A/N: Ugh, the holidays are so busy, but I finally got this done. Hope you like it!

For I look around me,
And my eyes confound me.
And it's just too bright,
As the days keep turning into night.
"All My Days" –Alexi Murdoch

Sam couldn't sleep. He wanted to be up and around, pacing, could almost see himself making treads in the carpet, but Dean wouldn't let him.

"Just try to relax," Dean said. Sam glared at him. He was laying on his stomach with a pillow under his chest, another under his face as he tried desperately to relax his seized muscles. They refused to cooperate.

"I can't," Sam insisted. "I want to go out. I want to go for a walk."

"Sam, it's almost midnight. We're not going outside." Sam rolled over onto his back. He was sweating inside his sweatshirt, the fabric clinging to his damp skin and making it itch. He scratched until Dean caught his hand.

"You're going to make yourself bleed," Dean said and when Sam looked down, he saw the welts but couldn't feel them. He couldn't feel much of anything except for how badly his insides wanted to be on the outside.

"Please, Dean," he begged, hating the whine in his voice but unable to control how desperate he sounded. "Please."

Dean licked his lips, still holding onto Sam's clammy wrist. His brother kept breaking out in a cold sweat and he was sure it had something to do with the fever he was still running. Dean was going to call the doctor in the morning but until then…

"How about a bath?"

Sam balked. That was not what he had in mind. He didn't want to be trapped in a porcelain tub, he wanted to be out. But then he shifted, drew one leg under the other in a restless motion, and he felt the stickiness of dried and fresh sweat mixed together, could taste it on his lips when his tongue darted out.

"Okay."

Relieved, Dean left to start the water and then came back.

"I can do it myself," Sam said, pushing his brother's hand away when he tried to help. He struggled for a moment to get the sweatshirt off but then it landed on the floor by his feet. In a very un-Dean like move, the older Hunter picked it up and folded it, laying it on the end of the bed.

"Okay He-Man," Dean said. "Let's go." Sam started at the old nickname. He-Man had been Sam's favorite cartoon when he was little and the action figure replica of the childhood hero had been carried to countless motel rooms for years. Dean had started calling him the nickname when he found five year old Sammy flexing in the front of the TV, mirroring the actual He-Man on TV. Sam didn't know Dean remembered stuff like that.

The water in the tub wasn't even halfway to the top but Sam lowered himself into it anyway, gasping at the unexpected temperature.

"It's fucking freezing," he said. Dean shook his head.

"It's tepid. It's good for a fever."

"It's like the Arctic," Sam argued.

"Your body thinks that because of the fever. You'll get used to it." Sam knew better than to keep going; Dean was using the voice that meant shut up and get over it.

"What are you doing?" Dean had knelt beside the tub and was now stripping off his flannel to reveal a navy blue t-shirt underneath.

"Come on, Sam," Dean said. His words had picked up a no-nonsense, almost procedural tone. "Bobby would say you're as weak as a kitten right now."

"Bobby isn't here," Sam said. Dean rolled his eyes but dipped a pink plastic cup into the water, filling it up.

"Found the bath toys under the sink," he said, voice growing gentler. "Thought I'd help you out."

"Dean…"

"Shh," Dean said, pouring the water from the cup over Sam's back. His brother's skin trembled but he didn't try to move away or resist. Dean kept pouring until all of Sam was glistening. The light above was reflected on Sam's left shoulder blade, turning the skin white. For a few minutes, there was no other sound in the bathroom besides their breathing and the slosh of water on water.

"Lean forward," Dean said, pushing a palm against Sam's back. Like a child, Sam acquiesced and bent, allowing Dean full access to his back. He actually groaned a bit when Dean started sweeping large circles over his back with a sponge laden with body wash, watching the tiny white bubbles swirl over Sam's pale skin.

"Feels good, huh?" Dean said. "You probably don't remember but I used to do this all the time. You used to love baths."

"I remember," Sam said, voice deep. It was the first time since Dean had seen him that he sounded relaxed. His hair had darkened now that it was wet and hung around his face, shielding it from Dean's view. "You used to play pirate ship with me."

"You were Blackbeard and I was your first mate," Dean said, one corner of his mouth quirking up in memory. "You were a pretty sneaky pirate, if I remember correctly. Used to try to negotiate bedtime by bribing me with candy." Sam let out a single bark of laughter and Dean started rinsing him off, using the same pink cup to let streams of water wash away the soap. It gathered in the tub below, creating a white film over the water. Sam reached out a palm and placed it flat on the water, watching the bubbles cling to his callouses, loving the silkiness.

"Now you're hair," Dean said. "Tilt your head back." Again, Sam cooperated and tilted his head, letting Dean's fingers sweep it back and away from his face. The water and soap had softened his brother's skin and the touch felt good, to Sam's surprise.

"You used to hate having your hair washed," Dean commented a minute later, massaging the shampoo into Sam's scalp. He was up on his knees now and concentrating on the task in front of him so he didn't see the way Sam's eyes closed in pleasure.

"Dunno why," Sam grunted. "Feels good."

Dean smiled.

The bath lasted another ten minutes or so and then Sam was standing up and had a green towel wrapped around him. Fearful of the slippery tile, Dean helped him out of the bathtub and onto the carpet of the bedroom before allowing him to dry off. He found a fresh pair of pajamas in the dresser and turned away as Sam dressed himself.

"Thanks," Sam said when he was back on the bed. "You were really good at that."

"Had a lot of practice," Dean said. "Here, let's take your temp again."

Dean only pursed his lips when he read the numbers on the screen but Sam couldn't bring himself to care what they said. He knew that Dean was going to take care of him no matter what and that he didn't have to worry anymore. His big brother was watching.

xxx

When Sam's fever refused to go down the next morning, Dean called the doctor and then hung up the phone, a paper in his hand.

"We're going out," he announced to Sam who was sitting at the kitchen table, nibbling on the smallest piece of toast Dean had found in the loaf.

"We are?"

"To the pharmacy. Gotta pick up your new meds." Sam's expression turned from surprised to disgusted.

"I don't want anymore meds. I'm already taking enough to be qualified as a senior citizen."

"I thought you wanted to go out," Dean reminded him. "That's what you kept saying last night. Plus, the doctor said you should be out and about by now, at least a little. It's supposed ot help." Sam scowled at his breakfast but didn't say anything else.

"She looks good," he said half an hour later when they made their way outside to the Impala. Dean grinned and patted the hood.

"I treat her well and she treats me well," he said, slipping into the driver's side and turning the key in the ignition.

At the pharmacy, Dean gave Sam's name and then was told they had to wait an extra ten minutes for the prescription to be verified.

"Why?" Dean asked. "The doctor called it in half an hour ago. He said it would be ready by now."

"Sam Winchester is on a list that prohibits us giving him medicine without additional clearance."

"Right," Dean said. "We'll be back then."

Sam followed him out the door, not looking guilty or sorry or even upset.

"Let's go this way," Sam said and this time it was Dean who followed his little brother, down the street lined with small shops until they reached a bridge. Sam moved to the right of the bridge and started walking along the bank, the grass grown high and brushing at his calves as he moved. The confident steps he took were so different than the tottering ones at home and Dean had to wonder if it was the atmosphere of the house that was crippling Sam as much as the withdrawal. Now, walking a few steps behind him, Dean could hardly tell how much his brother was suffering, maybe not even at all. Then Sam turned and Dean saw the dark smudges against his ashen skin, the way his eyes were glazed.

"Don't trip," Sam said, pointing down.

Too late, Dean's foot connected with something solid and he caught himself just in time, looking down. Below him was a train track, burnt orange with rust, long past being of any use. He followed the track with his eyes, noting how the grass had grown in between the slats and the gravel spewed over the sides of the tracks.

"I bring Lucy here," Sam said. "I mean, I used to."

"It's nice," Dean said and he meant it. The river was quiet and the riverside occupants had planted garden along the banks so the flowers were vibrant against the backwash of blue.

"Hey, Dean," Sam said, pushing his hair back with one hand. "I'm sorry about all this."

"I know," Dean said.

"It was just so easy," Sam said. "They just kinda quieted everything."

"What was so loud?" Dean asked, watching his brother stare out at the slow churning river. There had been rain lately and the waters near the bank were muddy. A plastic bag was floating nearby, caught on a branch that had fallen into the water.

"Everything," Sam said. "Just…everything."

"Hey, we'll get through it, okay?" Dean said, moving a step closer. He didn't like the brooding look Sam was wearing, the way his face had aged in those few moments of confession, the lines around his mouth cutting deep into his skin.

"You don't know," Sam said, his hands now jammed into his pockets. His feet were moving to, just an inch or two at a time, shifting in all directions until he looked as if he were dancing, when really Dean knew his brother just couldn't stand still.

"What don't I know?"

"Anything!" Sam said, almost cried. "You don't know anything. How it all builds up in my head and then Sarah's there and she doesn't know and Lucy – she's just so small and I've killed so many people and if she knew-." He tore in a ragged gasp, panting. Dean took a deep breath.

"Sam. This is the withdrawal talking. You know that."

"Is it?" Sam's hazel eyes were wild and searching as they focused on his brother and Dean wanted to reach for him, to snatch Sam up to him and hold him close. If he could do that then maybe he could save his brother from all of this, save him from the all the things the past had brought and the future would bring.

Instead, he waited.

"Dean, I'm losing it," Sam let out a laugh that wasn't a laugh at all. "I mean, God, my wife can't stand to be around me, you're stuck looking after me again. I fucked up. I keep fucking up. I'm never going to get better."

"Alright," Dean said. "Calm down. First of all, I'm not stuck doing anything. I'm a grown up and I make my own decisions. If I didn't want to be here, I wouldn't be. I'd be off ganking some monster in Erie, Pennsylvania. You know that about me."

"Dad said-,"

"Dad said I had to look after you? Sam, that was years ago. Sam, look at me, hey, look at me bud. Years ago. You don't need looking after. I'm here to help because I want to, not because anyone is making me."

Sam nodded but Dean wasn't all that sure he had gotten through. Sam's hands were twisting in front of him, nervous.

"And Sarah will come around in time. You did fuck up but that's what people do. I've done it, Dad did it, hell, Sarah's done it. We're human, we fuck up, it's what we do."

"I'm not human." It was little more than a whisper and the last word was choked. His hands moved faster in front of him.

"Yes, you are," Dean said firmly. He finally took a step closer to Sam, relieved when he didn't flinch or take a step away. The hazel eyes were bright with unshed tears and Sam was looking skyward, taking in the gray clouds above as if they held the answers to questions he couldn't bring himself to ask.

"Dean, it's still in me," Sam said. "It's always going to be in me. I can't forget Ruby or -"

"You needing it again?" Dean asked. Sam didn't stop staring at the sky, didn't even blink, just let out a shuddering breath.

"I always need it. But those pills…they dull it, keep it away."

Dean's heart thumped loudly and he tried to keep it from sinking, tried to breathe normally. He could handle addict-Sam and desperate-Sam and even angry-Sam but Dean didn't know if he had it in him to go another round with demon blood-Sam. The seizures and the hallucinations, the unconscious streaks where his brother wouldn't wake up for days, even a week at a time. He didn't want to see Sam struggle like that again.

"Let's go pick up your meds," Dean said after a minute and he reached out and tugged Sam's sleeve. The younger man shook his head as if dazed and then followed Dean without a sound, not saying another word the entire way home.

Sam remained quiet for the rest of the day. He resisted only for a moment when Dean tried to give him his meds and then allowed Dean to seat him on the couch in front of the TV. They watched a baseball game for an hour when Dean noticed Sam beginning to fall asleep sitting up. Taking advantage of this, he ushered his brother back to bed, determined to make him get as much sleep as possible.

The doctor hadn't been happy with the fever. Detox fevers were dangerous, he told Dean over the phone that morning. They meant a potential infection was brewing and that Sam should get as much rest as he could, not an easy thing to do with his muscles rattling inside him.

"Dean," Sam called out, as Dean stepped away from the bed, about to turn out the light.

"Right here."

"Where are you going?"

"Just to turn off the light, see? There, that's better. Try to get some sleep, Sam."

"I'm not tired," Sam mumbled with his eyes closed and Dean raised his eyebrows.

"Okay."

"Talk to me," Sam said as he shifted in the bed, drawing the blankets tighter around him. "Like when we were little." Dean took a seat in the chair beside the bed and pried off his boots.

"So you want to hear about how you're going to kick this withdrawal in the ass?" he said, voice soft. "Well, you are. You're going to get over this god-awful part and we're going to move on. It's going to be hard but you're going to do it because you're Sam Winchester and Sam Winchester doesn't let anything take him down. After all this, you're going to be even stronger than you were before."

The tired crease between Sam's eyebrows smoothed out as he slipped out of consciousness but Dean didn't stop talking.

"And then you're going to watch your little girl grow up and you're going to walk her down the aisle of her wedding and you're going to watch her have kids of her own. Every school play, every dance recital, you're going to be in the front row because this isn't the end of you. The pills didn't get you. Maybe someday we'll move to the mountains, all of us. And we'll live there for the rest of our lives and fish and make our own canoe and that'll be it for the good old Winchesters."

Dean didn't believe a word he was saying but he couldn't stop himself. He could see it all in his mind, the future sprawled out in front of him like a map on a cartographer's desk. Sam needed to hear and it and maybe Dean did too. It was what was going to get him through the next few weeks. Because he was worried; Sam was rough shape, he could see that. The confession by the river today had shed light on the dark corners of Sam's mind where his brother was living these days, not a place Dean was convinced he could keep pulling Sam from.

Dean was worried that, just like the abandoned train tracks they had walked earlier, his brother was going nowhere.

A/N: There's that good old angst coming up again. Things are starting to get a bit intense! What'd you think?