This one's for Woodburner's birthday. Sam to the rescue.


If he pushed any closer to the tree, he'd grow bark. The Black Dog advanced stiff-legged, snarling, spittle oozing. Gun long gone, bitten out of his hand, and wasn't that a bitch.

At least he still had his hand. Under all the blood. Pretty sure. And the dog was in the clearing. Sam could shoot it.

"Come on, Sam, take the shot." he panted in another breath. "Hold your breath and squeeze."

"Hey, Blackie!" Sam's voice boomed from the forest. "Say Cheese."

A crack and then Sam was there. "Steady, Dean."

"'S'dead?"

"Who taught me?"

That made him smile. "Perfect."