Disclaimer: Supernatural isn't mine.

A/N: I haven't quite decided when this story takes place, but my general goal is for there to be very few spoilers. That may or may not change depending on if it gets too tedious for me to not name drop some events. But, eh, no spoilers as of yet.

Happy reading!

Sam and Dean have been on the road for over a day, a case halfway across America having called their attention by way of the complimentary 'Color TV!' that was in their 'modern and clean!' motel room. So far, the case looks promising- complete with mystery (and intrigue), action, and Dean swears to god that this time the thing eating people really is a zombie.

Currently, Sam is sitting his firm booty down in the passenger seat (obviously), trying his best to tune out Dean's jokes and music taste. As of yet, as of his whole life, this is not working out well for him. Dean has a total of three jokes in his arsenal. Granted, Dean is very adept at changing these jokes to match the circumstances, but Sam notices- he didn't go to Stanford for nothing.

"We should get a motel room for the night Dean." Sam rubs his hand down his face, because he's tired.

"Just a little farther little brother! Don't pass out me anytime soon, we've got a lot of zombie planning to do." Dean responds and he is, by some sort of ungodly, unholy force, chipper.

Sam's thoughts take a darker turn- petulant and blearily grumpy- What the hell, Shouldn't he be angsting or angry about something? Oh god, he's going to be like this for the whole case. Ugh, tired. Externally, Sam blinks slowly and grunts.

"C'mon Sammy! Where's all your energy? I bet you've pulled all-nighters all the time for research."

Somehow, Dean's chipperness progresses to full blown energetic delight. Somehow, Sam resists the urge to punch Dean in the face. This most likely has something to do with his life depending on Dean's ability not to crash the Impala.

"TIRED Dean. Room, sleep, NOW." And that is all Sam has to say on the topic. Dean had better realize just how serious Sam is.

"Don't be a nerd. This is zombies we're talking about!"

He only has himself to blame for this, are Sam's final sane thoughts before he submits to years of instincts that promote brotherly heckling. "Find us a room or I'm going to talk about my feelings."

The Impala is filled with an uneasy silence, spreading and thickening the air with tension. Dean seems frighten, wide eyes framed by lush, curly eyelashes that cannot save him from his brother's wrath. His skin pales and freckles, usually hidden by tan, weathered skin, make a sudden, vibrant appearance upon his face. (Some might say Dean looks so pretty when he's scared. Not me though, I would never.)

Dean cries in a hushed, emotionally ravaged voice, "You wouldn't!"

And then there is a moment where the brothers' eyes meet. Their surroundings are forgotten amidst the intensity of silent warfare via squinty eye looks. Sam's eyebrows raise and crinkle, his eyes squint, and Dean knows that Sam means business.

And the moment after this moment, Dean speeds along in a desperate search for a motel or side road that may lead to a motel. He prays to any non-man eating deity that he will happen upon a room soon.

By the powers of something, his prayer is answered. Dean is forever grateful as he maneuvers his smooth, black metaled beauty into the parking lot of the motel.

When the Impala comes to a stop, Sam sticks his long, ostrich legs out of the car and stands, looks unimaginably smug the whole while (He has, in fact, been looking smug ever since he threatened Dean with feelings). Outside, he makes a short-lived orchestra of noises- cracks, groans, and stretching. Then his legs meander him away, without a word, to what appears to be a lobby, leaving Dean behind with bags, ammo, and his thoughts (thoughts of revenge, thoughts of burgers).

The motel is decrepit and creepy. It has the cliché appearance of a haunted house, complete with flickering lights, cobwebs, and a desolate parking lot- save for one sleek, vehicular babe.

It takes Sam but a few minutes to check in. This motel is the sort of place desperate for business and eager for money.

In their newly paid for motel room, Sam discovers that his standards of living shares a direct correlation with his level of sleepiness. In this instance, the room looks like a palace fit for the highest of knights.

Dean says, "Awesome," and it's pretty clear he doesn't mean it.

Dean shuffles around doing who knows what, while Sam collapses, fully clothed and smelly, atop a mattress of questionable hygienic merits.

His final thought before sleeps drags him into dreams and blankness is this, "Tomorrow morning. I'll think about zombies then. Gank, gank… gank… zzzzzzzzzzz."

Grokll is known across the land for three things. He is strong, smart, and dashingly handsome. He is called Grokll the Great by allies and Grokll the Terrible by foes.

Right now, he battles those who dare cross him. Right now, he is losing.

In the heat of battle, there is not much more Grokll can do. His numbers are dwindling and his kingdom will fall. He bears witness to the demise of all he has known and realizes the time for last resorts is now.

Volleying against all instincts, he flees.

He is filled with shame, but knows that even Grokll the Great, alone, is not enough. He must gather strength. He must gain followers. He must find the Chosen One.

The prophecies declare that the Chosen One will bring peace and the rise of the rightful heir to these lands. Seeing as Grokll is the rightful heir, he wants this to happen. And yet, the prophecy says the Chosen One will not find his way across realms and dimension for another 500 years.

Grokll will never live long enough to see his throne if he were to wait. He likes being king and he likes having an unlimited supply of grapes. Dethroned, he will not have these things.

With great determination and fearlessness, he decides he must cross over. He will find the Chosen One and train him well. Then, they will amass a legion of warriors and retake the throne.

Grokll will be king, and the Chosen One will have all the grapes he wants. It's a win-win minus the 500 year waiting period.

But first, he must make his way through the Forest of Too Many Trees to Navigate Comfortably, climb up the Mountain of Great Height and Way Too Little Oxygen, and then enter The Portal. Once he reaches the other side, Grokll must find the Chosen One.

Legend says the Chosen One will tower over all, be equipped with an arsenal befitting of war, and have washboard abs.