Sam Winchester was alive.

He awoke, in a strange house he had never seen before, to more pain than he could have ever imagined. He sat up gingerly on the bed, trying to get his bearings. As his hand slipped under his back for support, he noticed the large wet spot directly beneath him. Sam worked his way to the edge of the bed and climbed off, standing in a hunched position; the excruciating pain in his back not allowing for any swift movements. Turning to look upon the bed, he saw that the wet spot was actually massive amounts of blood -- his blood.

Sam knew he didn't remember everything that had happened, but he did remember seeing Dean and Bobby walking toward him in Cold Oak, SD, after he had gotten into a fight with Jake, one of the other children the Yellow Eyed Demon had influenced, and knocked his opponent out. He remembered Dean running toward him as a white-hot pain shot through his body, and then all went dark.

He walked over to the mirror hanging on one wall in the small room. He pulled up the back of his shirt and looked at the source of the pain. What he saw appeared to be a bloody scar, but he couldn't remember ever getting cut there badly enough to render a scar that large. And judging from the bloody hole in his favorite shirt, the scar may be more recent than it appeared.

Sam pulled his shirt back down and looked around the small abode. No one else was there now, but he saw one of Dean's flannel shirts tossed over a chair in the corner, so he figured at least he was back with the good guys now.

But where were they? He picked up his coat which had dropped from the bed to the floor, and searched the pockets for his cell phone. He dialed Dean. It rang, and rang, and went to voicemail. Sam heard his big brother's gruff voice proclaiming that if a message was left he would get back to them as soon as possible.

"Dean, hey, it's me. I just woke up, I don't know where you guys are, but get back here as soon as you can, okay?" Sam's voice had cracked a little as he was talking, his throat felt like he'd gotten a French kiss from a sandpaper factory.

When he hung up the phone, he had a pit in his stomach that told him something was wrong, but he just didn't know what yet. Instinct told him he needed to start figuring it out, the sooner the better.

Think, Sam, think! He felt as though he was mentally trudging through mud. He sat back down on the edge of the bed. Bobby!

He picked his cell phone back up and dialed Bobby's number. After two rings, Bobby answered.

"Hullo?" came the answer in a Southern Drawl.

"Bobby, hey, it's me."

"Who is this?" Bobby said.

Sam was a little taken aback by the icy tone he was getting. "Bobby, it's me, Sam."

"Sa--?" Bobby stopped, breathless.

"Bobby, what's going on?? Where's Dean?" Sam's heart was racing, he knew for sure now that something was terribly, horribly wrong.

Bobby didn't answer for a few seconds. "I was just about to ask you the same thing. Sam where are you?"

Sam looked around taking in his surroundings for anything descriptive enough to help Bobby. "I don't know, I just woke up a little while ago. I'm in a house, looks like it's in the country, I was lying on a bed. Looks like Dean was here not too long ago. There's a couple of his shirts here, a chair facing the bed, and a bucket of fried chicken on the table--"

"Stay where you are, Sam, I'm on my way to you. It'll be a couple hours, but I'll get there as soon as I can. STAY PUT."

Sam started to say "Yes, sir" but the line went dead before he even got the first word out.

---------------------

Two and a half hours later, Bobby's tow truck pulled into the driveway of the little rundown house. Sam walked out to meet him, and as Bobby piled out of the truck, he pulled Sam into a tight hug.

"Ow!" Sam complained after a few seconds, his body still reeling from what had happened to him. "Bobby, what's going on? Where's Dean? I've called his phone, like, 20 times and he hasn't answered."

Bobby slowly released his grip on Sam, and pulled back with tears in his eyes. "Get in the truck, Sam, I'll tell you on the way."

A bit dumbfounded by Bobby's statement and how shaken Bobby seemed to be, Sam didn't argue, he just climbed into the passenger side of the tow truck.

As soon as Bobby slammed his own door shut, he reached under the seat and pulled out a clean shirt. "Here, put this on. We don't need anybody asking questions about all that blood on your back."

"Bobby, where are we going??" Sam's curiosity could no longer be ignored, and he could his blood pressure was skyrocketing as his heart was pounding, worried about his brother.

Bobby pulled out of the driveway, and looked away from Sam as he wiped his face with his hand again. Sam could see that his face was wet when he finally turned back to him. "Sam, I don't know all of what is going on. But I do know that when I left Dean yesterday, you were dead."

"What?" Sam stared at the floorboard of the old beat up truck, his heart pounding even faster as all the pieces started to fall into place. "No, no. No. No. He wouldn't have..." Tears welled up in his own eyes.

Bobby shook his head, a glassy stare of disbelief on his face. "I didn't think he'd do something like that either. I thought he'd had his fill of demons, but on my way over here, I caught a call on the police scanner. It was talking about a man found at the intersection of County Road 19 and Old Prospect Road--" Bobby choked on his words briefly. "He was dead, Sam."

Sam shook his head, swallowing hard, his lower lip quivering slightly. He knew. Deep down, he knew. It was Dean. He knew it was a crossroads, and were anyone to dig directly in the center of the intersection they would find a little tin box with a few odds and ends that served as the means to contact the deal making demon. And in that box, would be Dean's photograph.

Interrupting Sam's thoughts, Bobby said "We need to get there and claim the car before they start snooping around in that trunk."

Sam nodded, a tear streaming down his cheek. He couldn't believe what was going on. This had to be a horrible dream.