There was a fog in his brain. At least that's how it felt at the moment, like a waterless mist had settled onto his Frontal lobe, casting vapors across each thought as it came and went, the neural firings stimulating his coming awake. Sam was aware of lying down, of the spot in which he laid being very soft, and that same softness both covered as well as supported him.

He'd passed out obviously, his mind blacking out in defense against the chaos in his head, retreating by form of temporary "shutdown".

Do you remember, Sam?

Remember. Something he wanted to do. Something that could give him answers. Something that could kill him. Break him. Condemn him.

Do you remember Hell Sam?

Hell? Oh yes he remembered, much to his dismay. He remembered the burning. The endless torture for over a year; which felt like more than a century. But now to be back, to have these memories with him on the surface, it was almost as if he'd brought a bit of Hell back with him.

Do you remember where you belong?

When had he ever belonged anywhere? He hadn't even felt as though he belonged at Bobby's. The "outcast" title seemed to fit him no matter where he stumbled upon and attempted to make some kind of roots. Wait….was he talking to himself?

Do you remember me Sam?

That voice…...it sounded like…..

"So you're awake."

Sam opened his eyes to a white ceiling with bronze trim, a large window framed with white curtains to his right, sunlight streaming in through the glass. Wooden panels decorated the lower halves of the walls with wooden trim, and there was a chart or two hanging off thumbtacks. The softness he'd noticed earlier turned out to be the white sheets on his hospital bed, and over to his left…..

"Never seen a guy faint before. You must have some real issues after all."

He turned his gaze to see Edward Elric, braided blond hair with a bit sticking out like an antenna, adorning a hospital shirt and pants. He appeared to be uninjured save for the bit of bandage peeking out from under his left shirtsleeve, and as for his right arm…..

There wasn't one. Instead what should've been a limb made of flesh and bone was one made of metal, and it's current function was to prop up Ed's chin as he sat in a chair facing Sam, a look of disgruntlement generating creases in his forehead. The elbow of his non-metal arm rested against his left leg which, when Sam's gaze traveled further south, revealed that not only was his right arm made of metal but his left leg as well. The "toes" of the "foot" wriggled slightly, as though silently proving that this was a fully functional limb, even though Sam already knew that. Last night's endless parade of insane Elric-stunts was proof enough of that.

"Don't look so surprised. It's not as if you weren't expecting to see this."

Sam's gaze snapped back to look directly into Ed's eyes, they were a mellow gold, full of distrust and unconcealed dislike. But the younger hunter couldn't guess what it was that could possibly have driven Ed to have an aversion to him like this when he didn't even know him.

"So Al tells me you've been snooping, asking him questions about things that don't concern you."

Sam pushed himself into a sitting position, leaning back against his pillow, the covers falling away to reveal his own hospital gear; same kind of shirt and pants that Ed was wearing. "What about it?" He'd understood that his asking Al about something obviously personal was risking stepping across some boundaries, but he didn't think it warranted the kind of attitude Ed was currently bestowing on him.

"It's none of your damn business that's what," Ed's blatant detest of Sam's interference dripping into his voice like snake venom. "I don't care what you heard Sam, or what you think you know. Whatever happened is our personal business and it doesn't need to be dissected by outsiders."

Sam couldn't resist provoking him, his own anger fueling a cynical remark, "You mean like the fact that your bodiless-brother's soul is attached to a suit of armor?"

The reaction Sam received was nothing less than he'd expected; the instant rush of blood that reddened the younger boy's face, the squeak of the chair as it slid back from his jumping to his feet, the accusatory expression as he pointed a finger at Sam, obviously upset over the question.

"You don't know a damn thing about it! Just stay the hell away from us you hear?"

Even though he'd prepared himself for an outburst, Edward's spastic moment still surprised him a little. Before he could open his mouth to retort Ed turned on his heels and stomped out of the room, metal foot making metallic slapping noises against the floor, slamming the door behind him.

It had all happened so fast that Sam hadn't known whether to yell after that idiot kid or shout at him to go screw himself. So what if he knew about Al? He wasn't planning on blackmailing them or selling them out to the media for a quick buck. Sam had acted as the jerk in the past but he wasn't the type to pull a dick-move like that. Okay maybe he would've done something worthy of an Asshole Award if was still without his soul, but things were different now. Ed just needed to take a moment and settle down before he mouthed off again and someone, most likely Dean, decided to knock him out just so he'd shut up.

What the hell had happened to those kids? More specifically, what the hell had happened to Al?

Whatever it was, it must've been pretty awful for Ed to become authoritative and demand, in a rude fashion, that Sam leave it alone. The kid was obviously stressed about something, but Sam doubted it had anything to do with Isaac, the man was dead after all, no longer a threat to society. Ed had wanted to stop him before he could hurt anyone else, and he'd been stopped in the end as was the main goal. That's all there was to it really; unless the pipsqueak was pissed that he didn't get to off the guy himself.

If that was the case, in Sam's own opinion, the boy's life was sadder than he dared to think about. The difference between wanting to kill, and having no choice but to was a few degrees of insanity. It was enough to push the right buttons and quite possibly make a person snap.

A knock on the door disturbed his thoughts. Sam was beginning to wonder if this was becoming a norm for him in this place. This alternate reality, whatever it was. "Come in."

He expected it to be Dean, or perhaps some other individual with whom he'd encountered last night that had decided to pay him a visit. Sam secretly wished it would be Al, simply because he wanted to ask him a few more questions before Ed could step in again.

But it was none of the above that walked in through the door. Fuhrer Bradley stepped into the room, sword-less and grinning, carrying what appeared to be a large rounded basket wrapped up in some kind of paper and tied off at the handle with a large ribbon made into a bow.

The nightly darkness had obstructed Sam from getting a good look at Bradley last night, but now in the light of day his features were quite clear. His hair slicked back once again, not a strand out of place save for the tiny wisps of hair that dangled above his forehead. He once again wore the eye-patch, which still had Sam wondering, and based on the slight creases in his face he appeared to be in either his fifties or sixties, but his level of energy and the raw sense of power that radiated off of him gave the impression that he was younger at heart; and lived as such.

Sam felt that familiar unsettling feeling of suspicion creep down his spinal cord and dripping into his very bones. Why the hell would the Fuhrer come to pay him a visit? Even more than that, why bring him a gift?

"Hello again Sam Winchester. I was told you'd had an unfortunate blackout and thought I'd come by and visit you to give you an official token of my thanks." He held up the basket, "It is customary to present a patient with a melon, as a way of saying 'Get Well Soon'." He closed the distance between himself and the patient-in-question, presenting the melon in such a nonchalant fashion that reeked of regal-like subtext simply by being an act of the Fuhrer himself and not just some random civilian or nurse.

Part of him wanted to knock the basket out of the Fuhrer's hands and confront him right then and there, but that wouldn't be the logical thing to do, nor would it help him in his internal struggle over the Fuhrer's identity. Instead Sam reached out and took the offering, setting it on the table on the right side of his bed with a nod and a "Thank you sir".

The Fuhrer's casual demeanor gave Sam the impression that, regardless of his high rank and obvious leader-ly strength, it was nothing new for him to personally visit someone in the hospital. Nor was it out of the ordinary to present them with a gift.

He clasped his hands together behind him, that triumphant grin on his face, like a cat that had just swallowed the canary. Sam had the unsettling feeling that he just might be the canary, even though it didn't make any sense, it was just a hunch. "Consider it a 'Thank You' as well for your help in the previous evening's fiasco. It is nice to know that we have the support of our citizens when dealing with national threat."

Sam tried to ignore the warning signals going off in his head, "'National threat' sir?"

"Isaac McDougal was a traitor and a criminal," Bradley answered him, his voice reminiscing what most politicians sound like when giving a ground-breaking speech. "He would've succeeded in overthrowing not only myself, but this country as well."

Sam furrowed his brow at that, "And no one was able to stop him before he could become almost-successful?" Immediately realizing that his question challenged the Fuhrer's standpoint, he quickly added in another "Sir" out of respect.

But Bradley merely chuckled, "You'd be surprised at how conniving a person can be with enough intellect and patience Sam. And it is in that state of mind that a man discovers what he is truly capable of, enough to overpower an enemy with a single blow just as long as it's the right kind of blow."

Sam had the distinct feeling that Bradley was referring to more than just Isaac and the manner in which he was officially brought down, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what it could be. Still though, he couldn't shake of the sensation of being threatened.

Or maybe he was being paranoid. The Fuhrer had no reason to hurt him, or even kill him, so why the shady vibes every time Sam came into the contact with the guy?

From out in the hall a frantic "Has anyone seen the Fuhrer?" could be heard loud and clear, accompanied by a shuffling of footsteps headed in their direction.

Bradley's gaze flickered over his shoulder towards the door, then he refocused on Sam to offer a million-dollar smile. "Well I must be off now. It was nice seeing you again Sam Winchester."

He immediately scurried over to the window, opening it, then throwing a leg over and jumping onto the ground outside. He looked back into the room long enough to say, "Enjoy that melon son," before disappearing out of view, muttering something about his bodyguard.

For a split second Sam had this insane urge to laugh. Here was a man, who radiated some strange demon-like vibes, was obviously a skilled fighter, acting like a celebrity disappearing out the backdoor of a restaurant to avoid the paparazzi that stalked just outside the front window. Not to mention he'd visited Sam as though they were friends instead of enemies-to-be (or so it felt), and he'd even given him a melon as a gift.

If Sam hadn't believed that Bradley was altogether "there", he definitely did now.

The door opened again, this time without a knock, to reveal the six-foot-three of hungry hunter Dean, balancing a tray of food in one hand, two bottles of milk in the other, a folded piece of paper clenched between his teeth. He bustled into the room, using his back to close the door behind him, and strode over to sit in the chair that Ed had occupied several moments ago.

"How you doing?" Dean asked immediately, setting all the stuff on the table next to Sam's bed, the piece of paper now in his right hand caught between his ring and pinky fingers and his palm as he shifted the table from the left side of the bed in order to set it between himself and Sam. The younger hunter tossed the covers aside and swung his legs around to sit face-to-face with Dean.

"I'm fine," Sam replied, the sight of the food making him realize how hungry he was, he instantly snatched up the fork and spoon his brother had provided and began digging in mashed potatoes, peas, carrots, and Salisbury steak. Dean didn't seem to mind that he wouldn't be sharing the main course but he compensated by stealing away Sam's bowl of cherry Jell-O and diving in with his own spoon that he'd fished from his jacket pocket.

"You sure?" Dean inquired further, glancing up at his brother with a look of the kind of concern that Sam knew would only lace the burden further with worry if he 'fessed up about how he really felt.

"Yeah I'm good. Scout's honor," Sam nodded, stuffing his mouth with some of the potatoes and cutting off bites of his steak with the fork before swallowing them down as well.

"Alrighty then," Dean replied, turning back to "his" dessert with a nod, "that's good." He pointed his spoon towards the door, "D'you hear all the commotion outside?"

Sam nodded, "Yeah they were looking for the Fuhrer. I think it was his bodyguards or something, more than likely that's who it was. A man with his status, you wouldn't want him walking around without some kind human protection." He reached over and plucked one of the milk bottles, popped the top, and took three heavy swallows, his stomach settling in the food and drink with gratitude from being filled again.

"How the hell do you misplace a guy like him anyway?" Dean commented jokingly, chuckling at the very thought. "I mean it's not like he'd be hard to spot in a crowd, guy's got a friggin' eye-patch for crying out loud."

"He was here," Sam answered immediately, wanting to talk with Dean finally about his hunch on the Fuhrer. After the visit he'd just received earlier, his suspicions were becoming more solid.

"You mean he came to see you?" Dean furrowed his eyebrows, setting the empty Jell-O bowl aside, spoon clanking against the glass. "Why? What did he want?"

"Nothing," Sam replied, "except to give me that melon and tell me thank you for helping out." He nodded in the direction behind him where the paper-wrapped basket sat, still unopened.

"Hmmm," Dean snagged the uneaten roll Sam had left sitting on the tray and took a large bite, chewing as he spoke, "You'd think a grown man in the hospital would get some porn mags or even a pie, hell a case of beer would be nice. But a damn melon?"

Sam shrugged, "You got me." He lowered his voice slightly, "And that's not even the end of how strange things have been with him."

Dean's eyebrows arched in perfect harmony, "Really?"

Sam explained his initial instinct upon meeting Bradley, the sensation that the Fuhrer was something more than a Fuhrer, and how that foreboding feeling had happened again when Bradley had entered his room, casual as can be, and offered him a melon. Then there was the things he'd said about Isaac, the way his words seemingly had had a double-meaning that sounded threatening.

"I don't know for sure if he's shady but I think it's worth looking into."

"You're not the only one," Dean replied, his eyes focused on some point at the end of the bed. "I've had those same vibes on and off since we arrived here, but they got worse once we were in the city. Something's not right here." He looked back at Sam, his expression almost grave, "I'll top your weirdness with some of my own." He held up the folded piece of paper.

Sam frowned, "What is it?"

"You know how we usually skip out before the insurance BS comes into play at the hospitals? Or when we give them a phony credit card so we don't have to pay out of our pockets?" Dean unfolded the paper and tossed it to Sam, "Well it seems that we don't have to worry about that here. Check that out."

Sam picked up the paper and began to read a page-worth of information regarding how their, Sam and Dean's, insurance was covering the medical expenses, the insurance company stated in the appropriate box labeled with "Central Care Insurance Co." Under the names section both he and Dean were listed as recipients of this insurance for both medical and property damage dependent upon the state of the situation.

"What the - ?"

"I know I don't get it either," Dean answered. "Bobby's off to the nearest bank to see what the hell's going on but from the looks of it….."

"Someone set us up with insurance, meaning we should have money," Sam finished for him, the gears in his brain already turning with trying to figure this one out.

"Yeah but who would want to set us up with insurance? We're not from here; they don't even know we exist except for that piece of paper and the fact that we gave our names to the front desk here at the hospital."

"Well," Sam began, the gears having reached a valid, yet crazy, point. "It could only have been done by someone who knew we'd be here." He folded up the piece of paper and handed it back to Dean, "Probably the same person…...or thing…...that brought us here in the first place."

Dean took the paper back and stuffed it into his inside jacket pocket, "You mean the same person or thing that's probably watching us do the monkey dance right now?" He banged a fist on the table, "Well whoever this bastard is, I'm sick of this crap already, what is this anyway some kind of joke?"

Sam didn't know how to answer that, his own train of thought about the subject ending up going in circles each time he tried to view things from a different angle, but in the end he came up with nothing.

So they had insurance, which meant that they had money. Why here? Who would've known they'd end up here? And why help them out this way? Another angel perhaps? God?

Sam had pondered over this before, but the more he'd thought about it, the more absurd it seemed. No other angels had ever offered to help them that weren't already dead, missing, or gone rogue; the rest either hated them, wanted them dead, or just didn't give a crap. And God? As far as one God-O-Meter amulet and the advice from one angel Joshua were concerned, God was gone. So that left what exactly?

A landfill full of questions with no clue as to where to start looking.

"Sam?"

Sam refocused on Dean, "Yeah?"

"How are you? Really?" Dean inquired, his gaze going soft in that way that reminded Sam of when they were kids and Dean had to look after him while dad was gone on a hunt. It made him feel strangely vulnerable for some reason, as though Dean could sense that the effects of his "Wall" collapsing were on the verge of cutting him off at the knees.

"I told you I'm alright," Sam tried to reassure him, but even to his own ears he sounded uncertain.

Dean stared at him for a moment, a sad look in his eyes; it hurt Sam to see that look on his brother's face, knowing that Dean carried a heavy burden on his shoulders that was only made worse by his worry for Sam's well-being.

"I want to believe you Sam," Dean began, his voice sounding fragile. "But your little fainting stunt earlier, not to mention the nosebleed and the fact that your eyes rolled into the back of your head….it's got me worried."

Sam had been hoping they wouldn't attempt to analyze what had happened, it was bad enough that he'd fainted in the first place, talking about it only seemed to make it even worse. He didn't want Dean to worry about him, but at the same time he needed someone to talk to, and who better than his own brother. In truth, Dean was really the only person he wished to discuss this with.

"Nosebleed?" Sam reached up absent-mindedly to feel around his upper lip, as though he expected to find a spot of blood there, knowing there wouldn't be any since they would've cleaned him up. "And my eyes rolled too?"

Dean nodded, his expression more grave than before. "The doctor filled me in on the eye-rolling bit but the nosebleed was pretty obvious. Look Sam I know what you're trying to do, and I'm telling you to stop. Keeping it from me isn't going to make it any easier in the long-run," He leaned across the table, his tone deathly-serious. "I mean what's going to happen the next time you black out? I'm worried that a couple more drops will make you into a veg."

"That's why I didn't want to tell you Dean," Sam replied, trying to keep his voice calm so as not to stir any more worry. "You can't help me with this, why bring you down with me? Do you want to suffer too?"

"You're my brother dammit, I suffer with you even if it's some crap that doesn't even involve me," Dean replied fiercely. "What? Am I supposed to have permission to worry about you? You're my family of course I'm going to worry, that's how it always is with us: we worry, we shoot and kill something, we worry some more, we eat pie, drink beer and try to pretend that our lives aren't cesspools full of the crappiest crap there is."

Sam was silent for a moment. He knew Dean was right, but he still couldn't shake off the innate urge to shield his brother from the storm raging inside his head. It was bad enough that one of them had to suffer with Hell's burn marks on Sam's mind and soul. Dean shouldn't have to go through it alongside him; he'd already had his share of Hell's handy work he didn't need to prolong the anguish by diving into Sam's own torture.

He knew that he could argue his point until he was blue in the face, and Dean would still dig his heels in and demand that Sam be honest with him about these things, so he opted to just be silent. Let Dean stew over it for a while, but Sam was going to have to be more careful in the future about not fainting again.

Their argument was interrupted by the return of Bobby, carrying a manila folder under one arm, using both hands to hold three cups of steaming hot coffee. He immediately set the cups down on the small table before taking a seat next to Sam, setting the folder down beside him.

"So how'd it go?" Dean inquired, his poker face having replaced the grim expression. Obviously Bobby wasn't going to hear about the argument. Not yet at least.

"Well we can skip the witty comments about the level of crazy we're constantly plunging into and just hit straight on the mark," he held up the folder in his right hand. "This contains papers regarding our insurance information, paperwork on separate bank accounts for you, Sam, and me. And then there's something else…"

They both stared at him for a moment, and when he didn't answer right away, prompted Sam to ask the obvious follow-up. "And?"

"Well according to our financial representative at the Central Bank," Bobby leaned forward on his leg with his free hand, "not only do we each have our own money but apparently…we have a damn house."

Dean and Sam's eyes both widened and narrowed in perfect synchronization, and Dean replying with, "Seriously? How the hell did that happen?"

"What? Did I forget to mention I bought a house for us here in Amestris?" Bobby countered sarcastically. "I had a feeling we'd need a vacation from…well…..the whole damn planet Earth really."

Sam reached over for the folder, shoving the empty plate away in order to set it on the table, where he began rifling through the papers. Bobby was right; everything was there, including the deed to said house that they "owned". According to the list of names, the three of them owned it together, and it was already paid in full, and in cash too.

Dean shook his head, overlooking Bobby's smartass remark, "But this doesn't make any sense. It's like Sam said earlier, someone must've known we'd be here and decided to hook us up with some money, and now apparently a place to stay." He scoffed, leaning back in the chair, dragging his lower lip through his teeth in a thoughtful manner.

"Well it ain't all that peachy and it definitely don't smell right," Bobby pointed out, "but I say we take what we can get, considering we don't have Jack squat of anything right now. Not even a place to sleep, much less anything to eat. And we need to get the essentials."

Sam looked up, "Pass any gun stores along the way?"

Bobby nodded, "One for sure on the way to the bank, but I have a feeling the permit issue is going to be a bigger pain here seeing as our credentials are slightly limited."

"It's the early 1900's," Dean retorted, his agitation over the whole situation surfacing once again. "I think as long as you're over the age of consent you don't need credentials."

"In case it's slipped through a hole in your head, I'd like to remind you that we're not in the same world anymore, so the usual rules may not always apply," Bobby reminded him. "We're gonna have to test the waters first but if worst comes to it…"

Dean sighed heavily, nodding in silent submission. "Okay then, what about booze? After all the crap that happened last night, and the side-dish of it this morning I could go for some shots."

"Well we're in luck," Bobby gathered the folder and its contents together. "Liquor store's just down the street. From the looks of it, they've got the good stuff. But at the moment I'm more concerned about the guns, seeing as how they're more important than something to help dull your brain…."

"We could make them."

Bobby and Dean each turned to look at Sam bemusedly, Dean sitting forward in his chair once again. "Make them? How?"

Sam looked at them both carefully, having already made up his mind to do this, but just not certain about how they would react to the idea. "Alchemy of course. They use it for a lot of things here, why not just make our own weapons? We could even customize them if necessary."

"Do you realize how crazy that sounds?" Dean jabbed a finger against the table. "We don't know diddly-squat about Alchemy and even if we did…how do you know it won't be a risk? You said so yourself, it was something beyond what we're used to; translation: risky as fuck."

"I'm just saying it's an option Dean," Sam wanted to cut him short before Dean went into some kind of lecture-mode.

"It's not that bad of an idea actually," Bobby piped in, offering his support. "At least, it wouldn't hurt to look into this stuff. Hell if anything I just want to know what all can be done with it."

Sam frowned, "Dean fill you in?"

Bobby nodded again, "Right about the time we divorced you from the tile actually." He seemed to think for a moment, weighing the options, "It's an idea there's no denying it, but you might want to do some reading up on it first. I'd hate for one or both of you muttonheads to get yourselves killed by doing something stupid like trying to morph a bazooka and end up blowing your own hands off."

Both boys nodded, Dean rising out of his chair. "Alright let's go, I'm ready to ditch this place."

About an hour later, when all the paperwork was finished and Sam was officially released (with the warning to return if this happened again), they made their way to the exit. Sam had tried in vain to see if he could spot either of the Elrics about, but no sign of them could be visible. They must've already gone home since Sam's last encounter with them, which was too bad really. The two of them were obviously skilled alchemists, they could've been a great help.

Once outside, the trio stood on the sidewalk facing the street, that emblematic sensation of "What do we do now?" settling in on all three of them.

Dean was the first to speak, "Bobby? Did any of those papers happen to include any information about having a car?"

Bobby, looking disconcerted, did a sort of shrugging motion with his mouth. "Sorry Dean, no dice on a car."

Dean nodded, scoffing once again, "Well that's just great." Then he set off down the street.