"This was a bad idea." Sam muttered under his breath as he and Dean scoped the building for a section left unguarded.

"This was your idea." Dean replied, looking at his brother pointedly.

"Well you can blame me when we're both dead or under arrest."

"Oh I've got no problem with that." Dean patted his pocket to double check the silver knife he'd packed was still there.

"Shut up." Sam retorted.

"Shut up." Dean mimicked in the whiniest voice he could muster.

"Hey," Sam tapped him on the arm and jutted his head towards the building, a long metallic fence outlined it, and this side was guarded by two men in the same obscure uniform that they had seen earlier. "Reckon we could take them on?"

Dean examined them, taking in the opponents build and weighing out his options. "Yeah, but those guys have clearly lifted a few weights, man. I say we get them from behind, then give a clean uppercut to the jaw. Just to knock them out?"

"Fine." Sam said chewing the inside of his cheek in discomfort of the entire situation. He didn't want to have to do this. The guys they were about to beat up probably didn't deserve it, and all he had to hold onto - the compensation for these things that he was doing - was the idea that there were a larger number of innocent people that he would save than the ones he would damage along the way.

"Oh come on Sam, don't be like this."

"I'm not being like anything. I get it, I'll do it, just leave me alone." Sam rolled his shoulders, trying to relieve some on the tension.

"Jesus, you're like a five year old." Dean sighed to himself.

Sam ignored the comment and started walking, gesturing for Dean to move in the opposite direction. He looked puzzled for a few seconds, and then understood the plan. The two brothers walked away from each other, still unnoticed by the guards, and made their way to the extreme left and right of them. Dean gave Sam a quick nod, and with barely a moment's pause, they launched themselves on to the men.

Whilst Sam went straight at the guard's stomach - delivering a bullish kick before grabbing his head and kneeing him just below his rib cage, winding him - Dean engaged his attack gracefully. He snuck up until he was mere inches away, and then placed a hand on the man's shoulder. Shocked, the guard turned, reaching for either the gun or the radio strapped around his thigh, but he didn't have time to grab either of the objects before Dean grinned at him, a sadistic hint in his eyes, and distributed a right hook across his cheekbone. The opposition lunged at him, a tonne of weight ready to crush Dean, who gingerly darted out of the way. The man stumbled over his feet, but rapidly gathered his footing, spinning to face the elder Winchester. But Dean was prepared.

He grabbed the man by the collar of his dead black blazer, before leaning in until their noses were touching. "Sweet dreams, sucker." he spat, then dropped him, letting the man find his balance before throwing an unexpected uppercut to the jaw, one that if it were just an centimetre to the left, and had barely a fraction more force to it, probably would have killed him.

Dean glanced over to Sam, who stood over a motionless figure. And pointed at the bare fence, acknowledging what they'd both have to do.

"Looks like the only way is up." Sam sighed, pulling off his jacket to lay it over the barbed wire they'd have to get past.

Sam put his foot on the fence and hoisted himself up, glad that the idiotic people had put a chain link fence in, most likely the easiest thing to climb. However, Sam's large foot didn't fit in all that well. He struggled, just a little, at making his way up. Using his fingers to balance himself, he took pride in the fact that he was still ahead of Dean. He cautiously manoeuvred around the barbed wire, barely slicing his skin, and soon he was on his way down, his focus briefly distracted by the sight of Dean on the ground, not even ruffled.

When did he overtake me? Sam thought, rather annoyed. It was around this moment that he lost his footing in the small loop he been so precariously placed on, and fell. The drop was only a couple of metres, but he landed completely wrong, twisting one of his ankles.

"Smooth Sammy, smooth as a steel wool thong." Sam glared at his older brother.

"Not a chubby 12 year old." Sam needlessly reminded his brother. Sam stood and winced at the sharp pain, which coursed through his scarred and muscled leg. Yet he still found a way to smile at how unfortunate it was that, even after all the pain he'd been through, a twisted ankle still hurt like hell.

"How'd you get over so fast?" Sam said, like the grumpy younger brother he was.

"Dude, someone's gonna notice that two guards were knocked out, stealth isn't really top priority." He gestured to the fairly discrete slice through the fence that Dean had bent to escape through. At first glance it appeared normal, but any further inspection would reveal the entry point. "Sam, your jacket." Sam looked up, sure enough; still on the top of the fence was his pre uni leather hunting jacket.

"Crap." He contemplated asking Dean to get it, but his dignity would never recover. It's enough to say that Dean got a few good laughs in as Sam got up, and fell back down.

The boys walked and limped into the building, mostly unaware of the contrast between them, which the fight had highlighted. Sam, skilled as his older brother, but more human in his empathy for others. Dean, apathetic to others emotions, and flashy in his skill. When Sam had gone to university, he'd learned to speak up for himself in a way he had never done with his father.

"Dean…" Sam's attitude may be new to him, but Dean knew his brother. Maybe even more than Sam knew himself.

"We gotta do what we gotta do." Dean stated, and Sam nodded his head and his short fringe flopped.

"I know."

The warehouse's walls were tall and imposing, their shadow covered most of the open space. Sam walked into the, surprisingly, open doors. He had, in spite of appearances, become a worse hunter in his time away. Unfortunately for Sam's skills, Stanford didn't provide a degree in monster killing. So instead of putting aside his worries and focusing on the risk of ambush, he thought about how he risked ruining his dream of a safe life with this awful adventure. Dean was alarmingly aware of the wince on Sam's face as he eased weight on his right foot, and he noticed the heavy breathing, but he put it down to his brother's pain.

The building was deserted, with the exception of two stupidly obvious guards who were 'hiding' around the corner, with their flashlights on. Dean took front, as usual, and knocked out each of them with a swift, and ruthless whack to the forehead. Much easier than the previous, and clearly more trained, men. Sam noted the skill with which he did it - a skill that bothered him a little. Meanwhile, Dean struggled to push out the thought that this had all been far too easy.

Neither Sam nor Dean heard a sound as the darts hit them in the back of their necks, and black hoods blinded them from the already pitch black room.

Most of the world's population would be out for 7 hours, maybe more, when hit by the tranquilisers used on them, but Sam and Dean were… well. After years of sleeping with a dagger under their pillow, and something deadly on their tail, let's just say that they were particularly good at waking up. So when they opened their eyes after a mere 5 hours, the SHIELD agents watching them were somewhere close to impressed. Seconds after the brothers' awakenings, the agents left to gather their superiors.

When they returned, they found Sam and Dean gone. Missing. Escaped through a locked door; the room didn't even have windows. Director Nick Fury arrived, following his agents' footsteps, and he was angry. The only order he could even think of commanding, after two captives had found a way to escape? That was to find out how.

The SHIELD officers that stood beside him were not only filled with terror at what was to come, but jealousy that Sam and Dean Winchester didn't have to witness the fury, that was Nick Fury.

Dean was pissed. Sam was too, but he was a calmer person. They were in the flipping sky. On a… plane? Is this what all planes were like? Dean's vocabulary covered anything but the helicarrier that they were on. Given his phobia of flying, he hadn't been on anything more than 50 feet off the ground since he was 13, yet currently he was on top of something over 200 feet away from an unnameable ocean below, and said vehicle was getting increasingly higher. Maybe he'd just remembered the past experiences wrong. Very wrong. Sam looked at the planes, and the sky, and then back to the planes, his eyes darting between the two, then finally falling back onto the sea that lurked beneath.

"Crap." His voice was quiet but Dean felt the same exact way. The two of them were stood on the deck of the plane - a plane that looked suspiciously like a boat - and were gazing out onto a field of smaller ones. Jets, maybe?

"Do you…" The question hung in the air, neither of them had been formally taught how to fly, but they hadn't been formally taught a lot of things. Formal teaching had nothing on Sam and his rich college friends, who appeared to own (and fly) these metallic birds in their 'spare' time.

"A little."

"Well, might as well get started…" They hung around for a couple more seconds, painfully aware that one misstep and they would be caught, or killed, or death by heights, or a number of other not particularly good things. The 'plane' wasn't the kind that Sam's friend had. In fact, a total of 0 civilians owned one, unless you counted Tony Stark's, and his was illegal. So when Sam couldn't open the door to the small jet, you knew they had a problem. Then the guards came rushing out.

Sam and Dean were good fighters. Really. But when 100 military trained men and women come rushing at you, you don't win for long. You would do even worse if you still had sleeping drugs in your blood.

Nick Fury was pissed. He liked plans. Plans that met the Winchesters didn't survive to the experience. He was in his office, Sam was in room 102 on the Basement level, and Dean was on the second floor in room 845. Both were under heavy surveillance which led both to computer rooms with eight people watching - two in each of the four cabins - and of course, also into his office. There was an additional highly trained agent in every room. To open the door to either of the Winchesters' spaces, a key must be turned from the inside, the outside, and the computer room, within 10 seconds of each other - It was usually better to not ask how they did it.

Now, with them contained and unable to further the mess they had already made... the question was, what to do with them?