Sadly, I still do not own them. The CW apparently does not want a red Hyundai with fenders of a slightly different shade of red...


Dean raised his free arm up. Using it to shield his face and neck as the werewolf closed the final distance. He fired blindly at the creature and heard two more slugs hit before the creature landed on him. Claws and teeth tore at his coat. The force the werewolf hit him with pushed them both back up against the side of the Impala. They both slid to the ground, the claws of the werewolf finally meeting up with bare flesh as it continued its onslaught.

Dean aimed the handgun up into the bloody, matted mess of fur on the creature's chest and began to empty the clip. With all of the thrashing he and the creature were doing, he barely felt the kick of the gun.

The first three bullets he fired into the creature fell back onto the ground and Dean's chest. The meal that the werewolf had consumed earlier that night gave it the energy necessary to heal rapidly and push out the lead almost as fast as Dean fired it.

With the clip emptied Dean kicked out at the creature. He could feel the bones in his arm crack as the werewolf proceeded to try to pull his arm out of its socket. It had seemed like hours to Dean before he heard the scuffing crunch of Sam's boots come around the side of Impala. The werewolf froze above Dean, his arm still locked in its blood soaked muzzle.

The werewolf stared at Sam for a long moment before bringing its jaws closed completely on Dean's arm. There was a loud crunch, the snap of pine sap in a fire, followed by the only scream Dean uttered during the entire night.

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Sam watched, helpless, as the creature and Dean slid out of sight behind the edge of the car. He could hear the grunts as the two fought and finally he heard the last rounds in the clip of Dean's gun go off in a rapid tattoo, they kept a pretty good beat with the thrum of whatever song screamed out of the speakers. The worst sound he heard that night was after he looped the few feet around the trunk and took aim at the werewolf that pinned his brother to the ground.

The werewolf stopped moving immediately when it sensed Sam's presence. It stared at him calmly, daring him to make the first move. Everything was brought to Sam's senses with the clarity that only came when his adrenaline was pumping. The clarity that allowed him to hunt well and survive.

Time slowed to a crawl again, forcing Sam to take in everything about the scene. He could see Dean's blood mixed with the werewolf's saliva as it drooled down the creature's muzzle. He could count the three spent bullets that had been healed out. As he watched another bullet slid out of the werewolf's chest landing on Dean's shirt among the blood stains splashed across the front.

Sam noticed that the werewolf's eyes were the same color as a jack-o-lantern. They appeared to glow malevolently from out of its face and were the only things on the creature that weren't covered in blood. They never flinched from Sam's face even as Dean kicked and bucked underneath it.

Without warning, the creature closed its jaws. The dry twig sound of Dean's arm snapping echoed off into the night. Then, the worst sound Sam heard all night. One scream, one cry was all Dean uttered.

Like a cue, that one agony filled cry pulled the trigger on the rifle for Sam. The first shot entering the werewolf's head, pushing through its eye and exploding out the back of its head in a spray of gore. The next shot Sam waited for until Dean pulled himself as far away from the werewolf as he could. His arm still locked in the creature's teeth. Sam shot the werewolf in the heart, placing the still hot muzzle of the rifle into the fur of the creature's chest and firing. Some of it caught in a short-lived fire which went out as the fur receded into the chest of one of the largest men the brothers had ever seen.

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Dean felt the slight jerk of the werewolf's head all the way down to the tips pf his toes it seemed. The pain in his arm was blinding, but he managed to drag himself out from underneath the creature so Sam could finish the job. As Sam walked up to the finally incapacitated monster, Dean used the barrel of his handgun to pry the jaws loose from his arm. He noted with some distaste that the canines had broken off and were sticking up like grotesque splinters from his newly jointed arm. Vaguely he thought about the unpleasantness he was going to feel at their removal, but decided not to think too hard on that thread as he was already trying not to pass out.

Curling his arm close to his body, Dean wondered if it might not be a bad idea to pass out now. With the threat of immanent doom gone for the moment the fingers of the chilly wind had found Dean again. All except for his arm, that particular appendage felt like someone had doused it with acid and then lit it on fire inside of a tanning booth just to be funny.

Lost in his own thoughts, such as they were, Dean was startled when Sam spoke next to his ear.

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"Man, you reek," Sam stated flatly. It was meant to lighten the mood, but there was more than a little truth to the statement. The combination of gunpowder, wet dog, the fishy smell from Dean's earlier dip in the stream, the metallic smell of the blood and the spent adrenaline were not a flattering one.

He noted, with some worry, that the only reaction he gained from Dean was a weak smile. No sarcastic or snide remark. "I know you're not going to like this idea much, but I can't look at your arm out here. I am going to need you to get up and into the car."

Dean nodded his head once in reply, and let Sam help him up. A few moments later Sam had Dean sitting on the passenger's side of the seat. He then left to grab the first aid kit stashed somewhere in the back.

His eyes traced the ground, noting the crushed M&M's. For some reason this made him sad. Seeing their broken shells made him think of his brother, there was no way that Dean could have escaped infection. The colors shattered on the ground began to swirl together and mix. Sam did not realize that his eyes had filled with tears until they began sliding down his face.

He reached down and picked Dean's empty gun up from the ground. The muzzle was caked in blood, a few multicolored shells sticking to it like confetti. Sam carried it to the trunk, his eyes never leaving it. In a way the gun in his hand summed up his older brother completely. The bright colors trying to mask the deadly coldness that their father had instilled inside.

There was a roll of paper towels next to the first aid kit. Sam pulled off a towel and wiped down the barrel of the gun, he would burn it later. Picking up the first aid kit Sam's eye caught on something shiny rolling loose in the trunk. Dean had knocked over their case that held all of their silver shot. Sam lifted the bullet up, letting it glitter in the light. It was the perfect size to fit in the handgun.