Dean had come to the bar with no particular plans other than to consume enough whiskey that if he were still human, we would have been struggling to walk straight. Just another shit hole bar in another shit hole town, but as he signaled the bartender for another round and the usual buzz stubbornly failed to kick in, he found himself getting more and more bored and restless. He looked around him at the bar's other patrons; once you'd been to enough places like this, you started to feel like you were seeing the same people over and over again, and Dean had always been good at reading people. There was the group frat boys playing an obnoxiously loud game of pool, the woman in a too tight t-shirt with the bad dye job, the old alcoholic who never looked up from the bottle in front of him, and a little way down the bar, his usual target, the attractive grad student. Unfortunately for Dean, this particular specimen was already talking to a bland looking man in a polo shirt. Normally, this would have been enough to cause Dean to back off, but tonight he wandered over anyway and sidled up to the pretty brunette.

"Hmm, yeah, California is great" polo shirt mumbled in response to something the woman had said.

"Yeah, if you like spray-tanned hipsters and overpriced sushi" Dean butted into the conversation and was rewarded by a giggle from the brunette.

"Well, I guess everywhere has its downsides, but Stanford is one of the top academic centres in the country."

"Stanford hey? My baby brother went there." Dean settled onto a stool and turned on his most charming smile. "I'm Dean by the way."

"Nora" She replied.

"Umm, Nora and I were actually talking, so . . ." polo shirt finally spoke up, clutching his half empty beer in front of him like some kind of talisman.

"Yeah, I could see you were talking, but now we're talking" Dean snarled in his direction. He turned back to Nora, dismissing the other man entirely and was surprised when he felt someone grab his arm. Apparently, polo shirt had more balls than Dean had given him credit for. No matter, teaching him a lesson would make the evening even more fun. Dean spun around and reached with one hand for the other man's throat, but before he could reach it, a strong grip closed around his wrist, blocking him. He looked up in surprise as a tall figure stepped between him and the cowering stranger.

"Hello Dean" Sam said.

Sam stepped in front of his brother, relieved that he had been in time to stop the slaughter he had witnessed in his dream.

"Sam" Dean spoke in an overly friendly tone "imagine running into you here of all places. I wasn't sure I'd be seeing you again so soon after our last meeting."

Sam ignored him, let Dean waste his time with stupid banter, he was here to get a job done and he wouldn't be distracted. It was a good thing too, because Dean moved in almost too quickly to follow, aiming a punch at Sam's head. Sam barely managed to dodge and backed off trying to put some distance between them.

"Hey! Take it outside!" someone, probably a bouncer, yelled. They both ignored him.

His brother lunged at him again, his eyes black with rage, but before he could get close, Sam activated his powers, pushing back against the charging demon. Dean lurched to a stop, shock evident on his face. He blinked confusedly a few times before seemingly figuring it out.

"Blood, Sammy? And here I thought you'd kicked that nasty habit."

Sam continued to ignore him, tightening his mental grip on the swirling mass of evil that was all that was left of his brother's soul. He heard Dean growl with pain and anger, but it was as though he was hearing everything from a long way off, so intent was he on maintaining his psychic hold. The demon thrashed trying to break free, but Sam was well prepared, he had guzzled what had seemed like gallons of Crowley supplied blood before coming here. Still, he felt a trickle of blood slid down his lips from his nose as he struggled to hold his brother in place. Dean was evidently much stronger than a regular demon, the only other demon to give Sam so much trouble had been Lilith herself.

Normally, this would have been the point at which Sam either pulled the demon free from its host, exorcising it, or simply killed it with his mind, however, in this case he couldn't do either. Instead, he reached to pull out the handcuffs he had brought with him from the bunker. These handcuffs, the same ones they had used on Crowley, were one of the Men of Letter's most useful inventions, once in place, they would strip away the powers of even the most powerful demon, making them no more of a threat than any ordinary human. Sam moved forward and clapped them around Dean's wrists, blood practically pouring from his nose as he fought to maintain his concentration on immobilizing Dean while doing up the handcuffs at the same time. When the cuffs finally snapped in place, Sam released his mental hold with a gasp, almost collapsing from exhaustion and blood loss.

Barely a second later he felt a chain wrap around his neck and realized too late that relaxing had been a mistake. What Sam had neglected to remember, was that even without demon powers, Dean Winchester was still pretty damn dangerous. Sam felt his lungs gasp for air and his head go heavy as Dean wrapped the chain of the handcuffs around his brother's throat from behind. Weakened from his psychic battle, Sam struggled futilely as darkness creeped in around his peripheral vision. Just when he was about to pass out, Sam heard a faint smashing noise and the pressure around his throat slackened.

Pushing Dean off him Sam heaved himself to his feet. Standing in front of him was a rather unimpressive looking man in a polo shirt clutching the neck of a broken beer bottle in one hand. Sam looked down at his now unconscious brother and saw blood matting the back of his head where a bottle had been slammed into it. "Thanks" Sam said hoarsely. The man stared at him with a terrified expression on his face and mumbled something about black eyes.

Stooping down, Sam hauled Dean up and dragged him into the parking lot. He felt a little bad about locking his brother in the trunk of the Impala but putting him on the back seat would just be stupid; he might wake up and try to strangle him again. Walking around to the front of the car, Sam got in and began the long drive home.

When Dean came to, he found himself chained up in a devil's trap, in a familiar dungeon, with Sam starring down at him. He rattled his chains a little, but it was more for show than in attempt to break free, Dean knew that was useless.

"Well, Sammy, what happens now?" he asked resignedly.

"Now I cure you" Sam said jabbing a needle into his own arm and filling it with dark red blood.

Dean laughed. "Been confessing your sins, have you? Begging forgiveness for all that nasty blood drinking?" Sam tried to look stoic, but Dean could tell the words were affecting him. "Sorry Sammy, but I don't think that's going to work."

"And why not?" Sam asked, "It was working on Crowley."

"Because the demon curing ritual requires purified human blood" Dean said, savouring the moment, "and yours is anything but pure. Haven't you noticed Sammy, that since our little spat in the bar, your eyes have been just as black as mine."