There was blood everywhere: on the walls, the boxes scattered around the room, and all over the floor. But there was no body, no entity that could have bled, in the area. Sam was checking out the back room of the building, and he was having about as much luck as Dean. The front room was void of drag marks or something to indicate that a body—because there was no way anyone could have lost that much blood and survived—had been taken out of the warehouse.

After ten minutes of finding nothing, Dean discovered a pattern of footprints in the back of the front room that led to a metal cabinet against the back wall. Blood dripped from the crevices in the cabinet and Dean had no doubt as to what was inside. He called to Sam, and grabbed his gun from his pants, slowly opening the door. Two bodies fell to Dean's feet and he jumped back. When they didn't move, he got closer, and picked up a metal rod, proceeding to poke and prod them. The bodies looked like they had been shot an excess of ten times, and their clothes were soaked with blood.

"Dude, don't do that. It's wrong." Sam had always hated it when Dean messed around with the bodies.

"I think they're breathing. Sammy, they're still breathing."

"That's not possible."

=-====-==-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=\

Alfred ached. He hadn't hurt this much since the Civil War. His muscles were sore and he tried to stretch his arms, but found his hands were bound.

"Hey Sammy, I think this one's awake." A deep voice that America didn't recognize. He vaguely began to piece together what had gone down earlier in his mind: Mattie had met him at his summer house and they were supposed to be on their way to the paintball field when five cars surrounded the two nations. They had been taken to a warehouse and Alfred couldn't remember much after that. But he could remember seeing the men surrounding Mattie and not being able to do anything. The group of men had injected him with something and he could remember constantly being on the verge of unconsciousness. This deep voice had to be one of the men.

Alfred tried to break the binds, but he could still feel the drugs in his system, making it difficult.

"You won't be able to get outta those cuffs." The deep voice said. Alfred opened his eyes, focusing on the source of the voice. He ran the man's face through his mind and concluded this was not one of the captors.

"Where's Mattie?" Alfred's voice cracked and his stomach surged. He knew that feeling; He'd been injured, seriously injured.

"What?" The man got closer and Alfred was gradually starting to feel the drug work it's way out of his system. Sometimes inhumanly fast healing was a wonderful thing.

"Where is Mattie?" His muscles felt better now, the drug nearly out of his system.

"What are you?" A different voice, to Alfred's left, this one was a bit higher pitched, "We've tried silver, holy water, holy oil, salt, and whatever else and you haven't been effected by any of them. You obviously aren't human. I mean, you were shot ten times and you're alive, so there has to be something abnormal going on here."

"Tell me where Mattie is." With the drug out of his system, Alfred could break the binds. These men weren't the ones that attacked him though, so he didn't want to hurt them. He could see the deeper voiced man whispering to a taller man. While they were seemingly distracted, Alfred pulled his hands apart, effectively breaking the handcuffs. He caught the metal before it hit the ground, in an attempt to keep them from knowing that he had broken his bindings. Alfred's eyes scanned the room, finding Mattie in a chair next to him, handcuffed as well.

"Mattie." Alfred scooted his chair toward the Canadian.

"HEY! You stay over there, buddy." The deep voiced man stepped toward him and Alfred stood up, startling him.

"I don't want to hurt you, please don't make me." Alfred glared, crushing the handcuffs in his hand.

"Whoa, we don't want any trouble." The tall man grabbed the deep-voiced man's shoulder and pulled him back. They backed away a good distance and started whispering to each other again. Keeping an eye on the two strangers, Alfred knelt down next to Mattie and broke his handcuffs.

"Hey Mattie! Wake up." He shook the Canadian's shoulder. Matthew cracked open his eyes and groaned.

"What happened, Al?" Matthew doubled over. He was starting to heal.

"We were kidnapped by a bunch of guys. They apparently shot us. Or maybe they stabbed us, I don't know. I just know I haven't felt this bad since, well-"

"The Battle of Somme.1" Matthew finished.

"Now there are two guys here wanting to know who we are—or more importantly, what we are."

"It's not like we can just tell them what we are."

"I know that."

"Then let's just go."

"They seem like they don't want to let us go and, well, they're my citizens. I don't want to hurt them."

"Al, they obviously aren't good citizens if they're trying to keep us here."

"Well-"

"So," The deep voiced man was speaking again, "what are you guys anyway? You said you didn't want to hurt us, but that's probably lie. Maybe you're some manipulative-super-strong-monster that we just haven't seen yet."

"Monster? I'm not a 'monster', dude. I'm a hero." Alfred glared at the deep-voiced man.

"Al, let's just go." Matthew stood and pulled his brother up.

"I don't think we can let you guys go anywhere. You're dangerous." Deep-voiced man started walking toward them, hand on what Alfred suspected to be a firearm.

"We're not dangerous, I assure you." Matthew grabbed Alfred's hand, his stomach aching with a familiar burning sensation.

"Yeah? Then explain to me just how two normal, non-dangerous humans could survive ten gunshot wounds and massive bleeding. Explain to me how this guy," The man gestured to Alfred, "can crush metal handcuffs."

"Well, Al is a bodybuilder and I think you are just mistaken about the gunshot wounds."

"I don't think I am. Now, what are you?" Deep-voiced man took his gun from his pants and aimed it at Matthew. Alfred stepped in front of his brother, blocking him from the line of fire.

"I told you, I'm a hero."

"Yeah, well. I don't believe you, buddy." Aiming the gun, the man shot Alfred in the stomach. The nation winced and then grinned, squeezing Matthew's hand.

"In 1776, I fought my elder brother for independence. In 1861, I fought my own people to unite the union. In 19172, I watched my people die overseas in the Great War. In 1941, I watched my people be attacked and get involved in the second World War. I've been shot over 100 times. Do you really think that gun is going to do anything?" Alfred took a step forward, blood once again soaking through his shirt, "All I wanted to do was spend a day with my brother. So could you please let us go without any trouble?"

"We've got a patriotic monster." Deep-voiced man called to tall-man. Alfred could see this would be going nowhere.

"Al, you're lucky that guy is dumb enough to not realize-" Matthew pulled his brother's hand.

"What's the point? Even if I tell them, even if they know, no one will believe them if they go around telling people. So what's the point in not telling them if it gets you and them out of here unharmed?"

"You'll get in trouble with your boss."

"How will Obama ever find out, huh? I know these guys don't work for the government. I would have seen them if they did."

"I'll get in trouble with my boss."

"I don't care about Harper."

"Are you two done chatting? All you have to do is tell us what you are, and then we may—or may not—kill you." Deep-voiced man smirked. Alfred took another step forward, Matthew following close behind.

"I'm The United States of America, and this is my brother, Canada." His voice was steady and proud, and he was expecting a look of astonishment and apology to come to his citizen's face, seeing as he just shot his nation. Instead, the deep-voiced man laughed and gestured for his brother to come over to him.

"Sammy," He was laughing too hard, "We've-we've got a patriotic and crazy monster."

"Alfred, I think it's time we were going." Matthew started pulling America toward the door, but he wasn't moving.

"Ya know, it isn't that crazy. It could actually be true. We've seen weirder things, Dean." Tall-man—Sammy, apparently—squinted at the two nations.

"Sammy, come on. How could that guy be The United States of America?" The man called Dean laughed again.

"Well, I don't know. It's not like we know everything. They could be telling the truth. Maybe we should call Bobby and ask him-"

"Bobby?" Something in America's brain clicked and he interrupted, "That wouldn't happen to be the Bobby I'm thinking of, would it? I'm assuming you two are hunters, so you wouldn't happen to know Bobby Singer would you? That couldn't be the Bobby you're talking about?"

"How do you know Bobby?" Alfred could see the anger in Dean's eyes. Maybe he'd struck a nerve.

"He's a friend of mine. A new friend actually, I've only known him for about 20 years."

"Only 20 years?"

"Yeah. He never told me any of the details about what he did, but he told me that he hunted monsters. I thought it was super cool. I asked him to be my back-up sidekick one day and he said no. His loss." Alfred laughed, instantly lightening the mood.

"So, if we just call Bobby, he would tell us who you are?" 'Dean' sounded like he didn't believe him.

"Yeah. Tell him you met America!" He was smiling now, even though they were in almost the same situation as before. 'Dean' pulled out his phone, his gun still pointed at the two nations, and dialed a number.

"Hey, uh, have you ever met The United States of America?" Dean was supposedly talking to Bobby.

"Yeah, I dunno. He's blonde, real patriotic, super strong? Oh. Alright." He closed the phone, looking really disappointed.

"They're legit." Dean turned to Sammy, "I can't believe they're legit."

"Yeah, you're inside of me right now." America smirked, chuckling through his teeth.

"What?" Both of the taller men turned to look directly at America, as if they misheard him.

"Yeah. There are tons of people inside of me. Canada is too. Don't worry. It's not that bad. Canada has a ton of people in him too. Not as many as me though." Canada rolled his eyes and tugged on America's arm.

"Let's go. We're leaving." Alfred still wouldn't budge, "Alfred. Let's go."

"Your name is Alfred?" The shorter man looked at them in disbelief, "The United States of America's name...is Alfred?"

"Yeah. And he's Matthew."

"That's such a dorky name."

"Dean is a stupid name."

"Dean is an awesome name."

"No it's not. Alfred's the best. It's a hero's name."

"Alfred." "Dean." The other two tried to interrupt the fight they both knew was brewing.

"There's no way that's a 'hero's' name." Dean paused and smiled, "Well, maybe it's Aquaman's name."

"You take that back!"

"You kinda even look like Aquaman, dude."

"Yeah well you act like Prussia."

"Who the hell is Prussia?"

"Dean, let's go." Sam clapped his hand on Dean's shoulder, breaking his concentration on Alfred.

"But he-"

"I don't care." Sam began to push his brother toward the door, throwing a strained smile over his shoulder in Canada's direction. "Try not to get shot next time."

"We don't plan on it."