Disclaimer: This disclaimer goes for this entire story. I own nothing. I have the rights to nothing. I am making nothing from doing this. FanFiction is an obsession of mine – both reading and writing it. I love the show, I love the music, and I love the actors portraying these awesome characters. Kripke is the genius behind this work of art known as Supernatural, I'm just the hack having fun with his creations.

A/N: This story is canon until just before the end of "The Rapture," and then I'm going way out into left field with it. There are OC's in this fic, but this story is not OC-centric and it definitely isn't a romance. Thanks for reading.

Songs for the soundtrack read like this, (- - Insert Song and Artist here - -), just because I believe that the great soundtrack of the show adds to it's awesomeness.

A/N2: Sorry for the re-post of this story. There was a problem with the link and it wasn't working. Since there was only one chapter up so far, I deleted the story and am going for a fresh posting in hopes that it fixes the problem. A huge appology goes out to the people who already read the first chapter and left reviews and alerts. I tried to reply to those reviewers but that seems to be down at the moment as well. Hopefully FFnet gets back to working order soon. Thanks.

Chapter 1

Present day:

The silver light from the full moon above lit the semi-shaded trail with a dull glow. She could only just make out Marcus two dozen yards in front of her. Hugging the tree line, his dark skin and dark clothes made him nearly invisible in the shadows. Likewise with the dog ghosting along beside him. Bear, the Bernese-Rottie mix, greatly resembled the animal they'd named him after – not only in appearance, but in personality as well. He was a great hunting dog.

She had her Smith&Wesson M&P tucked into the small of her back, a full mag of silver bullets at the ready for when the beast showed its ugly face. They'd only injured it in town before it ran off into the trees and they'd had to hide when folk started running towards their section of the park to see what the gunfire was about.

Stupid civies. Don't they know to run the other way when they hear shots?

They'd been following the trail for the better part of an hour now, and they were now far up in the mountains above the city of Denver. The werewolf might get far, but Bear would find him. She glanced to her left at the glacial lake glinting in the moonlight far below them. It was black and tipped with silver right now, but she knew that during daylight it was a beautiful opaque blue.

She felt like an idiot out in the open on the trail like she was, making enough noise to raise the undead. But she was bait – she was always bait – and that's what she got for being freaking small.

"You're the easy target, Jenna-girl. Use it against him." Marcus had smiled at her, tucking her gun into the back of her jeans and taking a moment to goose her while he was in the area. She had made to smack him in the stomach, but Marcus was fast and caught her small hand in his large one and pulled her close. "And for God's sake, don't shoot me." He pressed his dark lips against her pale ones, cutting off any sort of smart-assed rebuke, before letting her go and giving her a wink.

After all these years, she still got a little breathless when he kissed her like that. It must be because of the danger of their occupation that kept everything so fresh. You just never knew what was around the corner and you made the best of what you were given. She happened to think she'd been given a lot, all considering. Of course, both would rather have remained ignorant of what was out there, and both would definitely prefer that their families weren't torn apart, but there was no changing the past and if this was her lot in life, she was glad she had Marcus with her. She'd walk through fire for that man. And he, her.

She halted when Bear stopped in his tracks and gave a low growl. She reached behind her, ready to whip out the M&P and blow a pretty new hole in dude's chest, when she realized that something didn't feel right.

Bear wasn't growling at the trees, he was facing the drop-off, and he was looking up.

Six weeks earlier:

"I learned something during my time away, Dean," the angel said softly. "I serve heaven. I don't serve man and I certainly don't serve you."

The hunter felt a chill run down his spine at the cold words. He'd felt like the geeky angel was becoming his friend, if that was even possible for their kind, and to have him treat him like this? They'd just risked their necks to save Jimmy's family, Sam was coated in demon blood – and didn't that thought just turn his stomach – and Cas was bailing on him? Now? When he could really use some divine intervention? The coldness that radiated out of the angel as he walked away ate at him.

Well screw you, Buddy, he thought bitterly. I've got bigger problems at the moment.

Namely the demon blood smeared all over Sam's face like a toddler with an ice cream cone.

"Come on Sam, we've gotta get outta here." He didn't stop to see if Sam was following him or not. He really couldn't bear to see the blood all over him. How could he have been so stupid? So naïve? He'd known Sam was up to something, but this? Fucking this? Drinking demon blood to boost his powers? The Gummi Bear song started running through his head and he couldn't get it out.

Stupid bouncing bears and their Gummi-berry juice.

He could hear Sam's slow shuffle behind him. Guilt and shame radiated out of the kid so bad he could smell it.

Well, you should be ashamed, he thought angrily.

How could Sam have been so stupid? That bitch Ruby did this to him. Demon whore, leading him around by the balls and promising him Lilith, all the while getting her hooks deeper and deeper into him and turning him into this. There were times over the last few years when he'd been afraid for Sam and all the crap Yellow-Eyes threw in his lap. The psychic shit and that little bout of telekinesis, not to mention the world shattering image of Sam yanking demons with his mind. Yeah, that one earned top spot in the scared-shitless-for-Sammy category. Never in his worst nightmares did he ever think that demon blood was what was behind it all.

I'm gonna kill that whore the next time I see her, he fumed as he stalked out of the warehouse towards the door and the Impala. That bitch if fucking dead.

He swung into the driver's seat of the Impala, and didn't even look at Sam as his weight made the car sink on her suspension a minute later. He had wiped the blood off his face, he could tell without looking at him to know that, but that didn't mean he couldn't smell it still on him. It didn't mean that he wouldn't see it in his mind every time he looked at his kid brother. Blood smeared and hand outstretched, and demon clouds curling into the floor... And the cold and triumphant look in his brother's eyes – the thing that Ruby turned him into.

Bitch. Dead. His thoughts ground out.

He turned the key, the Impala's engine growled to life, sounding a little angry at Sam herself and the betrayal he laid at their feet. Because betrayal was what it was. He sold his soul for his baby brother, he faced thirty years on Alistair's rack for Sammy, everything he'd ever done he'd done for Sammy, and this is what Sam did to himself… A fucking blood junkie.

It took a long time driving down the deserted back highways and grinding his teeth for Sam to blurt out, "Will you just say something?"

"What am I supposed to say, Sam!" he thundered. "What in the hell am I supposed to say!" He pounded his fist against the steering wheel before veering sharply for the shoulder. Throwing her in park, he wrenched open the door and paced angrily up and down the side of the empty black-top desperately wanting something to punch. He heard Sam's door squeal as he pushed it open, and he wasn't sure if he wanted Sam to get back in the car, or come closer so that he could make use of the clenched fist at the end of his arm.

"Dean…?" For someone so big, Sam's voice can be really small sometimes.

"What the fuck were you thinking, Sam?" he demanded.

"It's the only way to kill Lilith," he whispered.

"Says who? Ruby? That bitch has been leading you down the road of good intentions by your balls since you met her!"

"But I'm getting stronger. I can take on Lilith and we can end this."

"And what happens when the blood isn't enough anymore, Sam? I see what's happening to you. You're all strung out and edgy lately and it's only gotten worse the last few months. What happens when you can't get enough blood?"

"I can control it." His voice got even smaller and Dean just wanted to punch some sense into the kid for thinking he was any different from any other addict out there.

"You can control it?" he hissed at his baby brother. "You can fucking control it? It's demon blood, Sam! It's wrong and you know it and you're doing it anyway! How could you do this to yourself? After everything that we've been through, how could you do this?"

"It's not what you think."

"It's not is it? That's rich, Sam. 'Cuz it looks to me like your downing Demon O-Negative and using demon powers to take down fuglies like you were swatting flies."

"We have to stop Lilith. At all costs." Sam looked up then and defiantly met his eyes for the first time since the demon-blood-face-painting-competition earlier.

"Not when the cost is your soul, Sammy!" He grabbed Sam by the front of the shirt and shook him hard. "I didn't go to hell so that you could do this to yourself!"

"That's right, Dean!" Sam yelled back into his face. "You went to hell and you left me here alone to fight without you! And I did what I had to, to keep fighting. I'm sorry if it doesn't fall in with your idealistic outlook on the apocalypse, but I've been holding a shit hand since mom died and I didn't have a whole lotta options around here!"

"You have to stop, Sam," he pleaded with his brother, hearing the words spoken to him and feeling them like a slap in the face. He'd left him here alone and unprotected – of course the sharks would circle around him. They had always circled around him. "You can't do this to yourself anymore – it will destroy you, Sam."

"But Lilith…" he interrupted.

"We'll find another way to deal with her. But this? This ain't the way, Sammy, and you know it."

"I don't know what to do…" he trailed off, seeming to shrink in on himself and sag on his bones.

He looked so much like the eight year old he remembered that pity gave him a good kick in the gut and he sighed. "First, we've got to dry you out, man. We head to Bobby's and we get you clean. Can you do that?"

"I don't know," he whispered. Sam's face scrunched up in anguish as his carefully constructed lies of self-control started to fall in around him. His eyes searched his brother's, looking for reassurance like he'd done since they were kids. The prospect of getting off the red was apparently terrifying to him.

"You won't be going through it alone, Sam. Bobby and I will be right there with you."

"Dean, I don't know if I can do it." His fearful voice cut his already tattered soul to ribbons.

"You have to Sam. 'Cuz it's me or Ruby. I can't stand by and watch you do this to yourself."

"But Ruby…"

"Whatever you think you have with her is a lie, Sam. It's not real. Whatever she tells you is a lie. She only wants to use you for her own purposes, and you don't know what those are."

Sam stood there with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket and his head hanging, longish hair falling over his eyes and obscuring his face.

"You won't leave me alone?" Sam whispered, fear and doubt festering in his voice. How strong of a hold did this blood have on him? "'Cuz I think it'll get pretty ugly."

"I'll be there for as long as it takes. The apocalypse can wait for a few months as far as I care." He clapped a hand over the back of Sam's neck and forced him to look at him. "I won't lose you to this, Sam. Not after everything we've been through. I won't lose you to this."

Sam's head drooped and his shaggy hair swayed with his nod. He didn't speak, but the nod was all Dean needed. He was gonna get his brother back. All the other shit could wait.

"Come on. We've got about six hours until we reach Bobby's."

An hour out from Bobby's, Sam's cell started to ring. He looked at the display and hastily tried to tuck it back in his pocket.

"Is that Ruby?" Dean demanded.

"Yes," Sam admitted shamefully, stopping his attempt to hide the phone away.

"Give it to me," he ordered, holding out his hand for Sam's phone.

"Dean…"

"Just give me the goddamn phone Sam!"

Sam gave a defeated huff and reluctantly gave the phone to Dean.

He hit the answer button and brought the phone to his ear. "Now you listen to me you blood pimping whore," he threatened. "You come near me or my brother again and you're dead. Do you hear me? I never want to see your demon bitch face again, or else my face and your knife are the last things you'll ever see." He snapped the phone shut without waiting to hear a retort and tossed it on the seat of the car between him and Sam.

"You could have just ignored her," Sam said sullenly.

"She's persistent. She would have just kept trying to reach you and then she would have come looking for you. Or is that what you wanted?" He couldn't keep the accusation out of his voice if he wanted to.

"No," he whispered. "No, I don't want her to find me. It's just that… that… Ruby and I…" He couldn't seem to find the words he was looking for so Dean decided to cut him a break. There were more important things on the go right now other than pettiness.

"She saved your life, and you've been sleeping with her, and you feel like you're joined to her in a way other than at the junk or the veins?"

Sam sighed, "It's twisted, I know. But, yeah. That's pretty much how it feels. It's not love – I know that. It's not like it was with me and Jess. But it was something… something more than just the sex and blood – I just don't know what it was."

"You're making the right choice here, Sam. She's poison. Deep down, you know it too."

"Yeah. I know…"

After twelve hours at Bobby's, they had to lock Sam in the panic room. His deterioration came on fast. Within the span of an hour, he went from rocking back and forth to taking swings and trying to escape the house with the keys to Bobby's old Chevelle in his pocket. The sound of the metal bar sliding into place on the panic room was eerily like the sound of a cell door closing. There wasn't much difference if you really looked at it. Sam was in lockdown.

There was a cot in there, and a piss bucket against the curved wall. There was little else as they didn't want anything in there that Sam could hurt himself with. Thankfully, Bobby in all his prophetic wisdom, had cleared out the panic room of all the munitions before they arrived just in case it came to this. It took both of them to wrestle Sam into the room. His eyes were wide with fear and bloodshot from withdrawal, but they did it. He had his arms locked around Sam's chest, while Bobby had a strong hold on his knees, and they carted his kicking and swinging ass into the panic room like deranged spoils from a tribal hunt. All they needed was a spear held between them and Sam trussed up by his wrists and ankles like a boar ready for the spit.

So Dean sat with his back against the metal door on the dirty floor of Bobby's basement, reading the paper aloud so that Sam would know he wasn't alone. The banging and animalistic screams coming from within made the hairs on the back of his neck rise but he kept reading for as much good as it was doing. At least it gave him something to concentrate on other than Sam throwing himself around the room and screaming for Ruby.

As if I didn't need another reason to kill the bitch, he thought ascetically as he spoke louder to be heard over Sam's yelling.

Eventually he came to the end of the paper. It wasn't as if he was reading the obituaries or the Wall Street report to Sam, and he definitely wasn't about to read to him the bad shit that was happening that sounded suspiciously like demon activity. So when the paper ran dry, and there was nothing he could say to his brother but he still needed Sam to know he wasn't alone, he started to sing.

(- - End of the Line, by The Travelling Wilbury's - -) as sung by Dean.

His voice was raspy from talking for so long, and his throat was dry from not thinking to bring some water down with him when he took up his post hours ago, but he sang anyway. Sam always hated him singing along to the radio – he thought it was annoying as hell. But halfway through the song, he heard Sam quiet down and he even started singing too. And if he thought his voice was hoarse, Sam's was like heavy boot treads on broken glass.

"Well it's allll right, even when push comes to shove," they sang in unison.

And there were plenty of times it came to pushing and shoving, didn't it Sammy?

"Well it's allll right, if you got someone to love,"

Totally not using the 'L' bomb – we are waaayyy cooler than that…

"Well it's allll right, everything will work out fine,"

He imagined that Sam was sitting with his back braced against the door, and the thought gave him hope. The two of them, back to back like they were supposed to be.

"Well it's allll right, we're going to the end of the line."

You and me both Sammy. I'm not losing you to this, he silently promised his brother as he continued singing the song. He was fighting to keep the tears in check and keep his voice from cracking so that Sam didn't know how close he was to losing it and how far from fine he really was.

"Well, it's allll right, remember to live and let live,"

Except for Ruby, bitch is dead. And Lilith, can't forget her…

"Well it's allll right, the best you can do is forgive."

His voice did hitch on that part, Sam's too for that matter. There was a lot of forgiving to be going around these parts in the hard times to come. It was something that he and Sam would have to work on – reestablish that foundation of trust that got torn out from under them when he went to hell and left Sam alone to be preyed on by the demons.

After a time of the two of them running through all the songs they knew, Bobby came downstairs with some food and water for the both of them.

"Here. Get something in ya," he said gruffly as he leaned forward to place a tray next to Dean. A ham sandwich, a bottle of water and a familiar silver flask. Dean could smell the whiskey on Bobby's breath, but let it slide. Bobby hadn't had a drop since he got sprung from the pit, but if anything would make the seasoned hunter turn to the bottle again, it would be one of his boys locked up in his panic room for a demon-detox.

"Thanks, Bobby." Dean wiped a hand over his eyes trying to force the dryness out. He'd been awake the last thirty hours straight, and it wasn't as if he was getting a solid eight hours every night anyway. This week alone he'd probably only had about twenty-odd hours of sleep and the fumes he was running on were getting dangerously low.

Bobby slid a sandwich and a bottle of water through the slot in the bottom of the heavy iron door for Sam. "Kid?" he called.

Sam's face materialized at the eye-gate. "I'm still in here, Bobby." Sam looked even rougher than Dean did, and little wonder with the demon juice burning its way through his system, raping and pillaging as it went.

"How you faring, Kid?"

"I can honestly say that I've been better." His sweat streaked face and fevered eyes were a testament to that.

"I'm sorry for locking you up in there. But it's for your own good, Boy."

"I know. Hey, Bobby?"

"Yeah?" Bobby leaned forward to see what Sam wanted from him.

Sam didn't ask anything though, he just tried to squeeze his hands through the metal bars, and the anguished scream he let out as he tried to claw his way through the door made the grizzled hunter leap back.

"Jesus Christ!" he swore, staring appalled at the door and Sam's frenzied attempt to get through the four-by-nine inch opening.

"He's got nothing to do with this," Dean muttered, leaning his back against the metal door and sliding down the face of it to sit on his ass in the dirt. He burrowed his face in his palms to blot out the image of Sam's reaching fingers, but Bobby couldn't tear his gaze away from the opening.

"Go on back upstairs, Bobby. I got this." He gently banged the back of his head against the metal a few time before letting his head roll on his neck. Sam's deranged screaming tore at him in ways that Alastair never dreamed imaginable.

"You don't have to do this alone, Kid."

"No. But I kinda owe it to him. Y'know?"

Bobby finally broke his transfixed stare with the eye-gate and looked down at him. "You've done more for that boy than anyone could have ever expected of you."

"And it still wasn't enough," he replied bitterly, every failure compounding in his head. He rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Go back upstairs, Bobby. I'll call you if I need you."

Bobby retreated up the stairs with the tortured symphony of Sam's delusional screaming filling his ears and shattering his heart.

Dean lay across the floor in front of the metal door. All had gone silent a few hours before, and when he checked the eye-gate, he could see Sam splayed across the too small cot, tossing fitfully.

At least he's getting some sleep, he thought wearily. So he did manage to get a few precious hours of sleep in before the screaming started up again. It wasn't as bad as before Sam passed out, or at least he deluded himself into thinking that, cuz Sam had to be making an improvement – he just had to.

And day by agonizing day, the screaming got softer and didn't last as long, and the bouts of insanity were farther apart. The kid was shaking though. Bad. It killed him to look in the grate and see Sam rocking back and forth on the floor, trembling from head to toe and talking to figures that weren't there. Jessica, mom, dad, even some people that they didn't save. He 'spoke' to Madison for some time before he broke into tears. The crying spasms were tough too, but he forced himself to watch through the eye-gate, to witness what his absence had done to his baby brother. Because surely, if he hadn't left Sam behind in a world that wanted to rip him limb from limb, he never would have aligned himself with Ruby and her poison.

So he watched as his form of penance. He didn't believe in praying. God was some schmuck who bailed on everyone and left them here to wallow and rot in the crap he left behind. So he didn't pray, but he watched. And he silently begged Sam to forgive him for putting him through this.

On the sixth day they tentatively opened the door.

Sam was sitting upright on the cot, eyes sunken, skin waxen and drawn, but the trembling had stopped, and he hadn't screamed or cried in half a day.

"Sammy?" he whispered as he cautiously stepped into the room. Bobby was right behind him, and although Dean told him that it wasn't necessary, Bobby had a nightstick tucked up the back of his shirt.

"Sam?" he called again, leaning down slightly to look Sam in the eyes. A delayed second later, Sam's eyes shifted and bored into his.

"How you feeling there, Sammy?"

Sam took several measured breaths before responding. "I don't know…"

"Do you want to come upstairs? Take a shower? Get some fresh air?" he asked. The smell in the room wasn't as bad as the smells in hell, but it was sufficiently awful enough to make him take short breaths.

"I-I… I think I'd like a shower."

"That's good, Kid," Bobby said gently, scrutinizing every non-move Sam made. "Come on upstairs. Take a shower, get something hot to eat. I've got some coffee on if you want some of that too…"

"Your coffee's always burnt." Sam's eyes swung slowly from Dean's to Bobby's and the effect was un-nerving.

"I'll brew you a fresh pot – just the way you like it," Dean promised him, leaning in a little closer but breathing even shallower. "Not too strong and with lots of cream and sugar."

Fuck he stinks.

"I could really go for a latte right now."

"Maybe we'll go out for one later," he compromised. "Come on upstairs, Sam. Let's get outta here."

He grabbed him gently by the elbow and tugged him to his feet where he swayed slightly. Sam followed him up the stairs, with Bobby bringing up the rear. The over-cautious approach might have seemed a little over-done, but the zombie-like state Sam was in was freaking him the hell out.

Sam winced as the bright light filtering in through dirty kitchen windows assailed him. Shielding his eyes with his forearm, he made his way through the kitchen and up the stairs to the bathroom on the second floor. They had already taken all the razors out of the bathroom, and Sam could live with his week's worth of scruff if he didn't feel like using the electric razor on the grubby counter. Dean had laid out a towel and washcloth, soap, shampoo and some clean clothes from his duffle bag so that Sam would have everything he needed. He left the bathroom, closing the door gently behind him before settling on the floor in the hallway. Bobby turned to go stand on the porch underneath the bathroom window so that Sam couldn't make a run for it by climbing out the window.

The shower ran for nearly an hour before Sam came out – looking more human now than walking skeleton. His hair was slicked back like it normally was, his sideburns were long and shaggy, but they didn't put any scissors in there in case he tried to hurt himself with them. And he did use the electric razor to tame the stubble on his face. He wasn't the baby faced boy he always saw when he looked at him, but he was more like the Sam he used to know than the one that they'd had to cage up like an animal the last six days.

Dean stood up from the floor, still cautiously watching Sam, afraid that he would lash out any second. "How about that coffee, Sammy?"

"Sounds good," he spoke slowly, as if he had to concentrate on what he wanted to say, and that was sufficient to keep him on high alert. "Do you think Bobby's got any bacon and eggs? I'm kinda sick of ham sandwiches."

"Yeah," he whispered, smiling a little on the inside. "Yeah, I think he does. Let's go down to the kitchen."

The three of them ate in silence, but Sam became visually more relaxed the more time he spent with them, and they eventually started talking about mundane things. He was a far cry from the normal, know-it-all, I'm-a-grown-up-now, pain-in-the-ass little brother he's always been… but it was a step in the right direction – and that was what mattered.

A/N: Thanks to all of you who read to the end of this first chapter and weren't scared away by the OC's at the very start. I promise you that they take a back seat to this series in the first story, but they will become more involved in the later stories. Also, Sam doesn't stay in his zombie state for long (I just heard a bunch of you sigh in relief). In fact, he and Dean go hunting in the next chapter. I just had to take a chapter to swing this away from the Kripke-verse before I could mutilate it. And I know that I can't compete with what Kripke cranked out, but this idea sprung to mind part way through season four, and I just couldn't let it go. Thanks for reading, and I hope you stick with me on this one.