Dean opened his eyes and stared around the unfamiliar room. Something had woken him up, but he couldn't remember what. Then he heard it again, a baby crying. He knew that it was Joy and that he had to get to her, to save her. Swinging his legs off the bed, he walked towards the closed bathroom door. A bright light shone behind the door, making the outline of the nondescript door seem ominous. Dean placed a hand on the door and slowly pushed it open. Instead of the tile and fixtures there was nothing but a room, empty except for the body lying slumped in a pool of blood. Rushing over, Dean rolled the cold body over. The dead eyes of Alex stared up at him from the man's bloody face. Huge gashes ran parallel down his torso, shredding his chest into ribbons. Hellhound claws! Dean frantically looked around, suddenly terrified that the invisible demon dogs were there, ready to drag him back to hell. But the room was quiet except for Joy's thin cry.

Following the baby's wailing back into the motel room proper, Dean walked over to the dresser where the cry seemed to be coming from. With his heart in his throat Dean reached for the handle on the top drawer. The crying cut off abruptly and Dean steeled himself to pull the drawer open. A splash of liquid landed on his legs and bare feet as blood poured out of the wooden frame in a torrent to flood the room. Joy was there, her tiny dead body floating in a box of blood, her eyes open and unseeing. Jumping away from the horrible sight, Dean splashed his way through blood towards the door of the motel room. He had to get away, he had to find Sam! Pulling the door open and rushing outside, he found himself in Stull Cemetery. Spinning around the motel was gone.

"Dean," said a voice behind him. Turning back, there was Sam and Lynn on their knees in front of Lucifer. This Lucifer was wearing the black silk pajamas and Sam's face. But Dean knew that the Sam on his knees was his real brother. "Dean," the voice said again and the eldest Winchester raised his eyes to glare at the devil.

"Get away from them, you son of a bitch," he cursed. He tried to get to his family, but he was frozen in place. Lucifer spoke again, his voice a mockery of Sammy's warm tone.

"It's too late Dean, they're already dead. Your family is all dead." And with that Lucifer's eyes glowed red and a massive ball of flame burst from his outstretched hands. Dean shielded his eyes from the light and heat, expecting to die from the assault, but in a moment it was gone along with the demonic archangel. What was left were two pillars of ash in the shape of his brother and sister.

"No," Dean gasped in horror, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. He took a step towards the figures. Then, without warning, a wind blew up and swept the immolated bodies into a swirling wave of ash that struck Dean, coating him in the remains of his family.

xxxxxxx

Dean jerked awake, sitting up in his bed, kicking his legs free from the tangled sheet and blanket. He was panting in terror and his heart was trying to beat it's way out of his chest. Frantically, he wiped at his face and body. Dean forced himself to calm down and suck some oxygen into his straining lungs. It had been a nightmare, frightening, but nothing more. He looked around the motel room, but all was as it should be, except for the absence of his younger brother.

"Sam?," he called. Looking over, at the other bed, there was a note written in Sam's precise handwriting. Struggling out of bed, conscious now of the pull from the stitches on his side, and the ache from his back, he picked up the note. "Coffee run. Be back soon. Sam"

Dean dropped the note and ran a hand down his stubbled face. He felt sweaty and gross, the feeling of ash on his skin still vivid from his nightmare. Sam had left his duffle by his bed and Dean gingerly bent down to pick it up. His clothes that he had left behind were clean and neatly folded inside. He hardly recognized them as his. It had been a long time since Dean had more than one set of clothes. Grabbing some underwear, jeans and a t-shirt, he tucked his shaving bag under his arm and made his way to the bathroom.

He stared at himself in the mirror. His hair was too long and he had a new small scar by his left ear. Other than that, and the bleak look in the green eyes staring back at him, he looked the same way he had the last time he looked into this mirror. At least on the outside he was the same. Inside Dean felt shattered from grief and guilt and loss, his pieces held together by threads. Dean turned away from the mirror and brushed his teeth. Then peeling off the bandages, he took a look at his injuries in the harsh bathroom light. Sam's even stitches carved a line down his left side. The wound stung, but the pain wasn't too bad. Looking over his shoulder, Dean tried to see the cuts on his back. He couldn't get a good look at this angle, but his lower back looked a bit like ground beef, red and swollen, with the blue tinge of bruising beginning to show. The cuts didn't look too bad, although he noticed a few had needed a stitch or two. Twisting around hurt, so he gave up trying to see. Sam had taken good care of him, and he trusted his brother's work. Dean peeled of the rest of his grimy clothes and stepped into the shower.

As the hot water beat down on his shoulders, Dean thought about last night. He was a little surprised at himself and embarrassed at how emotional he'd been. You'd think by this point that he'd be used to losing people he loved. He used to be able to lock down his emotions - push everything deep so that he could put on a brave face for Sam and have the strength to do what needed to be done. Of course, Sam could see right through him usually. Although his chest ached and a lump formed in his throat thinking about the family he and found and then lost in the alternative world, Dean knew he'd made the right choice in coming back to Sam. Being with his brother again last night, well, he and Sam were very different but being away from Sam was like losing an arm or a leg. A vital part was missing and he had been walking around wounded for a year. He smirked at his own thoughts, geez Dean, sappy much!

A few minutes later he was shaved, dressed and toweling dry his too long hair. He'd swing in somewhere and get it cut as soon as he got a chance. Dean picked up his tattered jacket and clothes from the night before and was surprised at the quantity of blood on his jeans and the remains of his shirt. He fished his belongings out of the jacket pockets before tossing the whole mess into the trash. With nothing else to do, Dean gingerly sat on the edge of the bed to put on some socks. He knew that Sam would be back shortly, but he was starting to feel that anxious need for his brother again. It was ridiculous how clingy he'd been last night, but he could always blame it on the blood loss and the knock on the head. Dean resisted the urge to pace the room. After what felt like an hour, but was only really a few minutes, he heard the key at the door. Getting to his feet, he dug through his duffle, pretending to be busy.

The smell of fresh coffee came in the door with Sam. "Hey, you're up!," Sam said. He put the take out tray, bag of donuts and a small greasy bag on the table before shrugging out of his jacket. Dean watched this normal everyday activity with a sense of relief. When Sam turned to hand him his cup, Dean saw his face clearly for the first time in the light. The left side of Sam's face was a bit swollen, red with a blueish undertone that told Dean that the injury was only a few days old. There was also a rough gash on his brother's cheek, too ragged for a knife. The cut was healing, but there were still a few butterfly bandages holding it together. He reached out to gently grip Sam's chin, angling the younger man's face toward the light streaming in the window.

"What happened?," Dean asked, instantly in big brother mode. Someone had hurt the kid, so in a perfect world, someone would be getting their lungs ripped out. At least if he had anything to say about it. But although it was home, this world was far from perfect. Sam reached up to wrap his long fingers around Dean's wrist but he let Dean take a look.

"Bar fight," was all Sam said.

"You got into a bar fight? Seriously? That's really not your style Sammy?" Dean was partly teasing, but also genuinely curious.

"Well, it was a bunch of homophobic jackasses who were looking for trouble," Sam said. With that he pulled Dean's hand from his face and handed him a coffee.

Dean just nodded his thanks and took a sip of the hot beverage, savoring the taste as he carefully settled into one of the chairs at the small table. He'd missed coffee since it was in short supply in the alternative world. He inhaled the fragrant steam, but then remembered something Lynn had told him about her version of Sam.

"Hey Sam," Dean said as his brother handed him the bag of donuts. "Are you gay?" Sam sputtered slightly into his coffee and gave Dean a puzzled look as he sat down on the other side of the rickety table.

"Uh, no Dean, I didn't switch teams while you were gone. Why are you asking?" Sam bit into his donut getting powdered sugar all over his flannel shirt.

"Alternative you was, that's all. He had a boyfriend before he buddied up with Lucifer." Dean could see a pained look flash across Sam's face as the younger man shifted uncomfortably. He leaned closer, mindful of his stitches, but something was going on with Sammy. "Hey are you Ok, Sam?"