No doubt about it, Jude Emery was just a strange episode. Mostly because it was supposed to be a pilot for another series, so it introduced an odd -- even for Hazzard -- cast of characters, dressed in equally bizarre costumes.

Anyway, the inspiration for this one was the cactus, and the threat of a lifetime of sores that would never heal. Plus, this episode had that same kind of down-and-dirty feel of some of the earliest episodes. The Duke boys weren't saints here, they were beer drinking ex-moonshine runners. Oh, and of course the idea that the boys are blood brothers comes from Trouble At Cooter's (which hasn't happened yet, but whatever).

Blood Brothers. Pure poison and a living hell. That was what that bizarre bad-guy-wannabe Snake Harmon had told them about the cactus. Of course, it was ridiculously hard to take seriously the words of a man who wore a black and white striped shirt and some kind of mangled top hat. Whose best friends seemed to dress in cheap imitation bearskin and naugahyde, and that was the ones that didn't have rattles at the end of their tails.

I'm too young to die, was what Luke had said. Fortunately that part seemed to be true. Because Bo had been sure – more than once – that Patch Loring was about to kill him. Luke must have thought so too, the way he checked his own chest after Willie's shotgun went off.

But Snake's gang, like Snake himself, was really nothing more than a bunch of overgrown kids playing with dangerous toys, so no real harm had come to any of them.

Except Bo. Because ever since he saw Luke's wrist, vulnerable and small (words he'd never thought about in relation to his cousin before – Luke was always bigger and stronger, even now that he wasn't anymore), get tied to that monster Patch's, his brain wasn't working right.

Blood brothers, that was him and Luke. Cousins first, but raised like brothers, and on Luke's fifteenth birthday they'd made it as official as they could; it was Bo's present to Luke in a year when they didn't have two nickels to rub together.

Pure poison was the thoughts in his head, the things that would eventually drive a wedge between him and his cousin unless he could get rid of them. A living hell, that pretty much described what was happening to Bo.

I trust Luke, he'd told Snake. A goad, of course, but also completely true. Trusted Luke and knew him and didn't reckon all the explanations in the world about small and vulnerable wrists would make a lick of difference. If he was lucky, Luke would take him off to the doc to be examined. The other possibility, of course, was that Luke would send him off to the nut house and tell him never to return.

Not that Hazzard even had a nut house, and Bo couldn't leave the county. So Luke would have to kill him.

Although he wasn't in the least sorry to see the cartoonish band of law-breakers and lawmen leave, that wasn't what made Bo drink so heartily to a job well done. No, it was a simple need for an altered state of consciousness that drove him to it, seeing as his current state consciousness wasn't at all helpful. The Boar's Nest had enough girls in it to keep Luke distracted while Bo quietly got drunk. By the time Luke figured out how many beers Bo had finagled, it was too late. If drinking didn't take away his demons, he'd puke them up. Not right away, but before the night was through.

"I'll help you, Lukas," he heard from somewhere near his own shoulder. Left one, maybe, seemed like his right was being supported by Luke. Which was surprising, because he'd been sitting, just resting his eyes for a minute and not watching Luke dance with that girl with the flipped hair and wildly gyrating hips, but now he seemed to be mostly on his feet.

"I got him." Too loud, Luke was, answering Cooter back. The bar was too bright, too, until he closed his eyes. Didn't make the light go away, just turned it pink with red designs here and there. Using his free hand to cover his lids led to interesting sparks of color. Must be pushing too hard against his eyes, but that was all right. The patterns were fun to watch. "Come on, Bo." Angry, right in his ear. "One foot in front of the other."

Yeah, he could do that, could keep up the forward momentum so long as Luke navigated. Quite a team, the Duke boys. Where you found one you got the other, and together they were unstoppable. Which must have been how they got far enough that the lights were dim and the air was cool.

"Bo," got panted in his ear. "You're gonna have to help me here."

So he opened his eyes enough to get some idea of where they were. His right eye didn't want to look where the left was, kinda swung off with ideas of its own, but even with one eye, in the near dark, he could see the white trim of the General's racing number glowing at him. Luke was trying to push him toward the car, maybe to lean against the door, maybe to go in head first. Bo couldn't swear which it was (yeah, it had to be those shots of rum in between the beers that took away his coordination, inhibitions, and the proper use of his eyes, but did nothing to stop those wild desires that needed to be tamed down) but he didn't much care, either. He wrapped both his arms around Luke's neck (funny how long they'd gotten, reaching all the way around and back to hook onto themselves – seemed like the last time he'd clung onto Luke like this there hadn't been quite so much excess arm that he needed to find a place for) and felt the stumble-steps as his cousin worked out how to stay upright (and Bo was the drunk one).

"Bo!" Perfect. Open mouth, and Bo found his way to it, might have missed at first, a little too much chin, but eventually he located the soft part, wet lips, hard teeth, warm tongue.

Got pushed away again. "Not," huffs and puffs as Luke shoved him back in the general direction the car. "When you're drunk."

Not when he was drunk. All right. Made a mental note to try this again tomorrow. Or maybe the next day because—

"Luke? I don't feel so good." It wasn't nice the way Luke laughed at that, then shoved him off toward some bushes on the edge of the parking lot.