"I can't believe I almost slept with a transvestite!" Dean was still ranting to Sam twenty minutes later about the incident in the bar they had just been at. "I mean, she – he – looked like a she!"

For some damned reason, Sam couldn't get the song, "Somebody told me" out of his head. He sure as hell wasn't about to start singing it in front of Dean though.

But damn it was tempting.

"She – he - could have told me from the start!" Dean continued, glaring out of the windshield.

"Well, at least he's smart," Sam remarked, desperately trying to get the song out of his head. It was a really good thing Castiel wasn't here to hear his thoughts. The angel had been off the radar for three days now, even when they tried calling him. Dean was worried, Sam could tell, but he would never admit it out loud.

"Smart? What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Dean demanded, making a sharp left turn. Sam grabbed his seat, holding on for dear life as they went speeding down the road. Maybe he should have played the role as designated driver.

"Nothing, he probably just knew you would react like this."

Dean scowled. "That's not something you keep from someone you're about to –" he shuddered and broke off, face pale. "Oh God that's just disgusting."

Sam tried to keep the smirk off his face. Somebody told me, you had a boyfriend, who looked like a girlfriend –

"Dude why the hell are you singing that?"

Oops. So much for keeping that song in his head. "Uhh…"

Dean snorted. "Don't answer that."

They continued on the road in a very uncomfortable silence.

…

Dean was done fuming by the time they reached the motel. Now he was lying on the bed, looking up at the ceiling while bored to tears. Sam had gone for food about twenty minutes ago, leaving Dean here. He had tried watching TV – not that it helped – and even his Busty Asian Beauties copy wasn't cheering him up.

He sighed, staring at the ceiling like it had all the answers. He couldn't shake this feeling that there was something… off.

It wasn't wrong. Not really. But it definitely wasn't a good feeling. Something wasn't right at all; and that only made him determined to find out what was wrong.

…but first he needed something to take his mind off the boredom.

Maybe he'd have a go on Sam's laptop? Shrugging, Dean got off the bed and was about to walk to the laptop when suddenly the door burst open. Dean turned, his hand on a knife he had in his pocket, ready to use it at the slightest hint of hostility.

What he hadn't been expecting was his brother. Sam looked as though he'd seen the devil himself – Please God, let that not be the case – he silently prayed. His hazel eyes were huge, scanning the room as though expecting the shadows to jump out at him. His hair was disheveled and his frame was shaking.

"Sam?" Dean was across the room in minutes, putting his arms on his little brother's shoulders. "Sam! Answer me, what is it?"

"G-G-G…" Sam's words were slurred together. He looked at Dean, and Dean mentally cursed. His eyes weren't wider than usual, they were distant and cloudy. He had been drugged.

Dean cursed out loud and guided Sam to a bed, barely keeping his anger and worry under control. Sam seemed to be in a daze, his eyes still darting around despite the fact he could barely see behind Dean's shoulder.

"Sam, what happened?" When Sam didn't respond, Dean shook him a little. Sam's head lolled, but he turned back to Dean all the same.

"Whaa-?"

"What happened? Who did this?"

Sam didn't answer. He just stared at Dean like he'd never seen anything quite like him. He blinked very slowly, and Dean hated to admit it, but it sort of creped him out.

"Damnit. Hold on Sammy."

Dean fumbled through his pocket and grabbed his phone, dialing a quick number. The phone rang a few times before somebody finally picked up.

"Hello?"

"Bobby, uh, do you mind if we crash at your place for a little?"

Bobby sounded confused. "Sure, you know you can stay here. Can I ask what the occasion's for?"

"Sammy…somebody…" Dean was cut off as Sam suddenly puked all over himself. "Shit!" Dean cursed, jumping up and holding Sam upright so he didn't choke on his vomit. "Damnit! Bobby hold-on."

There was silence at the other end of the phone, which Dean assumed was Bobby holding-on. "God damnit."

"You know, you shouldn't talk about G-G-God like that," Sam suddenly said. His eyes were still glazed and he was staring at the wall. Dean was surprised he even knew what he said. "G-G-God doesn't damn all g-g-good people." He seemed to have a problem with his G's.

"Just, hold on Sammy okay?" Dean said, discarding his phone on the bed and running to the kitchen. He grabbed a washcloth and held it under water for a few seconds before running back to where Sam was still staring at the wall, oblivious to his puke-stained shirt and chin. "Take your shirt off," he told Sam, and was surprised when Sam suddenly jumped away from him.

"Sam?" Dean asked in confusion. "Just take your shirt off, I'm not going to hurt you."

"No," said Sam stubbornly, shaking his head. "No, no, no. Nope."

"Sam, the only way I'm going to be able to clean you up is if you get your shirt off."

Sam seemed to consider that for a moment, before finally nodding his head as he lifted his shirt over his head. Dean hissed. There was a dark bruise on his back.

"Damnit Sam, what the hell…" Dean didn't have time to inspect his body further, because Sam looked like he was about to puke again. Without a second thought Dean grabbed the trashcan and held it under Sam's nose. Dean couldn't help but to look away as he heard Sam violently retching into the trashcan. He rubbed Sam's shoulder, not wanting to aggravate the bruise on his back. "Come on, you're okay. It's okay. You're okay now," Dean said in what he hoped was a soothing voice. When Sam was finished he pushed the trashcan away from him, and Dean set it down on the floor next to them.

"You think you're going to throw up again?" he asked. Sam shook his head, "Nu-uh."

"Alright. Sam, do you remember what happened?"

Sam's mouth was slightly open, and Dean was scared he was going to start drooling. Spurring into action, he wiped the vomit that had dribbled down Sam's chin with the washcloth. Then he put his hand on Sam's head, trying to feel for access heat. "You don't have a fever," he said. It was then that he realized Bobby was still on the phone. "Shit!" he exclaimed, grabbing the phone off the bed. "Bobby you still there?"

"I'm here," Bobby's voice replied not a second later. "You want to tell me what's happening?"

"Yeah, Bobby I think somebody drugged Sam."

"Drugged him…why?" he sounded honestly confused.

"I don't know," Dean looked at Sam's back again. "He's got some huge ass bruise on his back. Looks like he was pushed into a wall or something…" he broke off, and jumped up suddenly. He took the phone away from his mouth and looked at Sam's head.

"Sammy I just need to check something alright? This might hurt a bit."

He carefully parted Sam's hair, and alarm swept through his body as he felt the sticky sensation of what could only be blood. "Shit!"

Sam let out a yelp of pain and Dean automatically snatched his hand back. "Sorry Sammy."

Sam didn't answer. Dean knelt beside him and looked into his eyes again. His pupils were definitely dilated.

"I think he has a concussion." Dean informed Bobby, not taking his eyes off Sam.

"Well what is it boy? A concussion or a drugged-up brother?"

"Both, I think," Dean said frowning. "I can't tell. We're going to head out soon."

He heard Bobby sigh on the end of the phone. "When will you be here?"

"Probably by morning," Dean said, already going to the trunk. He pulled out one of Sam's clean shirts and handed it to Sam.

Sam looked at it like he'd never seen a shirt before. "What do I do with it?" he slurred.

Dean rolled his eyes, "Just…hold on. Bobby, thank you."

"Whatever. Just look out for your brother…ya idjit."

Dean's mouth twitched up as he ended the call. He turned to look at Sam, who was staring at the wall again.

"Alright, come here," he sighed, grabbing the shirt off the floor where Sam had discarded it and helping Sam get into it. "We're heading to Bobby's."

…

"Dean?"

"Yeah Sam?"

"Where are we g-g-going?"

There was slight impatience in Dean's voice as he answered his brother. "Bobby's Sam."

"Oh…" there was silence, and then Sam asked. "Where are we g-going?"

Dean gritted his teeth. "Bobby's." That had to be the tenth time Sam asked the stupid question that night.

Sam didn't answer, he just looked at Dean curiously. "Dean?"

I swear to God if he asks where we're going…

"What Sam?" he asked, harsher than he meant it to come out.

Sam looked at him with confusion etched on his face. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He seemed to have forgotten what he was going to ask.

Dean rolled his eyes, "Damn Sam. How hard did you hit your head?"

The last time Sam had gotten a concussion this bad was when they were kids, hunting a wendigo. John and Dean had taken their eyes off of Sam for just one second – that was all it took for the powerful clawed hands of the wendigo to send Sam flying off his feet and into an oak tree.

"Sam!" Dean had yelled, rushing to defend his brother. John had been too busy burning the sonuvabitch to next Tuesday. Endless questions about random things had ensued that night, until finally he had to be brought to a clinic for the concussion.

"Hey, Dean?" Sam's voice snapped him back to the present. Dean grunted to show he was listening.

"Are you real?"

What? What kind of a question was that?

"'Course I am, Sammy."

"Oh…" more silence, and then: "Am I real?"

Dean mentally sighed. "Yes Sam, you're real too."

Sam blinked, still staring up at Dean with those wide, still slightly glazed eyes. Finally Dean couldn't take it anymore. "What?" he snapped.

"You have short hair," Sam observed.

Dean's mouth gaped, but he quickly closed it. "Yeah, someone else I know needs to cut their hair too."

"Who?" Sam asked in confusion. "Bobby?"

Dean sighed, "Nevermind."

Sam frowned. "Is it…Castiel?"

Dean's brows furrowed. "Castiel already has short hair Sam."

It was Sam's turn to be confused. "Huh?"

"Cas's hair – short – you…nevermind," he said, when he saw Sam was still confused.

"Dean?"

"WHAT?"

"Is Chuck God?"

"What?" Dean exclaimed. "Chuck? No, that's ridiculous! Where'd you hear that?"

"Fanfiction." Sam said, matter-of-factly.

"…fanfiction? What are you doing reading fanfiction?"

"I'm not reading fanfiction, you're reading fanfiction!" Sam retaliated.

"I don't read fanfiction!"

"…huh?"

"I. Don't. Read. Fanfiction."

"Dean, what are you talking about?"

Dean turned to glare at his brother, but Sam honestly looked like he had no clue what Dean was talking about. He was still way out of it. Dean sighed. "Just…don't talk anymore."

Sam nodded. There was about a blessed five minutes of silence before Sam shouted at what was possibly the top of his lungs: "ARE WE PLAYING THE QUIET GAME? Ouch," he added, wincing as pain flared in his head.

Dean gritted his teeth. "Yes Sam, we're playing the quiet game. Starting now."

Sam was quiet the rest of the journey to Bobby's, looking oddly content.

…

Bobby sighed as he observed the two hunters standing in front of him.

Okay, well only one was standing. Sam was sitting Indian-style on the floor and looking around at his surroundings while pointing at various objects and giving a history lesson on them, still completely out of it.

Objects such as the painting on the opposite wall. It seems Sam had taken art class in Stanford.

"…Jessica told me that Mozart's paintings sucked once…" he trailed off, then looked at Dean. "Where's Jess?"

The look on Dean's face made Bobby want to strangle Sam for asking that question, but he had to cut the kid some slack. After all it seemed he had been drugged and concussed.

Sam suddenly burst into tears making both Bobby and Dean run to his side. "Sam, come on. It's okay."

Bobby put a hand on Sam's arm comfortingly, wondering if the topic of Jessica had triggered her death in his memory, but Sam appeared to have forgotten all about that.

"Sam, what's wrong?" Dean whispered. "I'm here."

Slowly, Sam's tears subsided. He was still sniffling when he looked at Dean. "What?"

"What's wrong? Why were you crying?"

Sam looked confused. "I don't know…" he said, then looked at Bobby. "Do you know why I was crying?"

Bobby shook his head. "Nope. Sorry kid."

"Tired," Sam suddenly said, all traces of random outbursts gone. "Sleep?"

"Sure Sammy, you can sleep." Dean said, still in the same soothing voice. "We'll be right here if you need us, let's just get you to the bedroom…"

Bobby watched as Dean led Sam out of the room. He sighed, wondering what had happened to begin with.

Damn idjits.

So…what did you guys think so far? Keep? Toss?

Reviews are appreciated!