Author's Note: Thanks so much for all the feedback. These requests are going to be really fun to write! So, this is for AngelicZombieCat who requested, "something switches places with Sam and it takes some time before Dean notices so in the end it's a close call and Dean feels guilty." I really had fun with this! Thank you for the prompt! This is set in mid-season one. Please enjoy!

The signs were all there.

The off-handed comments about not being able to find Dad, the sharp rebukes, the downright mean spirited remarks about how Dean had failed in his task of being a hunter and how he was always going to be alone in the end. All cruel things that at the time, Dean believed were the product of his little brother harboring some deep seated resentment over being dragged back into a life he had tried so desperately to escape. After all, it wouldn't have been the first time that Sam had suddenly done a 180 from happy little brother to suddenly furious little brother. In the days after Jessica's death, Sam had been downright nasty in his mood swings. Still . . . it had been a good month since Sam had suffered through a day filled with anger.

"Dad would've never let this happen," Sam hissed as they stood above the remains of what they had belatedly realized were the wrong corpse. "He would've known."

Looking back on it now, he wasn't sure what caused it. Maybe he had just had his fill of his brother's annoying comments. Maybe he knew that deep down Sam was right. Either way, Dean swung his fist so that it connected squarely with Sam's jaw, sending the younger hunter flying back. Stunned, Dean gaped as he saw his little brother stare up at him with disbelief.

"Sam—" He had just hit his little brother, the one person he had sworn to protect.

"So, finally had your fill, Dean? Tired of being Daddy's little perfect soldier?" His little brother's expression twisted into a cruel smile, his eyes filled with anger.

And that's when it all clicked—this wasn't Sam.

Faster than he even knew he was capable of, Dean had the Sam imposter—because that's what it has to be; that's what Dean knows it is—in his grasp and a quick blow to the head rendered it unconscious. Somehow, he dragged the limp form to the Impala and then broke every speed limit on the way back to the motel. When the thing came to, it found itself tied to a chair faced with a silver knife inches from its face.

"Problem?" Dean inquired coolly as he inched the blade closer. The Sam imposter flinched backwards and the older Winchester knew he had his answer. Leaning over the figure, voice deadly, he asked, "Where is my brother?"

"Dead by now." It spat. Without letting the sheer rage overwhelm him, Dean calmly cut the Shifter's arm, ignoring the sounds of pain it made because while this wasn't his brother, it still looked like him.

"I'm not going to ask again," Dean growled. "Where is my brother?" To put further emphasis on his point, he put a matching cut on the Shifter's other arm.

"Okay, okay," It cried. "He's in the abandoned warehouse, outside of town. Now, let me go—"

Dean stuck in the dagger in its heart and waited until the light went out of its eyes before rushing to the Impala.

He had to save his brother.

It didn't take him much time to reach the warehouse and without stopping to do a through scan of the place, he rushed through the front door, gun at the ready.

"Sam!" His voice bounced off the walls and was met with nothing by sickening silence. "Sammy!" More silence. Dean's head began to spin. Sam couldn't be dead . . . could he? He couldn't be too late! There had to be some mistake or some sort of mix-up—

"M'here." Dean's head darted to where the small voice had muttered. Streaks of moonlight illuminated a figure bounded to a chair.

"Sam." He breathed as he took in his brother's full form. Numerous bruises covered his face, there were two deep gashed on his arms and his white shirt was covered in blood. All in all, it looked like Sam had been beaten that made the blood boil up within Dean. Still, there was no time to be angry. He had to get his brother taken care of. Jogging to Sam's side, Dean quickly untied him and caught his brother's nearly limp form. "Hey, hey, Sammy, stay with me, okay? Stay awake."

"D'n." Sam wheezed and Dean's heart felt constricted by panic. What if he couldn't save Sam? He'd been with the Shifter for at least a few hours and Dean had only noticed the difference between Sam and the Shifter after two days of moody behavior. For two days, Sam could've been bleeding out!

"It's me," Dean promised, hefting his little brother up. "I've got you, okay? You just hang in there, you hear me?"

"Kay." Sam whispered, eyes drooping shut.

"Hey, no sleeping!" Dean called sharply, jolting Sam back into awareness. "Let's just get you to the hospital and then you can sleep, okay?"

But it was no use, Sam's eyes had fallen shut once more. Resolved, Dean carried his brother back to the Impala and drove like a bat out of Hell to the nearest emergency room.

The nurse that had admitted them shot Dean yet another sympathetic smile. She was an older woman, in her 50's and dressed in festive Christmas lights scrubs. Dean had been so busy hunting and tracking down their MIA father that he had nearly forgotten that Christmas was next week. If Sam—when Sam got out, they were going to celebrate it in a comfortable motel room without the distraction of any hunts.

"I'm sorry about this, honey," The Nurse—Nancy—soothed. "The doctor should be coming out to talk to you any second."

Dean nodded, too stunned to speak. He had heard the doctors shout for help, called for a defibrillator because, hey, Sam's heart had chosen that precise moment to stop. Ever since that, Sam had been behind closed doors and no one had come to speak to Dean.

What if Sam was dead?

What if Sam never—

"Family of Sam Matthews?" Dean rose from his seat and the doctor nodded in his direction before walking over.

"How is he?" Dean questioned, voice brimming with fear.

"Well, he lost a lot of blood and went into shock," The doctor explained. "But he's stable now and he's responding well to transfusions." The doctor smiled. "Barring any complications, he should make a full recovery." Then, he pushed open the doors and Dean nodded before going in to see Sam.

"D'n." Sam's eyes were a bit unfocused and laced with pain, but he was coherent and alive, which was pretty damn good if you asked Dean.

"Hey there, Sammy." He sat on a chair the farthest away from his brother. After all, this had been his fault. Sam had to be mad at him. If he had only noticed sooner—"Whoa, Sam, what are you doing?" In the few seconds that Dean had been wallowing in guilt, his brother had somehow managed to sit up and nearly pass out from the effort. Instantly, Dean's hands were on him, gently pushing him down.

"Too far." Sam wheezed and Dean eyed him oddly. Sam glared at him and pointedly glanced at the space between Dean's chair and the bedside.

"But Sam, I . . ." His voice faltered, unsure of what he wanted to say. Chick-flick moments had always been more of Sam's forte.

"Dean." He said it with perfect clarity and then, without saying anything else, let his hand reach towards Dean. He waited, patiently, for his brother to lace his hand with his, as if it was perfectly normal.

"Sam—" He attempted to protest, but Sam sighed and then scooted himself as close to the bedside railing as he could. It brought a smile to Dean's lips as a memory of a clingy ten-year-old Sam filled his mind. Whenever he had been scared, Sam had always needed physical contact. It was as if it was his way of finding his way out of the nightmare of whatever had scared him.

"Dean." Sam tried to muster up the annoyance that he must've felt in his tone, but it came across as exhausted. He shook his hand and waited. With a small sigh, Dean allowed his hand to be held by his brother.

"I'm sorry." He whispered.

"Don't."

"Sam—"

"Not your fault." Sam interjected, eyes drooping close. "S'okay, D'n."

And with that, absolution was granted with a simple gesture of handholding. Sure, physical contact wasn't his "thing" per-se, but Dean had a horrible habit of refusing anything that Sam asked of him.

And, if he were really honest with himself, Dean knew that this time, the physical contact wasn't for Sam's sake alone.

It was for Dean's as well.

"Night, Sam."

Author's Note: Okay, there we go! I hope you enjoyed! Please review/request if you have a moment!