THEN! God's grubbiest little prophet, Kevin Tran, figured out how to close the Gates of Hell. For some unknown reason, God designed a series of three trials that had to be passed before the Gates can be closed. Dean, feeling even more self-sacrificing than usual, decided that he was going to undertake the trials so that Special Sammy could survive to live a long, boring life. Alas, it was Special Sammy who inadvertently passed the first trial when he killed a hellhound to save his and Dean's lives.
NOW! A pickup truck speeds along a dark and icy highway. As if this weren't dangerous enough already, the driver decides to tempt fate even further by taking a swig of beer. He starts to doze off, then jerks awake again. He's like, "Whoo! That was a close one. Better drink more beer!" He drinks even as his eyelids flutter under the strain of maintaining wakefulness. On the road ahead of him walks a rather good-looking young man with tousled hair. He casts a glance over his shoulder, sees the truck not too far behind him, but doesn't move out of the way. Perhaps he's too cold to think? He appears to be wearing only two shirts, which for the Winchesters is beachwear. The trucker nods off again and plows right into our handsome and underdressed stranger. The stranger bounces off the windshield, rolls down the hood and comes to a stop in a patch of snow on the side of the road. The trucker, now wide awake, staggers outside to get a look at his victim. "Oh, God, oh no," he says upon seeing the bloody and broken body before him. He peers up and down the road, sees nobody in either direction, and hops back into his truck. He drives away from the scene of the crime, probably to go buy more beer.
As dawn breaks, our handsome stranger is considerably less handsome. He's frosty and blue everywhere except for where he's bloody. An eagle perches on his hip and picks at a wound in his abdomen. If you have a passing familiarity with Greek mythology, this was probably the point at which you asked yourself, "I wonder if that's supposed to be Prometheus?" A moment later, you probably asked yourself, "I wonder how badly the show's going to screw that up?" As the eagle is enjoying its breakfast, a state trooper drives up. The eagle flaps away in a huff. (I may be projecting a tad; I hate when people interrupt my meals.) Even though the fellow in the road is bluer than a Texas liquor store on Sunday, the trooper does his job and checks for a pulse. While the trooper heads towards his car to call into dispatch, the wounds on the dead body fade away. The skin regains its healthy pink glow. A moment later, the previously dead hit-and-run victim opens his blue, blue eyes and lets out a gasp. By the time the trooper looks at the road again, the body is gone. "What the hell?" he wonders. He spies a set of footprints in the snow, heading into the woods and stares at them in befuddlement. Supernatural!