Dean regained consciousness slowly. Struggling to remember what exactly had happened to him. Something was burning, or had burned. He smelled gasoline. He was on a hunt. He had burned the body. He had been after a ghost, an understandably pissed young girl that had been murdered and buried under the floorboards of this old house. He had stood over the grave about to throw the match when the ghost appeared. In one last ditch effort to stop him she had tossed an old, heavy piece of furniture. He thought that it might have once been a dresser. Whatever it was pinned him to the ground. He tossed the match and the body burned. The ghost dissipated into ash with a furious howl. Once the immediate danger was gone Dean relaxed and must have passed out at some point.

Now that he was awake he realized that he was in a lot of pain. His head felt like a parade was marching through it. He lifted his head to get a better look at the furniture that was holding him. His legs were numb from being held immobile and he wiggled his toes feeling pins and needles. Dean moved to push off the dresser but, the second his arm moved he realized something was very wrong. His right arm was bent, broken. He tried to move the dresser with just his left arm, but he couldn't get enough leverage to budge it. He stopped struggling and laid down to rest. He looked over at the body. The flames had died out, but heat was still radiating from the nearby bones. He was trapped.

He had always figured he would die on the job; Hunting was dangerous, especially alone. He would go out with a fight, a blaze of glory. He didn't want to die, not like this. Trapped and slowly starving to death. If only he could get a hold of his dad. Suddenly, he remembered that his phone was in his pants pocket. He shifted carefully to slide the phone out of his jeans. Thank god. This would have been a freaking embarrassing way to go out. Dean dialed his Dad's number.

"You've reached John Winchester. I'm currently unavailable." Please leave a message after the beep the recording droned.

"Dad…" how embarrassing was this? Calling for help. He was Dean Winchester. "I'm hurt. I'm at the haunted house in Illinois. I need you to come pick me up." It might be awhile before his dad got the message. Dad turned off his phone during hunts sometimes. The phone was low on battery. He didn't have time to wait for his dad to check his messages that could be a week. Dad's hunt had been in Arizona. It would take him a few days just to drive over here. Dean didn't have many people to call. It had always been just Dad and Sammy. He hadn't talked to Sam in two years. Dean knew he didn't want to hear from him but, he needed help and family helped each other. Dean called Sam.

"Hello" he answered.

"Sammy" Dean choked up a little just hearing the sound of his baby brother's voice.

"Dean, I asked you not to call me. I'm sorry but, I'm just not a part of that life anymore." Dean could hear music in the background, people laughing.

"Sammy I just need-"

"Goodbye Dean" Sam hung up. He hung up Dean realized in disbelief. Dean redialed but, he didn't pick up. Dean was starting to panic. He didn't have that many people he could call. Bobby had taken some hunt up in Canada this week. Dad burned a lot of bridges and that meant Dean got burned too. He scrolled through his contacts. Chicks he never bothered to call back but, put their numbers in his phone so it looked like his life was less pathetic than it actually was.

He could call 911 but, he was right next to some charred human remains. How the hell would he explain that one? No he couldn't do that. One name made him pause. Boyd Crowder. They had only met once but, they seemed to have an understanding. He had said to call if he ever needed help. Boyd had wanted to help him at the time. Normally his pride would get in the way but, he was out of options and ultimately he wanted to live. Boyd was in Kentucky which was a lot closer than Arizona. He didn't want to go out like this. Trapped. Alone. Abandoned. So he called.

"Hello." Someone answered hesitantly.

"Boyd Crowder?" Dean questioned just to be sure. The voice didn't sound like him but it was hard to distinguish a voice from one word.

"I am him." Jesus he talked weird.

"This is Dean Winchester. I bought some silver bullets from you a while back and you gave me your number." What if he didn't remember him?

"I remember, what's wrong?" Boyd seemed to understand that he wouldn't have called unless there was a problem.

"I'm, … I'm hurt. I can't move and well." How pathetic was he right now?

"Where are you?"

"Sparta, Illinois. Abandoned house on Moffat Street."

"I'll be there tomorrow. How badly are you injured?"

"Not bad, I'm just pinned." Dean instinctively couldn't admit weakness.

"Sure" he didn't seem to believe him.

"My phone's dying." Dean told him.

"Is there anyone I can call?" Boyd offered.

"No I took care of that, left messages." The call ended and the phone died. Dean lost consciousness soon after.

For Dean to have called a man he had only met once a few months back he must have been in serious trouble. So Boyd packed a bag and left not thirty minutes after he got the call. No one questioned him when he said he was leaving and he didn't provide any specifics. Nine hours later Boyd found himself in the right town. Dean hadn't told him anything more specific than abandoned house but if something had brought a hunter to this town Boyd was certain he would be able to pick up the trail. He stopped for breakfast before going to the library. The trail was painfully easy to follow. All he had to do was look through the paper. Last week three teens had snuck into an abandoned house in the middle of the night. All three had been strangled. The article even included a helpful bit about the ghost story attached to the house.

An hour later he had finally found the abandoned house. It was well hidden; he had gotten turned around more than once. Boyd assumed that Dean had managed to take care of the ghost since he hadn't mentioned it in the call but he stuck some salt in his back pocket just in case. Boyd circled the perimeter and found Dean's massive classic car parked at the back of the property. He entered the house through the front door cautiously and with his gun in hand.

He found Dean in what had once been the living room of the old house. The man was underneath an old, busted up armoire. The floorboards next to him had been pried up. Dean had found the body burned it. Boyd put his gun in the waistband of his jeans and knelled down to get a better look at Dean. His eyes were closed and his skin pale. Blood was congealed around his head. His right arm was broken. Boyd brought his fingers to his neck to check for a pulse. He was still alive. He lightly tapped his cheek a few times in the hope of waking him. He was burning with fever and had a layer of sweat on his skin. Boyd managed to pull the furniture off and let it fall to the other side with a loud crash and a cloud of dust and grime. Dean didn't respond. His legs looked unharmed but, that didn't make it true.

"Dean!" Boyd smacked him harder and this time he stirred.

"Dad?" he mumbled. Boyd's heart went out for the literally and metaphorically broken young man before him.

"No Dean, its Boyd Crowder. You called me remember?" Dean opened his eyes and his unfocused gaze found Boyd.

"Why did I do that?"

"You needed help."

"'M fine, I'm always fine." He slurred.

"Dean you're not fine. Can you feel your legs at all?"

"'M fine" he murmured again with his eyes drifting shut.

"Dean you have to stay with me here, I'm not going to be able to carry you okay?" Boyd lifted up Dean's head to get a better look at the wound. It was superficial and he doubted it would have caused a concussion. The disorientation was most likely from dehydration and his other injuries. Dean started to roll over on his good arm as if to stand.

"Wait; try just moving your legs first." Boyd requested. Dean grumbled out another "I'm fine" before carefully moving his legs. They seemed unharmed although Dean grimaced as circulation finally returned.

"My baby outside?" Dean asked. Boyd turned to look at him at the word baby. Why would there be a baby here? Oh right, his car.

"The car is fine." Boyd assured him with an accompanying eye roll. Dean slowly moved his legs and tried to stand. Boyd moved to help him but, Dean swatted him away as if he was an annoying fly. Boyd stayed close but, let him stand on his own. Dean glowered at Boyd as he stuck close to his side as Dean walked gingerly to the door. His legs felt numb. He had heard the sensation described as pins and needles when circulation was returning to limbs, but this felt like a nail was being hammered in. Dean felt faint and leaned against the door handle. Boyd reached out a hand worriedly but, didn't touch him.

"I'm fine." Dean said again. Boyd didn't seem convinced. After a few moments of deep breaths Dean started moving again. They were out the door and headed towards Dean's car.

"You are not driving." Boyd grabbed his good arm to stop Dean from opening the driver's door.

"No one drives my baby but me." Dean stubbornly insisted.

"Get in the goddamn passenger seat." Boyd could be just as obstinate as Dean.

"It's my car."

"I don't give a rat's ass, you got a broken arm."

"I've done it before." Dean said reassuringly.

"I'm driving, get in the car."

"Rock, paper, scissors?" Dean suggested.

"Sure." Boyd raised his hands and Dean mimicked the motion prepared to play. Before Dean realized what was going on Boyd's hand had shot out and gripped his good arm and shoved him into the spacious backseat of the impala.

"Hey!" Dean protested and twisted into a sitting position as Boyd slid into the Driver's seat with confidence. Boyd put the key in the ignition and turned over the engine.

"Do have a hotel already?" Boyd asked.

"No." Dean grumbled.

"I saw one on my way in." Boyd told him.

"Hey!" Dean shouted as he realized something. "Those keys were in my pocket!" Dean pointed a finger accusingly at Crowder.

"Yes they were." Boyd replied calmly. Dean sat back in the seat and did not pout, though he may have dozed off.

Boyd pulled into a hotel parking lot not long after. Boyd parked and went to pay for their rooms. Dean got his luggage and his first aid kit out of the trunk. They reconvened in room 12. Boyd got a room with two beds which told Dean that Crowder planned on staying just a little bit longer.

Dean set his stuff down on the nearest bed and sat down Boyd went into the bathroom. Dean went through the first aid kit pulling out bandages and painkillers. He might have to pay a visit to the emergency room to set his broken arm, normally his Dad could do it, but his Dad wasn't here. Dean plugged in his phone and waited for the device to turn on so he could check his messages. The toilet flushed and a moment later Crowder emerged with a damp washcloth. Dean didn't have any messages from Dad.

"Sit down and let me look at your head." It wasn't a commanding tone, but Crowder was used to being obeyed. Dean sighed, but sat down on the foot of the bed and waited while Boyd pulled up a chair next to him. Boyd used the washcloth to clean and examine the wound on his head. It started to bleed again. Boyd held the washcloth against the wound as he informed Dean that it would not need stitches.

"Are you hurt anywhere else besides the arm?" Boyd asked

"No, just scrapes and bruises. I'm okay. I'm sure you have to get back to Kentucky and do whatever it is you do there." Dean said.

"I don't have any pressing engagements to get back to." Boyd said as he began to examine Dean's arm.

"How did you get here anyway? I didn't see another car."

"My truck is parked on the other side of the house. I will go back to get it this evening." Boyd said. "I believe I can set your arm if you wish me too. I can also take you to an immediate care center."

"You ever set a broken arm before?" Dean asked cautiously.

"Yes" Boyd looked him right in the eye, it was unnerving.

"Okay go ahead and do it. I trust you."

Once Dean was finally asleep Boyd quietly left the hotel room and started walking. It was only three miles to the house where he left his truck and he remembered the way. The truck and his things were exactly where he left them and the trip back was much faster. When he let himself back into the motel room Dean was still sleeping.

Dean's phone hummed from its spot on the table where it was plugged into the wall. Boyd went to look at it. Dean had received a text message from his father. Boyd looked over at Dean to ensure he was still asleep before opening the message. The message contained information concerning a case in Alabama. Had Dean not told his father that he was injured? Boyd briefly entertained the idea of composing a message back to Dean's father, but finally decided that that was not his place. Though, he knew Dean well enough to know that once he heard of this case he would do his best to complete it, with or without a broken arm. In Boyd's opinion Dean was in no shape to hunt. So Boyd deleted the message. He changed into clean clothes and went to sleep on the lumpy motel mattress.

He woke up to the sound of Dean talking on the phone.

"I just wanted to call and let you know that I'm okay. I got some help from a friend but, my arm needs some time to heal so I'm going to head to Bobby's." Dean hung up.

"You contacted your father?" Boyd questioned.

"Left a message" Dean sighed but, didn't seem surprised at all. "I'm going to stay with a friend. He's not there right now but I got a key to his place, he won't mind if I stay there."

"Good." Boyd answered, and realized his presence was no longer needed.

"I can take you back to the house to pick up your truck." Dean offered.

"I got it last night."

"Okay." Dean nodded and absently scratched at his hairline. "Umm…" since Boyd was an astute observer of human behavior he knew that Dean was trying to thank him.

"You're welcome." Boyd acknowledged. It was just like dealing with Raylan. "Next time how about you call before you get hurt."

"I will." Dean reluctantly agreed. They parted without a farewell.

Three more people died in Alabama before another hunter came.