"Sam's" eyes blazed evilly.

"Hey, Dean." His voice had a quality to it that was altogether unhuman, it sent chills through Dean.

"It looks like you couldn't save me after all." Sam took a few steps towards Dean; Dean held his ground.

"You know, I recall you promising that if you couldn't save me then..." Sam put his index finger to his temple and cocked his thumb, making a gun shot sound as he did so.

"So I guess the question is, can you do it? Would you kill your own brother?" Dean's body began to feel weak, the gun in his hand felt heavier than it had before. Sam continued to approach Dean.

"After all those years of protecting me, you've failed."

"I haven't failed, you're not him!" Dean blinked heavily, he felt like his brain was churning within his head. Sam stopped in his tracks and smirked.

"Aren't I?" He looked at Dean with his eyes, confusing him more and more with each passing second. Sam's expression then went from wicked to pleading.

"Please Dean! I can't control it any longer!..." Dean's outstretched arm started to shake, he really wasn't sure what was true any more.

"...I don't want to hurt you." Sam finished his act and his expression went back to one of malice. He laughed and took a few more steps.

"Pathetic, pleading for his own life...PATHETIC!" This last word seemed to echo throughout Dean's head. His breathing became shallow and the gun in his hand was now shaking quite noticably. Sam looked at the gun, smirked and knocked it out of Dean's hand effortlessly. Dean was thrown off balance and fell against a chair. Sam kicked him in the abdomen, knocking Dean to the floor. Dean coughed and tried to catch his breathe, his entire body felt like lead. Sam looked down at Dean and nudged his leg with his foot. He walked slowly over to the dufflebag a few feet away and pulled out a knife. Dean's heart raced; he tried to move his arms, his legs, anything, but could not. Sam bent down, holding the knife very close to Dean's face. He ran the blade against Dean's cheek, leaving a line of blood. Dean only managed to make a small sound of an indication of pain in the back of his throat.

"I have been wanting to do this for a very, very long time." Sam's eyes blazed as he raised the knife over Dean's chest.

"Hey!" A voice from behind "Sam" stopped him. He turned to look down the barrel of a gun. Sam pulled the trigger and a shot echoed throughout the room. Before the blood could splatter over anything, it turned into shadow and disappeared. Sam dropped the gun and ran over to Dean, kneeling down next to him.

"Dean, you alright?" Dean didn't respond. Sam realized what was wrong.

"Blink if you're ok." Dean did so with a little difficulty. Sam let out a breathe of relief and took hold of Dean's jacket, pulling him to a sitting position.

"Can you move at all?" Dean felt some sensation coming back to his body, but still couldn't imagine trying to walk.

"No." he managed to say in a little more than a hoarse whisper. Sam nodded.

"Ok." he said, letting out another breathe. Sam put his hands under Dean's arms and slowly managed to get him to his feet. Dean fell heavily against the wall right next to him.

"Son of a bitch." he mumbled. Sam put Dean's arm over his shoulder and supported him as he attempted to walk them both out of the room. They finally made into the hallway and to the top of the stairs. Sam stopped, looking down the steps skeptically.

"Uh, let's take a break, huh?" Dean nodded a little. Sam spotted a chair close by and helped Dean onto it. Dean looked gratefully up at Sam but remained silent. Sam stood there awkwardly, very aware that he had just shot "himself" in the head. He rubbed the back of his neck and stood quietly for awhile. Finally he decided to say something.

"So, that uh.."

"Don't, Sammy" Dean interrupted, staring down at the floor. Sam looked at his brother sadly and, as requested, remained silent.

"You saved my life." said Dean, looking up after awhile. Sam smiled faintly and nodded.

"Thank you." Dean added.

"You're welcome," said Sam softly. Dean lifted his hand and wiped the line of blood of his cheek. He looked at the color it made his fingers with disgust. He then smiled faintly, looking at Sam.

"That'd better not leave a scar." Sam laughed, relieved by the joke of vanity. Dean put his hands firmly on the arms of the chair and pushed himself up. Almost all feeling had returned to him and he felt confident enough to try walking. He stood for a few seconds, getting used to standing again, and nodded shortly.

"Ok, let's get the hell out of here." Sam followed Dean closely, keeping an eye on his stability. They made it down the stairs and out of the house. The mother was still holding her child tightly, looking extremely confused.

"Thank you, both of you." She seemed unsure of what she was thanking them for, but her gratitude was sincere nontheless.

There was complete silence from both brothers as Sam drove back to the hotel. When they reached their destination, Sam unlocked the hotel-room door. Dean stumbled in and immedietely fell onto his bed.

"I don't think a bed has ever looked more inviting." His voice was again muffled by a pillow.

"Oh.." Dean raised his head.

"..Except for maybe that time in Ohio with that red-head." Dean chuckled and grinned. Sam laughed and shook his head. He knew that Dean wasn't really in THAT good of a mood, but it made Sam feel better to know that he was trying so hard to seem like he was...for him.