This was going to be posted on Monday or Tuesday so we would have time to process the new episode over the weekend. But, like everyone now knows the CW decided that it would rather air repeats of VD and Nikita. :( So this will be posted today in the time that the episode should have been so you readers will have something to do. Thanks for all of the reviews and I hope you like this chapter.

The next chapter will most likely be posted a few days after the episode actually airs.

Gabi wrote this chapter as well :) So everything in it is thanks to her.

Ginger, the shapeshifter, hummed along during the ride home. She was in high spirits. Despite the initial shock she'd got when Sam had pointed the weapon at her, things had turned out right. The cripple was no match for her. She laughed out loud as she remembered Sam's face. The gimp had actually expected that a shifter would keep its word and would allow him to free his brother. On the other hand, she was sure Sam would have granted her the head start that he had promised. These were strange people. So merciless and yet so honest. She snorted. Her curiosity had placed her in the middle of a hunter family, of all things. She had known that either Sam or John would eventually figure out that she was not Dean. After all, they were already suspecting that there was a shifter around. But it had been too much fun to dupe them. She chuckled. Sam had actually thought he could outsmart her. Not that the gimp would have been able to hurt her without his gun with the silver bullets. Ginger doubted that the boys would have been able to get out of the sewer even if she hadn't tied Sam up. But she knew what the cripple was capable of, and she wouldn't take the risk. Apart from that, the mental image of the Winchester brothers dying a slow, painful death was a nice one to entertain. She smiled when she thought of the boys: tied up in the darkness and completely alone, not even able to talk to each other in their last moments. Casually, she wondered how long it would take them to give up and die.

Still one left. John would never know what hit him. She would talk to him normally and grab a gun, maybe pretending to check it or to just get ready for the day. Maybe it would be more fun to not kill John right away. Maybe immobilize him first. Ginger grinned. A bullet or two into his limbs would be sufficient. Then she could tell him where his beloved sons were and that they were going to starve in a dark and dirty sewer. She would watch the horror and despair in John's eyes, maybe hear him beg for his boys' lives which would be the cherry on top, and then she would kill him.

She parked the Impala behind the pickup. "Dad" was home already. Good. She jingled the keys when she got out. Maybe she would keep the car. Considering, maybe she would even keep Dean's face. It was a strange feeling to be in a man's body, but she liked it. She would be able to keep up with it for a while. Dean was handsome enough and maybe it was time to stop living in families and move on.

She had always hated these families. Families where children loved their parents and were loved by them. They showed her what she had lost. What she could never have again after her parents had cast her out in fear of what she was. She had sneaked her way into families, playing the family's daughter for a while and relishing the feeling of being loved. But it never lasted for long. It was their daughter they loved and not the thing that had taken her face. She had tried to convince herself that it was her that was loved, but she'd never succeeded for long. In the end, all she could do was kill the original and search for the next family that would never really love her.

With a smile, Ginger entered the motel room. John was sitting behind Sam's laptop and returned the smile. "Hey, Dean. Where's Sam?"

The shifter took off Dean's jacket and threw it on the bed. "He got an idea this morning and wanted to look something up in the library. I drove him there; thought you and me could have breakfast together and sort a few things out."

John nodded, pondering. "Do you remember the time when we found Sam?"

"Sure I do." Ginger grabbed a chair and sat down. She would play along for a while, curious as to what John was getting at. "Why?"

"When we brought him to the hospital to be examined, I prayed for a miracle. I prayed to a God I never believed in that there would be a chance that Sammy would walk again. Maybe not at once, but sometime in the near future. That there would be an operation or remedy that would help him. I prayed that my newly found son wouldn't be paralyzed for his whole life. That some day he would walk again." John paused, and looked at his eldest son's puzzled expression. He smiled cryptically. "I'm so happy that it has actually happened. And out of the blue, of all things."

Shocked to the very core, Ginger shot out of the chair as the meaning of John's words got through to her. Turning around, she saw Sam's wheelchair standing in the corner of the room. Shit, shit, shit! How could she have forgotten that they had left it behind on the street? That the cripple wouldn't be able to go anywhere without it? Of course, John would get suspicious! Suddenly, she noticed that Sam's gun wasn't on the chair's seat anymore. She whirled around, and found herself looking straight into the muzzle of said gun just a second before she heard it go off and felt a searing pain shooting through her leg. With a thud, she fell to the floor, already feeling the deadly silver starting to poison her blood.

"Dad!" she cried out. "What are you doing?" It was a last desperate try, but she knew it was useless. John knew.

Another bullet hit her other leg and tears sprang out of her eyes. She bit her lip to refrain from screaming. She wouldn't give him this satisfaction.

"Where are my boys?" John snarled.

On her elbows, Ginger crawled backwards. Her legs were rendered useless, she couldn't move them anymore. She hated the feeling, but it wouldn't last long. The silver was already making her dizzy, and the pain was almost unbearable. But in the end she would win. The last image she would see would be John's despair when he realized that he couldn't save his boys.

"You'll never find them," she hissed. "I've taken good care of them."

"Are they dead?" John put a bullet into her shoulder.

She cried out in pain. "No, not yet," she snarled. "But no one will find them. They're going to starve to death. Your precious boys will die of thirst and hunger, old man. And you can't do anything about it."

John got down to one knee and looked the shifter straight into the eyes. "You know what?" he said with a pleased grin. "I don't care." With that he placed a round hole right in the middle of the shifter's forehead.

Exhausted, Dean closed his eyes. He shivered in the cold of the sewer. But it was good to shiver, wasn't it? As long as he felt cold and shivered, it was not life threatening. When he stopped shivering: then he would have to worry. At least the cold water that he was still sitting in had numbed the pain in his broken leg a little bit.

He tried to penetrate the darkness with his eyes. There, just about 10 feet from him, Sam had been lying, though now he couldn't see him. Well, with a bit of imagination he could make out Sam's still form. Lying on his bound hands, Sam had no chance to move. Dean could at least move his healthy leg. Not that it did him any good. Every movement, no matter with which limb, sent sharp stabs of pain through his body. He knew that he was feverish and that his broken leg had become infected. His tongue felt like a balloon. The water Sam had given him before had helped a lot, but not enough to bring his body back into a hydrated state. He had lost every sense of time; he didn't know if he had been staying there for two days or two weeks. Idly, he wondered what would kill him first: the exhaustion, the thirst or his broken leg. In the end, it didn't matter. His mind was in such a numb state already that he didn't worry about dying.

Only when he had seen Sam had he felt a sudden outburst of rage, which had ignited him. He didn't mind to die, but knowing that Sam would die with him made his eyes water. Utter despair washed over him when he realized that he wouldn't be able to protect his little brother this time. Sam had come to him and now he had to share Dean's destiny.

Dean cursed behind the gag. How in hell could Sam have been so stupid as to trust a shifter to let them go? Sam was a trained hunter; he should have known better. But maybe he had known. Maybe his wish to be with Dean had blocked out every rational thought, and he had taken the risk just to be with him? A lonely tear ran down Dean's cheek when he thought about his loyal baby brother he loved so dearly. Never again would he playfully call him gimp and receive a teasing jerk in return. Never again would they laugh together and enjoy the banter that sometimes drove John crazy.

Dean smiled a sad inward smile when his thoughts turned to his father. Maybe they still had a chance. Maybe John would see right through the shifter and recognize it for the monster it was. But how in hell could he do so? John would think it was Dean standing before him until it was too late. Until the shifter killed him. Dean shivered again, but this time it wasn't because of the cold. He felt sorry for his father. The whole Winchester family would get killed and it was Dean's fault. How could he have fallen for a shifter? He also was a trained hunter, he should have known. How could he have been as stupid as to follow a random girl to her place, just like that? Dean closed his eyes. Maybe the shifter would tell John what he had done, that it was his fault that they all got killed. And John would die knowing that his eldest son was to blame for the death of them all.

Dean let his chin fall on his chest and started to doze off. There wasn't any sense in trying to stay awake, was there? He heard Sam grunt something behind his gag and smiled. Although he rather had it the other way, it was strangely comforting to know that Sam was there.

Suddenly Dean heard some rustling. Were the rats already coming to eat them alive? Dean raised his head. It wasn't rats. Something or someone was splashing through the water in a great hurry. He tried to shout out, and heard Sam doing the same, but the gags muffled their cries. If someone was there, they wouldn't hear them. Still, newly aroused hope quickened Dean's heart rate. They were in a maintenance room, weren't they? Although it looked filthy and not much in use, maybe someone would come here from time to time. Maybe they still had a chance.

Someone shuffled through the water. Was the shifter coming back to make short work of them? Had it already killed John and was coming back to tell them and then to kill them off?

A flashlight flickered far ahead. Whoever carried it went in the wrong direction. It wasn't the shifter. He wouldn't go by. Again, Dean tried to give a shout and he hammered his good leg onto the ground to make a sound. He hissed from the pain the action caused, but did it again when the flashlight turned around and came closer.

"Dean! Sam! You there?" If the rope around his chest hadn't kept him upright, Dean would have collapsed from pure relief. It was John. Their father was pretty much alive and was coming to get them. Sam would live, they would live.

Sam shouted against the gag. And then the light flashed over their faces and John was by their side. He put the flashlight on the shelf the same way the shifter had done and the small room was bathed in a dim light.

John crouched down beside Sam. "You okay?" When Sam nodded, John turned him onto his stomach and reached for his knife. With a swift motion he sliced through the rope that tied Sam's hands together.

John didn't stop to watch Sam pull the gag from his mouth, but was at Dean's side in an instant. Carefully, he removed his son's gag while assessing his injuries with a trained eye. "Dean! What did that damn monster do to you?"

"I'm okay, Dad," Dean groaned. "Go look after Sam."

John cast a brief glance backwards, where Sam was struggling to get into a sitting position. "Sam's fine, Dean. It's you I'm worried about." John freed Dean's hands, but left the rope that tied him to the pipe in place for the time being.

"No, Dad. Sam. You have to-" Dean tried to raise his hands, but failed with a pained grimace.

Gently, John grabbed Dean's face in both his hands and looked straight into his eyes. "Now listen to me, Dean. This isn't about Sam. Sam can look after himself. This is about you. I'm so glad to have you back, that you're alive. Now let me take care of you."

Sam dragged himself on his behind over to Dean's side. He grinned at John. "What took you so long?"

John returned the smile, a smile full of relief and love. "I had to dispose of a dead monster's body before. Couldn't risk that anyone would find it before we came back." He grabbed Dean's right hand while Sam took the left one. Together they started massaging Dean's hands to restart the blood circulation.

Exhausted, Dean closed his eyes and leaned his head against the pipe. He felt dizzy and if it wasn't for the rope that still held him in place he would have keeled over. The shifter was dead. John had somehow managed to unmask the impostor and killed it. Everything was going to be okay. He allowed himself a half smile, but suddenly a stinging pain shot through his hands. The massage was serving its purpose. Pins and needles were pricking his skin from the inside and he tried to pull his hands away.

"It'll be over soon, son," John reassured him. "We have to stimulate the blood circulation. Your hands were tied together way too long."

His brother also grabbed a tight hold of Dean's hand so that he wasn't able to pull it away. "Was it hard to find us here?" Sam asked their father.

"Not that much," John answered. "I almost got lost in this damn sewer, but I had a fairly good idea where to search."

Dean's eyes flew open. "You knew where to look for us?" he asked, incredulously. "You knew?"

Sam shot him an apologetic look. "Sorry, I couldn't tell you about it."

Dean's gaze flickered between his father and brother. "But how?"

John and Sam shared a knowing glance and smiled.

The night before:

Ginger/Dean blinked when Sam sat up beside her. "What's the matter?" she murmured grumpily.

"Sorry I woke you up, Dean" Sam whispered. "I can't sleep. It's way too hot in here. Guess I'll go outside for a few minutes to get some fresh air."

In the faint light that came from the radio clock on the nightstand, the shifter watched Sam get into his wheelchair and make his way outside. Although he tried to be as quiet as possible the footrest of his chair bumped into the post of John's bed. Ginger smirked, amused. The cripple wasn't even able to get outside without making a mess of it. Granted, as soon as Sam closed the door behind him, John shifted. "What's the matter with him?" Of course the old fox wouldn't sleep through a bump against his bed, no matter how soft.

"Sam needed some fresh air."

John nodded. "That's not a bad idea. It's too stuffy in here." He got up. "I'll join him for a while. What about you?"

The shifter sighed. What was it with this family that they wanted to do everything together, even a small thing such as getting some fresh air in the middle of the night? "Nah, I'm good," she replied, and tried not to sound too grumpy. All she wanted to do was sleep. It was bad enough that she had to share a room with two men, and sleep in the same bed with this giant gimp, but not even being able to get a decent night's sleep was too much. Maybe it was time to move on, kill this idiot who called himself a great hunter and find a place where life was fun.

"Okay," John nodded and headed for the door. "We'll be back in a few minutes."

"Whatever," Ginger grumbled under her breath and closed her eyes.

Sam looked up when John closed the door behind him and sat down on the small bench that stood in front of their room.

"What's the matter?" John asked.

"What do you mean?" Sam feigned ignorance but the smile around his lips betrayed him.

"I got your message." John stretched his legs. "Not even with a broken hand did you ever bump against furniture, when you didn't want to. You handle your chair too well to be so clumsy. So what do you want to tell me? And why don't you want Dean to know?"

"Because that's not Dean."

John frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I'm almost positive it's a shifter."

John stared at his son, unbelievingly. But then he nodded slowly, as the truth began to dawn. "Dean would have never let you fall."

"It's not only that," Sam said. "There are so many tiny things. Like he can read fluently all of a sudden. But what really threw me off is the fact that Dean is avoiding me. He tries not to touch me, doesn't sit in my wheelchair anymore and sometimes, when he thinks I'm not looking, I can see open disgust on his face. He may have Dean's form, even all of Dean's memories, but he's not a good actor."

John looked down at his hands. "Do you think Dean is dead?"

Sam sighed. "I hope not. It seems to keep its victims alive until it changes form again. My guess is that it abducted Dean and is keeping him captive somewhere."

"But you're not sure about it?"

Sam closed his eyes and sighed. "No, I'm not sure. But if I didn't believe it I would go crazy with worry. Dean can't be dead, he just can't."

John laid his hand on his son's arm. "I'm sure he isn't. You're right. A shifter needs its victims to be alive, so that it can get a constant feed of memories."

"But what if he gets enough memories?" Sam allowed the despair he was feeling seep into his voice.

John sighed deeply. "We have to find Dean. Let's go and force this thing to tell us where he is."

"I thought of that too, Dad, but I'm afraid it won't work. We have no means to force it."

"Silver bullets."

"Right, but it won't tell us anything if we just threaten it, and if we shoot it, knowing that it will die eventually will make it even less prone to tell us anything."

John bit his lip, thinking. "I guess you're right. But what're we gonna do, then?"

"I'll confront it right away."

"That's dangerous. It'll try to kill you."

"I'll surprise it when it's unarmed. I don't think it can overcome its revulsion to touch me long enough to kill me with its bare hands. It despises me because I'm disabled and that's my advantage. It doesn't consider me a threat. But I guess it can't resist the thought of toying with me. It will bring me to Dean and leave me there just to show me how superior it is. You'll just have to pick us up."

"And if it kills you both right away?"

"That's a risk I'm ready to take. I'll make sure it won't take a weapon with it and I doubt it left one with Dean. I don't think it will go to the hassle of killing us with its own hands." Sam scoffed. "It can barely bring itself to touch me. It'll find it way more satisfactory to leave us there for a while. It will come back with a weapon, telling us how it killed you just to torture us some more. It'll brag about how he managed to fool the famous Winchester family, and that it was able to bring down three experienced hunters. We can use its arrogance against it. But you have to be prepared."

"That's not a problem. But how do I find you? I'm sure the shifter will take away your cell phone."

Sam smiled. "That's why I bought a small GPS device today." He smirked at John, feigning astonishment. "You didn't really think that I'd let my stock of batteries run out, did you?" Sam snorted when John didn't answer. "Anyway, its range is not very wide, but I don't think the shifter has hidden Dean very far away. I just have to hide the device in a place where it doesn't see it. I guess I can tape it to my thigh and then you'll be able to track us down with my laptop. I didn't have a chance to install the program yet, for the shifter would have noticed, but I'll do it when it takes a shower in the morning."

"So how do we proceed?"

"You'll have to be out of the house when we get up. Just leave us a note that you're getting breakfast. Give me some time to confront the shifter. Don't follow us, I'm sure it would notice. Go back into our room and wait until it comes back."

"But what if we're wrong and it's Dean after all?"

"He isn't. Trust me, I know my brother. But if I'm wrong we'll be waiting for you sitting at the table and drinking coffee. You'll know when we're gone and Dean comes back after a while alone."

Dean looked at Sam with his eyes wide. "What kind of a stupid plan is that? You could have been killed!"

Sam shrugged. "It was pretty safe. I just felt bad that I couldn't tell you about it."

"Doesn't matter." Dean snorted in amazement. "Unbelievable. My baby brother fools a shapeshifter. How cool is that." Dean pulled his hands out of the grip of his family and wiggled his fingers, grimacing.

"How are they?" John asked.

"I won't be able to play the piano anytime soon, but I guess they're okay."

"Piano, huh?" John laughed out loud and sliced the rope that still held Dean to the pipe.

When the rope gave way Dean suddenly knew that he wouldn't be able to hold his balance. With a surprised cry he slumped forward, right into the waiting arms of his brother.

"Thanks," Dean muttered. Then he looked up. "Hey, I'm supposed to watch out for you, not the other way around."

Sam tightened his grip around Dean and hugged him fiercely. "It's good to have you back, my big, overprotective brother."

John stood up, his gaze lingering on Sam. "So you'll try again? With the real support this time?"

Sam shrugged. "Maybe."

Dean broke away from Sam. "Try again what?" he asked in confusion.

"Walking," John explained curtly.

Dean felt his strength come back to him. "You were walking?" he wondered, beaming.

"Sort of." Sam shrugged again, clearly uncomfortable with the subject.

"Sam?" Dean pierced Sam with his eyes, but when his brother continued to look down at his legs, he shifted his gaze up to John.

"He fell," John said softly.

"You fell?" Dean exclaimed. "How in hell could you fall when…" he trailed off. "That thing let you fall. That bastard was supposed to keep an eye on you and it let you fall." Dean could read everything he wanted to know in the faces of his brother and father. "Son of a bitch!" he yelled. "I'll rip its lungs out with my bare hands."

"Too late, Dean." John laid a placating hand on Dean's shoulder. "I already took care of that."

With unmasked anger in his eyes, Dean turned to Sam. "Did the thing hurt you?"

Sam shook his head. "Let's talk about that later, okay?"

"Sam's right," John agreed. "We'll have time for that later on." He fumbled in his pocket and pulled something out. "I guess you want to have this back."

Dean had trouble to identify it for a moment in the dim light of the flashlight, but then he smiled and took his necklace from his father's hand. "Thanks, Dad."

"So, how about we get you both out of here. Or do you want to make yourself comfortable?"

Dean and Sam shared a glance and shook their heads. "I guess we've had enough of this cozy apartment," Sam stated.

"Your wheelchair's in the pickup. I could fetch it," John proposed.

"And afterwards I'll spend five hours cleaning it. No, thanks. I got in, I'll manage to get out." Sam straightened out his legs and turned around to get down on his elbows.

"No," Dean exclaimed. "You can't crawl through this muddy water. Dad, you bring Sam out of here, I'll wait for you."

Sam heaved a deep sigh. "Dean, when will you ever get it in your head that it's not always about me? Stop treating me like a cripple. I'll manage. It's you who has a broken leg and almost collapsed from malnourishment. Bring him out of here, Dad. I'll be right behind you."

"You heard him." John grabbed Dean's arms and helped him to stand on his good leg. Dean stared at Sam, incredulously. John put his arm around his waist. "Come on."

It was more hobbling than walking, and Dean's healthy leg was too weak to support his weight, so after a few steps, John slid his arms under Dean's knees and picked him up.

Sam watched his father and brother with a smile. That must be new for Dean. They'd had to carry Sam from time to time, but this was the first time that John carried his oldest son. Apparently, Dean had succumbed to his weariness and had laid his head on his father's shoulder, his eyes closed.

Heaving a deep sigh, Sam started his way back. Dragging himself through the murky water wasn't any better than it had been on the way in, but his mind was at ease now. He didn't need to worry for his brother any longer. Dean was injured, but he would be okay in a while. This was the brother he could trust with his life, the brother that would never let him fall. Everything was okay now. His plan had been risky, but it had worked out fine.

Sam panted. Dragging himself through the sewer was hard work. Rounding the corner, he saw John climbing up the ladder. Dean was sitting on the ground with his back against the wall, his eyes closed. When Sam reached him he awkwardly turned around and leaned against the greasy wall with a sigh.

"You're beat," Dean stated, wearily turning his head to Sam.

"It's not really a pleasure to crawl through this swamp. But it's okay." Sam grinned. "Spares me the exercises for today."

Dean locked eyes with Sam. "Do you really feel like I treat you like a cripple?"

"Nah, I just don't like that you always put my well-being before yours. You are important, too, you know. You have to stop thinking of me as the disabled brother that needs help all the time."

"It's not like that, and you know it," Dean protested with an exhausted voice.

"Then you have to stop thinking of me as the younger brother that needs protection all the time. Because I don't. I can handle myself, you know."

Dean closed his eyes, but a smile played around his lips. "Yeah, I know. But I claim the older brother's privilege to look after his younger sibling. You'll simply have to live with it, Sammy."

"Hey boys," John shouted from above. "You ready to see daylight again? I'll throw you a rope."

"Okay, Dad." With skilled movements, Sam caught the end of the rope and slid it under Dean's arms. Dean's eyes shot open.

"You go first, Sammy. I'll help you."

Sam snorted. "Sure you do. When will you ever listen, Dean? I'm fine. It's about you now. You'll go first, and I'm going to help you. Not the other way around. And don't even try to protest, because I'm the one calling the shots right now."

Dean sighed. "Whatever you say, gimp. Whatever you say."

Sam smiled broadly as he fixed the rope. The word sounded right again. "Shut up, jerk," he said with affection. "Can you get up?"

Awkwardly, Dean slid up with his back against the wall until he was balanced on his good leg. Sam's steadying hand on his hip was rather for moral support other than actual help, because Sam couldn't really reach high enough to steady him, but it gave Dean enough confidence to let go of the wall and grab the ladder.

"Okay, Dad," Sam exclaimed, and John started to pull. With the help of the rope, Dean managed to make his way up the ladder until John could reach his arms and pull him out of the sewer.

Sam tried to grab the undermost rung, but it was out of his reach by only a few inches. Cursing inwardly, Sam leaned against the wall again. He didn't have to wait for long. A few minutes later he heard his dad whistle and then the rope came rolling down again. Relieved, Sam tied it around his chest and let John pull him up. He was glad to leave the dirty sewer behind.

Sam blinked when John pulled him into the blinding daylight. It was around noon by now. The pickup stood right in front of the gully. Sam rubbed his face and looked up at his father. "Do you have a blanket in the car? Don't want to ruin the seat."

John chuckled and, grabbing an old blanket from a box, he spread it on the passenger seat. After lending Sam a helping hand to get inside the pickup, he set the gully cover back in place.

As soon as he got onto the seat, Sam turned around to face Dean who was lying on the backseat, sipping at another bottle of water. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Dean told him through gritted teeth.

"What about the pain?"

"I wouldn't say no to a nice shot with the good stuff, but I'll manage."

John slid behind the steering-wheel. "I'll get you to the hospital ASAP." Starting the engine, he glanced at his youngest son. "I'll drop you at the motel, Sam. Go get a shower and throw these clothes and shoes in the garbage. We'd never get them clean again anyway."

"I'm going with you," Sam objected. "I'm not leaving Dean alone now."

"He won't be alone, Sammy. I'm with him." John sighed. "You can't go with us. Just look at you. They wouldn't even let you in. I guess you'll have to soak in the shower for hours before you are able to wash off the filth and mud."

"Yeah, you look like the monster from the swamp," Dean chimed in. "You may have called the shots down there, but now you stink up the whole car, gimp."

Sam turned around. "Shut up, jerk."

Dean grinned. "Stinky!"

Sam opened his mouth for a snarky retort, but he couldn't think of any. He locked eyes with Dean. Things were back to normal again. They would be fine.