Rule Number 1: Don't Hunt on an Empty Stomach

Dean swore silently as his stomach let out a long whine loud enough for Sam to peer over at him from his position behind a gravestone several yards away.

I knew I should have grabbed something to eat, Dean thought regrettably and squinted into the darkness, trying to catch sight of the Black Dog he and Sam were currently hunting.

Dean shifted his position slightly, trying to get comfortable. He sat crouched behind a crumbling limestone grave marker, his left shoulder pressed against the cold stone, his socks soaked through with dew.

Neither he nor Sam had flashlights, although the cemetery was large, with winding paths that cut past the numerous graves, a bloated, yellow moon shed enough light to see by. Besides, trying to hold a flashlight and shoot a charging Black Dog didn't work too well.

Dean frowned again when his stomach growled a second time, now more insistent.

Dean sighed quietly and wondered if Sam had any of those stupid energy bars he was addicted to. Maybe he could get one from his brother while they waited for the monster to show up.

A third growl broke the tranquil quiet of the graveyard, this one louder than the ones previous and somehow more threatening.

This one hadn't come from Dean's stomach, either.

Suddenly on high alert, the older Winchester scanned the grass ahead of him.

The trouble with Black Dogs was that they were damn hard to spot at night, their jet-black fur and silvery eyes blending in quickly with the shadows and moonbeams.

Suddenly, Dean caught sight of movement from the corner of his eye and raised himself up so that he could shoot his gun from over the top of the gravestone while using it for protection as well.

The bullet missed the dog and ricocheted off a grave, burying harmlessly in the grass.

A few yards away, Sam was standing behind his own gravestone, his own weapon at the ready.

"Damn," Dean swore as he lost sight of the monster again.

The hunter focused on every splash of shadow cast by the gravestones and trees, certain the Black Dog was using them to hide and inch closer towards him and his brother.

C'mon, c'mon you bastard, Dean thought, grinding his teeth, show yourself.

Dean groaned inwardly as his stomach whined and he caught his brother's eye, Sam frowning at him in irritation.

Dean opened his mouth, about to remind Sam that he was the one who had insisted they head to the cemetery as soon as dusk approached, skipping dinner, when a streak of darkness tore itself away from the shadow beneath a large blue spruce and hit his sibling.

"Gah!" Sam shouted in surprise and pain, falling over backwards.

"Sam!" Dean called and left his position, running towards his brother.

"Ahhhh!" Sam cried out in pain and Dean caught sight of a splash of white among the black-furred creature pinning his brother to the cemetery floor.

As he ran, the older Winchester raised his gun and struggled to aim it at the Black Dog, hesitating for fear of hitting his sibling instead.

"DEAN!" Sam cried out and that steeled the hunter's nerves.

Pointing the gun at the writhing black mass as best he could, Dean squeezed off a shot.

The yelp of pain told Dean he hadn't missed his target. His fired again and the squeal of agony was abruptly cut off.

Dean skidded to a halt beside his brother, dropping to his knees and shoved the dead Black Dog off Sam's chest.

His sibling was laying on his back, his face pale and beaded with sweat, his right arm against his chest, the sleeve darkening with blood.

Wordlessly, Dean helped Sam up into a sitting position and pulled back his brother's shirtsleeve to assess the damage.

"W-Would have got my chest b-but I got my arm up i-in time," Sam explained, breathing heavily through the pain.

"It's gonna need stitches," Dean informed him, cringing at the deep gashes in his brother's arm.

"Why did it go after me anyway?" Sam asked as he stood shakily, Dean retrieving his fallen gun for him.

"Your stomach was growling loudly enough to wake the dead," Sam commented and Dean snorted.

"I guess this guy was just in the mood for a Sam-wich tonight," Dean joked and poked the dead dog with the toe of his boot.

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother's joke, grateful that even though he had missed dinner; Dean was still as quick as ever and had killed the Black Dog before it did any real damage.

"Let's light this puppy up and then get something to eat," Dean said, "I'm starving."

Author's Note:

I think this can be another series of reader-prompted one shots. I think that this time, I want some silly or nonsense rules about hunting. If you have an idea for a "rule" about hunting, please send it and I will write a one-shot around it.

Please take a moment and leave a review (or a prompt).