Disclaimer : Throwing another one of these in here to say I don't own the copyrighted stuff, and the idea of Dean back from Hell has been done. Most of what remains is mine. Minus the orange juice. That's all Tropicana pure premium! Or... whatever.

Author's Note : As always triple thanks to everyone who's reviewed. It's a thrill to read them and know that my story is being enjoyed, so if you're reading, please take the time to leave me a review. It's really the best motivation there can be for writing more and they never go unappreciated!

Also, it's like 3 in the morning, so... this is going up in a hurry. :)

Impala cookies all around, and please enjoy the feature presentation.

--

Sam felt stupidly nervous as he sorted through the various breakfast items he'd picked up, righting the small bottles of orange juice he'd dumped on the dresser. He stared for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts as he watched bubbles of air move along the plastic. He didn't know if Dean would want donuts, or bagels, so he'd grabbed each, and even a few of those mini cereal boxes before he realized he didn't have any milk.

Now Dean was sitting on the bed where Sam had settled him, just staring at the ground. The silence was thick, hanging in the air like fog, and he longed to break through it. No matter how much he wanted to, he just couldn't figure out what to say.

He turned around, offering some juice to Dean. "Thirsty?"

Dean looked at the proffered bottle, expression blank.

Sam cleared his throat before setting it on the bed next within easy reach. "I didn't know what you'd want, so... take your pick."

He chose a bagel for himself, butchering it into halves and dug a tiny plastic tub from his pocket, using the plasticware smear a meager amount of cream cheese on top. With his own bottle of juice he retreated to the chair and small table, giving Dean some space.

The bagel tasted like cardboard, and he had to swallow hard to get it down, but that could have been him. It was discomfiting to watch Dean sit there, head bowed, hands in his lap. He choked down another bite with the aid of some juice.

As he chewed, he wondered what he should do. First order of business would probably be getting out of town. He didn't think he'd have trouble; it was still too soon for the clinic to notice anything, but watching over his shoulder every minute was not something he needed to deal with right now. He'd make a quick call to a hunter he knew not far from here, ask him to take over on the gig he knew he couldn't finish. He didn't like skipping out on a job, but it'd be a simple salt and burn, not a big deal.

Then what? Where to go, and what to do?

They needed to sort out a hell of a lot, but he'd start small. Take Dean someplace relatively quiet, let him rest up, and then they could get into the nitty gritty. Hell, he needed to get him talking first.

He swallowed the last of the bagel and looked over at Dean. He hadn't moved. Sam sighed, wondering if that was a good sign or bad. He hadn't tried to take off, but he wasn't exactly friendly. Could he trust him to stay put while he showered, or was Dean still hung up on the demon thing?

And that just brought a whole new string of questions. Namely, what had Dean been through that he wasn't jumping in relief at his release?

He stood, brushing crumbs off his jeans. "I'm gonna hit the head, and then we'll go, okay?"

He kept the door cracked, listening intently for any sound of movement in the outer room, even as he washed his hands and dried them on the sole clean towel. He was able to breathe a sigh of relief when he hurried out and saw that Dean hadn't moved.

Okay, good... I think.

Dean hadn't touched his juice, and all the food was still on the dresser. He frowned, but didn't say anything, wrapping some of it up in napkins to take with them and quickly packing his things.

He pulled the door open and motioned with his head. "C'mon."

Dean watched him silently, and he thought he might have another problem to deal with, but after a moment, he got up. Sam couldn't help but notice how stiff his movements were.

After locking the door, he walked over to the car, putting his duffle in trunk. When he closed the lid, he saw Dean standing in front of the Impala, a look Sam couldn't quite place on his face.

"Missed your baby, huh?" he asked, faking cheerfulness. "Come on, get in."

He opened the passenger door for his brother, then walked to his own side. He waited there until Dean slowly walked over before sliding into the driver's seat. It took another long pause before he climbed awkwardly into the car.

He drove the short distance to the office and parked in front. "I'm gonna go check out... just wait here, okay?"

He hurried into the lobby, keeping an eye on the car the whole time. The clerk tried to make small talk, but he just smiled politely as he passed her some bills. She handed him his slip and he tried not to run as he returned her goodbye.

He felt the weight lift briefly when he saw that Dean was still in the car. He got back in, trying to ignore the fact that Dean was pressed against the door, literally as far away from Sam as he could be.

"Okay," he said, starting the Impala. "Where to?"

Of course there was no answer. He shrugged and pulled out of the lot. They'd figure it out on the way.

--

Turned out it was pretty easy to pick a location. After the events of the previous night, and a few hours sleep propped against a wall, Sam was too tired to drive very far.

He was almost hesitant to stop so soon. The silence in the car was awful, but he'd turned the radio to a classic rock station, hoping it would offer familiarity if not comfort. Sam knew he had to be tired, but the entire trip Dean hadn't nodded off, just sat stiffly, staring out the windshield. To think, all those times he thought he'd never miss Dean's off key sing alongs... now he was missing them terribly.

It was still early afternoon by the time he'd checked them into a somewhat upscale hotel that claimed to have the 'best rates in town!'. He shivered as he walked back to the car, and looked up at the sky. There was definitely rain in the forecast.

He grabbed his duffle from the trunk and then opened Dean's door for him. Almost mechanically Dean stepped out and fell into place behind Sam. It was creepy, but at least he wasn't running in the opposite direction.

"We're in 201," he said aloud for Dean's benefit, hefting his duffle.

Softer footfalls matched his own, Dean's worn heels echoing in time with Sam's newer boots. He opened the door and let them in, surveying the room as he ushered his brother inside.

It had been a long time since he'd needed to get a double, and it felt weird. He rolled his shoulders, trying to shed the unease.

He looked over at Dean, who stood just inside the door, shivering slightly.

"Shit," he said, dropping his bag. "I'm an idiot."

He pulled out a thermal shirt and threw it to Dean. Almost comically, it bounced off his chest and hit the floor. Sam scooped it back up and put it directly in his hands this time.

"You had to be freezing," he said, closing Dean's fingers around the shirt. Come to think of it, they did feel like ice. "Sorry, dude."

Dean turned the soft material over in his hands, staring at it.

"Right," Sam said, snapping his fingers. "You probably want a shower first."

He got Dean some clean clothes out of his bag. Eventually he was going to have to do something about getting him his own clothes. Dean's old jacket and shirt were ruined, the jeans too stained to salvage. He'd left the soiled garments in a dumpster behind a gas station when he'd stopped to fuel up. The only thing Dean wore right now that was his were the scuffed boots.

As he guided his brother to the bathroom, he couldn't help but think how, before, Dean would have snapped something at him. Probably something like "I'm not a child!" As it was, he just let the hand on his shoulder usher him into the bathroom.

Sam closed the door behind him, heard it lock. Okay, so his Dean's brain was functioning enough to secure himself behind a flimsy plywood door. That was of small consolation.

He leaned against the wall, and his hand snaked under the neck of his shirt, going for the amulet. Pulling it out, he closed his hand around it, feeling the soft bite of metal into his palm. It was the one thing he hadn't gotten rid of. He still had the car, but anything belonging to Dean had been wiped clean. His tapes were packed away in a box, shoved in his old duffle along with all of his old clothes. He hadn't been able to get rid of them, so they were sitting in storage at Bobby's. The older man hadn't questioned him, just taken the duffle, treating it as if it were fragile, and agreed to keep it until Sam made a more permanent decision.

The amulet he hadn't taken off, not since he'd slipped it on the morning after Dean... after he was gone. He hadn't even thought about it last night, but he guessed Dean would want it back now. Or, he would eventually.

In the bathroom, he heard the water start, and breathed a sigh of relief. Now he could move away from his post outside the door.

He sat on one of the beds, digging in the drawer of the night stand for a phone book. Something told him Dean wasn't up for dinner out, so he ordered a pizza, plain cheese, figuring his stomach probably wouldn't be up for anything more.

After making sure he had cash, he stretched out on the bed, flicking the TV on to wait.

He woke sometime later to a sharp rap on the door. Startled, he sat up in bed, realizing he'd fallen asleep. He snagged the money from his pocket and opened the door.

"Fifteen thirty," the delivery man said, not even acknowledging Sam.

He handed over the money, and received a very hot box in return. The guy walked off without even offering Sam change for his twenty. Watching after him, Sam muttered a disgruntled, "Keep the change."

He set the box on the bed and glanced at his watch.

"Shit," he muttered. Thirty five minutes had passed. An awful long time for a shower, even for a man as dirty as Dean, and the water was still going.

He was at the door before he even thought about it, rapping on the wood. "Dean?"

Of course there wouldn't be an answer. He knocked again, calling out his brother's name and trying not to freak out. But for all he knew Dean had managed to wiggle his way out the tiny window, and was long gone.

"Screw this," he said, and dug out his wallet.

The door was pathetic, and he could have easily kicked it in, but he couldn't afford to pay for damages. Besides, if Dean was still in there, he didn't want to scare him any more.

A quick wiggle of the credit card - thank you Jim Morrison - and the door swung open.

Dean huddled naked in the tub, hugging his knees to his chest, shivering. He was bent forward, and from there, Sam could see the bumps of his spine sticking out amongst dozens of scars. The kind of long, thick lines that spoke of whipping.

"Shit," he said again, rushing forward. He didn't even want to know.

He turned off the water, running cold by now, and grasped his brother's shoulders, shaking him every so slightly. "Dean?"

In response to the touch, Dean tried to scramble away, but Sam held him, repeating his name.

He looked up, hair plastered to his forehead, beads of water clinging to spiky lashes, and Sam was struck by just how young and fragile his older brother looked. "Dean, are you alright? What happened?"

His brother's eyes were glazed, but focused on a point level with Sam's chest. He followed the gaze down, and realized Dean was looking at his neck.

Shaking fingers reached out, tentatively touching the amulet that hung from it's cord. It swung backward slightly, and Dean looked up further, meeting his eyes. He was shocked to see what wavered behind that flat expression.

"S-Sam?"

He didn't know if the stutter came from cold or apprehension, but he just nodded dumbly in reply.

Dean's arms came around his neck in a desperate embrace and Sam didn't even care that his brother was naked, sitting in the bathroom of an overpriced two star hotel, back from God knows where. Or that he was battered and bruised, scarred and off. Why, and how, none of that was important just then.

He just held on.

--

Oh Jesus. Oh Jesus.

It was him, was actually him.

He'd been showering, a pathetic attempt at humanity, but he felt dirty, stank of things he wanted to forget, and he didn't remember the last time he'd had hot water. Maybe it hadn't been worth the risk, but he'd done it anyway. He pretended the best he could that things were normal, but he was running on little sleep, food, or will, and the next thing he knew, the door flew open, and there he was.

It was impossible, there was no way... but the amulet...

He felt like a great weight had been lifted from his chest, but alternately settled in back of his mind. He didn't remember much of the night before; a fight, maybe, and then running into the familiar, and frightening face that spelled trouble. Some of the interrogation, but barely. Fire in his veins, and questions he couldn't remember, answers he couldn't recall.

Then he'd woken suddenly, rudely, and been thrown into chaos.

The whole day he'd been in a fog, going along with "Sam", knowing that at any minute the charade could be over, and not knowing what to expect out of it. He only knew it was better not to resist.

But the minute he'd seen the amulet, he'd known. Known.

He hadn't had it on going into hell and they'd never dug that one out of him. He guessed it just wasn't important enough to register, but the sight of it told him all he needed to know.

Sam had helped him stand, even dried him off, sparing him any awkward talk or embarrassment as he stood there shivering. He'd let himself be led into the main room, lowered onto one of the beds. Now, dressed in jeans, a thermal shirt, and one of Sam's hoodies, he was still shaking.

It couldn't be real. He couldn't let it be real.

Was it real?

How could it be real?

His mind was going a mile a minute and he was starting to feel sick. When Sam - real Sam? fake Sam? - offered him a slice of pizza, all he could do was shake his head. He had sitting on the end of the bed, but he suddenly felt exposed. Too much space around him, but the room was so small. He scooted backwards until his back was pressed against the headboard, and drew his knees to his chest.

Sam eyed him, and he vaguely heard his voice asking if he was okay.

He might have nodded. Couldn't be sure.

Of course, that wasn't true. He wasn't okay. Was very far from it.

He just wanted to sleep... what little sleep he'd gotten, he thought must be the result of his pounding head, the scabbing scrape he felt if he ran his hand over his forehead. He wouldn't sleep otherwise. Not even with the safety net line of salt; he'd watched Sam the whole time.

But now Sam was here. Maybe it would be okay to sleep now.

His eyes felt heavy, and he blinked, trying to clear his mind. Before he could argue, they were sliding shut again, and he was drifting...