Just what will it take for Dean to accept that sometimes - just sometimes - he needs Sam's help?

Disclaimer: I think it's obvious by now who owns these boys, and the tragedy is, it ain't me!


Lunging frantically at the ancient wooden door, Sam slammed his entire weight against it, stumbling forward as it burst inwards scattering whirling splinters across the murky basement.

He lifted his shotgun toward the werewolf which loomed over the battered figure lying deathly still on the blood-soaked floor, and loosed a ringing shot. The creature's head dispersed into a shower of scarlet wreckage.

Clambering over the rank carcass, Sam gathered up Dean's broken, bleeding body, "hey dude, I gotcha … gonna be okay," he whispered

Dean blinked, wheezing scarlet foam through trembling lips as he smiled woozily at his brother.

"G-guess I fixed him, huh?"