AN: Woohoo! Some action! LOL

Dean waited until nearly three to go back to the house. He found the alarm system quickly, and disconnected it just as fast. He let himself in the side garage door, since it was in the shadow of bushes and a tall fence. He paused just inside, seeing the distinctive red and white 1952 Chevy Bel Air that Sam enjoyed driving. There couldn't be many of those around. His brother was definitely here.

The door to the house wasn't locked, and Dean entered nearly silently. He could hear someone awake, or maybe a television, and he swore to himself. He'd counted on anyone in the house to be asleep. He took three steps inside and sensed the presence in front of him and to his right half a second too late.

"Don't move," said a voice he knew like his own, over the sound of a gun cocking. Dean turned to see Sam pointing his Taurus right at his chest, unwavering. "Robin," called Sam, louder. "Call the police."

"Hold on, hold on," Dean argued, dropping his bag and holding his hands up in front of himself. "No need for cops. I just have to talk to you, and you turned off your phone."

"You're the wacko who kept calling me?" Sam's expression slid from dead flat into annoyance. "And now you're breaking into my house? What the hell do you want?"

"I'm Dean. You know, your brother."

A second man, slender almost to the point of emaciation, stepped into the room from what looked to be a kitchen to Sam's right and Dean's left. Sam waved him back without looking away from Dean.

"Dean, or whoever, Robin here is the only brother I have."

Robin sent a Dean a slick grin, gone almost immediately. To Sam, he said, "What's going on?"

"Home invader. Knows my name and claims he knows me. Call the cops, would you?"

"Maybe that's not the best plan," said Robin, slowly. "If he's after you specifically, we should learn what he wants instead of getting him arrested just to be released tomorrow to come back after you."

"Stop being overprotective," Sam grumbled, and to hear those words and that tone directed at someone else made Dean clench his teeth. Dean could see Robin fighting another grin.

"Just listen to me for a minute," Dean interjected, adding "Christo," under his breath.

"What?" Sam looked confused and Robin didn't react. So much for that.

"Your name is Sam Winchester. You're a hunter. You were born on May 2, 1983 to John and Mary, who already had a son named Dean…"

"You're wrong about everything except my name." Sam was scowling at him, but Dean could tell from the expression on his face that he was looking at Dean like a puzzle to solve. "What's your game here?"

"There are some things you're going to find hard to believe, but you need to listen to me." Dean gave Sam his most intent stare, and Sam stared back just as hard, as if he wanted to believe Dean was telling him the truth. "Do you think we can do this without a weapon pointed at me?" Dean took a step closer to his brother, evaluating.

Sam didn't have any obvious wounds or injuries, and he didn't seem dazed or impaired. Wanting, no needing to figure this out and get his brother back, Dean took another half step.

"Sam, he's got a gun," yelled Robin suddenly. "Shoot him!"

Sam jerked the gun a little higher. "Stop! Stop moving. Look, I don't want to shoot anyone."

"You don't want to shoot me. You're not going to shoot me." Dean's words were absolutely confident. He didn't spare a glance for Robin. "You may not remember me, but something in you wants to trust me. Knows I have your back, always have."

"I don't even know – "

"Shoot!" yelled Robin, louder, causing Sam to shake his head in confused annoyance.

"What the hell, Robin?" snapped Sam. "You can't expect me to just shoot someone!" He was shouting, and Dean could feel the situation spiraling. He had a feeling that was what the stranger wanted. Yeah, what the hell, Robin?

Dean lifted his hands higher. "Take my gun," he offered, keeping his words low and slow. "I'm not here to hurt you." He was no stranger to de-escalation. Besides, he had a plan. He turned so he was facing almost completely away from Sam, needing his brother to be the one to take his gun. He figured Robin, being some kind of supernatural something, wouldn't need a weapon, but he didn't want to arm him nonetheless.

The second Sam reached for Dean's gun, Dean brought his right elbow sharply down against his pocket, knowing well how fragile the vial it contained was. "Quod sit revelare abscondita," he blurted. The man he was facing seemed to burst in a flurry of black feathers, his figure now revealed as a giant crow, as tall as its human glamor had been. Robin is a crow? Ironic. The bird let out a terrific shriek and extended wings that were too wide for the room, knocking over a bookshelf and a chair.

Dean had expected something dramatic to happen. Sam had not, and Dean was going to use that. Sam was also leaning forward to get Dean's gun, slightly off balance, and his own gun was pointed over Dean's shoulder for the maneuver, all of which Dean had been counting on.

In one motion, Dean pivoted on his left foot and smashed his left elbow into Sam's temple, grabbing Sam's gun with his right hand. He'd put his weight into the hit, which was designed to be a knockout stroke. Sam dropped like a rock, but didn't lose hold of the gun (damn hunting instincts), so Dean dropped right down with him rather than completely relinquish it, and landed on his knees half on his bag. He had to do three things at once – put a knee down on Sam's gun barrel, dig the iron handcuffs out of his bag, and duck a swipe by some big ass bird talons. But he managed, and slapped one of the manacles on the bird-thing's leg as it swung by again.

With another shriek, the crow shrunk back into human-shaped Robin, giving Dean a chance to lock the other manacle on his ankle. Good. That probably meant the iron completely took away its shapeshifting ability, and hopefully any other abilities it had.

Sam suddenly jerked on his gun, surprising Dean, who'd thought he was down for the count. He really should know better than to underestimate his little brother. Sam very nearly got it lose, but Dean just managed to slide his knee back to pin the wrist to the floor – and Sam used his free hand to grab Dean's gun, still at the small of his back. Dean used both hands to pull Sam's gun from his right hand and spun around.

That left Sam and Dean facing each other in identical positions, each holding the other's gun, cocked and pointed at his brother's forehead.