Dean's voice had woken Bobby up, partly because he had yelled at his brother to shut up and partly because Bobby had been worried about the kid. For the last year Sam had kept a very low profile. If Bobby called, Sam would answer, but not stay on the line long enough for his phone to be traced. Bobby was pretty damn certain that Sam had changed cell phones every couple of weeks to make sure that he couldn't find the boys. He hadn't understood why, and he still wasn't real sure he did now. The house was definitely demon proof. Bobby had never seen so many devil's traps in his life. Sam had mentioned briefly, before Bobby went to bed, that Dean had had a day where he went crazy, or crazier than usual, and put devil's traps everywhere. Bobby even noted that there were salt lines everywhere. Even in places that didn't have any kind of threshold, they were just in the middle of the room. Sam had nodded and just said "Dean". So Dean's raised voice roused him from his sleep.

While he was getting dressed he heard the rusty old screen door snap shut, and he wondered if the brothers were mad at each other enough to actually leave. That made him dress faster. He got down stairs and found Sam, head tipped back, and a bottle of Jack plugged into his face. Bobby was quiet and watched as Sam drained half of the bottle before he wiped his mouth, capping it, and putting it back into his bag. And he'd be damned if the boy didn't immediately pop a few breath mints and then pretend like he hadn't done anything out of the ordinary for Sam.

"Where's Dean?" he asked as he put his feet on the first floor.

"He had to use the facilities." He said and ran a hand through his hair.

"You okay son?" Bobby asked tentatively.

"Fine. Fine." He said too quickly and without much conviction.

"Try something else. Because that was a lie."

"I'm fine really Bobby."

"I heard Dean yelling down here."

"Didn't mean to wake you."

"Damnit Sam. What is going on? You shut me out for a year, I've been possessed by one hell of a demon, just coming near this place. What is going on?"

"I don't' think Sam has the answer to that." Dean said from the door way. Both men turned to the door. A sizzle of fear ran through Bobby's old bones. Neither he nor Sam had heard him come in. Had they been that wrapped up in their conversation? "Sammy probably won't even be able to think clearly until that whisky starts running through his veins. Isn't that right Sammy?" Sam paled.

"What are you talking about?"

"That half bottle of whisky that you downed while I was outside."

"Were you spying on me?" Sam asked defensively.

"No. Just an educated guess." Sam eyed him suspiciously. Dean walked to the bag that Sam had next to him.

"No, Dean, no." he said as he tried to swat his brother away. Dean pushed him once really hard and Sam landed on his ass.

"Little brother, you can not be drinking while we are on the hunt." He said and dug out the bottle. "What? Liquid courage? I get it. I get that it was hard watching me rock and scream. I get that. But you know what? I've been to hell. I've been through tortures that you can't even imagine and I did it all FOR YOU." Dean tried to control his breathing, he tried to control his anger, he couldn't let himself be vulnerable. He took a deep breath and loomed over his little brother, eyes firm and fixed on Sam's. Sam started to flinch away and Dean grabbed his chin and forced him to look into his eyes. "And you are not going to be wasting any of the life that I suffered for in the bottom of a bottle. I most certainly am not going to go on a hunt with you while this shit is in your system. You are a danger to you and me. Now get up." He threw Sam's chin out of his hand and moved back and allowed the younger man to get his feet. Dean thrust the bottle in his hands. "Go, get rid of it." When Sam didn't move Dean got an inch from his face and yelled, "NOW." Startled, Sam went out back and dumped the bottle of liquid courage.

"Dean..how?"

"Not now Bobby, not now." Dean said with a sigh.