Call it what you will: a brother's intuition, a hunter's mind, or a best friend's heart, but Dean always knew exactly where to find Sam. This came in handy as he ran down deserted back roads, yelling his brother's name. Alleys led to more alleys that led to other alleys and sometimes dead ends where Dean had to double back.

"Sam? Sammy?" He didn't care if the thing they were hunting heard the yells. Either it had Sam and already knew they were there, or something else had happened that kept Sam silent, so Dean wanted to find him quickly. There was a muffled yell from a street to Dean's left. He turned, cocking his gun.

"Sammy?" Dean's deep voice echoed through the empty streets. But they couldn't be completely empty. The older Winchester brother made his way towards the sound of his brother's voice.

Kicking through a rotting fence, Dean saw his brother crouched down at the other end of the street with a gun in his hand. The figure approaching him was shrouded in black, and seemed to have no definite shape, flickering as it moved. Dean aimed for its torso and pulled the trigger of his gun.

The figure cried out and vanished completely. Then there was a thud as the thing hit the ground, reappearing.

Dean ran over to his brother. "You alright, Sammy?"

"Fine." Sam pushed him away and looked at the ground in front of him. "I think it's human." Dean looked where Sam was pointing.

A man with dark hair and a medium build was struggling to his feet. Blood gushed from his side. Dean guessed him to be in his mid to late twenties, closer to his age than Sam's, though the man had a face that could let him pass for a teenager. But then, so did Sam. To Dean's amazement, the man stuck his fingers into his wound and pulled out the bullet. Then he appeared to concentrate very hard on something, and to the further shock of the Winchester boys, the gash and bullet hole closed and healed, almost instantly.

"So much for 'I think he's human'," Dean muttered. He advanced on the man, gun drawn. His target held up his hands.

"Wait, don't shoot. Are you one of them?"

"What?"

"Do you work for him?"

"We don't work for anybody."

"Dean," Sam whispered. "I feel like I know this guy."

"What? Did you dream about him or something?" Sam shrugged. Dean turned back.

"Are you human?"

"Of course I'm human… I think," the man replied.

"See, that's where we've got a problem. Most humans know they're humans. So either you're a monster, your lying about not being sure, or you're some kind of invincible man. Since I don't have any Kryptonite on me and you're not wearing tights, I'm going to hope and assume it's not that one. So what are you: insane or a monster?"

"It's complicated."

"You know what's not complicated? Rock salt in your head."

"I'm human. But… I have something in my genes that most people don't. It's hard to explain. But basically, people who have the gene marker can do things that other people can't. Like… super things."

"Like…?"

"Like, flying, spontaneous regeneration, telekinesis."

Sam spoke up. "What about, say, precognition."

"There's an artist around here; he paints the future."

Dean glared at Sam, who ignored him and continued. "How do you know all this?"

"Dr. Suresh. He's a geneticist. His father discovered the whole thing."

"Can you show us where to find him?" Sam asked hopefully.

"To be honest, I'm sort of avoiding him. But I can give you directions. As long as you won't tell him you met me." He wrote them down on a piece pf paper Dean handed over. "By the way, I'm Peter. Peter Petrelli."

"Dean Winchester; this is my brother Sam. Hey, any chance you're related to Nathan Petrelli? I've seen his campaign signs plastered all over."

"He's my brother. I'm… kinda avoiding him too." Peter frowned. "I should go." Dean and Sam nodded, and watched him walk away.

"So what, Sammy? You think you've got that gene thing? Don't forget about the demon. That Peter guy didn't say anything about seeing one of those before found out about his powers, did he?"

"Well, no. But what if… I don't know. But it could be true."

"I don't know Sam; we don't know anything about this guy. For all we know, he and this 'Dr. Suresh' could be anything. Shapeshifters, serial killers, demons, anything."

"Or they could be like me."

"I don't want you going."

"You can't stop me Dean. I'm not a little kid."

"But you are my little brother."

Sam glared. Dean though, then spoke. "I'll go."

"What?"

"I'll go see Suresh. I'll tell him I'm you. See what I can find out about him."

"I don't think…"

"Sam, either I go or no one goes."

"Why not just come with me?"

"Why risk it? You go find us someplace to stay. I'll call you." Reluctantly, Sam agreed. Dean took off, address in hand, while Sam went looking for a motel.

When Dean reached the address that Peter Petrelli had given him, he moved his gun from its holster to the waistband of his jeans, for easier access. Then he knocked on the door. It opened slightly, and a voice said, "Who re you?"

"I'm," Dean coughed, "I'm Sam Winchester. Are you Dr. Suresh?" The man opened the door wider, thumbing through a stack of papers.

He spoke to himself. "Let's see here. Sam Winchester, yes." Then the doctor turned to Dean. "I'm glad you found me, Sam. I have some questions I'd like to ask you. But first," Dr. Suresh showed his guest the list and pointed to a name near the bottom. Dean suddenly felt sick to his stomach. "Do you have any idea where I can find your brother?"