A/N: This chapter is especially short, as it's just a prologue. Other chapters will be longer, though still kind of short, but they should come out fairly often.
Warnings for this chapter: Bleeped swearing
"Samuel Winchester, you will shut your mouth if you know what's good for you, you hear me?" A fight was underway at the Winchester house, meaning Sam and John were shouting at each other without listening, and Dean was trying (and failing) to get them to shut up for a few moments. A loud crash resounded through the house. It was just an empty beer bottle hitting the wall, but it was effective in shutting off all voices. John spoke up again.
"Sam, you have a severe attitude problem and you need a significant amount of training," the man's voice was quiet now, deadly. It left no room for argument. "Mark Reed is highly qualified to fix both of those issues. I am fed up with trying to put up with your s***. I have already been in contact with him, and he is expecting you in three days. It will take us two days to get to his house, therefore we are leaving first thing tomorrow morning. Am I understood?" Sam glared harshly at his father, and if looks could kill, well let's be honest, they'd both be toast by now.
"I asked you a question, Sam," John warned. Sam retreated angrily to his and Dean's shared room without reply, slamming the door for extra emphasis. Dean followed to try smoothing things over.
'It's not fair Dean," Sam groaned, flopping onto his bed.
"Look, ah, Sammy," Dean cleared his throat. "I know this sucks, and it doesn't feel fair, but Dad really just wants the best for you. He wants to protect you, and give you a way to protect yourself. Because of-"
"What Dean," Sam raised his eyebrows. "Because of what's out there?"
"Exactly," Dean nodded.
"Yeah, well sometimes I wish we didn't know what was out there," Sam sighed. "I wish we could have a normal life."
"Well, we do, so we can't," Dean deadpanned. "So suck it up, and pack your stuff for the d*** class, alright?"
"Fine," Sam growled.
"Good," Came Dean's terse reply. In less than two hours, Sam found himself in the backseat of the Impala, on his way to what he assumed would be the worst week of his life. He had no idea.