Sam wasn't picking up his phone and Dean was close to having a breakdown. Everything was falling apart and he couldn't help but blame himself for every problem in Sam's life thus far. If he was a better brother, if he could have been there, maybe Sam wouldn't have ended up like this.

There were conflicting pangs of blind rage between the long draws of guilt: he was going to kill Ruby and he was going to make it long and slow. He was sure she was the cause of all of this. He had never been surer of anything in his life before.

"We need to find Sam now," Dean practically hissed back to the redheads waiting for him to get his thoughts collected. He jerked his head toward the door and the three ran back to the car. There was barely time to even close the doors before Dean was backing out of the driveway and speeding down the road.

He blew through four stop signs before he got a slap to the arm by Bobby. "Are you trying to get us pulled over, you idjit? We can't find Sam if we're in jail!"

Obviously they wouldn't go to jail but Dean needed to hear something to stop his reckless driving for a few minutes. They had no idea what Sam was doing, who he was with, or where he even was. All they had to go on was that they now knew Sam was doing some kind of drug and had been missing Ruby. Their only lead was Ruby and Dean knew that was the only one they needed.

The car skidded as Dean turned the wheel sharply to turn into the parking lot of the apartment complex he remembered to be Sam's from before. He only visited Sam twice when he was deep into the abusive life, once to help move and once to crash for the night after a rough breakup.

The apprehension Sam had to let his heartbroken brother stay the night was understandable now. Unknown to Dean, it had been a good night until he showed up. Ruby was less than pleased to hear he would be sleeping on the couch. She never liked Dean, even at the beginning, and she took it all out on Sam the next day. He didn't get to eat until nearly midnight when he was begging for just some bread. She liked it when she felt in control.

Dean gripped the wheel tighter and haphazardly pulled into a spot, absolutely crooked and over the line. The engine was shut off instantly and the group was scrambling out of the car and following Dean up the sets of stairs and past dozens of doors.

Then he found it—the first door on the third floor, Ruby's apartment. It reeked of tobacco and an underlying scent of marijuana. Rocks tumbled in Dean's stomach and he went straight to the knob, thankful to whatever God there was that it was unlocked.

Charlie reached out and tapped Dean's shoulder. "Be careful," she said in a hushed voice.

Dean didn't know what he was supposed to be careful about but he nodded anyway and shared a look with Bobby. They flung the door open, adrenalin flowing, ready to take on an army to get to Sam.

But there was no army to take on and masked gunman to shy away from. The air was smoky and the apartment looked identical to the day he retrieved Sam's belongings and met the creepy man named Crowley. The coffee table, however, was messy with broken up pieces of weed and some white powder next to some mismatched pills.

On the couch was the missing brother and the devil who hurt him… Dean just wasn't expecting to see Ruby with a needle poised in her hand, centimeters from Sam's arm, which had a tie wrapped around his bicep.

"Oh fuck no," Dean growled. He finally caught the stoned couple's attention and Ruby dropped the syringe to her lap and Sam recoiled slowly.

Bobby charged up behind Dean, eyes wide and face covered in disgust and worry. "What the hell—Samuel Winchester! I swear to God, you better not be doing what I think you're doing!"

Dean rounded the table and pushed Ruby aside before grabbing his brother's arms and hauling him up to stand. It was mostly dead weight in his arms and it sent terror down his spine to see his brother so limp.

Draping an arm over his own shoulder, Dean dragged the barely-there Sam across the room and to the small apartment bathroom. Sam gasped lightly at the shock of the scenery change when Dean sat him on the floor and crouched beside him.

The drugs were already working their magic and Sam was struggling to distinguish the absolute disappointment on his brother's face. Dean sighed to himself and reached down to roughly undo the tie on his brother's arm. He rubbed it a moment but didn't know why.

"What did you take?" Dean's voice jarred him for a moment. "What did she give you, Sammy?"

The voice Dean used wasn't like before—the anger had drained and it was a soft, kid-gloved voice of apprehension and worry.

Dean slapped Sam's face. "What did you take?!"

"I'unno," Sam slurred back, telling mostly the truth. He knew some of what he took but he really couldn't care less about what the other stuff had been. "Pills."

"Did you do heroin?"

Sam turned his head back to Dean and tried to look offended. "No."

"I saw the needle, Sam—"

"It wasn't heroin!"

Dean turned away and shook his head. He was trying desperately to figure out what to do and if Sam was at risk right now. He didn't know much about drugs, especially unnamed pills and shit Sam could be lying about. He didn't know if Sam was liable to overdose or have his heart stop. He was terrified.

Charlie appeared in the bathroom's doorway. "Dean, I think it's time to go."

"Sammy's high, I don't know if he…" he didn't finish that thought, he didn't want to voice his hundreds of concerns.

"He'll be fine once we get to the car. We shouldn't stay here much longer."

Sam roused from his stoned stupor and eyed Charlie and Dean. "I don't wanna go," he said with some clarity.

"Tough, Sam," Dean scolded. "We're leaving."

"I—"

Dean slapped Sam again and willed himself to not let this new anger boil over. "I don't give a shit what you want right now, Sammy. You're making the wrong decisions and you're not even fucking sober. You're leaving with us now. If not, you can stay, but I can't promise there won't be a raid because of an 'anonymous tip.' Do you hear me, Sam?"

The tone wasn't one to mess with. It was the end-all voice of Dean. There was no getting around it and no fighting it. The idea of police was a dark fear of many stoners and, for Sam, it could mean a dangerously long time in jail and in withdrawal. Absolutely no chance at seeing Ruby or getting another hit. It would be pure misery.

With help from Charlie they got Sam to his feet and out of the room. Bobby was standing over the couch and turned back to nod at Dean. He had been keeping an eye on Ruby and, more likely, explaining just how bad of an idea it would be for her to ever try to speak with Sam again.

The woman sat on the couch, eyes droopy but sending death glares to everyone. Even Sam.

They left the apartment and Charlie switched out with Bobby when it was time to help Sam down the stairs and into the back of the Impala. She sat back with him, helping to keep him upright and checking him the entire ride to make sure he was okay despite the pills he had taken before.

He was out of it and comfortably numb despite Dean pretty much ruining his life only twenty minutes ago. He faintly made out the movement of Charlie gently checking out his arm and finding no sign of needle use. He wasn't so pleased when he heard her telling Dean they'll have to check between his toes when they stopped.

He wanted to scream that he doesn't inject anything and that would have been the first time—and it still wasn't heroin, Dean! It was… well, it wasn't heroin, so there was that. Injecting Oxy wasn't something he was about to pride himself on. He already snorted it, which he was not looking forward to Dean forcing him to admit.

Sam was having a pretty decent time in the back of the Impala, occasionally watching the trees and road signs out the window. It took him until they nearly reached their destination to realize they weren't at all near Dean's house. He was ready to ask when the car stopped and he was already being half-helped and half-dragged from the car by big, strong hands.

"Where…" he slurred, eyes shut against the bright sun he was exposed to.

"Bobby's."

Sam gave his brother a confused look but received no answer. He was walked into the house and through the dusty halls until he was being pushed down onto a guest bed in an extra room by the stairs. He knew the room—he and Dean used to sleep there whenever they had to spend the night with Bobby as kids.

He heard the door closing and looked up to see he was now alone with his brother. Even in his hazy mind he knew this wasn't going to be good. Not one bit.

Dean sat on the bed and put a strong, heavy hand on Sam's shoulder as if to tell him don't you dare try to move. Sam nodded dumbly and waited for his brother to do something.

"See, Sam, I'd break your nose right now if I wasn't positive you can't feel anything right now."

Sam blinked.

"Bobby had a chat with the she-witch. She said you didn't do any heroin but I'm not anywhere close to trusting either of you. But, hell, at least she said you were popping pain-killers like candy."

Here it was. It was all out in the open.

"I didn't even know you were on this shit until I found something in your room. That was today. Do you know how… painful it is to find out your brother is popping pills then catch him about to…" Dean clenched his jaw and counted in his head. "We're having another talk when you're sober. Until then, you'll be in here and we'll be making sure you don't do any more stupid things."

Sam definitely didn't like the sound of that but nodded anyway. He was pretty high at the moment and was fading in and out of what Dean was saying, but the tone was harsh and low. Even when he began listening mid-sentence he knew from the first sounds that it was bad.

He laid back onto the bed and didn't pay any attention to his brother getting up and taking a seat by the door. This was going to be his last good time until Dean forces him to quit drugs and stop seeing Ruby.

It was cute how Dean thought he could just force Sam to do what he wanted. Sam smiled and cuddled into the pillow on the bed. He was going to go down fighting.

Sam felt sick when he woke up. He was half sure he was going to throw up before he could make it somewhere with a trashcan or toilet. Shivers wracked his body and he sat up rigid. He was startled by the sight of his brother watching him from the same chair as before, though in a different shirt.

"Finally up," Dean said more to himself than to Sam. "It's about time. You've been out since six… yesterday."

Sam shivered and pulled his blanket closer to himself. "What time is it now?"

Dean rolled his eyes. Of course Sam wasn't surprised at all the time he lost. "Noon."

"I don't feel well," Sam admitted.

Dean raised his eyebrows, unimpressed. "You're not getting any sympathy from me, bud. Charlie did some research. You're probably just in withdrawal."

"W-withdrawal?" Sam was shocked to hear that but trusted Charlie, who was about as smart as he was, not to brag. He'd gone longer than eighteen hours without a hit, how could he be in withdrawal?

"Hey, I'm just glad you didn't OD."

The statement was cold but it didn't faze Sam and his growing need to do something or get something in him.

"It gets worse before it gets better," Dean taunted, an arrogant smirk pulling at his cheeks.

Sam closed his eyes slowly and felt the sickness growing. "Go fuck yourself."

He flinched again when he heard the door slam and looked up to see Dean had left. He was glad to be alone but the nerves grew that he was about to be in even worse trouble. If this was Dean going easy on him then he didn't think he was ready yet to face Dean finally losing it.

The door opened again with Bobby joining Dean. He had the disappointment of a thousand fathers on his face. The door was shut again and Sam wondered just what they were keeping it closed for—were they trying to hide what they do? Were they afraid he'd make a break for it?

Which he would. In time.

Bobby cleared his throat before beginning his speech, which Sam regretted not being high to zone out during. "Look, boy. I know you're having a real tough time lately, I do. But you can't go doing this kind of shit when it gets hard. Your brother took you in and did what he could to help you but you can't keep pushing people away. You need to—"

Sam scrunched his face at the headache forming behind his eyes. "Bobby, that's all great, but shut the fuck up. I don't care. I don't fucking care. Just let me go and live my own life."

"That'll be hard to do when you're choking on your own vomit," Bobby snarled. "I practically raised you and I better not hear that kind of attitude again, you hear me?"

Sam looked up with the most sarcastic eyes Dean had ever seen.

"We're helping you whether you like it or not."

Sam laughed humorlessly. "Help? Oh, like how Dean teased me when I didn't sleep around in college then got pissed when I got serious with someone? Or how about when I go to him for help and he just screams at me until I have a panic attack? Yeah, Dean," Sam shot a glare to his brother. "You did that and you left before you could face it. So try to help all you want, just know I'll always respond with 'fuck you.'"

"That was once," Dean replied lamely. "I didn't know you panicked, Sammy."

That was a break. "I was already high when you came back to say sorry."

Dean swallowed hard. He caused Sam to do it, at least that once.

The room was getting harder to breathe in and the tension was from floor to ceiling. Noticing Dean wasn't going to take control of the situation, Bobby stepped in with his poker face.

"This is settled, Sam. You're staying here to dry out. Then after that you can go do whatever you want. But for now, my godson is staying here."

The other men backed out of the room and Sam heard the click of a lock from the other side. He was trapped and the windows didn't even open—they had been nailed shut for safety after Dean tried to sneak out as a teenager. The sick feeling seemed to only get worse and Sam knew he would have to find a way to escape soon; to escape before he was too weak and pained to.

But instead of standing from the bed to jimmy the nails loose, he crumbled to the floor and threw up.

A/N: My research of Oxy said it could take hours to start feeling withdrawal (correct me if I'm wrong please). Symptoms can include feeling nauseous and hella salty.

Kind of a dick move for Dean to smack Sam and be so mean, but he's got a lot of emotions to sort through and he tends to be easy to anger. Seems abuse doesn't bother stoned Sam. Wonder what that could mean.

Sam's withdrawal scenes will be based purely on what the internet tells me because I'm otherwise ignorant. Corrections welcome.

And, finally, the needle. Mr. Google told me you can chew Oxy, snort it, or inject it. I'll see about briefly explaining why Sam tried to change his style again.

Thanks to everyone taking time to read this story. It brings me more joy than pie does for Dean.