Sam was about to turn for the stairs, but a distant shout made him stop. He flipped his flashlight in the other direction, peering into the darkness. Whatever tension was between him and Dean bled away, or at least retreated for the time being, and Sam felt weirdly grateful.

He took a cautious step forward. One hand lingered along the grip of his gun. He glanced over at Dean, exchanging a look with his brother. You hear that?

That was definitely something. Seemed like it was coming from the hallway just a bit up ahead. They weren't in the best position to be taking down anything—a bullet could only get you so far—and hell, both he and Dean were still in crap shape from the past week and a half, but there was no way they could leave it if someone might be hurt. He knew without asking that Dean's thoughts weren't straying far from those lines, either.

[rescuing Sylar here]