"He's an addict Dean."

"What?"

"You heard me."

"Bobby, you've lost your mind! The only thing Sam's ever been addicted to is being a giant geek!"

Bobby sighed. He'd known this was going to be a difficult conversation and Dean hadn't let him down. Typical Winchester! But then, Dean had only let him down that one time – that one time he'd sold his soul for one lousy year. It still killed him to think how little Dean valued himself.

But this was about Sam. And Sam was an addict. And true to form, an out of control Winchester was dangerous. Only this was Sam – so multiply dangerous by infinity. One way or another, Dean had to accept what was right in front of him, however much he didn't want to.

"Haven't you noticed anything about the way he's behaving lately Dean?"

"No!" Dean paused. "Like what?"

"C'mon Dean."

Dean hated the way Bobby was leading him. He wanted Bobby to be gruff and practical … and wrong. But when was Bobby ever wrong? He considered throwing a punch. It often helped. But he couldn't really do that to Bobby. (Bobby would throw one back and where would that get either of them except bruised?)

"What is it?"

"Whaddya mean?"

"What's he addicted to."

"You don't know?" Bobby scratched his scalp and pulled his cap back on. This was awkward.

"What? What is it Bobby?"

Bobby's face was a study in embarrassment, amazement and consternation. Quite a sight, and if Dean wasn't so wound up he might have even laughed.

"It's not an 'it' really… well it is, but really… ah… more of a who I guess. Sorta." Bobby trailed off. The cap was off again and now being crushed mercilessly between his hands.

"Ruby." Dean slumped onto a chair in Bobby's kitchen, the legs creaking under the sudden strain. Of course he knew. He'd suspected for a while. Sam's devotion to the demon had never felt right, even after he explained what had happened while Dean was in hell.

"Yeah. Ruby."

"Has she put some kind of spell on him? Wait! He's not in love with her?"

"No Dean. It's not like that."

"Well tell me Bobby! What is he addicted to?"

"Her blood Dean. He's drinking her demon blood."

Dean erupted off the chair. Halfway to follow through on his intention to throttle the life out of his uncle/friend/adopted dad, he stopped – and punched the wall instead. And again for good measure, smearing Bobby's kitchen wall with blood from his skinned knuckles. He went for a third hit, but Bobby was there and pulled his arm back before he could make contact.

"No! No way in hell would he do that!"

"Dean, come on. Sit down. We need to talk about this."

"Talk about what? Sam's finally gone dark side – what should we talk about – how to kill him?"

"No! We have options Dean. It's not too late."

"What options? Dad warned me about this – he told me I'd have to kill Sammy!"

"Dean. Please. You're killing me here."

And looking at Bobby's distraught face had an almost instant calming effect. Dean sat back down, staring at his bloodied knuckles - the table - the floor. Anywhere but at his old, old friend. Tears slipped down his cheeks, splashing onto the worn formica tabletop.

"I tried everything."

"I know you did Dean. Sam couldn't have ever asked for a better brother."

"It wasn't enough though."

Bobby put a whiskey shot in front of Dean, followed by the bottle. Downing his own in one, he poured another.

"You suddenly stopped bein' his brother?"

"What? No!"

"Well what the hell is all this talk about killin' him?"

Dean raised liquid green eyes to Bobby.

"But what am I supposed to do Bobby?"

Bobby's heart damn near broke at that.

"Do what you always do Dean. Help him."

"He doesn't need my help anymore."

A quiet rustling noise behind him alerted Dean to Castiel's appearance in Bobby's kitchen.

"Damn. I aint never gonna get used to that." Bobby poured himself another whiskey.

"What do you want Cas?" Dean didn't even turn around.

"Bobby's right Dean."

"About my brother the demon-blood sucking fuck up? Yeah, thanks for the news flash."

"Dean."

"WHAT? What the hell are you gonna ask me to do now?"

"It's not over. We haven't lost this war."

"You know what? I don't give a flying crap about this war!"

Castiel didn't move. His expression hardly changed. Just a tiny twitch gave away how much he wanted Dean to understand what he was saying.

"It doesn't have to be over for Sam either."

Bobby nodded in agreement and poured another whiskey. He was starting to quite like Castiel.