweet little C2 community out there to subscribe to and enjoy. You can find the link on their profile pages mentioned above.
Disclaimer: Neither the boys nor anything related to Supernatural belongs to me. I'm just having some fun with the boys, playing around with Eric Kripke's sandbox.
BATTLE BOUND
By: Vanessa Sgroi
Dean Winchester cleared his raw, achy throat and tossed a glance at his brother. "You ready?"
"As I'll ever be," Sam replied, his own voice still scratchy and gruff from the cold he'd since passed along to his older sibling.
The brothers exited the car and approached the trunk to gather weapons. Once as suitably armed as possible to hunt the Trinnbol, the Winchesters darted toward the abandoned warehouse, its last-known lair.
Slipping through the door, Dean's gaze roamed the cluttered cavernous space, his nose wrinkling at the overwhelming raw-onion sweaty aroma, infused with the not-so-delicate scent of decay that permeated the area. Fighting the urge to gag, he muttered, "You think it's still here?"
Tucking his nose in his elbow to help block the smell, Sam frowned. "I dunno. Let's look around." Sam trudged forward, glancing over his shoulder. "Be careful."
"Yeah, yeah."
The two delved further into the Trinnbol's nest, Sam automatically moving to the right, Dean to the left. Filth and gore was etched into nook and cranny, a musky stink enveloping the hunters.
"Geez, will you look at this place," Dean hissed. "Housekeeping isn't its forte, that's for sure."
"It's not yours either," teased Sam.
"Haha. You're freakin' hilarious, little brother."
"I always thought so."
Dean paused at a particularly raw-looking pile of goo and poked at it. A foul stench leapt upward, forcing Dean to swallow hard. "Ugh. I think I found our latest victim."
An indrawn choking breath and a cough. "Damn. Got another one over here."
Dean suddenly froze. "Ssshhh. Did you hear that?"
"I didn't hear anything."
The Trinnbol exploded out nowhere, its hideous self cleverly camouflaged by the surrounding deep shadows and detritus of the nest. Its roar shook the building to the rafters.
Dean stepped back, lifting his shotgun into position but failed to get off a shot as the lightning-fast creature rushed him. A claw raked his chest and belly before the Trinnbol sent him flying backward into a wall. The stunning impact drove the breath from his body, and he dropped to the floor where he lay in a dazed heap. The Trinnbol smacked his lips in anticipation.
"Dean!" Sam rounded on the monster. He raised his gun. Aimed. Fired. And watched in shock as the creature laughed before deftly ducking out of the way of the blessed silver bullet soaked in blood. Channeling Dean, Sam muttered a disgusted, "Sonuvabitch!"
Moving backward to lure the Trinnbol toward him and away from Dean, Sam projected fear that wasn't entirely an act when the creature's razor-sharp teeth dripped with saliva. He purposefully stuttered and begged, then fell backward, leaving himself open then watched and waited for the Trinnbol to pounce. The monster was mere inches away when the gun barrel met its forehead and Sam fired off another shot. Ichor blowback rained down on the younger Winchester.
The tainted blood coating did the trick far more than the lone bullet would've done. After a foreshortened roar, the Trinnbol crashed to the floor, curled in upon itself, shuddered once, and died, its skin shriveling and cracking, leaving a rotted husk behind.
Leaving the Trinnbol, Sam rushed to Dean's side. "Hey, Dean? You okay?"
Dean groaned. "Yeah, yeah—I'm fine." He rolled his aching head and moved slowly to sit up.
Sam placed a staying hand on his shoulder. "Not so fine. You're bleeding everywhere."
The older hunter looked down at the raw wounds decorating his chest and stomach. "Damn. That thing was fast. I take it you got it."
Slipping out of his long-sleeved shirt, Sam removed his t-shirt, balled it up and pressed it against his brother's wounds. "Yeah, dude, it's all over except for the big, stinky, bonfire."
Dean reached for the gray t-shirt covering his gut. He blinked drowsily. "Okay—you go take care of that and I'll—I'll wait—right here."
"No can do, bro. We're getting you outta here first."
"But…"
Sam gripped Dean under the shoulders and lifted him to his feet, holding him while he swayed and his knees threatened to buckle. "Still wanna lay back down and wait?"
"Uh…umm…n-no. I-I think I like your plan better."
"Good. That's what I like to hear."
FIN