Chapter Two

Thanks a bunch to Winchester13, Wait-For-Sleep, Maze2010, jjackles, blink182rule, Lamae, ItsaMiracle & PuReLoNeHeArT for their positive reviews. I was a little unsure of posting this, especially since all of my old supernatural fics were ripped apart by copycats, but now I'm glad I did (:

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or any of its characters.

He couldn't help it; as soon as the words left his brother's mouth, a look of absolute horror sculpted onto his handsome face - Sam burst into laughter. It was uncontrollable; he laughed until his mouth hurt from smiling and his stomach felt like it had been pelted persistently with a sledgehammer. It had to have been the funniest line he had ever heard, and it was made twice as funny by the fact that Dean had just said it. Dean, his tough, shotgun-bearing, demon-banishing bad boy of an older brother had just spoken to him an English accent.

Sam, who had fallen over in hysterics, pushed his chin up onto the side of his motel bed. Dean was still sitting in the corner, staring at the pipe as if it were a bomb. Sam's grin widened when Dean turned to him, his brown eyes widened in fear.

"What – what the deuce?"

That was all it took to set Sam off again; he was down on the floor, crying tears of laughter. A loud creak from the corner suggested that Dean had finally left his seat. Sam could only see a dark shadow before him, his eyes were blurred and he was finding it difficult to stem the flow of tears.

"Samuel!" Dean cried.

"HAHAHAHAHA!"

"Samuel!"

"HAHA! HAHAHAHAHA!"

Suddenly, Sam felt a fistful of hair being yanked from his head.

"Ow – ow – Okay, Dean, I'm sorry!"

He winced, pulling himself up off the floor. He leant onto the bed, trying as best he could to wipe the smirk from his face, lest he lose half the hair on his head. His voice had perhaps altered, but apparently his attitude hadn't.

"It isn't so funny, is it now?" When Sam dared to open his eyes again, he found his brother's face only a few inches from his. Sam instinctively drew back, which proved to be rather difficult when half of his hair was being jerked in the other direction. The only other time Sam had seen that look on his Dean's face was the time when he had convinced his brother to take a break from driving, only for Dean to discover that three-and-a-half minutes after Sam had demanded the keys, he had crashed into a mailbox and dented the hood of his precious Impala. Needless to say, Dean was extremely pissed.

The memory itself made him chuckle, which he regretted instantly. Dean yanked harder.

"Dude!" Sam yelped. "I said I was sorry."

He pulled the most innocent look he could, holding his hands up apologetically. Dean let go of him almost reluctantly. Sam fell back onto the bed, pushing his hair back.

"Well…" he said after a pause. "It was good for a laugh Dean, but let's get serious now. We need to figure out what happened last night… I mean… my arm...! It was bleeding everywhere last night, and this morning… not even a scratch…" He brushed his fingertips over where the wound had been only hours before. It was just so surreal… If he hadn't been so sure that his arm had been torn open last night, he might have considered the possibility that it was just a dream. A strange, realistic and extremely painful dream.

When he received no reply from his brother, he looked up. Dean was standing in the same spot, the same shocked look on his face.

"Dean?"

Slowly, Dean looked up.

"Samuel…" he said, appearing horrified. "I don't… what the deuce is happening to me?"

Sam cracked a grin, but it wasn't a grin of hilarity like before; it was more like his usual sardonic, you're-not-as-funny-as-you-think-Dean smile. In any case, he thought he would go along with the transparent joke and see where it was leading. Or if it was leading anywhere. Knowing Dean, it was likely to be the latter.

"Why, my dearest old brother, I do not know what thou art speaking? Perhaps, if you spoke yet a more coherent branch of English I would understand what thou art saying?" he kidded.

"Your evident joviality at my misfortune irks me," Dean frowned.

In all of his twenty-two years, he had never heard his brother utter a single intelligent sentence. And considering he spent most of his teenage years hunting down demonic spirits with their dad, instead of completing his english homework as he should have, it really wasn't much of a surprise.

Sam's grin faded.

"… You're not joking, are you?"

Sorry, its so short, but im currently in the middle of writing four english extension essays before Monday. Updates will most likely be delayed.