November 1st, 2042
"Are you sure that's not infected?" Cass demanded for the umpteenth time.
"I'm sure," DJ replied through gritted teeth; he wished the other man wouldn't hover while he checked Sam's wound and incisions.
Sam, for his part, was propped up on his elbows looking down at his own injuries with a sort of morbid curiosity and the occasional pained groan.
"It's swollen and red," Cass repeated stubbornly. "That means it's infected."
"Post-surgical inflammation is normal," DJ grumbled, half in answer to Cass and half to reassure himself; he didn't like the look of it either. "Anyway, I've got him on antibiotics and I've done two different purification rituals."
"But—"
"Cass! I swear to god," Sam snarled, flinching as DJ gently taped the bandages back down.
"What!?" Cass demanded, throwing his arms out wide. "You know we heal faster than this, Sam! You should be up and at'em by now."
"I'll show you up and at'em!"
"No," DJ planted a hand in the middle of Sam's chest. "You will not pop your stitches and ruin all my hard work. Stay."
Sam bared his teeth at his brother briefly, then turned his head back to DJ and nodded his agreement.
"Can I get something to eat?" he asked quietly. "I'm really hungry."
"Yeah, I'll bring you something," DJ promised. "Cass; a word?"
Cass followed him to the kitchen, where he proceeded to pace nervously over and around the much-brighter patch of linoleum where DJ had bleached the floor. DJ kept his hands busy while he talked, cranking open a can of soup.
"You're a pain in the ass, man, but you do have a point," he admitted, situating a small saucepan on the burner and turning the dial up. "I can't figure it out; it's been more than half a day, and the full moon was only, what, three days ago? He's healing like a human when he oughta be healing like freakin' Wolverine."
"Oh shit," Cass blurted suddenly, going still.
"What?"
"The full moon was three days ago; we were so wrapped up in the hunt that we didn't… you know, hunt."
DJ abandoned the soup, turning to fix the other man with an incredulous stare.
"Are you fucking kidding me!?" he demanded. "Jesus Christ, Cass! When was the last time you guys ate?"
"I dunno," Cass scratched the back of his neck shamefacedly. "Awhile."
"Awhile?" DJ scoffed. "Unbelievable."
He shoved Cass at the stove and jerked open the cabinet where he kept his bowls.
"Make soup," he ordered gruffly. "I'm gonna look around and see if I can't get ahold of a couple of beef hearts."
Cass stirred obediently while DJ parked himself at the kitchen table and started Googling local butcher shops.
"Goddamnit," he muttered. "Most of these places are already closed for the day. I did not factor breaking and entering into my weekend plans."
"Dude, what the fuck are you talking about?" Cass demanded, upending the saucepan into a bowl. "You got any crackers?"
"Top of the fridge," DJ pointed. "And I'm talking about little mom and pop butcher shops that close early on the weekends."
"Butcher shops?"
"Yeah, dumbass, where the hell else are we going to find beef hearts in Kansas City?"
Cass stopped in the middle of the kitchen, hefting the bowl of soup in one hand and clutching a sleeve of saltines in the other.
"These aren't gonna do jack squat," he asserted. "And neither is a butcher shop beef heart; I mean, it might be all right for me, but Sam's gotta have fresh while he's hurting like this. The fresher the better; ideally, we'd do the slaughtering ourselves. Find a farm or something."
He stomped out of the kitchen and down the hall, balancing the inadequate meal in his arms while muttering to himself about idjits. DJ adjusted his search parameters, listening to the twins' quiet bickering and the intermittent clink of the spoon as he tried to scrounge up some realistic options. It took him an embarrassingly long time to realize his mistake; it was like being doused in cold water.
"What's the matter?" Cass asked when he returned to put the empty bowl in the sink, clocking DJ's steely expression.
"Cattle mutilations will draw attention we don't want," DJ explained grimly. "If those hunters are still out there… Cass, even if they think they got Sam, they're still going to be looking for you. We hit a local farm, and we've only got till the morning news before they're on us."
"Well fuck," Cass scrubbed his hands over his unshaven face and mussed up his hair, frustrated. "Now what?"
"I mean, I think we can still pull this off," DJ continued, hesitant. "But we'd have to haul ass, after."
"Dude, I was standing on the gas pedal till we crossed the river on the way here; I know how to drive the getaway car," the other man replied, smirking.
"Cass, that rustbucket has never been a getaway car."
"Whatever; at least I don't drive a fucking minivan."
"At least my minivan runs."
"The Ranchero runs!"
"Barely," Sam muttered from the doorway, effectively ending the debate.
"I thought I told you to stay put," DJ grumbled unhappily; he tried to steer Sam to a chair, but the injured man just waved him off and leaned against the wall.
"Why don't we just go for deer?" Sam tossed out, wincing slightly as he settled. "No one'll even miss a couple of them."
"Yeah, okay, Bear Grylls," Cass rolled his eyes. "You're in no shape to go bounding through the forest."
"It's not like I was going cow-tipping, either," Sam snarked back, unrepentant. "You can do it; bring something back for me."
"It's not a bad idea," DJ broke in, heading off any further argument. "Gets the job done, keeps the hunters off our asses. I think a couple of my dad's neighbors have bait stations; you know he'd let you guys lay low at his place."
Cass tipped his head and twitched his eyebrows in acknowledgement.
"All right; I'll let him know we're coming. Cass, can you top off my van? I'm not gonna make it to Salina on fumes. Keys are in my coat pocket."
"Wait—you're coming with us?"
"I'm not cramming Sam into the passenger seat of your rattletrap for a two hour drive, dude. He can ride with me; I'll fold down the seats and blow up the air mattress for him."
"Standing right here," Sam chimed in, annoyed.
"You shut your cakehole," Cass snapped, brushing past his brother to rifle through the coats hanging in the hallway. "And sit down before you fall down."