Desperately Seeking Sanity

by Dianne

The idjits think they can stop the apocalypse alone. I think not. Blaming themselves or each other will only lead them to a separate destruction so I've called in a rather unique friend of mine to help them. Set right after season four final episode.

This is an AU story that takes place at the end of season four.

XXXX

I don't know how we got out of the Church. I remember screaming for Sam to run, how we clutched each other's jackets like we were kids and how he looked at me in awe when I refused to kill him in the parking lot before we took off for Bobby's house. I expected the devil himself to be on our tails, for a hole to open up in the ground and swallow us whole in that crap car Ruby left behind. I drove for miles hunched over, panting, waiting like fly on a wall for the swatter to mash me and the only thing I could think of was if I would have to return to hell or if Sam was killed with me, would he go somewhere better or join me.

I hate this stupid car. Who cares how many miles per gallon you're getting when hell is on your ass? I miss my baby. Sam looks crunched and small at the same time in this crap heap.

"Sam, you should rest, you look like he…"

"I can't rest, Dean. I know you have to kill me and if you want, I'll turn around and you can shoot me, but please don't kill me in my sleep. I don't deserve that. I deserve to suffer."

God damn it. Dad's words strike from beyond the grave. He actually still thinks I could kill him.

"Not killin' ya, Sam."

I search through the glove box for some music. Radio's crap. I've waited for news of an apocalypse and all Brandy the Weather Girl can do is speak of sunny skies ahead. Apparently that station is sorely under-funded or Brandy didn't get the memo about toads and crap falling from the sky which should start happening any day now that senior psychopath is on the loose. Oh wait, it was God who made that happen … great, so that means that has to be trumped. I can't lie; the steep cliffs to the left of the car suddenly look tempting. Sam and I could die together and let the world figure its own crap out. Maybe we wouldn't go hell. Maybe we could just fade away.

The car swerves dangerously. How screwed up is it that I'd never steer with my knee while groping in a glove box throwing stupid CD's out the window while contemplating murder-suicide and worrying about trying to live and save Sam at the same time while driving my own car? John Denver! No. This isn't happening. There's no music in this car. Who the hell is Nana Mouskouri! Have I died and gone to hell already!

Sam grabs my hand as I slam on the brakes. He steers away from the edge and I'd punch him in the face if the windshield didn't do it for me. A slow trickle of blood drips down his cheek from his brow but he doesn't even reach to comfort it. Reflex has me reaching for a napkin or something, which I always keep in my car but of course some compulsive ass must have cleaned out this car of everything but K-Tel graduates. Before I can stop myself, my hand withdraws from reaching out to Sam. I don't want to touch it; his blood; demon blood.

When I get a grip and the hurt and fear in Sam's eyes get through to me past the walls that Sam and I have built over the last few months, I take off my outer shirt and reach to press it to his head. Sam cowers and opens the door, half falling, half leaping out of the car.

I get out and hurry around to the passenger side where Sam lay on the ground, arms over his eyes. I pry his arm off his face. His eyes blink up at me, unfocussed, a mix of hazel, fear and trust that turns my stomach as much as his words.

"Just do it. Please. I can't take this. I said I was sorry and I know that's not enough. Dad was right. You were right. I'm a monster."

"Nah, Sammy, not gonna kill ya. We'll stop off at the next Big Box Hallmark Card Outlet and get two all-occasion, apocalypse-starting- sorry-for-being-born-Winchester-son-of-a-bitch-four-flushing-two-gallon-Pepsi-drinking-seal-breaking-bastard cards … Hold still, Sammy, God damn it!"

For a second, think I saw Sammy in his eyes. A tired smile ghosts across his face for a second.

"Dean … Only you … c … could quote Chevy Chase at the end of the world."

I press a little too hard but the kid has to stop moving. If he wasn't concussed from his Jedi mind tricks he certainly is now.

"Gotta love the classics, kiddo."

My phone picks this minute to ring. Of course it does. We've actually uttered three words to each other that didn't include hate, betrayal or lies. The universe couldn't give us a minute.

"Bobby, thank God. Yeah, I got him. I'm bringing him back."

Sam's eyes grow wide and if I could rip my tongue out at this point I think I'd be better off. I read the kid like a book. He thinks I'm going to put him back in the panic room. If Ruby wasn't dead I'd clone her and kill her clones. It's midnight and there's no traffic. I take Sam's hand and press it against my shirt over his wound and go to try to find a bottle of water for him.

The trunk pops and now I know what the smell in the piss ant little car is. Sam's at my side, wobbling and staring into the trunk at body of what looks to be a nurse as I tell Bobby how long we'll take to reach his house and hang up. I look from the woman's wrists to Sam, barely able to contain the bile that threatens to choke me.

Sam won't breathe but for a guy who hasn't taken a breath for a full minute, he sure can grab a gun quick. I was too slow. My gun is in his shaking hand, aimed at his head. I reach for it but when he steps away from me, almost tripping, I back up, my hands up above my shoulders in surrender for a life which technically isn't mine but one that I've tried my best to protect.

"I … She … Ruby …"

"Sammy … Please. Not again. Don't make me watch you die again."

"It's Sam, you said it yourself, Dean, Sammy's dead. I'm a vampire. A monster. Wanna know what's weird?"

Tears land in my open mouth and I do, I do want to know what's weird, because as long as Sam's talking, he's alive.

"Ye … yeah, Sammy, tell me what's weird. Besides the whole world."

"Remember wh … when you told me when I was eight that monsters were as afraid of me as I was of them and Dad got mad at you? Well, they are, Dean. I'm a monster, and I'm afraid of myself."

Words can't squeeze past the lump in my throat. The eight-year-old Sammy stands before me, though I look up at him now. When he was eight, the gun Dad gave him was pointed at his closet door and the little geek couldn't shoot because he felt sorry for the monster once I explained the dynamics of the situation from the expert position of big brother big brother who would tell any lie so his little brother wouldn't end up shooting himself by accident trying to kill a monster that wasn't there. I know, I checked. But he doesn't feel sorry for the monster that he thinks he's become.

I shift my weight just as Sam's lips count out silently; "one … two… thr—"

I jump on him, it's all I can think to do. We roll in the dirt, my hand over his on the gun all the while he pleads with me to let him go.

"The hell I will! I told you I was going to give you a smack-down and I guess this is it." My elbow bends at an angle I didn't think possible and his nose breaks with a sickening crunch. His grip on the gun slackens as his eyes roll back in his head. I'd throw the gun as far as I could but we'll probably need it before the night is over.

I haul Sam up under his arms and drag him to the car. Sasquatch fits better in the Impala and goes in easier when he's sick, drunk or beat up. I practically have to fold him to get him inside this joke on wheels. By the time I dig a shallow grave for the dead nurse, all the while trying to keep an eye on the unconscious Sam, I'm exhausted. I want to stop. To sleep. So much for nightmares though, I might as well stay awake and get the real show.

Nothing's wrong with the car. I start it up, feeling my neck tighten from the sudden braking and skidding. I wrap my shirt around Sam's head and tilt his head back slightly, putting the seat belt on him. I try to keep myself on autopilot. I know the way to Bobby's house. Hell, my car could make it there with both Sam and I out cold. I miss my baby. I miss our home.

Sam's silence when he's out cold isn't okay but it's better than when he's awake. I can pretend everything is going to be alright, that he's sleeping. That his nose is only bleeding because I broke it and not because of yet another injury from his run-in with Lilith. That before his eyes rolled up in his head, they weren't black.

XXXX

I've never been so happy to see Rumsefeld the Third. That autopilot I talked about? Yeah, if the old dog hadn't barked his fool head off and I hadn't had the window rolled down to keep cold air blowing on me so I wouldn't pass out, I'd have likely not heard him and driven right up Bobby's front steps. As it was, I got as close to the steps as I could. Sam was stirring and I wanted to get him inside before he came around fully.

Bobby was out to the car before I could collect my thoughts, let alone Sam. Sam's head rests on my shoulder, stupid car. In the Impala he could rest with a pillow against the window and barely touch me. Stupid car. Damn, I don't want to get out of the stupid car. Once we get out, Sam will wake up. He'll push me away. He'll kill himself.

Part of me wants to grab Sam and drive away and guilt eats me when my body finally admits that I can't do that. I need help with Sam. I'm willing to submit to what Bobby wants to do, but when I stand to stretch, my knees almost buckle in relief when Bobby tells me to help him get Sam to the couch. Not the panic room, thank … at this point, I don't know.

"Thanks, Bobby."

"Don't thank me yet," is all I get besides one third of my brother to carry up the steep steps, which is all I can manage.

There's noise in Bobby's kitchen, lots of it but Bobby waves off my questions as he grabs his first aid kit.

"Concussion," I tell Bobby, leaving out the details of how I made it worse. I'm going to have to tell him about Sam's mental state though, as if he doesn't already know. The rest of the conversation while hovering over Sam comes in one or two word questions and answers.

"Lilith?"

"Dead."

"By Sam?"

"Yep."

"Mind?"

"Epic."

"Suture kit."

"No, let me." I have to do this, even though I'm so tired I'm almost seeing double. It's my job.

With every pull of the stitches in Sam's brow, he winces slightly. He's waking up and I quickly blurt out everything I know including Ruby's poisoning my brother and the dead nurse in the trunk of the car. Bobby has the right to know. We're in his house and however this blood gluttony for the final push against Lilith is going leave Sam, I need Bobby to know that I can't kill Sam. If he has a problem with that once the facts are before him, I'll take Sam elsewhere.

"I thought I told you. Family a'int put on this earth to make you happy. To be there for ya when it's convenient. Do you remember one of the first things you said to me when you came back from hell?"

"That you were the closest thing left I got to a father …"

"That's right. Now get your ass up the stairs, have a shower and be back down here in fifteen minutes, dinner's waitin' on yeh. Sam's not goin' anywhere on my watch."

"Yes, Sir." Damn how I longed to say those words. I pat Sam's hair back from his forehead as Bobby covers the wound with a sterile gauze pad.

XXXX

The world's quiet, too quiet. I snicker as I wonder if Chuck actually wrote what I just thought. That's plagiarism. Yep, I should have been a lawyer. God my head hurts.

I'm nearly clean, still addicted, but my eyes haven't turned black for over two weeks. Dean and I speak in two word grunts.

Eat yet?

Stop fussing!

Sleep okay?

I'm fine!

Dean won't let me out of the house. I can't blame him. I should have been in the panic room. I headed straight for it as soon as I woke up to find myself on Bobby's tattered couch after sleeping off the concussion, but Dean steered me away from the stairs and back to the couch. The memory is blurry but I think he sat on me at one point. All I knew then was that I was a danger to everyone. I'm still drained, barely making it up the stairs under my own steam and eating's a bit of a problem.

The house is so full of people I can't think straight. Bobby's gathered together as many hunter friends as he can trust and everyone's arguing. Jo and Ellen call each other bitch and scream at each other about the dangers of hunting and how the other should quit and walk away and let the other take care of this. Tamara hasn't apparently been the same since Isaac was killed. She and Dean speak in clipped tones. Jo tries to be nice to me, like I'm dying or something but I can tell that she remembers when I was possessed and did those horrible things to her. Ellen tries to feed me every time she walks by me and I wish she and Jo would make up so she can mother someone else because even though Dean isn't really talking to me much, he checks on me every five minutes. I really just need to take a walk by myself. No one trusts me. I need to find out if I can trust myself.

And then there's Chuck, Castiel and that creepy archangel who won't show itself that spared Castiel's grace when Chuck was able to type in a few words before it arrived. I heard Castiel fainted when the archangel got there and came to within a quarter of an inch of smiting him before backing off. I didn't know angels could faint. Cas has been great, even stuck his hand out first to me to shake this time. I cried. I don't remember falling to my knees, just Dean picking me back up and putting me back on the couch. Relief flooded me. I know it doesn't mean I'm forgiven but if Cas can look at me like he looks at my brother then it's not too late to hope. Or maybe it is. Either way, I have to believe it means something that Cas will sit next to me now. The archangel on the other hand, is a different story. I feel it watching me and Dean feels it too. I can tell. He keeps spinning around like he's going to punch something.

There is one stumbling block on the road to regaining everyone's trust, however and that is an interview with a psychiatrist...Hollis Hanklesphinkter, Bobby's brother in law, Anger Management Guru. I cringe, remembering my antics during my first session of telling old Hollis that I saw fuzzy bunny feet in my inkblot tests but I was pretty out of it then. Dean says I have to see the shrink again and after what I did, how can I say no? I sit up straight as Hollis enters the room Dean and I share. And there it is, the clack clack of Dean's feet pacing outside, probably listening.

"Misther Thsamuel Winchesther," Hanklesphinkter greets. "May I call you Thsam?"

He asked me that the last time he was here but I was so doped up on pain killers I'd have let him call me anything. I am aiming to please so I agree.

"Ah, yeah, Thsam will be fine...I...I mean Sam." Oh great! Make the guy self conscious about his lisp and watch how fast he can lengthen your confinement, idiot! This guy's lisp is so bad it's mesmerizing. And who the hell put an 's' in the word lisp? Hollis' hair is tied back in a long, black ponytail. His glasses sit on his nose and he's wearing jeans and a tie-dyed t-shirt that should look out of place for his age.

"I've had the pleasthsure of meeting your brother," Hollis begins by way of an icebreaker.

I merely nod my head. I can't help it when my face falls a mile. My brother has had to deal with so much. Your brother is dead, no sorry, he's not...but he is going to die...well, he didn't but did we tell you he's a blood addict? And yet he still loves me. And to my greatest embarrassment, he's been having sessions with Hanklesphinter, who has been teaching him about Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I do not have posttraumatic stress disorder! I'm just a loser... Dean on the other hand, I mean, the guy has been to hell. And that's when it hits me, how very smart Bobby is. He's got Dean talking to this guy thinking it's all about me when Bobby's motive couldn't be clearer. When Dean figures out he's seeing a shrink too, he'll have a fit.

XXXX

"Thsam, thsooner or later we have to addressth the reasthonsth you feel you need blood to cope with life. Though I thsee from the reporsth that life hasthn't been easthy for you over the lastht year ... and believe me I understhtand. I'm here to help."

I don't think Hollis knows he talks about himself more than his patients during his sessions.

"Let me tell you a little about my pastht," Hollis offers as I sigh in relief at the reprieve I get from having to talk about how Dean going to hell started me on the path to ... Okay, no reprieve will ever be long enough for me to want to talk about that...

"Thsum people useth drugsths for recreathional purposeth. I mysthelf have been known to indulge back in the thixtieths when I was hanging around with a group called the Beatlths." My head comes up at the mention of the Beatles.

"Did you just thsay the Beatlthes!" I bite my tongue. The concussion is still confusing me somewhat and I can't help mimicking the guy. He's going to put me on some sort of drug if I don't stop.

"Indeed I did, Thsam. You thee my parentsth were huntersth. During the thixtieths they travelled America, often having to ward off demonsth who preyed on the drug culture. Mostht of the time it wasth harmlessth fun like making the hippieths such as mysthelf thsee cartoon charactersth while under the influencth, however thsometimesth the demonsth would causth people to leap to their deaths or even kill others."

My eyes widened. I didn't bother to remind Hollis that he was off his path of telling me about the Beatles.

"My late thsister met Bobby Thsinger at Woodsthock and thisth wasth when she swore off hunting. My parensth gave their blessthing not knowing that one day her past would catch up to her and my poor brother in law."

Screw hearing about the Beatles. Bobby's never opened up about what happened with his wife other than she'd been possessed. I'm all ears and, the longer Hollis talks, the less I'll have to. I lean back against the pillows when it dawns on me all this talk might be a lure to relax me and get me to open up. I sit back up.

"Anyway I wasth trying to find mythself thso after my thsistersth wedding, I left for Germany to begin my backpacking journey acrossth Europe. I met up with the four young men while they were playing the Cavern Club and we hit it off. I jammed with them there often. It wasth when one of them died in an unfortunate way that I found mysthelf wanting to comfort them rather than jam with them, and it wasth then that I thstarted my thstudieth in thpsychology."

This guy is too much. He is talking about The Beatles. The end of the world is here and he's talking about the Beatles. But still, he hasn't asked me anything about myself yet and I hate it but I'm getting comfortable.

My eyes are round and my mouth is hanging open. Hollis Hanklesphinkter is actually cool! He tells me he drives a genuine yellow Volkswagen from the sixties and has had it since he was "'theventeen."'

"The Beatlesth usethed recreathional drugsth asth a meansth of insthpirathional doesthn't make it right and I tried to tell them that they were heading down a dangerouth path."

My heart sinks. Hollis is getting to it. Just slowly. Poking, prodding. The mention of a dangerous path like the one I've been warned about. Using examples of drug addicts as if it can compare to being addicted to blood. There's now a slight buzzing in my head along with the lisping voice that's being used like a crowbar to open my skull so he can see what's inside and try to fix it like Dean does the Impala, under the hood, tongue stuck between his teeth, concentrating. I focus on the image in my head of Dean's face. Anything to keep listening to Hollis without the dread that he'll finally put me under the microscope, jot down something finally on that tablet of paper that has the doodles in black ink that suddenly look like demon smoke to me. I swallow hard as Hollis goes on with his story.

"Why when I wasth at Woodsthtock, I witnessthed the height of the drug genre right there both on and off thstage. My parentsth saved a lot of hippies during thosth thstrange daysth. Later, my good friend Jim Hendrixth and Jim Morrithton both died asth a resthult of drugsth. And thso did a woman I would gladly have married, Janith Joplin."

I look at my watch. Our session is over but when I clear my throat, Hollis doesn't hear it or he ignores me and goes on. This is ridiculous. Those stupid rock stars could have followed Nancy Regan's advice and just said no to drugs. Okay, granted, Nancy wasn't saying that then, she was probably high, but the fact remains, Dean wasn't around to tell me to just say no to Ruby. No one was there! Ruby was there. That bitch! The ghost of coppery taste rises up my throat but instead of trying to sip it up greedily like I did when Dean first brought me here, I want to throw up from the mere memory of it. She poisoned me. Even while I was drinking the blood I knew I hated it but something in my brain overrode that and it tasted sweet somehow, like hope, like revenge.

Know what the sick thing about all this is? I never did drugs. I laugh out loud at that thought but Hollis keeps talking. Nope, Sam Winchester, squeaky clean college boy panting at the thought of a full ride to Stanford. And here I am in addiction counselling and anger management. Oh, did I mention that my nose bleeds whenever I get mad? Hence the anger management. Bobby thinks the nosebleeds happen when I get angry, a control mechanism Ruby had on me to keep me from turning on her if I got angry at her because mostly my nose bleeds when I'm feeling angry at her. I've been mad at Dean and everyone else since I got here and nothing more than a few drops leaks out but when I think of what Ruby did to me, to us, it flows freely and Dean breaking my nose didn't help that much.

Hollis looks at me but his expression doesn't change and he continues to babble, never asking me to open up.

"I wasth a roadie back then to help me pay for my educathion, you thsee. When I met up with the Beatlsth again, I told them my idea of a Magical Mysthtery Tour. Needlessth to thsay it wasth a huge thsuccessth and very few drugsth were taken at the time."

"I wasth glad to get a call from my good friend to this daym Thsir Paul, back in the early thseventiesth that the Beatlesth were going to try to get off the drugth and they invited me to India to thstudy under Maharthi Maheth Yogi with them at an ashth ram."

No way the geek who sits before me could ever have done thumthing thith cool! Oh man, now I'm even thinking in listhp! But anything just so I don't have to say a word about me. I'm so tired.

"Thsee, I'm telling you all of this becausth of all the famouth people I met who did drugths … or had an addicthion in the amount and intensthity that you have been taking blood, there are very few left, Thsam. It'sth not a pretty way to die, my friend. I mutht thsay that of the people I've had the pleasthure of meeting who do partake of drugsth, I underthtand why you have done it more than any of them. However the fact remainsth that if you keep on the coursth you are going, eventhually you will die from it, by the angelsth handsth or your own."

My fists clench. I knew the conversation had to get around to me somehow, and the cocky part of me wants to point out that if Lilith herself could not kill me how can a few quarts of blood do it? And there it is, the confidence that Ruby built up in me rearing its ugly head again. She built me up only to tear me down, to bring about the end and the sudden surge of protectiveness over my addiction just now that had me wanting to punch Hollis sinks back to the pit of my stomach to pool into a puddle of humility. Hollis looks satisfied at my demeanour though I still haven't said a damn word and now I think he might be an Empath or something because I feel drained like I've talked for the last hour right along with him.

"You're twenty-sixth and invincithable now, Thsam. But let me remind you that my friend Jim Hendrith, who inthidentally knew of the thsupernatural world, died from addiction."

My eyes shoot up. Did he just say that Jim Hendrix knew about werewolves and wendigos and vampires, oh my! Well that hit hard. He then proceeds to tell me that 'Thsir Paul' went through something startlingly similar to what Dean and I went through in that he had a near death experience...well death experience as far as the public was concerned and when he came back to public life, people and media accused him of being a fake, and the real Paul McCartney was, in fact, dead from a car crash! Well, we threw holy water on Dean and tried to run him through with a silver blade but tomato tomaaato, right? The world just got a whole lot stranger.

I lean back onto the pillows again. I don't care if I look weak anymore. I am weak. I've accused the one person who cares if I live or die of being weak and he's the only reason I'm still breathing. How the hell can talk of stupid rock stars bring all of this out? This guy's good! Or maybe I'm just tired.

The sound of Hollis' voice is making me sleepy even though I hang on every word and yet at the same time a thread of effort stalks my consciousness to stay focused on thinking of Dean. I grasp on to the thread, feeling it go brittle whenever I concentrate on it. It's yet another of Ruby's influences. It was me who thought Dean was weak, but Ruby reinforced that belief, kept us apart to make him weaker, to make me weaker. How could I have ever thought I was smart? Dean saw right through her. He tried to tell me…

There's more to Hollis Hanklespinkter than Bobby let on. We haven't had a session of psychology, it's more like an interview with Rolling Stone yet more truths have come to me in the last hour and half than I've allowed into my head in a long time … since Dean died. And still the guy goes on.

"And take my friend, Ozzthy Osthbourne, poor chap. Look what drugsth have done to him. Dysthfuncthional family life, children in rehab...which remindths me, I have a thsession with young Jack in about an hour or thso, we'll have to make thisth brief..."

"You mean, you're helping Jack Osthbourne...Osbourne?" I correct myself with increasing frustration…

"Indeed. I'm fully booked with children of the thstars from the thixtieths who thought it wasth okay to imbibe in front of their kidsth. And I guessth thisth comesth full thcircle, Thsam. Your brother told me a bit about your upbringing, the killing you thsaw at thsuch an impressthional young age."

I don't know where sudden righteous indignation comes from, but I stand up at this point, ready to defend my father and especially Dean. Dean lost his childhood trying to protect me from things that go bump, maim and slice in the night. And after what I did with Ruby, I know everyone is not infallible. My dad made mistakes, there's no question but …

"How does this have anything to do with doing drugs in front of kids! This is nuts! Shut up and stop talking like my dad or Dean had any other choice. Like I had any other choice, people make mistakes! I made a mistake …"

My hands fly to my mouth. I didn't mean to defend myself. I was only trying to defend my dad and Dean. Dean must have heard me shouting. The door opens and he's standing in the doorway of our bedroom, his arms crossed, staring at Hanklespinkter in challenge.

Dean crosses the room and before I know it, I'm being gently lowered to my bed. My face is wet with tears I don't remember giving permission to.

"S'not your fault, Dean."

Hollis puts on his light jacket like Mr Rogers ready to go see Mr McFeely or whatever the hell his name was. He tells Dean he'll be back for our group session in two days and Dean just nods, sitting on the edge of my bed, something he hasn't done for what feels like a million years. Still he doesn't talk to me.

Hanklesphinkter signs his name on a prescription pad and I almost expect to see the lisp written right into his signature. For a guy who's been so forthcoming with useless information and who never once did the whole Itell-me-how-that-makes-you-feel/I thing, he sure has a lot to whisper to Dean. I close my eyes and try to hear what he says but I can't. Dean's hand is on my chest, the warmth soaking through my shirt causing hope but the muted whispers causing fear that fights with that hope. Will things ever be the same between us?

XXXX

Today is my first group Anger Management Session with Hollis Hanklesphinkter. Chairs are arranged around Bobby's kitchen, some with nametags on them no less. I steady Sam and steer him toward his chair. A stab of annoyance hits me in the gut. Sam's chair is not next to mine but I'll be damned if I'm gonna gripe about it in front of anyone, least of all Sam. Bobby told me we're all doing this for Sam so maybe Hollis has some purpose in mind for the seating arrangements. Still if that shrink tries to hurt Sam I'll rip his throat out.

I don't need to be here, but anything for Sam. And the other hunters? They could actually use this, the way they've been arguing. But not me. I should just go clean my guns in the other room where I have a view of this freak show but don't have to participate. I'm not really a part of this.

This is going to be so stupid.

Why are we the first ones here?

Okay, why is Castiel the second one here? He walks around the room and finds his chair. He looks at me like he wants to move his chair, but I just slouch down lower. My arms fold around my chest.

This is going to be so stupid. Maybe Bobby'll have lunch catered...

XXXX

Bobby, Ellen, Jo and Tamara have finally arrived. I feel like this is the Spanish Inquisition, all their eyes are on me, the addict, the one who screwed over the world. Their eyes travel to Dean. He's told them he broke the first seal and they scrutinize him almost as much as they do me. Tamara's knife shines from beneath her outer shirt. If she makes a move to hurt Dean in any way, I'll rip her throat out. We've been through enough already. And it hits me that this is the first time I've thought about Dean and I in terms of being we in a really long time though he sits almost a room apart.

Yeah, we're the ones being counselled. We're the ones told to go out and be good little hunters, kill when necessary, save the world, but don't go getting jaded or addicted or anything. Please. I hate the way I feel, weak, shaky, dependant on Dean like I was six or something.

I think Dean's going to pop a vein in his forehead when six other hunters file in. We've met them in passing at the Roadhouse. Ellen nods towards them and they take random seats with no nametags on them. Dean picks up his chair and squeezes it in beside mine glaring at the man who sat beside me. I hope that guy doesn't move around a lot. I'd hate to see his throat ripped out …

Dean's glaring at Bobby, his eyes clearly asking what-the-hell-is-this?

Bobby clears his throat and looks at Dean. "This is for you two, idjits." He spares me a glance, clearly uncomfortable but adamant about something at the same time, which I thought was an impossible emotion.

"Everyone in this room is someone I trust, people that your daddy trusted. I called them the day after you got back here. They know about … him, about Lucifer. If we're going to fight against the apocalypse, we're going to need a base of operations, and an army and if we're going to build an army, we need leaders. We can't fight if we keep fighting each other." Bobby turned to Dean and I. "We can't help you if you won't help yourselves."

And then it hits me. Dean and I don't have to do this alone. Well, the actual killing Lucifer part we do, but the rest, maybe not so much.

Chuck sits typing away on my laptop. His battery died and Rumsfeld the Third chewed the power cord on his. You'd think the man upstairs or even Cas would have kept better tabs on the Gospel of Winchester or whatever crap Chuck's been writing. When Chuck announced that he hoped he didn't lose any of his files I cringed. I mean, would that mean we'd have to go through the past whatever timeline he might have lost in the files again?

The leader of our little torture session, Hanklesphinkter who stands before us looking like the picture of normalcy not! is wearing glasses without lenses, a short, butter yellow colored robe that looks like a toga with black socks and has unruly long hair.

Hanklesphinkter watches as Bobby waits for a reaction from Dean. I'm worried that Dean will take this as an agreement that Bobby thinks he's weak and needs help keeping me reigned in and that he can't protect me from turning into a monster. And I'm worried that I will turn into a monster and that Bobby knows Dean won't kill me so he's brought in someone among these other hunters who will. Still, if that's the case, it takes a great weight off my shoulders. I don't want to become a monster, any more than I already am. The nurse's face is still etched in my retinas.

And through all of this inner dialogue and Bobby's explaining how he intends to help us build an army, Hollis says nothing. If he starts talking about the Beatles again when I'm freaking out inside my head, I'll ask Cas to smite him. He's supposed to help us.

I've tuned Bobby out until the older hunter puts a hand on my shoulder. My eyes rove up until I meet his looking down at me. There's only kindness there. He's the closest thing to a father Dean and I have left and I have to trust him. I have to.

XXXX

I elbow in closer to Sam. Finally Hanklesphinkter asks Bobby to take his seat so we can begin. Jo and Ellen look at everyone but each other. Hollis asks Tamara to put her knife away in the kitchen drawer. She does so but Hollis would be stupider than he looks if he thinks we don't all have weapons we could have in our hands in a second's notice.

"Thisth Program isth what you could call my 'inner child'. It'sth the accumulation of thirty yearth of my life'th practith." He claps his hands in front of him and beams at us. "Here, you will learn to come to termsth with the beaststh that lurksth inthside. Asth a group, we will come together and meld our rage…embrathe it and heal together!" he says excitedly as he interlocks his fingers and holds them over his head.

I groan under my breath as Hanklesphinkter begins to flap around the room…literally. He's wearing socks and sandals.

THWAMP! THWUMP! THWAMP! THWUMP!

As he continues to talk, his voice gets louder and more impassioned and I hope that he hyperventilates. His sandals slap like exclamation points at the end of his sentences. "Anger ith really FEAR turned backwardth THWAMP! REAF, fear thpelled backwardth, ith the key to unlocking your inner child, reconnecting to inner peathe, and achieving harmony in your daily life THWUMP! REAF thtandth for what you and your healing partner will be doing here!"

THWAMP! THWUMP!

Our healing partners?! Oh hell no!, I knew it! A wave of dread rolls over me and I just want to crawl under my chair.

Hanklesphinkter stops abruptly and points to the front of the room where a glittering sign hangs with the words: 'REAF: ReEmbrace Attacking Fear'.

"You will be helping each other ReEmbrathe Attacking Fear THWUMP! That ith our mantra! ReEmbrathe Attacking Fear! THWAAMMP! THWUMP! Thay it ath a collect group, thall we?" He smiles and inclines his head forward.

"ReEmbrace Attacking Fear," a chorus of voices repeats dutifully. I glace at Sam out of the corner of my eye and notice that his mouth is clamped shut and he looks like he might hurl at any second.

"Yeth! Very well done. Now let me hear your real voicthethe…I want to fell your anger and your fear! Thith ith a thafe plathe for you to let out your emotionth."

A chorus of yells erupts around me and I jump and look around. The other hunters in the program are bright eyed and practically breathless.

Jo's sitting near Ellen making the strangest face I've ever seen. It looks like she can't decide if she wants to burst out laughing or give in to the outlet like some of the others. Our eyes meet. She's pretty. Maybe at another time or place …

Hanklesphinkter looks jubilant, raises his arms triumphantly, and cries, "Wonderful! Embrath your rage!"

I close my eyes and take a deep breath as the room continues to fill with cries and yells of self-purging and healing. I almost wanted Sam to be one of the ones who's in tears by now but he isn't. I don't think he'll let himself off the hook ever. Maybe one day he'll tell me what's in that huge brain of his, but not like this. The Sammy that would have loved this crappy new age stuff is stuck inside his own head. Oh God, now I sound like Hollis. Please just get this over with.

Oh good, more inkblot tests!

XXXX

The pain meds Dean gave me before our session are kicking in. I'm warm again and the headache throbs dully in the background. I hope we're done soon. I'm tired.

K, that ink test thing was freaky. I didn't see fuzzy bunny feet this time. Looked just like some kind of clown or something, like I'm telling Handle Sphincter that, or whatever his name is. Dean, inkblot picture in his lap, stares into space. I wonder what his deal is.

The idiot is telling us trust exercises are next.

You have to fall to get back up.

"In order to conthtruct a thafe and productive environment for our journey, we need to ethtablish trutht within the group and, motht importantly, between your healing partnerth. These partnerth will help you tap into your fear and anger. Your partner will be your lifeline, your friend, and your thafe thpot in which to fall."

Blah, blah, blah. What the hell did he just say?

We're supposed to tell each other what we see in the inkblots we've been given. I mouth the word clowns! to Dean who shakes his head vehemently. So I say I see fuzzy bunny feet and Hanklesphinkter looks crestfallen.

Jo sees me choking her. Well that was honest. And … ouch!

Ellen sees Jo getting killed.

Tamara sees herself alone.

Bobby sees his unborn child … That's a new one.

I can't believe everyone is being honest. As the purging goes on, I realize how screwed we all are. There are mental hospitals filled with saner people than any of us. As I look around, I'm struck by one thing. Other than Ellen and Jo, and Dean and I, everyone else here is alone. Suddenly the one-inch gap between my chair and Dean's feels like the Grand Canyon and I want him to talk to me again like he used to. I'd give anything to be the little brother again.

Hollis turns to Dean.

"And what do you thsee Misthter Winchesthter?"

Dean gapes like a fish for a second and doesn't answer. I know what he sees so clearly that I won't look at his paper for fear that I'll see it too.

"He saw fuzzy bunny feet. I think the one who ran across my paper ran across his paper while he wasn't looking." Okay, so it's lame, something worse than the cat eating my homework but Dean and I have always had to stick together when one of us is feeling threatened.

Dean looks at me and at first he's angry, probably thinking I was trying to cover for his weakness but it turns into a grateful nod and I give Hanklesphinkter a look that tells him to move on, grateful when he gets it.

"Trustht exctherthithses are next."

Hollis grabs ahold of Dean who looks like he's holding onto his chair with his ass muscles. When Dean's standing in the middle of the room, Hollis grabs Ellen who looks a little too eager to be paired up with Dean. This does not bode well at all.

Ellen's arms are out in a bored sort of way and Dean is positioned as Hollis instructed, with his arms crossed over his chest like King Tut, his back to her.

"Now, justht let yoursthelf fall. Trustht her to catch you."

Dean's at the end of his rope. He looks like he just wants this over and doesn't really care if he has to fall on his ass to accomplish that. He lets himself start to fall but at the last minute steps back to catch himself. Jo laughs out loud.

Dean finally decides to try to trust Ellen and before I can warn him to avert his eyes as Ellen lets him fall, he lands right between Hanklesphinkter's feet. The look in his eyes confirms my suspicions; Hollis isn't wearing underwear under that toga. Ellen looks smug and offers Dean a hand. He slaps it away angrily and stands up.

XXXX

You can poke out your eye but you can't poke out your mind's eye. That guy has only one ball! I think I threw up a little in my mouth. I glare up at Ellen, who glances at Jo as if her point is made. I just might ask Jo out to spite her. If Ellen wasn't such a good cook when Sam really needs to regain his strength, I'd have punched her, woman or no. Hell at this point I think she could take me. And then I hear it. Sam's laughing! I'll be a Stooge anytime just to hear that sound again. It's been way too long.

Luckily Hankespinkter lets this little incident go and moves off to help Tamara and Bobby and some of the other hunters. What a bunch of cynical sons of bitches we are. Oh, and Bobby better tell his brother in law to buy a banana hammock if he expects to ever do this crap again.

Lunch is announced. I've never been happier. Bobby opens the fridge and pulls out a tray of sandwiches he must have bought at the market. I reach for one and a huge guy in a hairnet and lumber jacket slaps my hand. Didn't we hunt someone like that once? I'm about to ask what the hell his deal is when Bobby steps between us.

"Dean, meet Henry Walchuck, best damn Yeti killer this side of … well, anywhere. See, Henry's got this thing about hair ever since he almost lost to a Yeti. Swears he pulled Yeti hair out of places he never knew he had places for months and now, he's sort of got this thing about wearing hair nets whenever he eats and well, he can't eat in public unless everyone wears one too.

Okay then. I'm hungry so I jam the stupid hairnet on and cram the sandwich in my mouth, much to Ellen's disgust. I do my best impression of biggest mouth in America. Sam hasn't made a move toward the tray so I take the meat off one of the sandwiches and slap the cheese from my second helping between the bread and hand it to him. He's got a problem with meat these days. For reasons I think I can understand, it makes him sick right now. His hair juts out at odd angles as I slap the hairnet on him when it looks like Henry might have a heart attack if he takes a bite without one on.

I was right. This is stupid.

XXXX

Dean was right, this is stupid. By the time lunch is over, Tamara and Bobby are in the meditathion corner trying to cool off after trying to knock Henry out after he all but attacked them for forgetting to don their protective hair nets. Someone get that man a tinfoil hat pronto!

When Bobby and Tamara bitterly agree to be team players, they are allowed to sit in our healing circle again.

I think Dean's gonna have a wee chat with Bobby when this is all over 'cause he sure doesn't look happy when he hears about the next part of our session.

"Our next phase isth role reversthal. You will each be assigned a partner and you will face that partner as one another. Think of it as acting, only your audiencth will wrap you in an elasthtic embracth of love while you face yoursthelf asth othersth thsee you. Osthcar Wilde onceth thsaid that man is leastht himsthelf whenhe talksth in histh own persthon. Give him a masthk and he will tell you the truth."

"Oscar Wilde was a douche bag," Dean says vehemently.

Wow, learn something new everyday. I found out recently that Dean has read Vonnegut and now I find out he's read Oscar Wilde. Did I ever really know Dean?

"Homer Simpson make more sense any day than that Stupid Oscar dude," Dean says, crossing his arms over his chest.

Okay, whew, yeah, Dean is still … well, Dean. Huh, he should have told me sooner that he read all this stuff. He could have helped me with my homework. Dean's really smart. No one ever gave him credit for that. And I stopped telling him that when I was fourteen or so. I always thought he was smart but I think I've been a bit of a jerk. I always thought that Dean was street smart. I should have known he was book smart too. I'm such an ass. After all, who was it that helped me learn all those years? Who was it that taught me to read? Used flash cards for my math in the backseat? Dean. My big brother.

Ellen and Jo go first in the role reversal.

"That Dean Winchester is a bad influence on you." Jo begins in the role of her mother.

"He is not. I'd have ended up being a hunter anyway.

The conversation surrounds Dean who looks guilty as Ellen gets around to suggesting that Dean wanted Jo in the sack. Dean takes exception to that, though in reality he can't deny he didn't think about it. The drama ends with Jo in Ellen's arms sobbing about why Dean only thinks of her as a sister. Well that went well …

Hanklesphinkter is in tears as Ellen and Jo hug each other.

Hairnet Henry and some other guy named Jack Barret square off but as they've only met a handful of times it's somehow more awkward, with Henry asking Jack in their reversed roles why he feels the need to wear hairnets and Jack getting punched when, answering as Henry, tells everyone that the Yeti tried to have its way with him and now he feels dirty.

XXXX

Sam looks tired. Enough of this crap. He needs to get some rest and as far as I can see, this is all a crock. I get it. Bobby cares. He's trying to help us by bringing these people together and I appreciate it but it's my job to look after Sammy and I'm gonna do it and I don't need Sphinky here to tell me how to do it. I put my hand on Sam's back and he automatically starts to shift forward to propel himself up and out of here.

When we stand, Hollis thanks us for volunteering. I can't do this. I can't be Sam. I don't know what's in his head. I stay with my intention of getting Sam up to get some rest. But Sam stops and turns to me, eyes sad.

Shit.

"So you think I'm weak, Sam. Why?" Sam says to me.

"Sam stop it. Come on. Bed. Now. You're still healing."

"No, Dean, you're thsupposthed to be Thsam right now, not yoursthelf," Hollis says as though Dean's being purposely dense.

"Sam," Deans says in a way that brooks no arguments. But I stand there.

"Sam tell me the truth." Sam says this while staring in my face the entire time, his eyes locked on mine.

Fine, he wants to do this. Let's rumble.

"It was just the siren that made me say that, Dean." I tell Sam, trying to sound as pathetically sorry as he did every time he used that excuse on me.

When Sam's face scrunches waiting for the punch that he knows is coming, I drop my fist, though my fingers stay curled at my side. I can't do this. This isn't our way. I grab Sam by the collar and haul him out of the room, daring anyone to follow us at their own peril.

If my heart wasn't beating so fast, adrenaline overflowing and rushing in my ears, I'd have noticed that Sam's feet dragged on the stairs and I was almost choking him as I hauled him up to our room. I release him like a rag doll onto his bed. He has the good sense not to talk.

I want him to rest. I want to punch him. I want him to punch me. I want to rest. I want my dad. Hell, I want my mommy!

My hand fiddles with the doorknob. I open and close the door.

"Don't go."

My shoulders slump in relief. It's the first time Sam's asked for anything from me in a very long time.

I'm not going anywhere, kiddo.

I turn around but still can't look at him. I sit on the edge of my bed. I don't have anything to say about being weak. I reach under my bed for my flask and down half the contents in one swallow.

XXXX

He didn't leave. He didn't sit with me like he used to but he didn't go. I rub my chest where his knuckles poked my ribs as he dragged me up the stairs.

"You okay?"

How does he do that! He's not even facing me and he knows I hurt.

"Yeah." No.

Dean stands up and stalks toward my bed as well as one can stalk when taking only two or three steps.

"Let's take a look at that shnoz of yours. It's about time the bandages come off if it set right."

Dean's hands are gentle on my face as he peels away the bandage that covers my nose. I feel like an idiot when I lean into the touch but I can't help it. Dean moves my nose slightly left and right, his hand warm on my cheek. I miss him. He's right here in the room with me and I miss him.

"I think you can keep this off now. You still look like Rocky Raccoon, though." His hand leaves my face and I open my eyes again.

"You've been spending too much time with old Hollisth, Dean."

I do look bad. I don't think the black circles under my eyes are all from banging my head and Dean breaking my nose. I'd probably scare little kids at a supermarket still, but the bruises are fading.

"I'm sorry, Dean."

"Me too, Sammy."

We don't talk about whose fault it is. We don't talk about why we said the things we did. But he called me Sammy. I think I took my first real breath in a year. Dean gets up and goes into the little bathroom across the hall coming back with an alcohol swab. I reach for it but he pushes my hand away and dabs at the little medical tape glue that still clings to my nose. My eyes water from the smell of the alcohol. His does too.

I try to remain upright but I lose the fight. Being able to draw breath without the slight pressure on my nostrils makes me sleepy. Dean puts a pillow under my head and slam-dunks the alcohol wipe without getting up. I don't want to sleep. I don't want to wake up to find him gone.

XXXX

"I'm gonna stick around up here if you don't mind, Sammy. I think I've had enough of chick-flick central." And I'm tired. God I'm so tired.

"Kay, Dean."

Sam's eyes close. I don't think he realizes he's got my hand. I'd take it back but I don't wanna. It means something to me. He doesn't think I'm weak, not in a bad way anyway. I just wish I could've told him that I'd figure it out so he wouldn't have had to rely on Ruby. He was trying to save me. I get that now. But his hand in mine now? That's him asking me to save him.

We're gonna save each other. The chairs scrape downstairs. Bobby opens the door quietly.

"You boys okay?"

And we're not gonna be alone.