Rule 21: Make sure you get a good night sleep and are well rested before hunting.
It was far too hot to sleep, John thought as he slumped over the tiny motel table, sweat dripping from his brow even though he only wore a white undershirt and boxer shorts.
Peering over his shoulder at his boys, both lying on their backs on the same bed, clad in nothing but their underwear, sleeping restlessly, John wished he could join them in the Land of Nod.
Raking a hand through his dripping hair, John leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes.
As soon as the sun came up, they would be off to hunt the chupacabra that had been terrorizing the small New Mexican town they were currently staying in.
The citizens of Castillo were so scared to leave their houses for fear of being attacked that the town first appeared deserted. Shop fronts were closed up, no cars on the road, no one gardening or mowing the sparse lawns; John nearly turned the Impala around thinking he had come to the wrong place.
But his sons, nine and thirteen, had been whining for a half-an-hour that they were hungry and thirsty and so their father had been forced to stop in at a Mexican restaurant called Casa de Maria, that still looked open.
Piling his kids into the restaurant, John's presence seemed to startle the middle-aged Hispanic woman lounging at one of the seats near the front.
"Are you open?" the hunter asked and the woman nodded.
"Sí," woman smiled uncertainly, her dark brown eyes uncertain.
"Sit anywhere," the woman called from over her shoulder before shouting at someone hidden in the kitchen, "¡Emilio! ¡Vamos!"
John led his sons to the same table the woman had been sitting at, because it was closest to the door and something told him he might need to make a quick escape, and sat down across from the boys.
"Where is everyone, Dad?" Dean asked, pulling a napkin from the metal dispenser on the table and wiping a smudge of dirt from his brother's face.
"Dean!" the younger boy exclaimed and shoved his hands away, irritable with hunger.
The sound of rapid footsteps approaching alerted the Winchesters to the woman's approach. She had fixed her hair so that it was now in a tight, black bun at the back of her head, and had donned a stained, white apron over her long navy skirt and crimson blouse.
"Here, here," she handed the family three greasy menus and a basket of homemade tortilla chips with a dish of salsa in the center.
"Thanks," John muttered and opened his menu, glancing at the options.
"Can I get the chorizo tacos, Dad?" Dean asked, pronouncing the foreign word slowly, "And a margarita?"
John frowned, "You can get tacos but you are not having a margarita, Dean."
The thirteen-year old looked somewhat downcast but perked up when he saw the wide variety of Mexican sodas listed under 'Beverages'.
"Can I have a burrito?" the nine-year old asked, his face hidden behind his menu.
"Sure," John commented and picked up a tortilla chip, crunching away on it.
The waitress/hostess/owner of the restaurant returned with a notepad and pen.
"What can I get you?" she asked and wrote down the family's orders.
"Hey," John spoke again as she turned to leave the table, "Why is it so quiet in here? Is it always like this?"
The woman shook her head, her eyes wide, "Oh no, Señor, it is because of… el chupacabra."
"Chupacabra?" John asked; it seemed they had found the right town.
"Sí," the woman, whose name turned out to be Maria, answered quietly, almost whispering as though she feared the monster would spontaneously appear and attack her.
"El chupacabra… he comes at night to drink blood," Maria continued, "He started with strays… cats and… dogs…"
John nodded, encouraging the woman to continue, "But then he took… la niña… a little girl..."
The hunter's dark eyes narrowed, "How?"
"Her mother said she was playing in the small pool in their back yard and… she went inside to make lunch… she heard her girl cry and when she returned outside… the girl was gone and there was blood… sí, so much blood…"
Maria hesitated, her eyes wet, "She was my neighbour… little Alejandra played with my younger children."
"I'm sorry," John said stiffly. He glanced at his sons from the corner of his eye; both Sam and Dean were staring at the woman wide-eyed.
"I'll go get your food now," Maria ducked out and scurried off towards the kitchen.
Once the Winchesters had eaten their lunch, John had left his sons in the only motel in town before going to Maria's neighbour's house. It hadn't been hard to find, despite the children's toys out front, the house had a somber air of grief about it.
After questioning the girl's bereaved mother, John found out that Alejandra wasn't the only victim of the chupacabra.
A ten-year old boy named, Rico had been attacked by the monster but had survived. He was able to give John an actual description of the creature, which confirmed to the hunter that it was a chupacabra.
This wasn't the first 'Goat-sucker' John had hunted. He'd killed one in Texas and another in Florida a few years ago and was confident he knew how to deal with the beasts.
A silver bullet between the eyes would do the trick as long as John was able to get close enough. The chupacabra, though not solely nocturnal, would sometimes be brazen enough to attack at dawn and dusk. What was strange about the chupacabra of Castillo was that it had taken a little girl right out of her backyard in the middle of the day, and had tried to kill a boy walking home from school around three in the afternoon.
Maybe it was just desperate, John thought, wiping a hand over his sweaty face; there isn't much livestock out here to begin with.
W
"Why can't I come?" Sam whined as John and Dean dressed early the next morning, preparing to hunt down the beast.
"You're too little," Dean commented, smiling slightly.
"Am not!" Sam exclaimed, sweat beading on his forehead.
"Sam," John interrupted, "This is too dangerous for you."
The nine-year old glanced at his bare feet, "I'm never going to go with you."
John sighed, "You are, just… not yet. You're still too young. I don't want anything to happen to you."
Sam looked up, his expression defiant; "Dean was hunting with you when he was my age!"
John, unwilling to try and explain his rationale to a nine-year old, put a hand on his elder son's shoulder.
"We shouldn't be long," he told Sam, "You stay inside. I mean it."
Guiding Dean to the door, John heard Sam's footfalls as he padded across the carpeted floor towards them, "Be careful!"
"If you're good," Dean called over his shoulder as he stepped over the threshold, "I'll bring you back a chupacabra head!"
W
"Where is this thing, Dad?" Dean asked as John drove the Impala through the silent streets of Castillo.
"During the day, chupacabras normally hide out in their burrows," John commented, "Their claws are as good for slicing through flesh as they are for digging."
Dean gulped loudly. Even though this was his father's third Chupacabra hunt, this was his first.
Parking the Chevy at the edge of town, John exited the vehicle and peered out into the desert.
"How are we supposed to find it, Dad?" Dean asked, standing on the other side of the car.
"They smell," John told him.
"Smell?" Dean asked, curious, gripping the gun his father had given him all the more tightly.
John nodded, sniffing the air, "They smell strongly of ammonia… like piss."
Dean lifted his nose and sniffed the air as well.
SPN
Sam watched as his Dad pulled the car out of the motel parking lot and started down the street.
Sighing, the boy folded his arms over his thin chest and turned away from the window.
He didn't really want to hunt. But he hated being left behind. He hated waiting to find out if his Dad and Dean were going to come back. It wasn't fair.
Staring around the sparse motel room, the boy felt tears in his eyes.
He didn't want to wait around for his brother and father.
Going to his Dad's duffle bag still sitting on the end of his bed, Sam search through the dirty laundry inside until he found what he wanted: a pistol.
The weapon was cold and heavy in the boy's hand but it felt good, right somehow, like it was supposed to be there.
Carefully pulling the magazine out- the way he'd seen his brother and father do a thousand times- Sam checked to make sure the gun was loaded before taking the safety off.
Shoving the weapon into the waistband of his jeans, the boy opened the front door of the motel room and stepped out into the sweltering heat.
SPN
"Keep your eyes on the ground," John instructed his eldest son, "Look for any holes in the sand, or scratch marks, blood or scales."
"Scales?" Dean asked, looking up at his Dad.
John nodded, "Chupacabras have scales, like a lizard."
"Okay," Dean commented and returned his gaze to the hard-packed earth.
SPN
If I were a chupacabra where would I be? Sam wondered, as he stood on the sidewalk outside of his motel room. He stared out across the street at the closed-up shops and decided that the monster wouldn't be strolling down Main Street.
Recalling that there was only the desert wasteland behind the motel, Sam decided that was as good as any place to start looking for the chupacabra and he walked to the end of the row of motel rooms and around the corner to the back of the buildings. The rooms only had front doors and no rear ones so that the desert pressed right up against the back of the motel. The paint on the sides of the building had weathered away with the pounding winds that carried billions of grains of sand, small cacti and succulents of increasingly exotic shapes were the only signs of life visible.
SPN
"Dean," John whispered and reached out to put a hand on the back of his son's neck.
The boy stopped obediently and peered over his shoulder at his father.
John pointed to their right, where a seven-foot tall Saguaro cactus cast its shadow over a hole dug into the sandy ground at its base. As the wind blew in their direction, the bracing scent of ammonia came with it, making their eyes water.
Dean pulled his gun out and took the safety off. John put a finger to his lips and stepped cautiously towards the den.
Kneeling, the elder hunter extended a hand and to his son's surprise, reached into the hole.
Before Dean could react, a high-pitched screech filled the air as his father dragged the enraged chupacabra from its den. The thirteen-year old stared at the creature as John held its tail tightly.
Only around four feet tall, it had large grey-green scales, yellow eyes the size of saucers and spines running from the base of its neck all the way down to nearly the end of its tail. It had short arms like a Tyrannosaurus Rex but long, kangaroo-like legs. Both its hands, oddly humanoid with four fingers and a thumb, and its toes ended in sharp claws. The monster's mouth was a beak with teeth like needles, perfect for piercing the flesh of its victims so it could drink their blood.
John's free hand gripped the back of the chupacabra's head, struggling to keep the creature still.
"Shoot it, Dean," he ground out, "Right between the eyes."
For a moment the boy hesitated. This wasn't his first hunt, of course, not the first monster he'd killed but he was so shocked at how easily his father had captured the chupacabra that it felt like a dream.
Raising his gun, Dean aimed the weapon carefully, not wanting to shoot his father by accident.
Keeping both eyes open and on the target- a large scale between the monster's eyes- Dean took a deep breath and pulled the trigger. The gun went off with a dull whump because of the silencer and the chupacabra's head exploded.
Green blood and pink brains sprayed John but the hunter didn't seem to mind much, the ammonia smell now stronger than ever as John dropped the creature's limp body into the hole at the base of the cactus before caving it in with his boots.
"How did you know to grab it," Dean asked his Dad as they both walked back to the car, the older hunter wiping gore from his face with the sleeve of his jacket.
"They always hide in their dens head first," John explained, "Their backs have spines so they use those as a defense against anything that might want to attack them."
Dean nodded, mentally filing this tip away for the day when he could hunt on his own.
"Cool," he commented, "Sammy will be happy we didn't take long."
John smiled. Something was troubling him though; he was wondering why a chupacabra would attack in the middle of the day when they almost exclusively took pray in the early hours of the morning or those right before nightfall. He felt as though he was missing something, some important piece of information but his sleep-deprived brain refused to offer it up.
Shrugging his concern off, the father turned on the Impala's engine, looking forward to a quick shower before leaving town.
SPN
Sam wasn't sure what to look for so he scanned the area for anything unusual.
Stepping further into the desert, he used one hand to shield his eyes from the glare of the sun and in doing so did not see the four small figures approaching him.
SPN
Now that the adrenaline rush of the hunt was over, John was really starting to feel the lack of sleep.
Stifling a yawn, he pulled into the parking lot of the motel.
"Dean, I want you and your brother to pack the car while I'm in the bathroom," John told his eldest, "Make sure you don't leave anything behind."
Dean nodded, "Right."
They exited the car and approached the door, John ready with his key. The hunter stopped though, noticing that the door was ajar.
"I thought I'd locked it when we left," he muttered, trying to remember if he had locked it.
"Sam knows to lock the door," Dean added.
"Sam?" John pushed the door open and peered into the motel room to find it empty.
"Sam!" he repeated, his voice sharp.
"Where is he?" Dean asked, peering underneath his father's arm.
"Goddamn it," John growled, "I told him to stay inside."
A sudden high-pitched scream, quickly cut off, sounded in the quiet air and the father's blood froze.
"SAM!" he ran out into the parking lot, searching for the source of the terrible sound, his elder son hot on his heels.
"Sammy!" Dean cried, "Where are you?"
"Shit," John turned in a circle but he did not see his youngest son.
"SAM!" he called again, praying for a response.
A muffled whump sound drew the hunter's attention and he started off in the direction, towards the end of the row of motel rooms.
"Sam! Sammy! I'm coming!" John shouted, his heart hammering in his chest and all thoughts of a shower- and his sleepless night- behind him.
"Sammy! Sammy!" Dean called, faster than his father and turning the corner of the building before screaming, "DAD!"
John rushed onto the scene that made his heart nearly stop. His little boy was lying in the dust, three miniature chupacabras- only two feet tall- standing on top of his prone form while pieces of what must have been a fourth lay scattered about.
The hunter cocked his gun and heard his son doing the same. Before Dean could shoot, however, John put a hand out, "You could hit your brother."
The three baby monsters looked up at the sound of John's voice so close and hissed.
The hunter raised his gun, taking careful aim and fired, not hitting any of the chupacabras but the ground just beside them.
The trio of fiends leaped into the air and away from their victim, shrieking in fear and anger. John pulled the trigger again and one of the three exploded in a shower of blood and guts.
Realizing they were in danger, the two remaining chupacabras turned tail and started hopping away as fast as they could, only to be picked off by Dean's careful aiming.
"Sam!" John fell to his knees in front of his youngest son and turned the boy over.
There were bite marks on his neck but they didn't appear to be very deep, the blood that had leaked out was already drying.
The boy's eyes were closed but fluttered open as John gathered his son into his arms.
"D-Daddy?"
"I'm here," John murmured.
The child's hazel eyes opened wider and he groaned in pain, one hand going to his throat.
"What the hell were you doing out here?" the hunter asked and Sam's gaze lowered.
"I… I was just trying to be a hunter… like you and Dean," Tears slipped down the boy's cheeks as he spoke.
John sighed, "What did I tell you about staying inside?"
"I'm sorry," his son whimpered.
"Let's just get out of here," John told him, "Grab that gun, Dean."
The thirteen-year old bent down and picked up his brother's fallen weapon, following his father and brother inside their motel room.
W
All three Winchesters were quiet as they left the town of Castillo, New Mexico. Sam sitting in the back with bandages on his neck and his face burning with shame, Dean speechless from the fact that his brother would deliberately disobey their father, and John mulling over his thoughts.
As he'd applied the gauze to his son's throat, he had realized why the chupacabra was attacking during the middle of the day. It had been a mother hunting with her babies. The young chupacabras grew fast and as such, needed to eat more often than the adults, forcing their mother to hunt when she normally would not.
Keeping that to himself, John stifled a yawn and promised that he would get some sleep at the next motel they stopped at, for he could not afford his thoughts to be muddled by insomnia, especially when his sons' lives were on the line.
Author's Note:
This rule comes from elliereynolds777 and Jenjoremy.
Thanks to Jenjoremy, scootersmom, SamDeanLover28, and elliereynolds777 for reviewing.
Please take a moment and give me a 'rule' if you can think of one!