Here's the next chapter—as always, thanks so much to those who review (and especially my consistent reviewers, you guys keep me motivated!)

"It's yours." Sam said simply. "Go ahead and do what you want...and if you want to kill me I won't try to stop you."

Dean's breath caught in his throat. He stood motionless, holding the knife in his hands, looking from it to Sam and back again. Sam spread his arms wide, exposing his chest, and stared his brother straight in the eye. "Go ahead." He said. "Do it."

Dean's mouth dropped open, and he stared at Sam in shock. "W-what?"

"You heard me, Dean." Sam said quietly.

Dean stared back at him, his mind racing as his hand tightened around the smooth handle of the knife. "I—I—" he broke off, unable to think of anything to say. What could he say? He didn't have a clue what was going on or what was real. The figure in front of him looked like Sam, sounded like Sam, even had ridiculous puppy dog eyes like Sam—but there was one problem. Those eyes were black. Demonic. "You're a demon." He said.

Sam winced. "No Dean, I'm not. It's just me—just Sam."

"And how am I supposed to believe that?" Dean argued loudly, "How do I know this isn't another trick?"

Sam sighed, "I…I don't know. I guess you just have to trust me."

Dean expelled his breath in a hiss. "You—you—"

"Dean…" Sam interrupted grimly, "I can't prove anything to you, so you might as well stop asking me to. All I can do is assure you that I really am your brother…but if that's not good enough…" he trailed off and gestured to the knife.

Dean looked at Sam, really looked at him, and shook his head. "I can't." he said simply. He opened his fingers and let the knife slide through them and hit the floor. He looked back up at Sam. "You know I can't."

Sam nodded. "I know." He said. He sighed deeply and shut his eyes, running a hand over his face as though to wipe away his exhaustion. When he opened his eyes again he smiled faintly at Dean. "It's so good to see you…" he whispered softly. "I really thought you were dead."

Dean didn't return the smile, but stared back at him, inner struggle evident on his face.

Sam cringed inwardly. "Still don't know if you can trust me?"

"That's because he can't, Sam." Leandra said coldly, stepping forward. "He never has, he never will."

Dean blinked, turning to stare at her for the first time. "Who the hell are you?"

Sam gritted his teeth. "That's Leandra…the one responsible for this nightmare."

"That's a bit harsh…" Leandra protested.

"It's the truth."

Dean glanced from Sam to Leandra, confused. "Would someone mind telling me what's going on?"

"I'm just proving a point, Dean." Leandra said.

"What point?" Dean demanded.

"That Sam's better off with me than with you."

"What?" Dean snapped. "Of course he's better off with me, he's my brother!"

Leandra glared at him. "Oh really? Strong words coming from a man who can't even tell his brother from all the fakes I sent to keep him occupied…"

Dean winced and looked away.

"That's right, Dean—this is Sam. The real Sam. And you tried to kill him, didn't you?" she shook her head, disgusted, "That's not very big-brotherly, is it?"

Sam glared angrily at Leandra. "Just shut-up, okay? He didn't kill me, so your little experiment failed."

"Fine." She said bitterly, "So sorry, Dean. My sincerest apologies…however, I believe Sammy here has something he wants to confess to you."

Sam froze, and his breath caught in his throat.

Dean looked up and saw Sam tense, and when he met his eyes they were full of fear.

Leandra grinned, "Well Sammy? Share with the class…"

Sam shook his head and looked away, terrified.

Dean slowly reached a hand out and rested it tentatively on his brother's shoulder. "Sam?" he said quietly. "What's wrong?"

Leandra laughed. "Sure, he's sympathetic now—"

"Look, would you just shut the hell up!" Dean snapped. "No one asked you to say anything!" he looked back at Sam, who was avoiding his gaze. "Sammy, what is it?" he asked softly.

Sam slowly turned his head to look at his brother. "Dean…I…I…"

"What?" Dean asked, concerned. "Tell me."

Sam took in a deep breath. "You'll hate me." He whispered.

"What?" Dean said, "Sam, I could never hate you, you know that."

Sam nodded, and looked away. "I…I have demon blood."

Dean's eyes widened, and he felt as though his heart skipped a beat. "W-what?"

Sam bit his lip, trying to keep his tears at bay. "The demon…showed me…a couple months ago. When I was a baby, right before…before…the fire…he dripped some of his blood…into my mouth…and…and…" he broke off, unable to continue, and looked away. "I'm sorry." He muttered.

Dean stood there, trying to digest the information. His first thoughts were to deny it—to say the demon had been lying. But had he? Why would he lie about that? It would explain a lot about Sam, after all—his visions, his abilities. So it was the truth then? Sam had demon blood—demon blood—blood of the demon who had killed their parents. But so what? He was still Sam, still the same geeky, loveable kid he had taken care of for as long as he could remember. He looked back at his brother and saw that he was still averting his eyes, ashamed, terrified, and it broke his heart.

Dean stepped forward and threw his arms around his brother, pulling him close. He felt Sam tense against him for a moment and then relax, heard him let out a shaky breath and then weakly return the hug. "So what?" Dean said fiercely. "It doesn't change anything, Sammy—I'm not going anywhere. It'll take a lot more than a little thing like demon blood to get rid of me."

Sam nodded, his face pressed up against his brother's shoulder, and for the first time in days he closed his eyes and allowed himself to breathe deeply, feeling as though a great weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. "Good …" he muttered. "That's good."

Dean frowned and then stepped back and held his brother at arm-length, forcing him to look at him. "Why were you so scared to tell me? What did you think I was going to say?" he demanded.

Sam shrugged. "I don't know," he said truthfully, "I mean…I know you wouldn't have tried to kill me or anything, but… I just didn't want you to know…because…" he trailed off and shut his mouth.

"Because what, Sam?" Dean prompted.

Sam sighed. "Because I didn't want you to look at me differently." He admitted sadly.

Dean grimaced. "Sam…you can't honestly think that I would—that I—Sammy. Look at me."

Sam reluctantly turned his head to look at his brother, waiting.

"Sam, I don't know what you want me to say, man." He said seriously, "You know I loathe all chick-flick moments…but…listen to me."

Sam nodded, listening.

"Just because you have demon blood…" he began, "Doesn't mean that you get any extra privileges. Don't think that this means you get to drive the Impala now, because you would be severely mistaken."

For a second Sam just stared blankly at him, and then he let out the breath he had been holding and grinned weakly, rolling his eyes. "Dean—"

"No, don't interrupt me." Dean continued, holding his hand up in mock seriousness, "I'm trying to have a touching moment here. Now where was I? Ah yes…I am still going to treat you like the annoying little kid brother that you are…and I expect you to keep treating me with the admiration that I know you feel for someone as totally awesome as me—"

"You're unbelievable…" Sam muttered, grinning and shaking his head.

"Exactly!" Dean said with a smile, "That's what I'm talking about. I am unbelievably awesome, and as long as we both know that everything will be fine."

Sam's smile widened and he shook his head. "Jerk."

"Bitch." Dean quipped back, giving Sam's shoulder a squeeze before he let go. "You okay?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah…thanks."

Dean shrugged. "For what?"

"For just…being you." Sam said softly, amazed at how easily his brother was able to cheer him up despite the dire circumstances they were always in.

Dean grinned again and glanced around the room. "Anytime, Sammy…anytime." He said, "But unfortunately it seems that our little talk scared off that girl…what did you say her name was again?"

"Shit." Sam whispered, the news succeeding in jolting him back to the current situation.

Dean's eyebrows rose, "Shit? That's a terrible name…"

Sam groaned, "No, that's not what I meant and you know it—her name's Leandra."

"Right." Dean said, watching Sam trying to cover up his initial panicked reaction. "Sooo I'm guessing from the look on your face that her absence isn't a good thing."

"No." Sam said, deciding not to sugar coat the truth, "It means we're in big trouble."

"Why?"

"Leandra's the only person that can get us out of here."

Dean shook his head, "What are you talking about? We can just walk out the door."

Sam shook his head. "Well, we could…but that wouldn't really do us any good in the grand scheme of things—we're still in the alternate world."

"Oh." Dean said, thinking. "You mean the monster infested evil world of death?"

"Yep, that's the one." Sam said glumly.

"Well that doesn't sound good. Can't you just…call her back here or something? Reason with her to send us back?"

Sam grimaced. "Nope…I'm pretty sure she's mad at me right now."

"Why?"

"Ohh…probably because I chose you over her."

Dean shook his head and ran a hand down his face, "Seriously, Sam, you need to start avoiding these kinds of relationships…"

"Hey, she seemed nice at the beginning!" Sam protested. "She was very helpful and—and—"

"And then what? She turned all evil and declared her love for you?"

"Well…"

"Sam!"

"What? It's not my fault!"

"Like hell it's not! Truthfully I blame your big puppy-dog eyes—" Dean leaned forward and stared critically up at his brother, "Yep, definitely a chick magnet, you might as well have 'sensitive, 

caring, and loveable' written across your forehead! From now on you're wearing a blindfold everywhere we go."

Sam glared at Dean and opened his mouth to respond—and a wave of pain slammed through him like hundreds of daggers, twisting and stabbing right through his soul. Caught off guard, Sam's knees buckled beneath him and he fell forward as the world seemed to spin around him, barely aware that his brother reached out and caught him at the last second.

Dean staggered under his brother's dead weight in his arms and managed to gently lie him down on the floor. He stared Sam's expression of agony and his mind kicked into full blown panic mode as he tried to figure out what was going on. "Sam? Sammy, talk to me! Tell me what's wrong!"

Eyes squeezed shut, Sam struggled to breathe as he lied there. He could hear Dean's panicked voice from what sounded like miles away but couldn't respond. Wave after wave of agonizing pain slammed through him, and his lungs burned as though they had been sealed shut. He couldn't breathe, there was no air—

"Sam!" Dean yelled frantically, watching his brother struggle to breathe, "Sammy, you have to talk to me—I can't—I don't know what's wrong!"

Barely conscious, Sam managed to open his eyes and stared up into his brother's terrified face. "De…" he whispered weakly, and as his vision spotted and darkened he watched his brother's lips move silently in response, forming words of reassurance that he couldn't hear.

All of the sudden Sam froze, his eyes rolled back in his head, and with one last shudder his head fell backwards lifelessly.

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