Sam was sitting partially upright on Buffy's bed, back pressed to the pillows that had been propped up behind himself. He hated this. Hated being trapped, hated feeling like he had no control over the situation. Sam needed that control. He had been trying to work out who out there possibly had this kind of power (certainly not a demon...right?), when the sound of a pair of voices coming from somewhere on the opposite side of the apartment made him break away from the chain of thought he'd been having. Pushing some of Buffy's stupid hair out of his eyes, Sam looked over to see...himself. And Ruby. Except not so much, because he knew that the people bearing those forms were really Buffy and Dean. He inwardly cringed; that same cringe turned external quickly enough though, especially when Sam chose to sit upright a bit more out of surprise.
"Please tell me that the two of you found a miracle cure," Sam said, his growing frustration with both the pain in his stomach and the stupid...smallness of being small and Buffy showing as he spoke. Sounding like a girl. He wasn't even concerned about the pain reducing remedy that Ruby had in mind. The only thing that mattered to Sam right now was getting back to his body before something bad happened. Like him dying from this stab wound. Or him needing blood. Because, fuck no, he was not drinking off his brother's body. He'd rather die a long and painful death.