Dean loped up the steps and pounded on the door, his heart racing like the Impala on a long stretch of open road on a sunny afternoon. Not waiting for an answer, he twisted the knob and exploded into Wade's living room, surprising the kid who was just reaching for the door.

"Shit, Dean!" Wade jumped in surprise.

But Dean had no time for niceties. "Where is he?" He barked, glancing around. His eyes fell on Sam, seated in an overstuffed chair by a roaring fire. The kid had a blanket over his lap and a cup of something steamy on the table next to him. Grady stood behind him, and for a moment, Dean had the impression that the older boy had been … arranging ... his brother.

Dean strode over, poised to give Sam a raft of shit for not contacting him earlier, when he noticed Sam's vacant stare. Dean frowned, kneeling down.

"Sammy?" He snapped his fingers. "Hey, Sam? You in there?"

Sam's watery eyes followed the movement of Dean's fingers. Then he blinked once and focused on his brother's face. He smiled blankly, mouth falling open.

Dean swallowed hard. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. He stared up at Wade. "What the hell's wrong with him?"

Wade looked nervous. "Uh, I wanted to tell you before you saw him, actually. He, uh, he got in my stash."

Dean looked murderous as he raised back up on his feet. "You light up around my little brother, Wade? Cause I told you what would happen if you ever lit up your shit around Sam."

Wade took a step back, hands up in a gesture of surrender. "Hey, the kid did it to himself. I just found him out in my garage this morning, sacked out on my mom's yoga mats and high as a kite. Don't shoot the messenger, man. We just wanted to make sure you knew the kid was okay."

Dean gritted his teeth, trying to comprehend Wade's bullshit story. "So you're telling me Sam broke into your garage and smoked your shit, and you just found him there."

Wade nodded desperately. "That's what I'm telling you."

Dean looked to Grady, who nodded silently.

"Darin called me. Where is he?" Dean wanted a second opinion.

"Gone."

Dean glared at each boy in turn, knowing a bullshit story when he heard one, but having no way to prove it. He refocused his energies on his brother.

"Sammy? Hey Sammy? Can you hear me, dude?" Dean knelt down and took Sam's hands. His face contorted.

"His hands are like ice. Why's he so cold?"

Wade shrugged.

Dean's eyes ran up and down his little brother's form. He gently pulled the blanket off Sam's legs and stared. His brother's feet were practically in shreds. They were a strange color too, and Dean's heart sank as he thought he recognized the first stages of frostbite. He touched Sam's toes gently, drawing back when the boy whimpered.

"Fuck!" Dean exploded. "You couldn't call a doctor or pick the shit out of his feet or anything?" Dean began gently pulling thorns and bits of debris out of the soles of his brother's feet. "I need a basin of warm water." He instructed. When nobody moved, he stood up to his full height. "NOW! Dammit!"

Wade shot him a hate-filled look, but strode off toward the kitchen anyway.

Dean's voice was a little shaky when he ran his hand through his brother's unruly strands and cupped his chin in both hands. Leaning down and peering right into his eyes, he spoke gently, "Sammy, it's okay, man. I'm here. I'm gonna take the pain away, okay little brother? Sammy? Can you hear me?"

Sam stared, a string of drool winding it's way down his chin. Dean thumbed it away. "Sammy?"

Sam answered with a single word.

Dean thought he'd heard wrong. "What was that, Sam? One more time, okay? Can you say that again for me?"

Sam repeated the word, and Dean's face grew hard. He shot a glance at the two boys who stood in the kitchen, backs to him.

Help. Sam had asked for help.

###

Dean stood on the porch, Sam safely belted into the front passenger seat of the stolen car. Dean had the engine running and all the vents pointed toward the kid's feet.

He glared at Wade and Grady. "If I ever find out something went on here with my brother, if I ever find out you laid even a single finger on him, I'll be back. You hear me?"

The two boys shifted nervously, and Wade spoke up, "That's a nice thank you, Winchester. We find your kid, take him in, call you, and this is the thanks we get? You still owe me a nickel for my shit the little runt smoked."

Dean's eyes narrowed. "When I hear from Sam that he stole your weed, that's when I'll give you $50. Til then, it ain't happening. You think I don't know a raft of shit when I hear it?"

"You callin' us liars?" Grady frowned.

Dean smiled, "I'll let you know. Sam's gonna start talking soon. And when he does, you better pray his story matches the bullshit you two just tried to feed me." Dean turned and hurried down the steps, stepping behind the driver's seat and pulling away. He gazed over at Sam who stared out the window unseeingly.

"It's gonna be okay, Sammy. Just hang in there, little dude."

Sam rolled his head toward the sound of Dean's voice and aimed soulful eyes in his big brother's direction. He blinked, and a single tear rolled down one cheek.

Dean's lips formed a thin line. "I promise you Sammy, if those bastards so much as looked at you funny, I'll take care of it. You have my word on that."

Dean glared back at the house in his rear view. This was all his fault.

###

Come on, Sammy. I got us a nice, warm room with a big tub. We even have cable, dude." Dean knelt at the passenger side of the Toyota and lifted Sam up and out. He carried him the three steps to the motel room door that was already open and waiting, and sank him down on the bed.

"I could-could have walked, Dean." Sam breathed as the older boy's eyes widened. He stepped back, grinning.

"It speaks!" He feigned surprise.

Sam looked up at him in confusion, "What's going on? What happened?"

"I was just about to ask you those same two questions, geek boy. What the hell, Sam?"

"What?"

"You. Stealing weed. Smokin' it. Gettin' high. Any of this ringing a bell?"

Sam's eyes widened. "How … what?"

"What do ya got to say for yourself, Sammy?" Dean asked, as he carried in the few belongings they still owned.

Sam looked up, pleading. "Dean! I didn't! I wouldn't!"

"Calm down, you little bitch. I believe you."

"You do?"

Dean nodded. "Ain't heard such a bullshit story since that time Bobby told us about his run in with the coven of naked witches down in Houston. I didn't buy that one. I sure as hell ain't buying you breaking into someone's garage and smokin' yourself senseless."

"Who said that!" Sam was incensed.

Dean studied his brother, wanting some sort of reaction at his next words. "Wade. It was his garage."

Sam's face paled instantly, and suddenly, the kid looked as though he would pass out right there. "I don't feel so good." He said, and tried to scoot down on the bed to lie down. But that was the moment Sam discovered his feet had been replaced by two pools of molten lava, and he cried out despite himself.

Dean was on him in a heartbeat. "Hey, hey, come on now. Breathe through it. I know it hurts, but I couldn't give you the good painkillers until you told me what you smoked."

Sam's eyes streamed as he pleaded with Dean. "I didn't smoke anything, Dean. I swear. I wouldn't!"

Dean paused, "Sam, you were definitely high. Trust me on this, okay? If you didn't smoke it, how'd you get it?"

"I don't know!" Sam moaned miserably. "Please, Dean? Please? I need something. My feet hurt so bad!"

Dean stared, perplexed. If he didn't know better, he'd be sure Sam was lying to him. "Sure, Sammy. Hold on. I got some stuff right here." He popped the top on a small glass bottle and shook out a single pill.

Sam took it without looking, downing it with a single swig from the water bottle Dean gave him. "Where'd you get it? You didn't go back to the house did you?"

Dean sat back. "You remember the house?"

"Yeah, the cops found it. I had to run out the back. Lost my shoes." Sam answered mournfully. He sat carefully back against the headboard and glanced down at his feet. 'I couldn't call you, Dean. I … my phone and stuff. It's all still there … the knife you gave me."

Sam sounded heartbroken at the loss of knife, which made Dean's eyes water.

"I got your knife, Sam. And your phone and your shoes and your coat. They're out in the car."

Sam nodded, relieved. "How'd you get back in?"

"I didn't. Got nabbed."

Sam's eyes shot open. "What?"

"I wasn't paying attention. Walked right into it."

Sam stared, the waterworks starting up again, "Dean! I'm sorry! I should have found some way to warn you!"

But Dean was stuck on the details. "Sam, tell me how it is that you remember the house but not how you got high?"

Sam looked away, guilt, or what Dean thought looked like guilt, written all over his face. "I don't know. I can't explain it, all right?"

"What's the last thing you remember?" Dean busied himself washing Sam's feet in warm water and antiseptic.

Sam tried not to flinch, "I … the woods, I think. I remember walking off into the woods, wishing I had my shoes on."

"So no recollection of the garage or of Wade or Grady finding you?"

Sam shook his head. "I don't, Dean. I swear."

Dean nodded, silent.

"You believe me, right?"

Dean shrugged. "I want to, Sam."

"But I don't remember. Honest! I'd tell you if I … if I did."

Dean didn't meet his brother's eyes as he worked. "I think you're okay. I thought you had frostbite here, but I think you dodged the bullet. Color's back. Just gonna rub some antibiotic cream all over them, okay?"

Sam nodded, desperate to know whether Dean believed him. "Dean?"

"Just … let me think, Sam. Okay? I just need time to think."

"Oh, okay."

Dean wordlessly applied the cream while Sam watched him.

"You need clean, white socks for those. Gotta make a supply run. You be okay here by yourself for an hour? I saw a supercenter a few miles back."

Sam nodded, 'Yeah, Dean. I'll be okay."

Dean finally looked up, meeting his brother's eyes. "How's the pain? Better? Think you can sleep for a bit now?"

Sam nodded, the fear of rejection shining bright in his eyes, and Dean relented. "Listen, Sam. It ain't the end of the world, okay? Whatever you did, if you did it. You know you can tell me."

Sam shook his head. "But that's just it. I don't know if I did it, Dean. I c-can't remember. I'm trying."

"Do you think you might have done it?"

Sam had a memory he didn't want to share, but when Dean pressed him, he caved. "I don't know. Maybe? I remember all these plants."

"Plants?"

"Yeah. They were all around me or something. But I don't know if it was a dream or if it actually happened. Did you see anything like that … you know … at Wade's house?" Sam had to struggle to say the boy's name, and he didn't understand why.

Dean shook his head.

"I just remember feeling … feeling … relieved? I guess. When I saw the plants? I don't know why though."

Dean blinked. "You ever smoke before, Sammy? Be honest."

Sam shook his head vehemently. "I haven't, Dean, I swear."

Dean nodded. "Okay then."

"Okay, as in you believe me?"

Dean thought for a moment before answering. "Okay as in I believe you don't know for sure what happened."

Sam mulled that over. "Well, I guess that means you believe me then."

"Sam?"

"Hunh?"

"You know I … I gotta tell Dad, right?"

Sam's eyes went huge and all the color washed out of his face. "Dean don't! Please!"

But Dean shook his head. "I got to Sammy. This is too big."

Sam was near tears. "Dean please! You know what he'll do."

Dean sat gazing at his brother. He did. "Yeah, he'll punish you."

Sam shook his head. "He'll be disappointed in me, Dean. Again! I'm always such a disappointment to Dad!"

"Sam, that's not true."

"It IS true, Dean. If he thinks I … thinks I got high … thinks I broke into someone's house to get high without their permission, Dean! He'll freak."

"Shoulda thought about that before, Sammy."

"But, I don't even know for sure that I did it! And he won't listen to reason, Dean! You know he won't! It'll be all 'I'm so disappointed in you, Sam.' and 'Why can't you be more like your brother, Sam?'"

Dean shook his head. "That's not true."

"Just please! Don't tell him just yet. Give me a day or two. Maybe it'll come back to me, okay?"

Dean stood up, having had enough of the conversation. He was certain Sam was lying. There was just too much evidence to the contrary. That didn't mean he didn't blame himself though. And Dean couldn't say he didn't feel like the world's biggest hypocrite for giving Sam crap for doing the exact same shit he'd been doing for weeks.

"Just … sit tight, Sam. Here." He reached for the crutches he'd lifted from the same clinic where he'd snagged the painkillers. "Got you these if you need to get to the bathroom or anything, okay? Just try to keep pressure off those feet, and try to keep 'em off this crusty carpet til I get you some socks, okay?"

Sam nodded miserably, realizing that Dean hadn't promised him anything.

Dean stared down at him and sighed. "It really will be okay, Sammy. Stop worryin'." He said, as he pulled on his jacket and headed for the door.

But once he was outside, an overwhelming wave of something that felt a lot like depression washed over him. Sam was in for a shitload of trouble, and Dean was the one about to bring it down upon him.