Disclaimer: Still don't own Supernatural. Let's not talk about it.
"I'm gonna go get the med kit. I'll just be a minute. Just...Hold on, okay?" Dean simply blinked slowly, but that was enough for Sam to know that it was okay. He heaved open the doors again, and, giving one last look back to Dean, trekked back into the frigid winds.
With the rising winds, it took Sam almost ten minutes to reach the clearing. He felt the need to run, but after falling on his face on his first attempt to do so, he settled with trudging at full speed. He swore when he realized he had ended up at a different clearing, due to the significant lack of chupacabra corpses. He began to turn around and try another direction when he froze, his eyes slowly moving back to a small, dark lump half-hidden under snow. The duffel. He rushed to the bag, kneeling before it panickedly. Even though he already knew it was theirs, he had hoped, with some tiny chance, that it wasn't and that he was in the wrong place. Nevertheless, the odds were not in his favor, as usual. He stood up, hoisting the bag on his shoulder and looking carefully at the line of trees surrounding him. The chupacabra was alive. He felt his stomach plummet. And Dean was alone.
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Dean adjusted his position uncomfortably, reapplying lost pressure to his wound. Every few minutes he would feel consciousness start to slip away and he'd have to snap himself back. He didn't know how long Sam would be, and if he succumbed to sleep, it might be the end of him. He heard a rustling outside the barn doors and looked over in confusion. Surely Sam couldn't be back, already...Right? "Sammy?" He called uncertainly. He pushed himself up straighter as a banging started on the door, followed shortly by a splitting crack, splinters and chunks of rotting wood flying everywhere as a heaving beast was suddenly before him. "Not Sammy." He muttered, eyes wide as he attempted to stand. Pushing his back to the bale of hay, he managed to stagger up so he was standing, gritting his teeth in pain. The flannel, forgotten in the midst of the unforeseen arrival of a certain beast, hit the ground with a sickly plop beside the blanket, blood oozing from the pores of the fabric.
He raised his hands in front of him defensively, taking a small step backward. The chupacabra, which did not look as dead as he remembered, countered his movement by stepping forward. "I know we got off to a rough start, but…" He began with a nervous smile, and was rewarded with a low growl from the monster. "Oh. Okay." He swallowed hard, looking around desperately for anything that even remotely looked like it could be used as a weapon. Nothing. The damn barn was completely empty except for a few bales of hay and a rusty wheelbarrow. He looked back to the chupacabra. Why wasn't it attacking him? All it was doing was staring at him intently. He inhaled deeply and squeezed his eyes shut for an instant, trying to keep himself from passing out. He took another step back and it let out a gruff snort, taking another step forward.
A million thoughts raced through Dean's mind as he waited awkwardly in the standoff. Should he run? Could he run? He was already swaying, and, unless he had missed a spontaneous miracle of birth, there weren't actually two beasts standing in front of him. Another thought crossed his mind. Why wasn't it dead? He had seen Sam hit the thing square in the chest. It should be dead. When it moved forward again, he hastily tried to step back and stumbled, falling backward onto the icy hay-strewn floor, darkness creeping in on the edges of his vision. It was then that Sam decided to arrive, and Dean wouldn't have even noticed if the creature hadn't suddenly spun around and barreled past Sam, back into the confines of the storm.
Sam, very obviously bewildered, stepped aside just in time to avoid being trampled. After a moment of standing there in amazement, he snapped out of his trance and rushed to his brother's side. "Dean?" He simply let out a breathless groan, only half-conscious. Sam dropped the bag from his shoulder and pulled out the first-aid kit. All he knew was that his priority was making sure Dean would make it through the storm, however strange the instance with the beast had been. He sifted through the contents of the box before pulling out a few wads of gauze, a clean-ish hand towel, tape, and a roll of bandages. "Alright. Are you with me, Dean?" There was no answer. He bit his lip nervously, then moved Dean into somewhat of a sitting position, propped in the corner of a bale of hay and the barn wall.
Luckily, but not really, the cold had helped slow the bleeding down so it was sluggishly pumping blood down his abdomen. He pulled the towel from his pile of supplies and managed to carefully wipe most off the blood away. Now that the actual injury was more defined, he could see that it was three deep gashes across his ribs, and that, yes, bone was distinctly visible. Not wasting any more time, he pressed a mass of gauze to the wound without any protest from its bearer. He bit a few pieces of tape off with his teeth and lined them up with the edges of gauze, then proceeded to take the roll of bandages and wrap around Dean's chest a few times for good measure. He paused for a moment, watching the somewhat steady rise and fall of his brother's chest, then reached over and pulled the forgotten blanket back over his shivering form.
For almost two hours, according to his watch, Sam just sat back and kept an eye on Dean, pondering the strange chupacabra occurrence. Through the newfound gaping hole in the side of the barn, he could see the storm beginning to back down. Soon, they would be able to walk back. Well…He looked back to the unconscious body tucked in a corner. He might have to carry him out of here if he didn't wake up soon, and he didn't want to force him awake.
As if reading his thoughts, Dean's eyes fluttered open and a breathless groan wheezed out of him as his hand raised toward the source of pain. Sam immediately crawled over in front of him. "Dean? Dean, how are you feeling?" His breath hitched when he shifted his position, and after a moment, responded with pain evident in his voice, "Feel like I got sliced and diced." He gave a weird look, then added, "Did you see the zombie chupacabra?" Sam gave a short laugh, just glad his brother was talking. "Yeah...We'll have to see what the hell that was all about once we get out of here." He scanned the diminishing storm outside. "We might be able to make it to the car, now. Are you...Up for that?" Dean rolled his eyes. "I'm in top-notch condition, Sammy." After receiving a doubtful look, he continued, "I'll be fine. Just uh...Can I have my clothes back?"
"Oh, of course, yeah." Sam stood and picked up the two jackets and t-shirt that were draped over a hay bale. They were still slightly damp, but would have to do. He turned back to Dean and helped him somewhat stand, the blanket left in a heap on the floor for the time being. With a little bit of a struggle and a few gasps of pain, Sam managed to get the two outer layers on Dean, buttoning up the flannel and zipping the jacket. He had decided last minute it wasn't worth the pain it would take to get the t-shirt on him. He clenched his jaw and glanced back outside, then shook off his feelings of uneasiness. He bagged the blanket, just in case, hefted the duffel onto his shoulder, then turned back to Dean. "You ready?" He nodded, and Sam resumed his place next to him with his arm wrapped around his waist. As if to condone their attempt at survival, the winds died down even further as they stepped out. "This is gonna be…" Dean's breath caught in his throat as they shifted around a tree. "Loads of fun." He muttered, and the two of them carried on with their trek.
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