Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes or Supernatural.

For the first few weeks after Dad's death, I had established a routine. Wake up, work on the Impala, eat, and sleep. But Sam kept interrupting those plans. He'd ask if I was okay, and tried to make me feel better about Dad's death, but he didn't know anything.

I had been seconds away from dying. I knew it, I felt it. The reaper was hot on my trail. And then, I was perfect. The doctors called it a miracle. There's no such thing. Dad had been fine. Recovering well. Then, five minutes after I'm all better, he's stone cold and dead. I hadn't told Bobby, or Sam. What was I supposed to say? Somehow I'm alive because Dad gave up his life? I'd almost asked Bobby about it a few times, but how could I? I should have died. Not Dad.

Seeing Sam didn't help either. He kept reminding me of Dad's last words. You'd think his last words would be sappy, like everyone elses. I love you, or goodbye. You know, sentimental crap. Not Dad. No, he had to warn me about Sam. According to his twisted mind, I would have to save Sam or kill him. I didn't know what he meant, and it scared the hell outta me. Sam was my little brother, dammit.

"Dean, are you okay?"

I sighed. Sam was in the drivers seat of my newly restored Impala, since he thought I needed the rest. Not that I could get much sleep with those thoughts drifting through my head. He kept asking about me, wanting to know what was up. I loved the guy, but Sam could be overly pushing sometimes, and he always seemed to choose the worst moments for a heart-to-heart.

"I'm fine."

"Dean…"

"Alright, fine." I gave in. "Pull over. We'll hug it out, cry, and complain about our fucked up lives. And you know, after that touching bromance, maybe we can go to Disney Land. We're headed in that direction anyway." I turned away after the outburst, but out of the corner of my eye I could see Sam open his mouth to say something. He snapped it close though, and focused on the road again.

I hadn't been kidding about or proximity to the so called 'happiest place on Earth'. Sam and I had come across one of the most bizarre cases. Apparently some sicko was traveling around the country, slicing the tops of peoples' heads off. Sam had scoffed when I suggested we were dealing with a zombie. It wasn't like we hadn't handled the undead before. I guess a brain eating zombie was too much of a stretch for him.

Not only was the victim's head sliced off, but he was found frozen solid. And his wife? Pinned to the staircase with cutlery. Death by kitchen utensils, Sebastian Michaelis style. Not that Sam would get the reference. He thought my 'cartoons' were stupid. It's anime, not effin' bugs bunny!

As far as we could tell, there was no connection between the victims either. No pattern. Sam insisted we just hadn't found one yet. Such an optimist. There were only two deaths remotely similar to this. Back in April, both Brian Davis and Trevor Zeitlan were found with their heads sliced off. But that was it, no other cases like theirs'. Not that I'm complaining. A smaller body count is better. It's just, odd. But hey, odd's just the beginning when you're a hunter.

"Sam." I said, getting his attention. "Any relevant mythology you can pull out from that dictionary you call a mind?"

Sam rolled his eyes and shook his head. "No… I mean, I don't recall." He sighed.

"Look." I pointed at the man's sliced head. "No brain." I let my arms hang in front of me, and shuffled towards Sam. "Brains." I slurred.

"Cut it out." He responded, pushing me away.

"But I'm right."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Maybe…"

I sighed, shaking my head. That's when I got a good look at the body. I lifted up the arms, checking both sides. As far as I could tell, there weren't any other injuries besides his sliced off head, or the fact that he was a frozen popsicle before. "Sam."

"What?"

"No cuts, no bruises. Doesn't look like he put up much of a struggle."

Sam scoffed. "What's your point, Dean? Maybe he was outnumbered, maybe the guy was too strong?"

"But the guy didn't leave a mark. In fact, I'd say, our monster in question attacked from a distance."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "I guess he could have come up behind him."

I nodded. "Maybe… But what about the ice? If you slice a guy's head off, there's no need to freeze him."

"Yeah… This is all weird. I mean, this can't be possible."

"Oh yeah, sure. It's not like we don't fight werewolves, ghosts or vampires. And of course there's no such thing as people who can move things with their mind, see the future…"

"Okay, I get it." Sam interrupted, flustered. "You think someone like me did this?"

I shrugged. Honestly, I was beginning to think anything was possible. There had to be more people like Sam and Max out there, and not everyone was good. Somebody had to go darkside. "Not everyone follows Uncle Ben's philosophy."

In our motel room, Sam was surrounded by library books, Dad's journal, his laptop, and was on the phone with Bobby. The idea that someone like Sam had done this was plausible, but the question was why? I've said it before, and I'll say it again- monsters I get, people are just psychotic. No pattern, no routine, nothing remotely traceable. Even if we did find prime suspect number one, how the hell were we going to go through with ganking him? Sam had only used telekinesis once, and this guy could slice peoples heads off from a distance! Speaking of which, what the fuck did he do with the brain? Eat it?

"Dean."

I turned to see Sam setting down his cell phone. Well it's about time, I thought. He'd been talking for hours.

"Bobby's got zip. Might just be someone like me."

"Assuming we're right, they could be long gone by now. I mean, I wouldn't stick around."

Sam ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, you're right. They could be anywhere by now."

I never liked cases like that. I always felt helpless, and it sucked. Our job was to save people, hunt things, that's what the family business was all about. But I guess not all monsters gave a damn about routine. Those were the smart ones. The ones who know how to avoid getting captured and or killed.

It was after one a.m. when Sam finally set the books aside and hit the hay. But like every other night, I couldn't sleep. One eye was always open, watching Sam. I wish I knew whether I was watching him out of fear or protection. I didn't know what to think of him anymore.

Five minutes later, I decided I wasn't resting anytime soon. So, quietly, I slipped out of bed, changed into jeans and Dad's old leather jacket, and snuck out the motel room. I needed a beer.

After winning another game of pool, I stuffed my earnings in my front pocket, and made my way to the bar for another round. The bartender was young, blonde and perky with her hair tied back in a high ponytail. She smiled and handed me another round at my request.

"You know," she said, resting her head in her hands. "You have the most amazing blue eyes."

I raised an eyebrow. "You hittin' on me?"

"Maybe." She beamed. "I'm off shift in another hour…"

I smiled. "Great."

A/N: Thanks for reading the first chapter, hope you enjoyed!