It was a night like any other. The motel room was of dubious cleanliness and hideously decorated, warded with salt and protective symbols. John had already been gone for several days, but the money wasn't tight yet and they were living in a place where the heater worked and the sheets were pretty close to clean. Their stomachs were pleasantly full of Pizza Pops and Coca Cola. Sam was on one of the beds, head buried in a book, and Dean had the remote, flipping back and forth between the news, Hannah Montana and Jeopardy.

Finally, Dean let out a huge sigh and lobbed the remote at his brother, catching him on the shoulder.

"Stop it, Dean," Sam glared before turning back to his book.

"I'm bored," Dean whined. "There's nothing on TV."

"I've got an extra book in my backpack."

"Oh yeah? What is it? Sweet Valley High? Or perhaps Degrassi?" Dean smirked.

"Hey, that was once, and you didn't know what that library was like. The librarian was very strict about what she would let kids under 12 take out. You and Dad were busy with a case. I finished all my homework and I was going to crazy, so I read what was available. And if you're so grown-up, why did you leave the channel on Hannah Montana?"

Dean looked back at the TV and realized it was true, then lunged at Sam to grab the remote back. Sam dropped his book with a rather girly shriek and curled himself up on top of it.

Dean pulled at Sam's skinny arms and legs, trying to get him to release the remote but it seemed he was channelling his inner hedgehog. "Guess I am gonna have to play dirty," Dean muttered before finding that spot right under Sam's ribs and jabbing his thumb in.

Sam squealed even louder and flailed, remote sailing out of his hand and hitting the wall. The battery compartment popped open and the batteries rolled under the bed.

"Why, you little…" Dean laughed before grabbing Sam again and wrestling him onto the floor.

Sam was wiry and strong for his age but he was no match for Dean in size and diabolical ingenuity. In less than five minutes, he was completely immobilized as Dean held him down and contorted impressively to fart directly into his face.

Sam, meanwhile was alternately laughing and choking so hard he could hardly struggle anymore. "Uncle! I give, I give. Let me up, loser," he managed to get out between gasps for air.

"What are the magic words?"

"Dean is the most awesome big brother in the entire world and I would be curled up in a sobbing, pathetic ball if it weren't for him." Sam rolled his eyes.

"Again," Dean shouted. "And this time without the sarcasm. I've got another one ready to let loose."

Sam opened his mouth, trying to project sincerity into his tone, when there came a knock at the door and instantly, the whole mood changed.

Dean was up and over to the door in a flash, gun pulled in one smooth movement. Sam was already dropping back to cover him. Dean opened the door a crack and peered out, not recognizing the dark-cloaked man who stood there in the darkened hallway.

"Who are you and what do you want?" he asked sharply, motioning to Sam to get out of the line of sight and retreat to the bathroom.

Sam glared defiantly at Dean and shook his head, strengthening his grip on the gun.

"I\m a friend of your father's," the man spoke softly.

"Oh really?" Dean scoffed. "He didn't mention you were dropping by."

"He didn't know I was dropping by. Can I come in?"

"State your business from the other side of the door," Dean spoke gruffly, trying to fight off the embarrassing squeak that sometimes erupted when he was attempting to sound menacing in his 16 year old voice.

"I need to speak to your brother," the man smiled, his voice smooth as silk.

"Yeah, like that's gonna happen," Dean looked reassuringly over at Sam, whose eyes had gone wide in surprise. "My dad is sleeping and he is one mean sonofabitch if you wake him up when he is sleeping off a bender. Come back in the daytime and maybe he will verify that he knows you then. Until then, you are not seeing my brother."

"Nice bluff, kid, but I'm afraid I have to call it. I know your father isn't here. He hasn't been in a number of days. I asked you politely, but you cannot stop me from speaking to your brother. You have one more chance to open this door or I will simply be walking in," the man growled.

"And you have one more chance to leave in one piece. I suggest you take it," Dean snarled back.

The man, pushed the door, sending Dean back a couple of steps without the slightest bit of effort. He looked down, amused, at the bullet holes riddling his chest before crossing the salt lines with ease and walking straight to the corner where Sam had now curled himself up, empty gun held up like a shield.

"I'm sorry, Sam. I didn't want this to happen. I hoped to deal with this without you ever becoming involved, but it is too late. The war has started and we need you," the man placed his hand on Sam's forehead. Sam's eyes flashed bright white for an instant and then he crumpled to the ground.

"The hell did you do to him?" Dean asked angrily, pushing himself in between the man and his brother and shoving his gun into the man's chest.

"I think we have established that guns do nothing to me. I will not hurt you. I have not hurt your brother."

"Then why is he unconscious?" Dean snarled.

"I swear, all I did to your brother is reach into his brain and flip a few switches ahead of schedule. Nothing will happen that would not have happened anyway. Your brother will wake up just fine, not even a headache to show for this night."

"Who are you?"

The man looked at him sadly. "You'll find out. Watch out for your brother. He's going to need you more than ever in the next few days." And suddenly, the man was gone, leaving nothing but bullet holes in the plaster and Sam collapsed in the corner to show that he had been there at all.