Sam didn't know why they were wasting time with an alcohol swab on his arm. He was dead anyways; why bother cleansing the area of infection? They'd just pitch the needle afterwards.

His eyes darted to the clock. 4:32. No Dean. Where was he? If he didn't show up soon, Sam was going to wrap him in the girliest-ass hug ever and hold him there for a whole minute, except he couldn't do it unless Dean showed up, so if he didn't Sam would be dead and couldn't hug him at all.

Tears welled in his eyes as he pulled at the restraints. He was firmly held. The technician paused at his struggling, then took hold of his arm and slid the needle in.

No. Nonono. Oh god, he hadn't told Dean how much he cared, how he'd missed him while he'd been at college, what a great brother he was. He hadn't made peace with his dad yet, hadn't told him how much he loved him, loved them both -

A shrill alarm went up, and the technician, his hand hovering over the machine that would inject the lethal dosage, paused. "Is that the fire alarm?" he asked.

From the hallway, Sam heard distant shouts. "Get the hose!" was the loudest cry. "Fire in the main hall!"

"Move out, just in case," the guard who'd ordered him around said. "Mark and I'll stay and keep watch over him," the last word spit out in disgust.

The guard who'd shoved him, Mark, took his place beside the first guard. The other guards and technicians left, and the two guards took their place in front of the closed door. "Enjoy your few extra minutes," the first guard said, glaring at him. "Bet you never gave your victims those extra minutes, did you?"

Sam said nothing. The needle's intrusion was painfully evident, but there wasn't a cool liquid feeling rushing through his veins. Yet.

"If the fire's serious enough, we could just leave him here," Mark snapped, hatred in his eyes. "Let him burn away."

The slam of fear in his gut made his heart stop for a moment, and then the door was flying open, sending the two guards stumbling forward. Two swift punches had them on the floor, and as they fell, they revealed their attacker. "Dean," Sam gasped, fresh tears burning his eyes.

Dean's eyes narrowed in on the needle buried in Sam's arm, and he froze, his face full of horror. "Sammy?" he managed, his voice trembling.

Sam shook his head. "Not yet. The fire alarm went off."

"I know," Dean said, his temporary paralysis over now that he knew that Sam was all right. He hurried forward to undo the cuffs on Sam's ankles. "I sort of started the fire."

"It'll be put out faster than you started it," a gruff voice said, and Sam stared at the familiar figure behind Dean.

"Dad?"

"Hold on Sam," John said, dragging something behind him. He let it go, then ran to Sam's side. Dean had one of the arm cuffs undone by the time John had pulled the needle carefully from Sam's arm. One last cuff, and then Sam was free.

He slid off the table with John's help, then wrapped himself around him. John froze for a fraction of a second, before his arms returned the embrace. "You're gonna be fine, Sam," John murmured softly.

"Help me with him," Dean grunted, and Sam turned to see himself being lifted onto the table. This was the Sam they'd mistaken him for. This was the Sam they were disgusted with, loathed and hated with such an intensity.

This was the Sam who deserved to die.

Dean and John untied his bound wrists, then cuffed him to the table. Sam stood back, staring at the body that looked exactly like his. "Should we put the needle in?" Dean asked hesitantly.

Before John could respond, Sam moved forward, fist cocked and ready. It hit the other Sam in his eye before Dean could stop him. "Sam!" John said, taking him by the arm. It took both Dean and John to pull him away, but Sam continued to glare at the other him. He more than deserved to die.

"We've got to go," John said, and Dean tugged again at Sam. "The portal's downstairs; we just have to get to it."

Sam nodded a moment later, and they made their way out of the room. Down the hallway, then into the stairwell as fast as they could. It was a little cramped as John led and Sam and Dean stayed side by side all the way down, but Sam didn't care. Dean had yet to let go of him, and Sam had as firm a grip on his brother.

Voices were heard suddenly above them, and Sam immediately turned back to look, tense and still on the stairway. If they found him, they're probably still execute him along with the other Sam. Nothing to prove it hadn't been the both of them. Dean and John would be convicted, even though in this world they-

"Easy, Sammy," Dean murmured, pulling gently at Sam's arm. "Let's get out of here, all right?"

"Yeah," Sam said hoarsely, and followed Dean down the stairs. A bright flash of light caught his attention in the darkness, but the rattling of the metal stairs made them hurry through before Sam could brace himself for the inevitable pain. He felt pulled through again, and when they stumbled back into their world, muscles spasming once more, he could hear the shouts echoing behind them. He managed to push himself up through the pain to glance at the portal, where the distinct shapes of several men could be seen.

"Dad," Dean called out in pain, but John was already moving, shoving at a wooden crate that had the gorgon head and a flashlight on it. Both items toppled into the water, and the portal vanished.

Sam closed his eyes in relief.

Once the pain receded, Dean stood, albeit tenderly. "Okay, portal jumping? Not going on my list of Fun Things to Do," he groaned. "Why the hell did it feel like that, anyways?"

John stood slowly and shrugged. "Molecules readjusting, changing to fit the world? I don't really know. All that matters is that we're back on our side in one piece."

Dean couldn't argue with that. "You all right Sammy?" he asked as Sam slowly rose. He didn't care if his brother hated that name or not: he couldn't call him Sam. Not for awhile, at any rate.

Then Sam moaned and began to fall again. Dean moved fast, catching him halfway down. He didn't look to be in pain, but he was pale and shaking. "Adrenaline wore off," John said, confirming Dean's suspicions.

"Yeah, well, the cold water's probably not helping," Dean said, hauling Sam upright as carefully as he could. John bent first to collect his flashlight, then moved to Sam's other side. Together the three moved out of the lake and back to the hotel.

The silence became too much on the way back, and Dean began to ramble about random things. He told John about what they'd been up to since Chicago, recounting the pranks they'd pulled on each other in Texas. John stayed quiet and listened, shaking his head with a smirk at some points. Sam remained silent, not even contributing a nod or a grin. That only fueled Dean's need to ramble, worried for his little brother.

They made it back to the hotel at last, and Sam was walking fairly well on his own. His silence still unnerved Dean, though. "You want to take a shower?" Dean finally asked him. "Nice and hot. Then we can take care of your eye, which, I gotta say, looks terrible on you. You're just not a black eye type of guy."

Sam simply stood in the center of the room, gazing around at the rope and knocked over chairs. Dean didn't like it. "How about coffee? Dad can go get us some coffee." John gave him a look at the volunteering, but Dean didn't care, because Sam still hadn't spoken. "Say something!" he finally said, his worry becoming vocal as anger.

"Do you know that he was in there primarily for two deaths?" Sam said quietly, and the room fell silent, giving him the floor. "He killed a lot of people, but they had him chiefly for fratricide and patricide."

Dean suddenly understood why Sam hadn't spoken. He couldn't seem to speak now, either. "I didn't understand at first," Sam continued. "I wasn't him, I didn't even really know where I was besides a prison. So they were kind enough to show me pictures of the bodies."

Sam finally turned back towards them, tears shimmering in his eyes. "He deserved to die," he said, his voice almost a whisper. Then he turned and stepped into the bathroom, closing the door with a soft click that seemed to echo in the room.

Dean wished his brother hadn't said anything at all.

"Dammit the hell," John swore softly. Then, "I'm going to go get coffee."

"You brewing the pot?" Dean asked, knowing if John dealt with coffee, it'd be heavily laced with liquor.

"I think I need to," John muttered, stepping outside. That left Dean alone in the quiet, messed up room with a quiet, messed up brother. He hadn't liked the silence before, and he didn't like it anymore now. He couldn't really do anything about it, though, until Sam came out or John came back. Sam would likely come back first, and Dean knew Sam had guessed what had happened in the room. They didn't need any further reminders of the other Sam.

Mind made up, Dean started straightening the room. When he got to the clothes the other Sam had worn, Dean didn't hesitate in tossing them into the trash. He had other shirts, and they'd buy Sam another pair of jeans. He'd rather spend the money on them then have that reminder always with them.

He righted the chair, the last piece of the room that needed fixing, before he realized the shower hadn't turned on.

He stopped outside the door, listening intently. When he heard nothing, he rapped his knuckles on the door. "Sammy?" No answer. "Sammy, you decent?" Still no answer. "For both of our sakes, I hope you are," Dean muttered, before trying the handle. It turned easily, and the door slowly swung open.

Sam was still in the prison scrubs, seated on the closed lid of the toilet. His head was bowed, his fingers clutching the sides of the toilet tight enough to warrant white knuckles. Dean opted to leave the door open. Sam obviously wasn't okay (not that Dean blamed him in the slightest, the kid was more than entitled), and after having been trapped in a prison for two days, he wanted Sam to know that there was a ready exit available.

Whether it was his presence or his thoughtfulness that did it, Dean wasn't sure, but Sam began to talk. "When they showed me the pictures, I...I lost it," he said softly, his voice hoarse. "My worst nightmares came true in visual form. And someone that looked like me had...had killed you both." He swallowed hard and tried to speak again, but no words came out.

"If I'd seen pictures of you and Dad dead, I'd have lost it, too," Dean said, moving over to the tub next to the toilet. He lowered himself until he was sitting on the edge facing Sam.

"You weren't just dead, though," Sam said, lifting his head to look at Dean. His face was tear-stained, and his eyes were red. Dean may tease his brother about being a girl because he cried, but Sam didn't really cry. Not like this. This had really broken his brother. "You were both mutilated, Dean," he continued, his voice fading into a whisper. "There was so much blood, I-"

"Hey," Dean said, leaning forward. "That wasn't me, and it wasn't Dad. We're both here, and you didn't do it. Okay?"

Sam turned away. Dean sighed, then said quietly, "You know, that other Sam? He was a lot like me."

"You're nothing like him," Sam said sharply, red eyes locking with Dean's again. "Don't say that."

"I'm not saying I'm a murderer," Dean said, holding up his hands. "I've got a point here, dude. Let me make it, all right? See, that Sam was a hunter. Wanted nothing to do with research. Spent most of the time cleaning the weapons. He was a smart-ass, smirked a lot, was way too cocky at some points. He was practically the you I'd thought I wanted: the you that acted more like me. And you know what?"

Sam slowly shook his head. Dean reached out and clasped Sam's left shoulder in his hand, looking his brother straight in the eye. "I didn't like him at all, and all I wanted back was my little brother. Just the way he was."

He smiled then, and Sam returned it, though his was still watery. He was about to land the final line that would definitely sink them into chick-flick territory, but it needed to be said, and it was for Sam. That was all that mattered. "You're the only Sam I want hanging around," Dean said simply.

"They confiscated your handgun I had on me," Sam said.

Dean paused a moment, before shrugging. "Let 'em have it. I've got other weapons." He'd gotten the only thing worth retrieving out of the other world, and it was looking him in the eyes with a smile that looked a little more solid. His eye still looked like crap, though. Dean frowned slightly and reached his thumb up to brush against the bruised skin, causing Sam to hiss. "Tell me I punched the asshole who's responsible for this," Dean said, wishing he could punch the guards again. Sam had had shiners before, but this one was going to hurt like hell, and it was going to take some time to fade away. Another reminder of what Sam had had to endure, and Dean didn't like it.

"You did," Sam said. "And you got them to stop talking, too."

Dean was already reaching around for a cloth to wrap ice in. "Why, were they monologuing like all the villains do in the TV shows?" When Sam didn't respond right away, Dean abandoned his search and turned back to his brother. "Sammy?"

Sam just shrugged. "Not really. They just...they just said that if there was a fire, it'd be easier to leave me. It was common logic," Sam added, but the simmering anger that had been underneath Dean's skin was slowly climbing to a burning fury, and he thought his analogies were appropriate, given what had Sam so uncomfortable. Sam couldn't even light the matches for a regular salt and burn, would flinch when the bones finally lit up. Dean knew how Sam felt about fire.

"I'm sorry," Dean said, not really knowing what else he could say. He'd started the fire in the first place, had pulled the alarm that had launched the guards' words. He'd helped Sam and hurt him all at the same time.

Sam gave him a look that said he was stupid. "Don't be stupid," he said. "You got me out of there. That's a little more important to me. I knew you'd find me."

"Damn straight," Dean said immediately, and Sam gave another small smile that was definitely solid.

Then Sam frowned. "Uh, what about the gorgon head?"

"It's buried in water," Dean said, rising. "That's where it's safe, right?"

Sam nodded. "Then we'll worry about it later. Take a shower; I'll get you some fresh clothes and we can...toss what you're wearing," he finished lamely after he'd paused. He'd been about to say that they should burn the scrubs, but figured Sam didn't need that right now.

He found the washcloth he was looking for near the door, and was a foot into the room when Sam called his name. Dean glanced behind him, and Sam finally said a moment later, "Thanks." They both knew he was saying it for more than one thing.

Tonight was just going to be a chick-flick night; it couldn't be anything else after what Sam had been through. Despite that knowledge, Dean found himself smiling. "You're welcome," he said, then stepped out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

John was seated at the table, three coffees in front of him. "No Jack?" Dean asked, surprised.

John shook his head as the shower started. "No. Maybe later." A pause, then, "You did good. He needed that."

"He needs his dad, too," Dean found himself saying.

John sighed. "I know. I was going to drop off the coffees and just leave tonight, but..."

"You mean day," Dean corrected, glancing outside. The sky was already light, and the sun would be up shortly. The clock read a little after six. Had it only been that short a time?

"Then I should definitely go," John said. "I'm getting closer, and even in the daylight, things aren't sa-"

"Just one day," Dean found himself pleading, stepping in front of John. "Just one frickin' day. You can't put us into that much danger with just one day."

John pinched his lips. "Dean, I'm trying to protect you two."

"All you'll do if you leave now is break Sam," Dean said, letting his anger rise to the surface. "Dammit Dad!"

"He'll be alive!"

"He needs you!" Dean all but shouted, keeping in mind the person he'd just put back together who was in a shower, not a soundproof booth. John stayed silent, and Dean plowed ahead. "They showed him pictures of you and me carved up after the other Sam had decided to practice his Thanksgiving turkey routine on us. Pictures so he wouldn't miss any of the details. And then they told him he did it." His anger had all but disappeared, and Dean breathed out the last of it in a heavy sigh. "God Dad, I don't know what I would've done if they'd done that to me. And I'm not the empathic one like Sam is."

John remained silent, but there wasn't a tension in his body or anger in his face. There was just quiet acceptance. "You don't have to stay all day," Dean said. "Just even five minutes-"

"I'll stay," John said quietly, and Dean felt himself relax. "I'll stay until he tells me to leave."

"That'll be all of seven minutes, the rate you two go," Dean joked, and John chuckled.

"I'm not sure we'd even last that long. I wouldn't bet on it."

"Good thing I don't play poker or care about horses then," Dean said easily, grabbing the ice container from the table. His dad would stay long enough for Sam to be okay, and then things would be better than okay. He had Sam back. It was good to have his dad back, but he knew John would leave. That was something he expected as much as the sunrise. He could handle that.

What he couldn't handle was Sam hurt and broken further than he already was. Dean had spent the good portion of the year putting his little brother back together; he didn't want to see all his good work go down the drain.

He also didn't think he could handle his brother leaving, but that was a different matter for a different day.

He opened the door and was about to head off to the ice maker when he stopped and glanced back at John. "Uh, Dad?"

"Yes Dean?"

"That gorgon head...it's safe underwater, right?"

"I'm not sure. I think so."

Dean made a face. "How easy is it to get rid of a gorgon, anyway?"

"It's not. It's exceedingly messy."

"We're going back to the lake, aren't we." It wasn't even a question.

"You are going back to the lake, and you'll take your brother along with you. I'll be gone by then."

Dean tossed a glare over his shoulder but didn't put any heat in it. John gave an honest to goodness smile, and Dean sighed dramatically before he went off to get ice for Sam's shiner. Messy gorgon, bruises, disappearing dads, bring it on. Dean could handle it.

So long as he had his little brother, Dean could handle anything.