A/N: Now with beta!

No one was prouder of Sam than Castiel on his last day at the rehab center. Though it was still a struggle to get Sam to talk much during therapy, especially about the abuse he refused to explicitly speak about, he had made great strides in recovery.

There were plenty of days Sam was tired and just wanted to leave but he knew better—he needed this. He couldn't do this to Dean and Bobby and Charlie. He couldn't do it to Cas.

Every chance to call his family was passed up. Sam didn't want to talk to or even see anyone until he was better,; he couldn't face them when he was in his grey sweatpants. He couldn't talk to them from some payphone in the hallway as other inmates—wait, no, patients—passed by or tried to listen in to the golden boy that admitted himself.

He found sanity in exercise. There was a small room with limited equipment that Sam liked to use daily. Castiel had given him a simple smile when he came to his one-on-one therapy session beaming about how much better he felt.

"The endorphins seem to be doing you good," Castiel had chuckled. Well, as much as the man could chuckle.

Sam felt strong. He felt like he did in college, when he could take runs before classes and use the school gym in the evenings. He had become so sedentary when he moved in with Ruby with his job tiring him or his indentured servitude making him soft and lazy.

But now, oh now, Sam felt clean for the first time. He had been clean from drugs for weeks, sure, but he was dirty before. Tainted. Broken.

And he still was broken, he could accept that. But now the pieces weren't so shattered and bloodybloody. He was coming back together, returning to the Sam he was before. He wanted to be the best Sam he could before returning to his brother's life. He had to make up for the shit he had pulled the past year.

When Dean finally saw him, he'd be proud to say "Sam Winchester is my brother."

Garth wasn't exactly a hit-man, nor did Bobby ask him to be. The lanky man had met again with Bobby and Rufus, a mutual friend, to speak in more detail about the Crowley Problem.

They all knew Sam and were shocked to hear the young man had fallen into taking pills and acting out the way Bobby vaguely described. The abuse from Ruby was worded a certain way to save Sam the humiliation should it be brought up in conversation; the men weren't the best with tact and it would set back Sam's progress if he heard someone like Rufus refer to him as an abuse victim. It wasn't hard to see Sam struggled with the idea on his own.

"His name's Crowley," Bobby reiterated to Rufus as Garth took a stray note here and there. They sat around Bobby's old, rickety kitchen table as they discussed the issue at hand. "The man's a menace—last I heard, this Adam kid went missing and Crowley was the last person seen leaving the kid's home."

Both guests winced. They knew what surely happened—everyone knew what surely happened.

"Sam gets out soon and I'm not gonna let that boy have another breakdown. As long as Crowley's in the picture then Sam's gonna have that temptation."

Rufus raised his eyebrows. "Sam don't seem the type to admit himself to rehab then go back to his dealer."

"Yeah, well," Bobby sighed. "Crowley ain't the type to let a loyal customer go so easy. The idjit has his ways. Wouldn't be surprised if he roped that Ruby into getting Sam back."

"So then," Garth spoke up, ready to help his friends. "What can we do to help Sam?"

"We gotta drive that short bastard out of town and far, far away. If we don't… Well, there's another Winchester he don't wanna mess with."

Rufus and Garth had spent a week staking out Crowley's house. They changed cars daily as not to raise suspicion—thankfully Bobby owned quite a few junkers with just enough life to get from Point A to Point B with only a few breakdowns on the way back.

They'd see people enter those big doors and not leave for hours. Sometimes customers would stroll out immediately, looking around for cops. A few times someone would stumble out with glazed eyes and sloppy smiles.

Garth's heart clenched at the sudden imagery in his mind of Sam being one of those giddy addicts attempting to walk the sidewalk on confused legs. Rufus smirked at the thought of Dean losing his mind and storming into the place and burning it down with Crowley inside.

After the eighth night of watching the steady activity around The House, the men began driving away with their eyes on the mirrors pointed behind them. Garth pulled out his cell phone and began dialing for the police, a nervous energy moving him forward for some kind of justice.

"H-hello," he stuttered. He eyed the few parked cars on the curb outside of Crowley's house. "I'd like to anonymously report a burglary."

Jeans felt odd after a month of sweatpants. They felt cold and stiff but free. Jeans meant being released, though Sam could have left at any time, he chose to do a full month. He had even considered staying longer after his bad days. Those days where he just laid in his short bed and pulled at his hair and wished—prayed—to be back with Ruby and to feel that thrill of the next line.

And Castiel would come speak with him, remind him why he was there,; tell him not to give up on himself. Sam would sit quietly, thinking, why the fuck does he have to do this for himself? He was only here because of what he did to Dean and Bobby and Charlie. He was here to make up for how he betrayed them.

But now he was stronger. Sam wanted to get better for his family but he knew he needed to get better for himself. He couldn't strain himself trying to appease his family. He needed to want to get better for himself. He needed to have that desire to help himself, to be okay when no one else was around to appease.

And as Sam tightened his shoelaces and smoothed down his hair, he felt good. And he was sure as hell finding the closest gym to wherever he would be living because the feeling he got after working out was enlightening in a way he hadn't felt since before Oxy skewed what felt good and what felt like inner-peace to its truest and purest form.

The feeling after Oxy had felt almost like shame when Sam could understand just what he had done, what poison he willingly and eagerly took to feel "light."

There was a smugness he felt in how amazing he felt post-exercising. There was just pride.

Hell. He was about ready to say, "I am Sam Winchester."

Sam was walking taller when he left those double glass doors of the rehabilitation center. He looked back once to give an appreciative smile to Doctor Castiel before he left.

And outside waiting was Dean, leaning against the freshly-washed black Impala. The man wasn't much for displays of affection but the past few months taught him that he would give into any girly chick-flick moments for his baby brother.

Sam couldn't help the smile dimpling his cheeks and the speed his legs picked up as he approached his brother. Neither were ashamed about the strong-gripped hug they shared as soon as they were in each other'sother's' personal space.

When they pulled apart there was a moment of inspecting one-another. Dean looked tired but relieved to see his brother. Sam looked a hell of a lot healthier. His eyes wereweren't sunken, his skin wasn't pale, and his face didn't seem so thin. There was a sparkle in his eyes and color to his skin.

"Sammy."

"Dean."

Even his voice was stronger! It was back to its previous deep yet light tone. It wasn't worn or hoarse or strung-out.

They hugged again before Dean could let the emotions reach his eyes. They parted to get in the Impala and drive away from the rehab center to get back to their lives—or try to get back to what would be normal.

"They kept making kissy noises at me!"

Dean snorted and tried not to choke on the beer he had been sipping. "You're kidding! Sammy, you weren't in jail!"

Sam grinned and shook stray hair from his face. "Yeah, but some of those guys were weird. Like, half of them had to be there for court-ordered stays. The worst wasn't even one of the prisoners. It was this short fat guy who wouldn't stop talking about Insane Clown Posse. He went on and on every group session about it. Dude wouldn't shut up."

Dean laughed again and set the bottle down on Bobby's kitchen table. The two had decided to stop by and see the older man again, neither having seen him much the past month (with the exception of when Dean had to see Bobby at work or when Bobby tried to distract Dean from the Crowley and Sam problem).

Bobby came back into the kitchen and wiped oil from his hands after fixing up a leak on one of his cars. "What're you two idjits laughing at now?"

"Sam was someone's wife on the inside. I think the ICP nut sold him the meth head for a cigarette."

Sam tried to cover his rising chuckle with a bitch-face while loudly kicking Dean under the table. "I wasn't anybody's bitch!"

Bobby watched as Dean tried to scoot his chair away from his brother's impossibly long legs. "NO TOUCHING! GUARD! INMATE FOUR-FOUR-TWO-ONE IS INCITING A RIOT!"

Sam knocked his chair over as he hopped up from it. "I'll show you a riot, jerk!"

"Bitch!"

In an instant the two were running out the kitchen and chasing each other like a couple of six-foot-too-much children. And fuck if it didn't warm Bobby's heart.

The Winchesters stayed at Bobby's that night and Sam only felt a fraction guilty when he'd walk by the bedroom they had locked him in to detox. It was a challenge at times to be there, knowing what he did the last time, but he was determined not to let that get to him. He was trying to prove a point to himself that he wasn't the same man as before.

Blood rose to his cheeks whenever he saw the cars outside Bobby's windows or hear anything that resembled the rattling of pills in a bottle. It would take much longer to let that go.

That night after their dinner of take-out food (including some salad and healthy garbage for Sam, who was suddenly back into his health for the first time since he graduated college), they sat around the old box TV and watched random sitcoms and the evening news.

Dean had awkwardly skimmed a little too fast past the channel playing the show about the man who cooked meth, which sent some embarrassment silently to all men. Sam cringed when they'd stop on a show that happened to have scenes of men being abused as a joke—the typical moment of the petite wife insulting the burly husband or smacking him around with a laugh track to make it all seem okay.

But Sam was better now,; Sam was over what Ruby did. Sam spent a month in one-on-one therapy being told over and over that it wasn't his fault and men can be hurt, too. Sam was fine, Sam didn't care.

Sam was beginning to disassociate again.

The man stared ahead, feeling like he was beginning to float away. It was too close to how he felt when he was high, it was too similar to when he'd get hit in the head and feel confused, it was too much—

He thought he would be perfectly okay after rehab. Sam tucked his bangs behind his ear, feeling his godfather and brothers' gazes burning into his skin. They were staring, they could tell something was wrong, they knew he wasn't okay, they knew he was fucked up!

"Sammy, you feeling alright?" Dean asked tentatively.

Sam turned his head in his brother's direction and nodded quickly, refusing to meet his gaze. It was all getting to him and he rushed forward, mumbling that he needed some fresh air. He didn't stop until he was on the porch, outside in the cool night air.

The change in location helped a touch but he still felt the panic and the thoughts of what the hell he would say when he came back or what they would accuse him of. He was relieved, however, that no one followed him. At least they still had that much trust in him.

Doctor Castiel was startled by the buzzing of his phone. He had been relaxing at home, watching the news, when the device interrupted his thoughts. The caller ID held his latest patient's name and he was both surprised to be called on the day of release, and glad the stubborn man actually thought to call.

"Samuel?" He answered.

"H-Hey, Cas," Sam's voice quivered and Castiel feared he had fallen back into drugs at record speed.

"What's wrong?"

"I just—sorry, it's stupid."

"Sam, you can talk to me. That's why you have my number. Now what's gotten you so worked up?"

There was a pause. "I just… I was with Dean—my brother—and my godfather, and we were watching TV, and I was doing so good all day but now I'm just… I…"

"Use your words, Sam. What are you feeling?"

The call ended with a reminder from Castiel that they would be able to talk more during their new weekly counseling sessions. He even suggested Sam bring Dean so he can talk it out in a 'safe' environment, but Sam wasn't so sure he was ready for that. He wanted Dean to think he was strong now, not the same needy little brother he'd always been.

Sam returned to the living area twenty minutes later to find Dean and Bobby were still on the couch and watching television. He was greeted with a nod and a hand gesture to sit back down.

"Sorry, had to call Castiel,"." he mumbled, figuring the truth didn't hurt. He might as well work on those small building blocks of trust.

Dean just patted his leg. "Good talk?"

"Yeah," Sam replied slowly. "All good."

There was still some tension, possibly only felt by Sam, but he did feel considerably better. He was in the right headspace again and he was with his family like he was meant to be. And now he understood he wouldn't be able to just rush into being like he was when he was twenty-two and still innocent to what his life had turned into.

Castiel said he would be okay. Just don't rush it. He'll be okay in time.

Of course, he didn't know if he felt better or horribly worse when their show ended and transitioned into the news—which began with their big story of the night, the arrest of a drug dealer who was believed to be a major part of their city's recent rising crime rate.

His blood did run cold when he saw a candid photo shown across the screen of The House while the news anchor read, "Fergus Crowley has been arrested today after an anonymous tip led police to raid his house. Police took Crowley, along with several other individuals, to the local sheriff department for questioning…"

Sam gulped. "So... How have you guys been?"