A/N: Thanks to Catsluver, who keeps siphoning every ounce of emotion out of me that she can get (and sometimes adds it in herself), and skzb, who keeps me in line and reins in my comma usage (although not as much as she'd like). Also, thanks to Cartersdaughter, who has bravely joined my beta ranks with her help on this chapter.

Thanks to those who review as guests. Your kind comments keep me going. Love to everyone who continues to support me by reading and reviewing. Without further ado, here's some Sammy!

Chapter 25

Sam was getting drunk. Screw his fucking schedule. Screw the bad effects the whiskey could have on his body. Screw the hideous hangover he would wake up with tomorrow morning. He just wanted to get fucked up, to forget.

He didn't want to think about TJ being in Jeremy's arms right now, of her crying on Jeremy's shoulder. It made Sam burn with rage to think about it, and it hurt. But what was he supposed to do? Go over there and cause a scene? Get out his Taurus and put a bullet in Jeremy's ass, then drag TJ out by her hair like a deranged, paraplegic caveman?

She'd made it clear who she wanted to be with, and it wasn't him. She wanted someone who respected her opinion. He wondered cynically how much talking she was doing right now with Jeremy, how much Jeremy was respecting her opinion. The thought of the smug smile on Jeremy's face when TJ had shown up on his doorstep—the satisfaction Jeremy must have felt knowing Sam's wife had come to him for comfort—filled Sam with disgust.

He picked up the heavy crystal lowball glass he'd found in Vern's liquor cabinet and had the strong urge to throw it against the back porch railing and watch it smash to pieces. It would be a fitting metaphor for the shape his heart was in. Instead, he poured himself two fingers of Jack and downed it like a shot, feeling the amber liquid burn as it slid down his throat. This was his third shot. He poured another one, using the wicker ottoman in front of him as a coffee table.

Rocket lay next to Sam on the wicker loveseat, giving him an admonishing look with his woeful, pale-blue eyes.

"What are you looking at?" Sam asked defensively, scratching Rocket between the ears. "Someday you'll understand. You'll find a girl you love more than anything in the world, and she'll have a stroke and wake up in love with some other guy. Then you'll know how it feels to have your heart ripped out. But don't worry, I'll be here waiting for you with a doggy bowl full of whiskey—and I won't judge you."

Rocket let out a snort and put his head on his paws.

Fern had talked an angry Vern into going to bed not long after TJ stormed off, convincing him that going after TJ half cocked would only make matters worse, that things would look better in the morning after they'd all cooled off. Fern had reasoned that TJ would be safe at Jeremy's. Yeah, right. If sleeping in a crocodile's lair could be considered safe.

Knowing there was no way in hell he'd be able to sleep anytime soon, Sam had raided Vern's liquor cabinet and found his old friend Jack Daniel's in it. Now he was sitting on the loveseat on the back porch, getting a good start on drowning his sorrows. He shot the fourth glass of whiskey, noticing the burn didn't seem quite as bad as it made its way down to his stomach, and poured another.

He'd been making progress with TJ. She was beginning to bond with the twins, and he could feel she was thawing toward him. They were becoming friends, and there was no denying the physical attraction between them. He could feel her responding to him, and it had been good to see glimpses of the old TJ. And when he'd been sick, she was attentive and understanding. She'd cared. He'd started to hope again, to remember what it felt like to kiss her and hold her.

Then he'd had to tell her about the demon blood and the visions and all the crap from his fucked up past. It made him ache, the way she'd retreated from him. She hadn't run screaming in the other direction, but she was definitely wary of him.

It was like trying to catch raindrops with her. He would almost have her in the palm of his hand, but then any tenuous connection he had with her would slip through his fingers.

And now there was all the drama with the bulimia. TJ was so thin. Vern was right. She'd lost more weight since she'd come home instead of gaining. Sam and her parents could see so clearly the path she was on. It was like seeing someone about to be hit by a car but not being fast enough to push them out of the way.

Sam's blood ran cold at the thought of what could happen, how destructive the eating disorder could be. The image of her limp, pale body when he and Bobby had found her in her apartment, dying from the esophageal rupture, was seared into his retinas.

He downed his fifth shot of whiskey. The burn no longer burned at all. It was a soothing warmth that started in his gullet and spread throughout his body. He was well on his way to rip-roaring drunk. "Stubborn woman," he muttered, as he poured yet another shot.

"Let me guess. You must be referrin' to my charming and illustrious amnesiac daughter that we all know and love."

Sam looked up to see Vern standing in front of him. There was a wry smirk on Vern's face, and he was holding a flat-looking bottle of amber liquid and a tumbler of his own.

Sam snorted. "I thought you were asleep."

Vern shook his head. "I couldn't sleep. I was still too pissed off. Plus, Ferna Sue's snoring kept me awake. Sometimes it sounds like the Texas Chainsaw Massacre in there."

Sam laughed, despite his morose mood.

Vern eyed Sam's glass. "What you got there?"

"I, uh, raided your liquor cabinet," Sam said sheepishly. His tongue felt thick. "Sorry," he added.

Vern raised his brows. "For what?" He waved an arm in a facetiously grand gesture that encompassed the Pepto-pink house, the backyard, and everything beyond it. "Son," he said in a magnanimous tone, "someday, all this will be yours—even the liquor cabinet."

"Right," said Sam glumly. "As long as TJ doesn't divorce me first."

Vern grabbed Sam's tumbler and emptied its contents over the porch railing.

"What did you do that for?" Sam bristled, frowning. "I was gonna drink that."

"You ain't drinkin' that swill in my house." Vern sat in the chair kitty-corner from Sam, unscrewed the cap of the flat bottle, and filled Sam's and his glasses halfway. "Drinking Tennessee whiskey in Kentucky is sacrilege. When in Kentucky, you must drink bourbon."

Sam frowned again. "I thought Jack Daniel's was a bourbon."

Vern rolled his eyes. "Hell, no. You got a lot to learn, boy."

"But aren't they made by the same process?"

Vern scoffed. "Some might argue that."

"Then what's the difference?"

"Well, mainly, Jack Daniel's ain't made in Kentucky."

That said it all. "Oh," said Sam, holding in his amusement.

Vern was serious, the teacher to the student. "Even them nudnicks in Tennessee admit it ain't a bourbon." He picked up the bottle of Jack, a look of distaste on his face. "See? It says right here on the bottle. 'Jack Daniel's Tennessee Sour Mash Whiskey.' It's not a bourbon."

"Right. So, why was it in your liquor cabinet?"

"My old roommate from college sent it to me as a joke. I kept it in case I had to entertain someone I didn't like someday." Vern raised his lowball and looked lovingly at the amber contents. "Now, this here is a bourbon. Woodford Reserve. It's a thing of beauty. You should only bring this out when it's really needed, when it's gonna really be appreciated. That's why they call it a reserve." He took a sip, closing his eyes and savoring the taste. "Mm-mm. Sassy and complex like a good woman." He eyed Sam's glass. "I should make you cleanse your palate of that Tennessee sludge before I let you grace your lips with my bourbon—"

"Cleanse my palate?" said Sam, raising his brows.

"—but I realize that sometimes the need to get drunk quick takes precedence over propriety." Vern waved his glass at Sam's, indicating Sam should drink. "Bottoms up."

Sam made a toasting motion with his glass and took a sip, this time taking it slow, actually letting himself taste it. Vern was right. The Woodford was smooth and spicy, but it didn't have so much bite that it was unpleasant. It was a damn fine bourbon.

They sat in silence for a moment, sipping their drinks. Sam was already buzzing hard from the four? five? six? shots of Jack, and the Woodford was potent. He felt warm, like he was glowing all over, and the stark pain and anger he felt over TJ running to Jeremy had lessened to a more tolerable ache.

"So, what's all this talk about TJ divorcing you?" questioned Vern, breaking the silence.

Sam gave a little shrug. "All the stuff about the hunting, my visions, the demon blood—I know it's freaked her out." He ran a hand through his hair. "Jesus, who wouldn't be freaked out by it? Still, I think we could get past it, but every time I think I'm making progress with her, Jeremy weasels his way back into the picture. He confuses her." Sam narrowed his eyes. "He's taking advantage of her."

Vern let out a long sigh. "Yeah. I know Jeremy ain't helping things. I'm not defending him, but he's always been like a son to us. Our families were always close. There was a time we all assumed—well, you know. When TJ and Jeremy were little, they were thick as thieves. I think Fern and Liv always kind of hoped..." He trailed off with an apologetic shrug.

"That they'd get together," Sam finished.

"Yep. I think TJ had hopes of dating him when they were in high school, but Jeremy was a wild buck that wasn't ready to be tamed."

Sam had the vindictive thought that if he told Vern the whole of it—that Jeremy had taken TJ's virginity—his problem would be solved. Vern would kill Jeremy. But Sam didn't think that would help his relationship with TJ. In fact, it would probably drive her further away. She'd told him everything about Jeremy because she trusted him, because they told each other things they would never tell anyone else, and Sam would never betray her confidence. Instead, he said, "Jeremy wants her now, and the fact that she's my wife is irrelevant to him."

Vern shook his head with disapproval. "Well, if that's true, it ain't right. Jeremy was a spoiled kid, and he's used to getting his way. He wasn't a mama's boy exactly—Ross, his daddy, made sure that didn't happen—but he was indulged. It's kindly hard not to spoil them at least a little, especially when they're the only one you got." Vern's tone held a note of ruefulness, like he spoke from experience.

"I have to give Jeremy credit, though," Vern continued grudgingly. "I thought he was kind of flaky, the way he was all into his music and that long hair he used to have." Vern's eyes slid pointedly to Sam's long hair, a teasing twitch to his mouth.

Sam smirked and took a long sip of his bourbon.

"He even majored in music at Kentucky," Vern went on. "I didn't see how that was a very practical route to go. Ross didn't either, but he let Jeremy do it anyway." Vern took a drink of his bourbon. "But when Ross got killed suddenly, Jeremy stepped up to the plate. He took it like a man and did what was right, especially when it became clear that Ross's death unhinged Liv. Jeremy's learning the ropes at the bank and taking care of his mother, doing the best he can, I suppose."

Sam was unmoved by Jeremy's sob story. "He's made it clear he's not gonna back off from TJ."

Vern harumphed. "I'm not worried. You just keep doin' what you're doin'. You know how to handle TJ, and you've got the patience to do so. You can talk to her better than anyone I've ever seen. I made things worse tonight, and I'm sorry. I shouldn't have forced her about seeing the shrink. I pushed her to run to Jeremy, not you."

Sam leaned his head against the siding of the house, thinking of his last words to TJ about acting like an adult. "I'm no better at talking to her than anyone else. I said some things tonight that ticked her off, too. Who could blame her for running to Jeremy?" he brooded. His tongue wasn't cooperating, and he had to try harder to enunciate. "He's got everything going for him. He's good-looking—if you like the douchey Ryan Gosling look—and he's rich. He owns a friggin' bank," Sam said scornfully. "He's got a long history with TJ. He's got two legs that work."

"Plus," Vern commiserated, "there ain't no chance he's got any demon blood in him."

Sam laughed morosely. "Right. No demon blood. Just jackass blood."

Vern chuckled.

Sam sucked down the rest of the bourbon in his glass and held it out for a refill. Vern obliged.

"Thanks for the pep talk, Vern," Sam slurred. "I feel so much better now."

Vern nodded. "Anytime you're feelin' sorry for yourself, I'm always here to make it worse."

Sam snickered drunkenly.

"Yep. The way I see it," said Vern, "Jeremy's got everything goin' for him except for one thing."

"What's that?"

"He aint' you."

"Huh?"

"Aw, hell, Sam. Don't sell yourself short. TJ can't keep her eyes off of you. She was watchin' you like a hawk all evening at the birthday party. You're smart, you're a good guy, and I've seen her mesmerized sometimes when she watches you with the twins. She loves you. She just don't know it yet."

Sam exhaled an inebriated breath.

"Hoo-wee. You smell like a distillery."

"Sorry."

Vern rolled his eyes comically. "No need to apologize."

Sam reflected on what Vern had said about TJ, but he had a hard time believing she could possibly love him since she was probably in Jeremy's arms at that very moment. What if she was in Jeremy's bed? The thought made Sam want to throw up.

"You're not lookin' so hot, kid."

"I'm a light"—Sam hiccup-burped—"weight."

"Well, a half a fifth of bourbon and that Jack Daniel's swill will do that to ya, even if you ain't a lightweight," said Vern, eyeing the almost empty bottle of Woodford.

"Huh." Sam blinked, focusing on the flat bottle. How had the bourbon disappeared so fast? One minute it was there. The next, it wasn't.

"I think we both better git to bed," Vern said ominously. "We're gonna pay for this tomorrow."

Sam nodded and scooted himself forward on the loveseat so he could transfer to his chair. Just that small movement made the room tilt and roll. "Whoa."

"You all right?"

"Uh, I think it's a good thing I can't stand up."

Vern wheezed out a laugh and clapped Sam on the back. "Come on. I'll help you get in your chair."

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "No drinking and transferring. It's bad." He was remembering when he fell and hurt his shoulder. He'd been mixing his pain and antispasticity meds with whiskey and fell trying to get into his chair from the shower. Of course, Yellow Eyes had made the injury much worse by lifting Sam several feet in the air and then dropping him on his already-damaged shoulder.

Sam grabbed the frame of his chair with one hand and hooked his arm around Vern's neck.

"On the count of three?" asked Vern.

Sam nodded.

"Okay. One—"

"Vern?" Sam interrupted. His face was intimately close to Vern's. Vern smelled like a distillery, too.

"What?" asked Vern.

"For a father-in-law, you're pretty"—hiccup—"badass." Sam was feeling sentimental, and, Jesus, his head was spinning, making his thoughts swirl.

"Thank you, son," replied Vern. "Okay. One—"

"Vern?"

"Yeah, Sam?" There was a bit of wryness in Vern's tone.

"Fern's badass, too."

"You got that right. Okay. One—"

"Vern?"

Vern sighed. "Son, I can't bend over like this all night. My back's startin' to hurt."

"I love you guys."

Vern chuckled. "We love you, too, Sam. And I ain't told a man I loved him since I was six years old, especially in this close proximity, so let's get you in that chair."

"Okay."

"Now, on the count of three. One—"

"Vern?"

"God Almighty. What, Sam?"

Sam swallowed thickly, the pain of everything hitting him hard, despite his drunken state. He was afraid he would never get TJ back. She was right under his nose, yet so far away. "I love TJ, too."

Vern hesitated and then spoke with sympathy. "I know you do, son. I know you do."

XXXXXXXX

Dean woke to his cell phone ringing. He'd had several beers with Bobby on the porch of Bobby's house before turning in, and his head was a little muzzy. He glanced at the clock on the phone as he pressed the talk button. It was after one a.m. He hadn't gotten a call this late (or early) in a very long time. He blinked his sleepy eyes and focused on the caller ID. It was Sam.

Dean was instantly awake. "Sam? What's wrong?"

"Hey, Dean."

"Sam, are you okay?"

Sam snickered, which was weird. Sam didn't snicker. "You sound all big-brothery."

"What time is it there, midnight?" asked Dean. "Why are you calling? Is something wrong?"

"'M fine." Sam sounded strange, like he was trying to get his tongue to fit around his words. "I jus' wanted to call and see wha' chou were doin'."

"You know what I'm doing. I'm at Bobby's—sleeping. I told you I was coming to see him."

"I know. I jus' wanted to hear"—hiccup—"your voice."

"Okay. You're officially creepin' me out. What's going on with you?"

"Nothing. Everything's fine." When he said "fine," it sounded like "fi-nuh," like he was trying too hard to say the word.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Dude, are you drunk?"

"Yep." Sam let out a sloppy sigh. "I miss you, Dean." He sounded so sincere. His voice was doing the kicked-puppy thing.

"I don't believe it," said Dean. "You're drunk-dialing me."

"Whoa. The bed keeps spinning."

"Grab something solid. Put your hand on the nightstand to anchor yourself."

"Right."

"Sam, why are you wasted?"

"Because TJ's getting her opinions heard."

"What?"

"She's at Jeremy's. Jeremy doesn't think she's too thin, and he listens to her." There was a mocking tone to Sam's slurred speech.

Dean was starting to get the picture. "You talked to her about getting counseling for the eating disorder?"

Sam sighed drunkenly. "Yeah. Vern, Fern, and me. She was pissed."

"You knew she would be."

"Yeah."

"It'll be okay, Sam. You did the right thing. You can't just sit by and watch her get worse. You know what will happen."

"Yeah." There was a long pause. "I don't think I can do this anymore, Dean. I want to give her time, but..."

"But what, Sam?"

"Maybe I should come back to California. Maybe I should try to get back into Berkeley or maybe somewhere else."

"Sam, you can't do that. What about the twins?"

"I'll leave them with TJ and her parents. They'll probably all be safer if I'm not here."

"Is this about that nightmare you had?" Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. "It was just a nightmare, Sammy."

"My nose bled, Dean. You know what that means."

Time stopped for a split second at Sam's words.

Dean didn't want to hear it, didn't want to believe the nosebleed meant anything—didn't want to believe it meant Sam's freaky visions were back. "Listen to me. Robby and Sami Joy will not be better off without you. You know that. They need both TJ and you. They need you to protect them, and besides, you'll never be happy unless you're with them."

"I'll never be happy watchin' TJ with another guy, either. She's with him right now, Dean, probably snuggled in his stupid arms."

The raw despair in Sam's voice made Dean's gut clench. "She won't stay with him. She's stubborn and she's just pissed off right now. She'll come to her senses." Dean hoped he was right. Damn TJ. Sam didn't deserve this.

"S'rry I woke you, Dean."

"It's okay. Look, man, don't give up. Fight for her. Don't let that dick Jeremy win."

"Right. I'll go right"—another hiccup—"over there and kick his ass." He laughed sardonically. "Oh, wait. I forgot. I can't kick."

"Sam—"

"G'night, Dean."

Before Dean could reply, the line went dead. He got up and started getting dressed, gathering up his belongings and stuffing them into his duffel. It had been two and a half months since he'd seen his niece and nephew and Sam, and it was time he saw them again. He was done chasing Heather. If she wanted to get hurt or killed hunting, then so be it. He ignored the uneasy tightening in his gut at the thought. She'd made it clear she wasn't ever going to listen to him.

Dean scribbled a note to Bobby, explaining where he was going. Bobby would understand. Sam needed him. Enough said.

XXXXXXXX

His bed to the couch in the living room. That was pretty much the extent of Sam's accomplishments for the day. He had a ton of work to catch up on because he'd been sick, but that was out of the question. Even watching TV made his head ache. There was no way he could concentrate on work in his current condition.

Vern was his partner in misery, although Vern didn't seem to be quite as hungover as Sam. At least Vern hadn't thrown up. Sam had been praying to the porcelain god most of the day, not even able to keep water down until a couple of hours ago. It was almost four in the afternoon now, and he was trying to decide if he should chance eating something. He was starting to feel a little more human.

He felt like a slacker for sticking Fern with all the baby duties, but the first time he'd tried to change a dirty diaper, he'd barely found a trashcan in time before he threw up. The smell of the baby formula had a similar effect.

Vern was sitting in a recliner petting Rocket, who had somehow finagled his way onto Vern's lap. Sam suspected it was more a matter of Vern not having the energy or caring enough to make Rocket move, rather than a sudden tolerance for having the dog in his lap. Vern had never had a house dog in his life until Rocket; but, then again, Rocket seemed to worm his way into even the hardest of hearts.

No one had really spoken of TJ, but they were all on edge, waiting for her to come home. She was growing attached to the twins, starting to bond with them, and Sam hoped that, no matter how mad she was at him or her parents, she wouldn't stay away from Robby and Sami Joy for long.

Sam was lying on the couch, about to doze off, when there was a knock on the front door. Rocket perked up his head and let out a soft warning bark.

Sam and Vern looked at each other, neither of them making an effort to answer the door. There was another knock.

"I'm old," said Vern.

"Half my body is paralyzed," countered Sam.

Vern was unimpressed and closed his eyes. They were at a stalemate.

The knocking became persistent.

Vern finally yelled, "Ferna Sue!"

"Shh," said Sam, grimacing as Vern's loud voice ratcheted up his headache. "You're gonna wake the twins—or split my head open."

"It's time for the twins to wake up anyway. Fern!" Vernon yelled louder. "Someone's at the front door!"

Sam expected a smart reply from Fern that would put Vern in his place, but when none came, Sam levered himself so that he was sitting up and ran a hand through his hair, trying not to wince at his pounding head. "I'll get it."

He heaved himself into his chair and wheeled to the front door, bracing himself for the bright afternoon sunlight that he knew was about to stab at his eyeballs. When he opened the door, he nearly fell out of his chair.

Dean was standing there in a familiar, slightly bowed-legged stance; a day's growth of stubble on his jaw; with the same military-short, dirty-blond haircut he'd had ever since Sam could remember. His duffel was slung over his shoulder, and there was a smirk on his face.

Sam squinted up at his brother and grinned, despite his now-hammering head. "Dean?"

Rocket jumped off Vern's lap and ran up to Dean, rearing up and putting his front paws on Dean's leg, tail wagging with frenzied happiness.

"Hey, you little ghoul," Dean said to Rocket as he scratched between Rocket's ears. Dean's eyes traveled over Sam. "Dude, you look like ass. You feelin' okay?"

Sam made a nondescript noise in answer. "What are you doing here? I thought you were at Bobby's."

Dean shrugged. "I left after you called last night."

Sam frowned. "I called you?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yes, Leaving Las Vegas. You booty-called me."

"No, I didn't." Sam had no recollection of calling Dean.

"Yeah, you did. You sounded shitfaced."

That wasn't good. Sam wondered what he'd said to Dean.

"I figured you might need a Dean Winchester hangover remedy."

Sam groaned. "Dean, no. Don't."

Dean pretended to be thinking. "Hmm. How about some buttermilk with ham in it?"

Sam's stomach churned. "Dean, that's not funny."

"Oatmeal with Italian sausage?"

Sam covered his mouth with his fist, feeling bile rising to his throat. "Dammit, Dean. Stop!"

Dean grinned devilishly. "I know." He snapped his fingers and pointed. "Baby formula with chunks of hominy."

Inside the house, there was a laugh from Vern, who was apparently eavesdropping.

Sam surged his chair forward, causing Dean to jump out of the way, and made it over to the ramp, flying down it. He barely made it to the bottom before he started retching into a nearby flowerbed. When he was done, he pushed himself back up the ramp and glared at Dean, a sour taste in his mouth. "Thanks for that," he said sarcastically, but he wasn't really mad. He was too glad Dean was there. "So, I'm okay. You shouldn't have driven all night. It's—what?—a fifteen-hour drive?"

Dean scoffed. "I didn't come to see you. I came to see Rocket." Dean was crouched down, scratching Rocket's chest.

"Yeah. Right."

Dean chuckled, rose, and then squeezed Sam's neck affectionately. "It's good to see you, Sammy. I'd give you a hug, but I can smell your barf breath from here. Now, where's my niece and nephew?"

Sam smiled. "They should be waking up from their nap soon, if they haven't already." He swiveled his chair around and headed inside the house, Dean and Rocket following.

When Vern saw Dean, he was miraculously able to move again. He got up from his recliner and shook Dean's hand. "Well, hello, son. This is a nice surprise."

"Vern?" said Dean in greeting. "How you been?"

"Good. Good." Vern turned his head toward the kitchen. "Fern!" he shouted. "We got company!"

There was no response from Ferna Sue, and Vern frowned. "I wonder where she got off to."

"She's probably in the dining room getting the twins up," said Sam. It was weird, though, that Fern hadn't at least yelled back in response to Vern. "Come on," Sam said to Dean. "I'm sure the twins are awake with all the commotion."

Dean set his duffel down near the recliner and followed Sam. Sam slid the pocket doors to the dining room open quietly on the off chance that the twins had slept through all the yelling and were still asleep. He checked the salt lines as he always did. They were unbroken, but the twins' cribs were both empty. It wasn't really that out of the ordinary, but his blood ran cold. This scene was too familiar.

Anyone else might think the logical thing, that Fern had already gotten the twins up, but Sam knew. He knew. It was exactly what he'd seen in his nightmare, and the vision flashed through his mind in vivid detail, even the part where Dean had been standing right next to him. "No!"

Dean's brows knitted together into a vee of alarm. "Sam?"

Sam's heart started to hammer, blood rushing in his ears. "They're gone, Dean!" He clutched his head in his hands, his whole world spinning. "Please, no. No!"

Dean looked perplexed.

"The twins, Dean! They're gone!"

Sam pulled away from the door and headed toward the kitchen to find Fern.

"Sam—"

"It's just like in my nightmare, Dean!" Sam exclaimed impatiently over his shoulder. "Something's wrong. Something took them."

When he and Dean entered the kitchen, Vern burst through the back door. "I need help! Fern's lyin' in the yard unconscious." Vern's voice was frantic, his hands shaking.

Sam and Dean followed Vern outside and saw Fern lying near the wheelchair ramp. She was beginning to stir, her brow furrowing, and Sam was relieved that she was regaining consciousness. Dean and Vern flanked her, and Sam sat as close as possible in his chair, leaning over. He stretched out and grabbed her hand, holding his wheel with his other hand for leverage. "Fern?" he asked. "Fern, it's Sam. Can you hear me?"

She squeezed his hand and let out a little moan.

Vern palmed her cheek tenderly, turning her head toward him. "Ferna Sue? Come on, girl. Wake up for me."

Slowly, her lashes fluttered, and two patches of green peeked out from under half-open eyelids. She winced as the light hit her eyes.

Sam's heart was still pounding. "Fern, can you hear me? It's Sam. Where are the twins?"

"The twins?" she asked with another wince.

"They're not in their cribs." Sam tried to keep his voice calm, tried to be patient and let Fern get her bearings, but each second that ticked by put the twins in more danger. "Fern, did you get them up from their nap?"

"No," she answered weakly. It was clear she was out of it, but she was becoming more aware. She struggled to sit up, Dean and Vern helping her.

"They were...they were still asleep. I came outside to..." She grimaced and licked her lips. "I came outside to throw some old bread out to the birds. I was tossing crumbs, and then..." She trailed off, concentrating, like she was trying to see in her mind what happened.

"Just take it slow, Fern," Sam urged. "It's okay. Try to remember what happened next."

She shook her head gingerly, fear and desperation on her face. "I can't remember, Sam. I felt a sharp, splitting pain on the back of my head, and then everything went black."

Sam's heart plummeted to his stomach. "You didn't see who hit you?"

She shook her head, her eyes welling with tears. "Oh, God, Sam. The twins." She grabbed his hand and squeezed it in both of hers. "You have to find them." She choked on a sob, sounding almost hysterical. "You have to find them!"

Sam staved off a tsunami of fear and glanced at Dean. Dean's mouth was pressed into a grim line, worry etched in every line of his face. He rubbed his lips with his fingers.

"Shh, shh," soothed Vern, hugging a distraught Fern to him.

"We'll get them back, Fern," Sam promised. They would. The alternative was unthinkable.

Fern gave him an imploring look, and he felt a tightening in his chest. God, how could he have let this happen? He hadn't been at the top of his game. He'd stupidly gotten plastered last night and was too hungover. He'd let his guard down, and while he was throwing up in Fern's front flowerbed, something or someone had stolen the twins right under his nose. How could he have been so careless? How was he supposed to face TJ?

The terror of what could happen to the twins was crushing him, making it difficult to breathe, but he needed to get a hold of himself. Freaking out wouldn't do the twins any good. He needed to be rational so he could think, so he could figure this out.

"Fern, do you think you can stand?" asked Vern.

She nodded wanly. Dean and Vern helped her up, but she paled and swayed precariously. Dean scooped up her tiny frame before she could fall and cradled her in his arms.

Vernon's features were lined with worry. "Take her to the Tahoe. It's not locked. I'm gonna grab my keys and take her to the emergency room."

"No," Fern protested, one arm hooked around Dean's neck and one hand rubbing her temple. "I want to stay and help look for the twins. I'll be all right."

Vern shook his head. "You got your bell rung, Fern. I ain't takin' any chances." He took her face in his hands, and his voice was gentle as he looked her in the eye. "You won't do them twins any good like this. Let's get you checked out. Sam and Dean will find them."

She glanced over at Sam and then nodded reluctantly, slowly closing her eyes.

Vern jerked his head toward Dean, and Dean carried Fern to the Tahoe and carefully set her in the passenger seat.

When Vern and Fern were gone, Sam and Dean checked all the salt lines in the house. Vern, Fern, TJ—everyone—had learned to be careful. They usually stepped over the lines in the doorways, and if Sam had to roll over one, he always fixed any salt that was out of place. None of the lines had been broken anywhere, not in the doorways or the windows.

Sam ran a hand through his hair, trying to concentrate around the headache that had intensified with the hammering of his pulse. "Whatever took Robby and Sami Joy, it obviously wasn't a demon or a ghost," he said to Dean. "There's no way either entity could have gotten past the salt lines." He found it hard to believe. He'd been so sure the threat to the twins would be supernatural. Of course, there were other supernatural creatures immune to salt lines, but what would they want with the twins?

Dean's brows were drawn together. "Other options?"

"Human?" guessed Sam.

"Right. But who here in Green Acres would want to kidnap the twins?"

"I don't know, but maybe we should call the police. If it's a human..." Sam swallowed a mass of cold fear. "God, Dean. I don't understand. Who could do this?"

"Think, Sam. Who knows about the twins? Have they come into contact with anyone that made you suspicious or gave you the creeps?"

Sam thought back to the last few months. He'd met so many people. TJ and her parents had so many friends, not to mention all the cousins and aunts and uncles, but none of them had stirred Sam's Spidey senses. They all seemed to be down-to-earth, God-fearing, hard-working folks. He racked his brain, running each person's face through his mind.

And then it hit him, the way Jeremy's mother had been confused at the birthday party, how she hadn't wanted to give up Robby. "Jeremy's mother, Liv. She has some sort of dementia. She caused a scene at Jeremy and TJ's birthday party, thought the twins were Jeremy and TJ when they were babies. She was holding Robby and wouldn't give him back to us."

Dean's eyes widened, giving Sam a questioning look.

"The Suggs' house is just two miles away by car, and there's a shortcut through the pasture that cuts that distance in half. Liv could have sneaked up to the back of the house here and whacked Fern." Sam felt sickening guilt. "She could have done it while you and I were on the front porch. Everyone was distracted, even Rocket."

"Damn."

"Dean, TJ is there." Sam's blood congealed at the thought. If Liv was the one who had knocked Fern out, she was obviously more violent than anyone realized. TJ could be in as much danger as the twins.

Dean's expression was hard as he dug the keys to the Impala out of his jeans pocket and held them up. "I think it's time we pay Ma Suggs a visit."

TBC