Because nothing was ever easy for a Winchester, surviving, no matter how talented a survivalist he was, was very difficult in Purgatory. He lost spears, he broke arrows, and was forced, almost daily, to repair or make new. And all it took was a second, hurrying, and trying to get his hastily repaired weapon back in his hand, when one of the purgatory asshats came out of nowhere and knocked him on his ass. Not only knocked him on his ass, but reopened the wound on his leg that he received shortly after arriving, and to give him a few new ones. He was positive he was going to die, in fact, he opened his eyes wide and took a deep breath and made peace with his maker, when several of the prey animals, the same animals in which he had killed and eaten, used their hides for clothing, and their bladders for water canteens, sprang from behind the dead trees and pounced upon Dean's attacker, and two more came from behind and grabbed a hold of the hides that wrapped around Dean's shoulders and drug him from the battle field.
Dean heard the sounds of battle and struggled against the animal's grip, trying to go and get into the battle. Dean wasn't one to be drug from the field and sidelined. Dean was a man of action, he was a man that didn't run from a fight, a man who had been trained to fight until his last breath, to help others who couldn't help themselves. The animals gripping his clothes locked a little tighter and drug a little faster, sensing that Dean was trying to bolt.
They got him into his hidey hole and guarded the outside until the battle had ended. They guarded it as much to keep monsters out as to keep Dean in. And when the last echoes of battle cries died in the distance the animals turned to Dean, and for the first time Dean got a good look at the faces of the prey animals. It took all he had not to gasp. They were human eyes, and they held sorrow and fear like people, one, with soft brown eyes, was weeping as it looked into the distance after those who had gone into battle and had surly died against the better equipped monsters of purgatory.
"You're human." Dean said breathlessly. All eyes turned to him, and the largest, apparently the leader of the small pack, nodded blue eyes sparkling with sadness.
"Oh my God." Dean put a hand on the smallest's nose and it pushed into his hand as if starved for human touch. "Oh my God." He said again more breathless than the first. "Not tainted enough to go to hell, but not clean enough to heaven." He ran a dirty hand down his bearded face. "And when you die.." he hesitated, "like your friends did, or like the one I killed…" He hung his head ashamed now that he was wearing a hide that had once housed a human soul, "do you finally get some peace? Or do you go to hell?" He asked and did his best not to choke on the words. None of the people-animals replied, their privilege of speech was revoked upon being thrust into this state, but their eyes said it all. They didn't know, but they all suspected the worst.
"Maddox," Yarborrow began. "I need some help taking down a nest of vampires."
"I'd love to help Yarborrow, but I can't. I'm up to my ass in black dogs. Call Sam Winchester."
"I'm not calling one of those crazy sons of bitches. Everywhere they go something catastrophic happens." Yarborrow said incredulously.
" It's just Sam."
"Dean's not with him."
"And Sam hasn't gotten him out yet?"
"He's trapped in purgatory."
"How in the hell did that boy…" Yarborrow stopped there and pinched the bridge of his nose. Those Winchester boys were infamous, and most of the hunting community know that they only knew a fraction of what had really happened to the brothers Winchester, so it wasn't really shocking that one of them had gotten themselves trapped somewhere mythic.
"Call Sam." Maddox repeated.
"Sam won't be any help. He's going to be too focused on finding his stubborn son of a bitch brother."
"He is. But he's going to need help when he figures out how to get Dean out."
"I ain't gettin' in that mess."
"How many people have the vampires killed?" Maddox asked softly knowing that the number of dead would be Yarborrow's Achilles heel. Yarborrow gritted his teeth and sighed.
"10 adults and two children."
"So, are you willing to add yourself to that list, or possibly become one of those blood suckers, or are you going to suck it up and call Sam Winchester, who by all accounts has killed dozens of those sons a bitches, and ask him for his help?" Yarborrow was silent on the other end of the phone and Maddox sighed. "He helped me a couple of weeks ago with a woman in white, no muss no fuss, just put her down and we had a beer afterwards. He's great to have at your back. Tell him that you'll help him when the time comes, and we all know it will, when he had figured out a way to help Dean."
Yarborrow set his teeth and forced himself to call Sam Winchester after he hung up with Maddox. "Winchester." He began after Sam answered the call.
"Help me with a vampire nest, and I'll help you with your brother." There was silence on the other end and then a deep intake of breath.
"Where are you?"
"Be there in two days." And the line was disconnected. Yarborrow sighed and prayed to whatever God would listen that Sam Winchester wouldn't be the death of him.