Sam didn't sleep that night. He wandered to the bathroom several times and glanced in at Brady's inert figure to make sure he was still breathing. He always was, even when Sam felt his heart give an adrenaline driven thump of fear when it seemed as if his friend was too still for too long, but then there would be a shift of blankets as the ribcage expanded to take in a breath and Sam would feel a flood of relief and wander back to his own room.

After one of his unscheduled Brady check-ins, Sam picked up his cell and looked at the time. 3:30 am.

He knew someone who awake at this hour. He flipped it open and scrolled to Dean's contact info. He typed a quick message:

'How are you.'

Sam stared at the screen light in the darkness of his room and hovered his thumb over the send button. The cell phone cast a blue glow around the boyish features as he thought.

He went back and deleted letter by letter. He replaced it.

'I miss you.'

He deleted it. Typed: 'How...' then looked at the blinking cursor, feeling a knot form in his stomach.

Sam paused. What was he hoping to do? What kind of communication would this open?

Dean would reply 'fine.' If he replied at all.

Where did he go from there?

If he talked to his brother, told him what was going on Dean would throw it in his face.

Told you they were douchebags. You wanted to leave and live in the real world. Can't say I didn't tell you.

But God he missed him sometimes.

Sam kept himself busy so that he didn't have much time to dwell on his past. He found it worked best that way. If he thought about it, thought about their father, their life, a simmering anger at the injustice began to give off steam. It threatened Sam's equilibrium. Made his gentle nature want to war with something. It wasn't good for him.

Life was decidedly more...peaceful...without Dean. But sometimes there was a quip that came to mind or some humor he wanted to share and his brother wasn't there. Sometimes there was a problem he wanted to confide to his brother about, to get his half-assed wisdom or simply to hear his witty take on. -Even if it was a slap upside the back of the head and a teasing, "Sammy quit worryin."

Sometimes Dean had a way of grounding him because those half-assed Yoda philosophies actually had wisdom in them. And even when they didn't, sometimes he just missed Dean's voice.

How... glowed up at him.

How are you.

When what he really wanted to say was: how am I supposed to do this on my own, Dean?

How often do you think of me?

How is Dad?

How did it come to this.

How did I let this happen. How did you let this happen.

How come you don't call.

How do I talk to you.

How do I fix this? What if I don't want to?

How long til I see you again?

Instead simply: 'How are you.'

Sam deleted the message and snapped the phone shut.


Brady was much better in the morning. A bit hung over acting, but himself. Sam poured a bit of cereal and offered it to him.

"No thanks." Brady's voice was rough.

Sam shrugged and poured some milk in the bowl, dug in with his spoon. He sat down across from Brady at the little wooden table.

Brady sat nursing his coffee.

"We need to talk," Sam said. "I mean I have to leave for work soon so maybe this isn't the best time but we need to get you some help. Last night can't happen again."

Brady kept his eyes trained on the coffee mug. "I'm fine, Sam."

"God dammit Brady!" Sam exclaimed, letting his spoon clatter against the ceramic bowl as he slammed it down. "I thought you were gonna die! That's not fine. That's not even remotely close to fine."

Brady looked up at him with lost eyes. "I don't feel like I know who I am anymore."

Sam studied him, still a little defensive. "I don't know what that means."

"I don't either." Brady replied without looking up. "I'm...I'm confused and losing time...and my memory is shot to hell."

"You're losing time because you're pounding alcohol and fucking Oxy. And coke. Coke. You need help." Sam's tone changed to sympathetic. "Let me help you. I..I'm can do research. We'll find you you a great rehab center. Your family can afford it."

Brady shook his head. "I can do this on my own."

"You can't do it on your own!" Sam countered. "You're over your head with this shit. Oxy has withdrawals, man. How long have you been taking it?"

He shrugged. "Since break?"

Sam breathed a sigh of relief. "Not too long then. There's hope, buddy. We can get you out of this."

"No getting out of this, Sam." His tone was defeated.

"Don't talk that way. I watched my dad live his life at the bottom of a bottle. He didn't have a choice. He had no support, no resources, no help. You do. You have a choice."

Brady looked contrite. "I..."

Sam glanced at the clock on his cell. "I gotta get to work. I will help you Brady. I will. You say the words and I am right here. But..." Sam leveled a look at him that Brady had never seen. Steel and determination. "I will not let you pull me down with you. I cut ties with my family for being toxic. Don't think I won't do the same with you."

Sam slammed out.

Please drop me a review if you have the time. Poking away at this one, always nice to hear feedback. Thank you Michele, Sallyannerenee, WaitingforAslan, and Domino Darkwolf for replying last chapter or two. You keep me writing.