Supernatural Fresh Meat

TEN




Sam gripped his brother’s shoulders, practically dragging him. “C’mon, Dean, just a little farther.”

The wendigo’s claws had ripped through Dean’s brachial artery, and he’d already lost too much blood.

“You said that half an hour ago, Sammy. I’m starting to not believe you.” Dean flashed his brother a half-hearted smile, then winced with pain.

They’d made a tourniquet out of Sam’s belt, but Dean had already lost a lot of blood. Despite the cold, his skin was slick with sweat. He was breathing way too fast, staggering forward in a confused state.

“Well, then we’re a half hour closer,” Sam told him.

Dean’s face was completely drained of color. Even his lips had gone white.

“Pick up the pace, Dean,” Sam urged.

His brother stared up at him. “Maybe if you weren’t such a friggin’ giant, it’d be easier to lean on you.”

They hurried as fast as they could, with Dean’s hand on Sam’s shoulder for support. Bobby walked on his other side, making sure periodically that the tourniquet held. Jason took up the rear, limping and sucking in air between clenched teeth. Sam didn’t think this ordeal had done Jason any favors. Poor dude should spend the next few weeks sitting in a bed reading a stack of good books.

The hike through the night seemed to last forever. Each time they went over a rise, Sam was sure it would be the last one, that they’d see city lights below, and each time only the dark forest greeted them.

Dean got worse, leaning more heavily on Sam, who kept his brother upright. Sam pushed down the fear that kept rising up inside him. They were going to make it. Dean would get fixed up.

Bobby met Sam’s eyes. “I don’t like the looks of this.”

Dean glanced blearily at him. “You don’t like the looks of what? I look like a friggin’ world champion cage fighter right now.”

“Well, he’s still ornery as hell,” Bobby said.

“Yep,” Sam answered.

“You do know I’m standing right here, right?” Dean asked. “You don’t have to cluck over me like a couple of mother hens.”

“Too bad,” Bobby said. “You got to pick up the pace, son.”

“Fine,” Dean said angrily, and did.

Sam thought they should probably fashion a stretcher, but he didn’t like the idea of pausing to scrounge up materials.

They struggled over another incline, and to Sam’s huge relief, lights twinkled in the distance. “We’re out!”

“Thank god,” Dean murmured.

Another half-mile and they reached the trailhead and their cars. Sam drove Dean straight to the emergency room in Truckee.

While the doctor stitched Dean up and gave him a transfusion, Bobby and Sam took turns sitting nervously or pacing. They both suggested a doctor have another look at Jason, but the hunter stubbornly refused. “They’ve already seen me once,” he reasoned. “Bones just have to finish healing.”

Moments later the doctor appeared. She was a short Chinese-American woman, and spoke to them compassionately. “Mr. Blackwood will be fine. But I want him to spend the night.” Sam knew there was about as much chance of that as Dean attending a Backstreet Boys concert and buying the T-shirt. “But he doesn’t seem to be very agreeable to that.”

“Yeah, he wouldn’t be,” Sam said apologetically.

Bobby stepped forward. “I’ll talk to him.”

She nodded. “Great. He’s in room 102.”

While Bobby disappeared down the corridor, the doctor narrowed her eyes at Sam. “You should really talk to him about his hobby. Filming himself doing crazy feats in the hopes of breaking in as a stuntman could prove extremely dangerous. I think he’s kind of proud of his wounds.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

She shook Sam’s hand, then turned, heading back through a set of swinging double doors.

Jason stood up. “That’s a relief.”

Sam finally allowed himself to breathe. “I’ll say.”

“Hard thing about this business,” Jason said. “I’ll bet that’s not the first close call you two have had.”

Sam heard Bobby’s raised voice on the other side of the swinging doors. “Dean, get back here.”

“I don’t need rest and hospital food,” he heard Dean bellow. “I need a hamburger—no, a great hamburger and a cold beer.”

“Why do you have to be so goddamn stubborn?”

The swinging doors burst open and Dean appeared, his face much more full of color than when Sam had last seen him. His cheeks were almost rosy. “Let’s roll,” he rumbled.

Reluctantly, Sam left the hospital with him. In Truckee they celebrated at the Liberty Bar. Bobby and Dean knocked back a few shots of whisky, and Sam drank beer with Jason.

“That was one tough mother,” Jason said. “Glad you all were there.”

They clinked glasses. It was the end of another hunt, and Sam knew soon he’d have to say goodbye to Bobby. Every time they wrapped up a case, Sam was filled with a mix of pride, elation, relief, and worry about what waited for them next.

Dean still looked a little peaked, and Sam knew he should have spent the night at the hospital.

Finally Bobby stood up. The moment had arrived. “Best be going. Got to pack up my things and head north. Want to be over the Oregon border by tomorrow morning.”

Bobby shook hands with Sam and Dean, then with Jason. It was always hard to say goodbye. For as long as Sam could remember, Bobby had pretty much been their second father, and in some ways a more attendant father than John had been. They all said goodbye to Jason, who waved at the door of the bar and went out to his truck.

Before he left, Bobby told them about a possible rakshasa in Utah that warranted checking out.

After they finished their drinks and ate, Sam and Dean headed out, too. While Dean slept in the passenger seat, Sam drove eastward across Nevada. The sun rose ahead of him, bathing the green and brown landscape in gold. Sharp mountain ridges rose in the distance. On all sides of him, there were no signs of civilization except the road. He passed another car only occasionally.

They slept over on the Utah/Nevada border in a classy little joint decorated with fishing regalia. Where the heck people fished in this thirsty country, Sam had no idea.

The next day they continued into Utah, Dean still sleeping most of the time in the passenger seat after his brush with blood loss.

Sam’s cell phone jangled in his jacket pocket. He fished it out. “Yes?”

“It’s Bobby.”

“What’s up?”

“You boys see the morning news?”

“No, we pretty much just left our motel.”

“There’s been another disappearance in the Tahoe National Forest.”

“What?”

“Deer hunter kissed his wife goodbye at five a.m. yesterday to meet his friends at a hunting camp in the forest. He never arrived. His buddies found a pool of blood and their friend’s rifle. Said they heard something fast, up in the trees.”

“You’re kidding me!”

“Nope.”

“That’s after we wasted the wendigo. Think there’s a second one?”

“Must be,” Bobby said. “Maybe another Donner Party survivor.”

“How could we have missed that?”

“I don’t know. We were a little distracted, what with Dean on the edge of passing into oblivion.”

“Good point.”

Dean stirred, yawned, and straightened up. “What’s up?”

“There was another killing in the Tahoe National Forest this morning.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“Nope.”

To Bobby Sam said, “We’ve got to get back there.”

“Already on my way.”

“We’re turning around now.”

Sam slowed and pulled a U-turn on the highway.