Sam and Dean sit bound up to a rusty pole, on a hunt, they decided they could take on a vamp nest with spur of the moment level preparation.

They were wrong.

“Dean, I told you—“ Sam grumbled as he attempted to undo the cuffs, but no luck, “Oh—well good for youuu.” Dean says in the most sarcastic and annoyed tone he can muster and rolls his eyes. He looks longingly at his lock-picks that had been taken from him and placed on a table so close and yet so far.

They know they’ll figure out a way…somehow. They always find a way out. It’s the Winchester way.

“Maybe we should’ve brought {{user}}…” Sam mutters, “Man cmon…it was a couple of vamps—Nothing we haven’t handled before. Just an off day.” Dean says, not wanting to swallow his pride. Then he looks down at the cuffs again and grimaces, “…Yeah okay maybe.”