"Sammy!" Dean's back arched and he screamed his brother's name a few more times. His body was on fire, and he prayed Sam could find a way to make it stop. The only thing he could focus on was the pain. It was like hell. And Dean knew. He'd been there. Only this was real, he was alive, and this just didn't end. The room blurred and the feeling of flying finally took the pain away and he rested.

Standing up, Sam turned to Bobby. "We can't just keep shooting him up, Bobby. How do we get him off the shit?"

"Just like we are, kid. Cut him back a little more each day. We're down to about half of what those assholes were giving him, right?"

Sam nodded. "Do I need to go do anything?"

"No." Opening a beer, Bobby handed one to Sam before sitting down. "Torched everything. Can't afford for anyone to find anything that traces back to you or your brother. Might have been assholes, but they were still hunters." The way Sam had literally shot his way through the hunters to get to his brother had reminded him too much of the Menendez-RoboSam that he'd faced last year. Six bodies with more holes then swiss cheese had been left in the warehouse.

"Any sign that I need to find anyone else?"

Bobby knew if he said there might have been other hunters involved, Sam wouldn't rest until they were dead. But he hadn't found anything. "No. I told you. I think you got all of them."

"Good. Just wish I'd had time to make it more painful."


"Don't, Bobby. Just….. don't. They did this to him to get to ME. Don't you get that? This is my fault and I have to take care of it." Crossing the room, Sam sat down next to his brother. "Thousands of ways to keep Dean quiet until they could get me to show. They had to use fucking heroin."

"It's over, Sam. All we have to do is get him off the shit. He's going to be fine."

"Sammy?" Dean opened his eyes and looked around. "How the hell are ya, kid?"

"I'm good, Dean. And you're stoned."

"I'm so fucking stoned….. holy shit, Sammy. What the fuck did you give me?"

"Same shit, Dean." He had this conversation a dozen times since pulling Dean out of the building. "You're getting better. Just need to work you off of it."

"I get hurt? Something kick my ass?"

"Yes, Dean." Sam tried to not sound like he was tired of having this conversation. "Hunters. They're gone."

"You get 'em, Sammy?"

"Yeah, I got 'em."

"Bitchy. Fuckin' bitchy, Sammy."

"Go to sleep, Dean."

"Why? You'll be just as bitchy when I wake up again." Dean stretched across the bed. "Should try some of whatever you gave me."

Sam's eyes rolled before they met Bobby's. "Yeah, that would be a fan-fucking-tastic idea."

After Dean closed his eyes again, Sam stood. "I'm going to run out of it. Hate like hell to buy more. You know he's going to kick my ass when he finds out I've been shooting him up for an week now."

"I don't know what to tell you, Sam." Bobby shrugged. "Might be able to score some Methadone?"

"Be better then this shit. Not only do I hate having to give it to him, it's getting harder to find. Dealers don't like me very much."

"Not that I have a problem with it, but you've beat up or threatened to shoot enough of them that none of them want you to look at 'em, kid." He shrugged. "Good news is that few that are willing to sell to you know better then to sell you something bad."

Sam snorted at that. "Something worse then heroin. Christ, Bobby. What the fuck do I do?" In that second, the bad ass son-of-a-bitch that had killed six men and personally scared off most of the dealers in town to help his brother looked like the four year old that Bobby remembered crying because that same brother ate the last cookie.

That was the Sam that Bobby loved and wanted desperately to help. "Sam, you're doing everything you can. We'll get him through it. You and I both know they could have done a lot worse to him. This we can work with. Once we get him weaned a little more, we can cut it off."

"Sammy!" Dean's slurred voice interrupted them. "Stop it! Stop them! God Dammit, Sammy answer me!" His skin was being pulled from his body, muscle tearing, joints popping. The pain dragged tremors from him, leaving him desperate to get away. Something grabbed him. "Not fucking happening!" The feel of his fist connecting with flesh gave him a second of satisfaction, but no repreive from the agony coursing through his body.

Bobby was completely at a loss. Dean writhed on the bed begging Sam to stop whatever his drug induced mind was seeing, while Sam was spitting the blood from a split lip into the trashcan. Standing, the older hunter got Sam a wet washcloth.

"Might have to tie him down."

After nodding his thanks and holding the cloth over his lip, Sam shook his head. "Not gonna tie him down. You don't know what that's like, Bobby. You just don't….." His voice drifted off and he stared at his brother.

A memory of Sam tied to a cot in the Panic Room flashed through Bobby's mind. He and Dean had done what was necessary to protect Sam from himself, but neither of them had ever asked Sam if he remembered it. Or how he felt about it. Any of the times they had done it. "Sam,"

"No!" Standing by the bed, Sam made sure Dean's thrashing wouldn't drive him off the bed to the floor without touching him. "Forget it. I'm not tying him down like some fucking monster."

And there it was. That was a can of worms Bobby would be just as happy to never have to dig into. But protecting Dean meant getting Sam to do whatever was necessary. "Is that what you think?"

The shock in Sam's eyes told the older man that he'd never meant to say that outloud. "Doesn't matter. Not doing it."

"You listen, princess. Your brother and I did what we had to do to stop you from flying all over the god damned room. Wasn't because we thought you were a monster. Wasn't because of anything other then you almost split your fucking head open before you started seizing. 'Bout killed Dean to put those straps on you. I'm sorry we threw another issue into your already overloaded boatload of issues. But I'm not here to hold your hand and make you feel all better. I'm here to help you get Dean back on his feet. So we're gonna do whatever we have to do to keep him safe and get him back. And once we do, you can tell him that and he can tell you it's not true before he bitchslaps you for being an idjit!" Bobby sighed. "We good?"

Almost smiling, Sam nodded. Before anyone could say another word, Bobby's phone rang. "Maybe just once somebody that owes me something will actually pay me the fuck back." Grabbing the phone, he answered it gruffly. "Singer!"

Dean yelled for his brother again, and Bobby took the phone outside. Slowly, Sam approached him, but before he could reach his brother, the seizure caught the older brother and he began to thrash around the bed. All Sam could do was shove all the pillows above him so he wouldn't hit his head on the headboard and stand close to keep him from falling off the bed. With Bobby outside and Dean out of it, Sam stopped fighting the tears and allowed them to finally fall. He wished he could bring all of those hunters back so he could kill them again. Slowly. They actually believed that they could force Sam to use his powers if they used Dean as a bargaining chip. The fact that he hadn't had any of those powers since coming back was the least of the problems with their plan. Touching Dean had, in Sam's mind, pretty much guaranteed they weren't going to make it out alive. Sam had seen to that. But the devastation they had left in their wake. Shooting Dean up continually for the two weeks it had taken Sam and Bobby to find him had left Dean completely addicted to Heroin. And now he had to figure out how to fix his brother.

The seizures slowed and Dean finally passed out. This wasn't the first seizure since getting him back, and Sam was sure it wouldn't be the last. Wiping his eyes, Sam began the mental checklist. First thing was to get Dean cleaned up. As he began to slide the now soiled boxers off his brother, he wondered how many times Dean had done this for him while he kicked the Demon blood. Seizures left absolutely no sense of personal space and no room for embarrassment. They'd been forced to put plastic bed liners under him after the first seizure, so Sam changed that as well. Hoping Bobby wouldn't return until he was finished, Sam used a warm washcloth to clean his brother and finally got a clean pair of boxers on the unconscious man. The brief thought that maybe Dean wouldn't remember this anymore then he did gave him some solace, but the fact that Dean had been forced to do this for him because of his own stupidity made his stomach clench.

Bobby's timing was perfect. Just as Sam stood up and touched Dean's head softly, the door opened.

"Bout God Damned time. Just got a call from a real doctor. He's about four hours from here. Says if we bring him over he can help. Got Methadone and can get him through the worst of it."

"Four hours?"

"Yeah. He says you can bump him and keep him under until we get there. Couldn't say how much more you can give him since he has no idea how much you're giving him now."

Nodding, Sam began to pack. "He just seized again. I'm afraid to bump him now, but I'll ride in the back with him and if he starts to come around I'll have to."

Sam sounded so tired and lost Bobby wondered if he'd been too harsh. He crossed the room and put his hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Doc says if he's still alive you're doing the right thing, Son. We'll get him there and let the doc take care of him. He's gonna be fine."

That was what Sam needed to hear. His eyes met Bobby's and the desperate need to believe every word he'd said was so strong Bobby almost hugged the kid. "You take a quick shower and get packed. We'll move him out last and once he's taken care of you are going to get some food in you and some sleep. Got it?"

With a solid plan and an end to this in mind, Sam finally stood up straight and squared his shoulders. "Yeah. Got it." He took two steps away from the older hunter then turned back. Later he would blame it on stress and sleep deprivation, but he reached out and wrapped both arms around the man he considered his father.

For a second, Bobby returned the embrace, thanking every God he could come up with that he could help his boys. But Sam's shoulders shook and he began to fear a complete breakdown at the least affordable moment. "You always were a huggy bastard."

A laugh that bordered on hysteria came out of the taller man, and he backed away. If both men wiped tears from their eyes as Sam disappeared into the bathroom, neither would ever admit it.