AN Edit 19/03/11: This fic is now an AU (I say now, I mean in the sense that it now has a fully complete working plot) as of 5x18- an alternative ending for the apocalypse basically. Enjoy!

Sam chases his demon outside and Dean's left with the one in the house. The one that's backed itself into a corner in such a way that Dean knows it's not going to be an easy fight.

He reaches down for Ruby's knife which was in his pocket, "Shit." Pocket's empty. His eyes widen as he begins patting down his other pockets, hands flying over denim, even though he's pretty sure it's not in any of them.

He looks up in time to see the demon, wearing a young Latino woman, smirking as it saunters closer.

"Oh shit."

"Yes," the demon agrees, flipping its long dark hair over its shoulder. And, damn, if she wasn't possessed, Dean would hit that- But she is, so maybe time to imagine how that'd go later, like alone in the shower later. "Not so strong without your pretty little knife now, are you?"

"Whatever," Dean says casually, not really interested in having a conversation with the murdering bitch, as he looks around for something he can use as a weapon. The only things in the room are a mirror and a pair of curtains so old and nasty looking he wouldn't wipe his ass on them if he ran out of paper.

"No witty comeback this time?" the demon teases, sauntering closer as she curls a strand of her hair round her finger. "You really are in deep shit."

"Not as much as you." Dean says, praying that his brother would come running through the door with Ruby's knife, "Any minute now Sammy..."

"Too late," the demon grins nastily before moving too fast and sending Dean flying into the mirror hanging above the fireplace.

His back hits the ground with a heavy thud, knocking the wind out of him. Nothing feels damaged and he can't feel any broken bits of mirror digging into his skin. Huh. Even so, he doesn't open his eyes, years of hunting experience kicking in and he knows playing dead sometimes is the best option. He can sense a figure looming over him and he realizes that he's outside, it's twenty degrees too hot and the sun is scorching his face. What the fuck just happened?

He can't wait any longer; it could be anyone standing over him, so he leans forward sharply, hands groping blindly for his attacker's throat and he opens his eyes.

"Sam?" Dean grins, relieved beyond belief that it's not some murdering psychopath or demon or some fucked up combination of the two. "Where the hell am I? What just happened?"

Sam frowns from where he's squatting over Dean, before he stands up wiping his hands on his pants, "You must have your hit your head pretty hard, dude. I just paid for the gas and found you out here flat on your back."

"Where am I?" Dean squints into the sunlight and looks around the gas station they've pulled up in. It's near deserted save for one man sitting on the corner in a chair, surrounded by stacks of crumpled, yellowing paper and looking like he's spent the majority of his life there.

Sam offers his hand. "You feeling okay?"

"I don't know," Dean says frowning as he pulls himself up with Sam's ginormous hands and brushes the sandy dirt off his pants, "last thing I know it was dark and we were in some house kicking demon ass. Next minute I'm here."

Sam leans away from his brother, putting some distance between them, and frowns before a thoughtful look comes over his face, "I think I know what's happened here; but let's go back to the room and Cas can look you over."

Dean nods, rubbing the back of his head, relieved that he's found his brother in this strange place he's in and opens the door of the Impala, her presence easing his homesickness a little, ready to go.

"What you doing Dean?" Sam asks, pulling him back and pushing him towards the other side of the car.

Dean protests, "What'd you mean? I'm driving."

Sam shakes his head and grabs the keys off Dean, "Seriously, dude? You just got here. For all I know, you could pass out at the wheel."

Dean hates it when Sam is right, so acquiesces in the only way he can—by threatening his little brother, "You get a scratch on her..."

"Just get in the car," Sam mutters, rolling his eyes as he sits down and turns the engine on, far too harshly in Dean's opinion, but he doesn't say anything as he sits down in the passenger seat.

The ride back to the room isn't that long, but Dean's bored and fed up and too tired to make conversation so he clicks his tongue and makes every sound imaginable with his mouth as he watches the morning sun out of his window, evidently winding Sam up but simultaneously reassuring himself that everything will ultimately be okay since Sammy is still Sammy.

"Do that one more time," Sam interrupts, "and I'll throw you out the car without stopping."

Dean opens his mouth to call him a miserable little bitch, but Sam interrupts him again, "Or slowing down."

Dean's mouth snaps shut with an audible snap, which is totally unfair, since it's his car.