SAM RUSHED THROUGH the stadium, having lost Dean in the sea of men, asking anyone he passed wearing a badge where they would've taken Jack.

    He jogged up to a lady walking the opposite diction who had a badge on and squinted. He couldn't see what it said, but he assumed it read "Staff Member" as all the others had.

    "Hello, excuse me," he said, stopping her. "Do you know where they take injured players after the game?"

    She gave him a skeptical glance. "I'm sorry, sir, but I'm not able to disclose that information."

    "Please," Sam begged. "Jack Kline... he's our baby brother. We watched them take him out on a stretcher. We just need to know if he's alright."

    The lady's expression softened as she let out a gentle sigh. "They would've taken him to the infirmary. There was one built just for the players in case of accidents." She pointed behind her. "At the end of the hall, there's a fight of stairs. Take those down two levels and that takes you to the contestants floor. You'll find him down there."

    Sam gave her a gentle smile. "Thank you so much." He turned around and rushed back to find Dean, who was talking with another staff member. "Dean!"

    Dean gave a nod as he turned around to face Sam. He shook his head. "She didn't know anything either."

    Sam, once more, tugged on Dean's jacket. "I know where he is. Come on!" Dean's face lit up as they quickly dashed to the door at the end of the hall.

    Sam was the first one through the door and he stomped down two flights of stairs until he came to a door with the sign "Contestants Only" on the door. He jiggled the handle, but it wouldn't open. Giving one quick glance around, he pulled out his lock-pick from his pocket. In a matter of seconds, the door opened and the two rushed in.

    The hallway wasn't lit very well, but they glanced into every room as they jogged by hoping to find their young friend.

    "Sammy, over here!"

    Sam met up with Dean, who was staring through the glass window of a door, to find Jack lying on a bed, still in uniform, unconscious with two people dressed in scrubs working around him.

    Dean quickly barged open the door, anxious to get to their friend. "Jack!"

    "Excuse me!" The man in scrubs held up his hands as he stepped in front of his patient. "You guys can't be down here."

    "That's our little brother," Sam said with an angered expression, pointing to Jack. "We have a right to be here."

    The man shook his head. "I'm sorry, sir, but—"

    "This was supposed to be a nonviolent game!" Dean shouted, standing inches in front of the mans face. "So if you don't want to lose some teeth, I suggest you move out of our way!"

    The man in scrubs stepped out of the way as Dean pushed past him to get to Jack.

    Sam quickly ran over to the opposite side of the bed and bent down gently placing a hand on Jack's head. He felt a warm liquid and pulled his hand away to find it coated in blood.

    "What happened?" he shouted. "I thought this was supposed to be a clean game? Why didn't anyone stop Jason?"

    The man in scrubs held up his hands in defense. "It is, but with the field being normal ground, some people are bound to fall and hit their head on rocks or branches."

    "This was no accident!" Sam shouted. "I saw it with my own eyes. The whole stadium did! Jason pulled Jack off that ladder. That was foul play!"

    "Sam?"

    Sam looked down as Jack's eyes fluttered open, his eyes looking glassed over.

    Jack slowly turned his head an inch to eye Dean. "Dean? What happened?"

    "You won, man!" Dean placed a firm hand on Jack's arm.

    Jack's eyes slowly lit up. "I... won?" He tried lifting himself up onto his elbows, Sam and Dean helping. As Jack sat up all the way, he lifted a hand to his head. Pulling his hand away, he looked down at the blood. "I... I fell."

    "No, you were pulled," Dean corrected, throwing a narrowed brow towards the man in scrubs. "And no one's listening to us." 

    Just then, a man in a white shirt with jeans entered the room. "Jack Kline! Congratulations on your victory! You, sir, get to walk away with the grand prize!" He slid a hand through his slicked back brown hair, his hair long enough to cover his ears.

    The two people in scrubs left the room as this man walked closer to Jack. Sam narrowed his eyes skeptically.

    "I recognize you," Dean accused, pointing a finger at the man. "Aren't you the announcer? I saw you in a box speaking into a microphone when I went to grab food. Where were you when our brother here was being dragged to the ground?"

    The Announcer rubbed his hands together. "Didn't look much like foul play to me." He shrugged. "When you've been doing this as long as me, you learn to pick and choose your battles."

    "Pick and choose?" Dean balled his hands into fists. "So being knocked unconscious doesn't result in ejection?"

    The Announcer threw his hands out to the side. "It was the last play. Ejection wouldn't have mattered anyway."

    Dean took a step forward, his knuckles turning white, when Jack stopped him. "Dean, it's okay," he said, softly. "It's over now, and I won. It doesn't matter."

    Dean didn't respond, but he kept his eyes narrowed at the man.

    Sam stared at the man before them. This man looked familiar, but where would he have seen him before? The names name was on the tip of his tongue when his eyes lit up. "Wait a minute," he began. "You're the announcer?" His brow creased. "Aren't you Benjamin Silvers? The man who invented Kitora?"

    Benjamin gave a dramatic bow. "Indeed I am. Great game, isn't it?"

    Sam noticed Dean glancing at Benjamin from the corner of his eye.

    "Wait. Are you Jason's dad?" Dean asked. He snorted. "No wonder you didn't call foul play. You were playing favorites!"

    Benjamin rolled his eyes. "Oh, please. I would never damage a game just for my son."

    "That's probably how he got to the finals in the first place," Dean continued to argue.

    Benjamin crossed his arms. "Look. Do you guys want the money or not?"

    "I'm sorry, sir," Jack intervened. "My brothers are just over protective. We'll take the money and be on our way."

*****

    Sam pushed open the glass doors to the stadium, Dean and Jack walking behind him, and he eyed Dean as he hid the envelope of money in his jacket—the envelope was too big for a pocket so Dean held his jacket closed with the prize money concealed inside.

    Sam smirked. "You afraid someone's going to jump us?"

    Dean furrowed his brow. "Of course not!" He turned to his left and pointed at Jack, who remained putting pressure on his wound, and said, "I'm afraid they're going to jump him. That's why I'm protecting it." He smiled. "You did it, kid!" He placed an arm around Jack's shoulder. "I don't think I've ever owned this much money before." He sped up past Sam towards the impala. "Come on! We're celebrating tonight!"

    Looking down at his Nephilim friend, Sam smiled. He playfully pushed up against Jack's shoulder. "See, you can do things without your powers," Sam complimented.

    Jack lowered his hand from his head as he smiled. "For once, I feel like I've finally done something good. Winning that tournament all on my own felt amazing."

    As they crossed the parking lot to their car, Dean placed the keys in the lock on the door and unlocked the car. As he swung open his door, throwing the envelope inside, he said, "How 'bout some victory pie! There's this diner we pass every time we come to Arkansas that has the best pie."

    Sam and Jack laughed as they got into the impala.

    After driving around the block, police lights flashed up ahead, and a police barrier blocking off an alley way.

    "Wonder what happened," Jack said from the back seat.

    Sam and Dean exchanged glances. "We should check it out," Sam said.

    "I'll come with," Jack said, opening the car door.

    "Whoa, whoa, hey!" Dean pulled on the hem of Jack's red jacket. "Maybe you should sit this one out. You just played a hard game and were knocked unconscious. You should stay here and rest."

    Sam furrowed his brow knowing that that couldn't have been Dean's real reasoning. He glanced back in the mirror to see Jack frown.

    Dean got out of the car first as Sam cleared his throat. Walking around the hood to Dean's side, he whispered, "K, what's your real reasoning for not letting him come?"

    Dean gave Sam a glance before pulling out his wallet with a badge. "I don't know what we're going to find. I don't want him throwing up on us."

    Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean, I think he could handle it."

    "Yeah, well, I'm not taking any chances." Dean slapped a hand on Sam's shoulder before walking off toward the cops.

    As they reached the police barrier, they flashed their badges.  "FBI agents Angus and Young. You wanna let us through?" Dean said.

    The police at the barrier glanced down at the badges before back up at them. "Casual day at the office?"

    Sam smirked. "We're off the clock, but caught the accident on our scanner. Thought we'd stop by."

    The police officer at the barrier finally let them pass. Once through, Sam and Dean found the body where several other officers were at work.

    Dean furrowed his brow at the dead redhead. "She looks familiar."

    Sam crouched down and heaved a sigh. "It's Callie Owens. One of the contestants." He shook his head.

    "Good thing she didn't win. The money would be long gone by now."

    Sam gave Dean a straight look before returning to the body. "Hearts still here. No bit marks."

    "So, it couldn't have been a werwolf or vamp."

    Sam cocked his head as something small caught his attention. "Look at this." He moved back part of her purple long sleeve to find a symbol etched into her wrist. "What could that mean?"

    Dean pulled out his phone and took a picture of her wrist. "I don't know, but we'll find out."

    "So they called in the FBI for this?"

    Sam stood to his feet and turned around to find a woman officer scanning him and Dean.

    "Been telling them to for a while now."

    Sam exchanged glanced with Dean, and Dean furrowed his brow. "Why do you say that?" he asked.

    She huffed. "Because this is the fifth body we've found like this. All with that same marking etched into their wrists. If this is a serial killer, he's a darn good one. Never leaves a trace. No footprints, fingerprints, nothing. We need to catch him before he strikes again."