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It was quiet for another two days, Sam and Dean once again back to getting fried alive. They spent almost the entire day inside, watching daytime TV, and setting up even more wild theories about what their mysterious monster might be (an evil, giant roadrunner being one of those theories). By night, they alternated between hustling pool at The Chicken Coop and shooting empty beer cans behind their trailer (the latter only happened when Erin wasn't around to scold them though – other neighbors, if there were any, had yet to make themselves known). As nighttime was high season not only for bored teenagers but for mosquitoes as well, they quickly retreated into the relative safety of their trailer to watch movies. On the second night, Dad called as per usual, assuring them he would be back soon.

Sure, Sam thought.

They were still annoying the hell out of each other, as was their sibling duty, but Sam was gradually feeling a little better about their stay at this place. It was just him and Dean, and that was way better than Dad bossing them around all day long. He even kind of liked the idea of working a case with his brother. So far, though, they hadn't really found any hard evidence that this was, in fact, a case.

Not until the next morning, that was.

"Dude," Sam exclaimed when he looked up from the local newspaper he'd grabbed on his breakfast run. Their case had just gotten a whole lot more interesting. And the stakes had heightened significantly.

Dean was stuffing a bagel into his mouth, wordlessly urging Sam to continue. He rolled his eyes but complied.

"So, get this, two nights ago, there was a mysterious death nearby. A local farmer, Victor Cantillo, was quote-unquote mauled to death when he went to look after his cattle at night. Two cows died, same as Mendez's did. Think this is our monster?"

After he finished munching, Dean cleared his throat. "Let's find out."

An hour later, the boys found themselves ten miles west on the Cantillo farmland. They were pulling the same trick as before, pretending to be a fellow farmer's sons. This time, the situation called for more tact, though. A human being had been killed after all. That, and Victor's loved ones had already gone through everything with the police, with animal control, and with an awful lot of well-meaning neighbors. Apparently, nothing said I'm sorry like a tuna casserole.

"What brings you here?" Francesca Cantillo whispered, her eyes red and puffy. Long, black curls cascaded over her shoulder. The young woman sitting before them clutched at her belly, a dotted black-and-yellow summer dress barely hiding the bump underneath.

Sam suppressed a wince. It was hard to stomach that her husband and father of their unborn child had recently been brutally murdered. Losing one's spouse like this must be a nightmare. Sam felt strangely reminded of another parent who had died many years ago, her husband witness to her body going up in flames. A weight like concrete settled in his gut, but he tried not to let it show. Francesca didn't seem fazed. She was probably in shock. And still, she showed them kindness when few strangers would. The three of them sat around her small coffee table, looking at photos of happier times that sat atop various versions of Tupperware the neighbors had brought.

"We're very sorry for your loss," Sam said sincerely after setting his coffee cup on one of the few available spots on the table. "Can you tell us some more about what happened to Victor?"

The woman in front of them didn't look like she was ready to talk about her husband's death, her eyes wide and glassy with fear and grief. She opened her mouth, but no words made it past her trembling lips.

What the hell were they doing here, pestering this poor woman who had just lost everything? Sam knew that Dean would keep pushing, though. And he did.

"Ma'am, we're so sorry to bother you," Dean said, infusing his voice with as much compassion as he could muster. He leaned forward in his chair. "It's just, our dad's worried out of his mind the same thing is gonna happen to us or anyone else."

Again, Sam hid his unease under his curtain of bangs.

"Yeah," Francesca finally sniffled. She cast her eyes down and fumbled with the golden wedding band on her ring finger. Dean sent her that sympathetic smile of his, and Sam wanted to hide himself away. "I—I understand."

"Thank you so much, our dad appreciates it," Dean said, going all-out and putting a comforting hand on the grieving widow's shoulder.

After another pause, she continued, "Victor, he loves—loved those animals. He took such great care of them, he always has. And two nights ago, he heard them. The goats and cows, mostly, like they were in distress. The stables are across the yard, so we couldn't really tell what was wrong from the distance. But there was this… growling, kind of, and scratching, m-maybe?" She stuttered, briefly burying her face in her hands. "We were so worried for them. It wouldn't have been the first time something happened to our cattle."

"How's that?" Dean asked.

She shook her head. "A few years back, there was a string of… of cases where animals went missing."

"Missing?" Dean asked in unison with Sam. They exchanged a look. That was new information.

Francesca wiped her nose with a tissue. "'Bout three years ago, two of our cows were—just gone. Our neighbor's henhouse, too, emptied overnight. The police never came up with anything. We found their carcasses three months later, out in the desert. People were saying they might've been abducted, but who does that? Or maybe they just ran away and didn't find their way back."

Sam's interest was piqued. Add the new information to their current cases, and it sounded a lot like a pattern.

"So," Francesca said shakily. "Victor, he's—he'd been on edge since. All the farmers around here tried to secure their stables and barns. It worked, for a while. But then a few days ago… we heard about what happened to Hank's animals. And we knew something was wrong."

"When you heard those strange sounds the other night," Dean clarified. "You were worried the animals could've gone missing?"

"Yeah. Or worse," Francesca affirmed, her voice breaking a little. "So, my husband went out to take a look, see if our animals were okay."

"And?" Dean asked, gently squeezing Francesca's shoulder before slowly retracting his limb.

"And…" Francesca's face twisted, her eyes red. "And nothing. That's the last I saw of him. It got quiet after that. He said to wait for him and not go outside. Gosh, he's been so worried about me and the—the little one all the time." A tear broke free from her lashes, one hand furiously wiping it away, the other one cramping around her belly until her knuckles turned white.

Sam's mouth went dry and the rock in his stomach doubled in size.

"So I stayed here, but I wish to God I hadn't," Francesca whimpered. "I—I must have fallen asleep on the couch, and I woke up the next morning, and—and Victor was still gone." She hiccuped miserably, then wiped her eyes again. "When I got to the stables, there was… oh, there was s-so much blood. One of the baby calves and her mother were—it was horrible. But no Victor. A few hours later... that's when our neighbor found him. More than two miles away, out in the desert."

This time, it was Sam who couldn't help but put a comforting hand on her other shoulder when she started sobbing uncontrollably. He cast a look at his brother, who was uncharacteristically quiet. This was getting to him, too. Maybe Sam wasn't as enthusiastic about hunting as his family was, but seeing this young woman grieve and cry for her deceased husband, something stirred in him. Determination. They had to find his killer, the creature that had destroyed this young family. And they had to make sure no one else suffered like this poor woman did.

A few minutes later, after thanking Francesca for her time, the brothers were back out in the blazing sun. The rock in Sam's gut had gotten a little lighter. He wished he'd brought sunglasses as he shielded his eyes with his hand.

"We gotta find it, and fast," he said. This might not be a giant roadrunner or a demon, but Sam was more than convinced that there was definitely something here.

Dean nodded. "No argument here. Let's go check out the stables."

Trespassing? Great. But Sam's urge to protest that welled up automatically got stuck in his throat. They really had no other choice, not if they wanted to find who – what – did this. The boys slinked off in the direction of the stables, passing by a barn and sheep grazing on a field. Even the short walk in the afternoon sun sapped them of their energy, making them pant when they finally reached the crime scene. The police tape circling the entire area was purposefully ignored by both boys. Dean gave Sam a leg-up over a wooden fence, then followed suit.

The sight that followed almost turned Sam's stomach inside out. But the worst was the smell.

"Dean…"

His brother came to a stop beside him, screwing up his face. They were standing at the edge of the stables, no cows or goats in sight because they had been cleared out after the incident. The thick hay padding on the floor had obviously been disturbed, as if a fight had gone down. And it wasn't wheat-colored anymore, as it should be. In most places, the hay was tinted dark brown, bordering on red.

"That's a lot of blood," Dean mumbled, crouching down to inspect the evidence further. His face had turned a little green if Sam wasn't mistaken.

"Yeah," Sam agreed. He stepped over a pile that looked like it might have been a cow's guts. It probably was. Flies buzzed above the gory remains. He shuddered, trying his best not to upchuck his last three meals.

"That's no coyote, I'm telling you," Dean said. "Not even one with mange."

Sam agreed. "This is big. And bloodthirsty."

Sam and Dean left soon after. They briefly discussed whether it would be a good idea to spend any more time outdoors in the heat to check out the place where the victim was found. It probably wasn't. But they were both determined to end whatever this was quickly, so they gritted their teeth and drove out into the desert. Staking out the area was an important part of the hunt, Dad had drilled as much into them from an early age. Speaking of…

"Think we should tell Dad?" Sam asked, sparing a quick glance at Dean from the passenger seat.

Dean frowned. He seemed to genuinely consider the question. "About the hunt? Maybe. Let's see what else we can find out first."

What they found at the site was much of the same they had been seeing from the windows of their trailer. A whole lot of flat land with a few dunes in the distance, auburn sands cast wide over the dry soil, and not a single cloud polluting the crystal blue above their heads. Every so often, some shrubby tumbleweed would pass their way (as if this landscape wasn't enough of a desert cliche already), or a jackrabbit would pop up from its hideout. Occasionally, a lizard would scurry across the cracked ground, soaking up every sunray it could get. If they weren't careful, their pants would snag on stiff, sun-bleached sagebrush branches that stuck out of fissures in the ground every now and then. Other than that, the landscape was as desolate as you'd expect a desert to be. And it was hot. Scorching, skin-melting kind of hot.

They'd left the Impala a few hundred yards back, walking the rest of the way because "sand's just gonna scratch her up, Sammy." Despite rolling his eyes, Sam had not corrected his brother on the nickname. If anyone was allowed to still call him that, it was Dean. He was, after all, the same guy who considered his beloved car a woman and used several terms of endearment for… her. Sam figured two extra letters added to his own name wasn't that bad in comparison. Though Sam enjoyed their ride too and didn't want it to get damaged lest Dad's rage rain down on them, he wasn't quite as invested as Dean. But Dad never would have given his precious car to Dean if he didn't expect him to keep it in mint condition. Besides, a little walk wouldn't hurt them. Except, it kind of did, with the heat pouring down on them along with the sun's relentless radiation. Sam vaguely wondered if they had sun lotion somewhere in the trunk, but they were already too far out to go back.

Then they saw it. Police tape, again. And amidst of it…

"Blood?" Sam pointed at a few distinct marks on the ground.

"That," Dean confirmed, "and there are drag marks over there."

Sam followed his brother's line of vision, seeing for himself that the dirt underneath had indeed been disturbed by something heavy being dragged across the soil.

"No signs of a struggle," Sam added.

Dean canted his head. "Not bad, Sammy. Which means that the victim must have already been dead when he was dragged here."

"Yeah."

"So, what, our predator killed Victor, then dragged him all the way here, slurped him like a juice box and… just left?"

The joking was all Dean, funny remarks always his tactics to boost morale, especially when the case they were working involved as much blood and broken hearts as this one.

"Maybe it just wanted to feed in peace, without anyone bothering it," Sam suggested. "And when it was done, it left the remains here."

Dean seemed to agree with that theory, his head bobbing in thought.

The brothers wandered around some more and tried to find other clues as to what had happened. Another ten minutes of walking farther and farther away from the car, and they still had nothing. By now, Sam's shirt was sticking to him as if it was coated in honey, his heart throbbing fast, and he wanted nothing more than to get back. Maybe it wasn't safe out here. Who was he kidding? Of course, it wasn't safe out here. They were wading into what could only be described as the world's largest oven, perilously close to succumbing to heat stroke. With that thought, Sam wiped his sweaty forehead, squinting against the sun, and—

It was then that Sam's next step failed to land on solid ground.

Before he grasped what was wrong or could even throw an arm out, he lost his balance. A strong hand suddenly gripped his biceps with cat-like reflexes and pulled him to the side, but Sam still crashed face-first onto the unforgiving ground. A yelp was torn from his lips when the side of his face ground against pebbles and grains of sand, no doubt leaving ugly traces on his skin.

"Sam!" His brother was, as expected, by his side, and pulled on his arm again. "Dude, you okay?"

Sam spit out a mouthful of sand as he gingerly sat up. His arm was sore, and his cheek stung. "Yeah."

Dean crouched down close to him, his sense for personal space nonexistent whenever he thought Sam was in trouble. "Looks like some nasty road rash."

Yeah, it felt like that too. But Sam had had worse. "It's fine," he placated and pushed himself to his feet, shaking out his arm that would probably be adorned with a hand-shaped bruise later. And if he was a little wobbly, Dean didn't call him out.

Taking the standard I'm-fine crap as his cue to back off, Dean surveyed the area. "You gotta be more careful where you step, Sam." He gesticulated behind Sam, at the place where he'd lost his footing. "Sinkhole."

"Huh." Sam turned to find that the ground indeed opened up only inches from where he stood. It wasn't a huge crater, more like a two-feet dip in the otherwise flat land, but it sure was deep enough to crack something if you fell in. Sam was lucky Dean's quick intervention had pulled him sideways, making him merely meet the rock-solid but flat ground. Getting away with minor abrasions was a preferable outcome to broken bones. "Wait a minute…"

Dean stepped aside, letting Sam take a closer look. He'd seen this type of hole.

"What if this isn't a sinkhole? I mean…" Sam raised his eyes. "Maybe there are more out here, only bigger, deeper. Maybe there's a den."

"Like, what, a lair?"

Sam got up from his position at the edge of the sinkhole. His eyes roamed the vast area. "Yeah, maybe our creature is using a similar hideout as other predators. Coyotes' dens can get pretty big, with several entrances and passages."

Dean hummed. "You'd find those in canyons, but they're pretty common on level ground too. Maybe you're onto something."

"That would be a perfect place for this thing to hide, whatever it is," Sam said, a familiar tingling sensation creeping into his chest. This was getting exciting. "We should check out the area some more, maybe we can find an entrance."

Dean looked at Sam questioningly, then ran a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. His face was flushed red and his eyebrows pinched, both determination and worry flashing across his features. He was struggling with himself, Sam could tell. "It's getting late. We should get back before sundown," Dean finally said.

That was so not Dean, and Sam wondered if his brother's opinion would be any different if Sam hadn't just faceplanted. His little brother getting hurt usually did the trick and brought Dean's inner mother hen into the arena. Sam sighed.

"Just a few more minutes?" Sam suggested, eager to finally find this creature. But even he had to admit that the sun was already sinking dangerously close towards the horizon. While he welcomed the cooler hours after nightfall, they really shouldn't be out here in the dark with a dangerous monster on the loose.

"Man, you already tripped once," Dean reminded. "I don't want your klutzy self to repeat that in the dark."

"Ha-ha, Dean, very funny."

Dean's grin was enough for Sam to smile despite himself, making the scratches on his cheek sting. Don't go into a hunt half-cocked. His father's voice in his head. Begrudgingly, he agreed. The mysterious creature had to wait another day.

They started back towards the car.

00000

Back at their trailer, both boys peeled out of their sweaty shirts. Dean called first dibs on a shower. Sam acquiesced only because he didn't need to worry about his brother not leaving any hot water for him. He'd gladly turn the water as cold as it would go.

After both Sam and Dean had finally refreshed themselves, they once again settled on the couch, treating themselves to frozen pizza Sam had heated while Dean was in the shower. Dean had not allowed Sam to refuse his first aid on his cheek, and he had to admit that the wound actually didn't sting that bad anymore now that Dean had cleaned and treated the minor abrasions with antiseptic cream.

A little while later, after a short but intense discussion, they decided that it was time to call the cavalry, after all. They called Dad.

Dad, though, uncharacteristically didn't pick up on the second ring. Sam wasn't too surprised about that at first. After all, it was Dad who had set the schedule for his check-ups, and the next one wasn't due until tomorrow night. But was it too much to ask to get on the damn phone when his sons called? They could be in trouble, and Dad wouldn't even know. Dad thought they were safe here, and Sam was beginning to doubt that. There was some kind of monster out there, big enough to chew on humans. Why there was something sinister here, at the exact place the Winchesters had set up shop, defied explanation. Sometimes, Sam found himself wondering if there might be something wrong with his family – with him. Maybe Dean was right and Sam really was a trouble magnet.

And maybe there was something wrong with Dad too. Another three calls later, he still hadn't picked up the phone. Bobby's cell went straight to voicemail too. Even Dean, who usually shied away from questioning their father's methods, shrugged uneasily.

"Maybe Dad's in trouble," Sam voiced the obvious. Because avoiding one call? Fine. Missing three? That was suspicious.

"Nah," Dean objected a little too quickly. "He's just busy."

Sam saved his breath and didn't retort, but in secret, he wasn't quite sure Dad really was okay. Dean left him a message anyway, telling Dad they were onto something and could use his help.

Now it was time to wait and see.

Wait and see wasn't necessarily Dean's strong suit. Why wait if they were so close to figuring out what their mysterious creature was? The longer they waited with the actual hunting part of the hunt, the more people could get hurt. And Dean wouldn't let that happen. Besides, with all the evidence and clues they had collected, Dean had a niggling feeling somewhere in the back of his mind that he knew what kind of monster they were after. The answer was on the tip of his tongue. Right there but just out of reach. Missing livestock, cattle mutilations, animals and people alike being ripped to shreds, their blood being drained, the creature's lair somewhere in the desert… what did it all add up to?

When neither of the boys got any sleep that night, Dean jumped from the top bunk and motioned for Sam, who didn't even pretend to be asleep, to join him on the couch. He snatched the remote before Sam could and started channel hopping. It didn't take long to find something decent to watch (the only upside of having a grand total of four channels), so the brothers settled on the back-half of the science fiction horror film Species.

Five minutes in, it hit him.

"You've got to be kidding me!" Dean jumped up from the couch in excitement.

"What?" Sam questioned.

"The monster!"

"Wh… what?" Sam tried again, confused. He looked at Dean like he had two heads.

"Dude, don't you know the stories?" Dean asked. "It started in, uh, 1995, I think. People would tell these creepy stories around campfires. I didn't think they were true… until now."

Sam's face was still puzzled. He looked from Dean to the TV and back. "What stories?"

"Psh, Sammy, you haven't heard of the Chupacabra?"

Now it was out. Dean grinned at his brother, glee in his eyes. He'd figured it out. Without Dad, without Bobby or Caleb or Jim. Dean himself had finally found the answer to their riddle. It was a Chupacabra that was stalking the town, he was ninety-nine percent sure of it.

"Course. Remember, it was you who told me it was a hoax," Sam deadpanned. "Like Bigfoot."

Dean chuckled. "That was before I had proof. Dude, I think it's real. The Chupacabra exists."

"That's goat sucker in Spanish, right?" Sam said slowly.

"I guess so," Dean said, slowly pacing the small room with the remote still in his hand. "Makes sense because that's what it does. The Chupacabra sucks goats, sheep, sometimes cows, dry. You've seen the evidence."

"Well, yeah, but how'd you come up with this, anyway?"

"The movie, man." Dean waved at the screen. "Species. I can't believe it's on right now! That's how the myth started. Some local woman in Puerto Rico, uh, something Tortellini, claimed to have witnessed a Chupacabra mauling goats – I guess that's where the name originated. That was, uh, five years ago, right around the time this movie came out. Turns out, she'd just watched Species before, and the creature she described to the authorities looked kind of like the alien-monster-thingies from the movie, but she swore it was a Chupacabra."

Sam, of course, looked doubtful. "So, you're saying someone watched a creepy movie, and right after they claimed they saw a monster in real life?"

Dean groaned dramatically and stopped his pacing. "Yes! And that's exactly why no one believed her. But for some reason, these livestock killings kept happening all over South America. People in Chile, Argentina, Mexico – you name it – have reported Chupacabra sightings ever since. And over the years, it has allegedly popped up in the southern US too."

Tilting his head, Sam raised his eyebrows. "Huh, okay, let's say you're right and this, uh, from the looks of it dinosaur-slash-kangaroo thing is really here. Why would it be upping its game now? Why kill people instead of cattle?"

"That," Dean said as he sat down on the couch again, "is a very good question. By the way, it's not entirely clear what a Chupacabra really looks like. I mean, yeah, there's the movie version, a giant reptile. But it might look more like a dog, actually. The eyewitness accounts vary."

"Of course they do." Sam exhaled slowly, disapproving. "Still doesn't explain why it would suddenly get a taste for humans."

"Maybe Victor Cantillo just got in its way. The thing wanted to feed on goats, or cows, whatever. Farmer shows up and gets eaten too. Actually… come to think of it, there've been a few mysterious murders over the past few years that were never solved, people with claw marks and low blood volume. Rumor has it, these were on a Chupacabra too."

"You sure know a lot about this creature," Sam said, not even mockingly.

Dean grinned. "It's called educating oneself. You should try it sometime."

Sam resisted the millionth-and-sixth eyeroll of the day and chuckled despite himself. "Whatever, man. Fact is, if it really is a Chupacabra that killed the farmer, it might happen again."

"Exactly. We need to stop it."

"How?"

"Dunno," Dean admitted. "But we'll find a way."

00000

The next morning, it was Dean who ushered Sam from bed early, which, admittedly, was unusual for him. But when a hunt demanded it, Dean was capable of pulling himself together and getting up even before the sun rose. Besides, he was giddy with excitement. If he was right, they would be hunting their very first Chupacabra soon. Which was freaking awesome.

After a quick breakfast, he dropped Sam off at the local library to gather some more intel on their monster. Meanwhile, Dean himself stocked the Impala with everything they might need. They would be making another trip to the desert later that day, that much was for sure. So, he packed his duffel and Sam's backpack with the essentials: a few bottles of water, snacks (M&M's, mostly), flashlights, and of course, an assortment of weapons. What exactly they would really need, he didn't know yet. At last, he counted their ammunition, satisfied that they had more than enough, even some of the silver bullets they had made a few weeks ago. He figured they couldn't go wrong with some more spiritual stuff, so he added a canister of salt, holy water, and a few trinkets to their arsenal.

As an afterthought, Dean crammed the cellphone Dad had given him into his duffel too, figuring that they might need it. Just in case. It was an older model, an ugly brick, but Dean was glad to have it. After a row of hairy situations, Dad had finally given in and gotten his sons a phone to share for safety reasons. (Dean would prefer for them to have one each – he put it on his mental to-do-list for another day.) Today was one of the check-up days Dad had set, and he still hadn't answered their voicemails, so it was a pretty good bet Dad would be calling them tonight. Dean wanted to be long done by then, the creature killed, salted, and burned, so he didn't think they'd really need it. Better be safe than sorry, though.

He was ready. When he picked up his little brother from the library, it seemed that Sam was more than ready too.

"Get this, Dean, you were spot on about the Chupacabra. I found some articles online on its origins. The eyewitness back in 1995 was Madelyne Tolentino – not Tortellini," Sam explained on the way back. "She swore she saw a, uh, reptile-like creature, with leathery skin, about the size of a large dog. Eating goats. But," he held up a computer print-out for Dean to look at despite Dean currently driving. That had never stopped him before though, so he quickly chanced a peek at Sam's findings. Sam continued, "Actually, the lore goes way back to the 70s, at least. That's when a few farmers reported missing cattle to the authorities for the first time. It kept happening every now and then all over South America. A few years later, there were livestock killings and even strange murders, and they kept happening further and further up north. People have been witnessing these things long before they had a name for the culprit."

The kid was near ecstatic with excitement. Dean didn't even try to hide his grin. "Anything else, geek boy?"

Completely unfazed by the mild insult that was more a term of endearment than anything else, Sam continued. "Uh, rumor has it they're solitary creatures. They're supposed to live like hermits in underground dens out in the desert and only ever come out to feed."

"Good work, Sammy," Dean acknowledged with a nod and focused on the road again.

"There's more," Sam said, excitement bleeding into his tone. God, when was the last time Dean had seen his brother this happy about a hunt? Well, he wasn't about to call him on it but quietly enjoyed his brother's natural sense of curiosity doing all the work for him.

"What is it?"

"You know how the lore doesn't give us many details on a way to kill it?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, I found some articles." Sam shoved another piece of paper at his brother, but this time Dean opted for paying attention to the traffic.

"Tell me," he said.

Sam studied the papers on his lap again. "Okay, so, there have been two alleged killings of a Chupacabra. Of course, the authorities chalked them up to a bunch of hillbillies snuffing rabid dogs."

"Obviously."

"Anyway, both guys said the same thing: they shot the creature three times, uh, in the heart, before it dropped dead."

Dean gave Sam a quick smile that made his brother's face light up. "Not bad, Sammy. So, since they were civilians, I figure we don't even need silver, huh? Just regular bullets?"

"Guess so."

The boys grinned at each other. Dean clapped a hand on Sam's shoulder. "This is gonna be a piece of cake."

To be continued...