A/N: Again, thank you all for your kind reviews! All those nice reviews made me write a longer, angstier chapter this time. Hope you enjoy it. Reviews help me deal with a really cranky and hung-over Sam…

Chapter Three

"Here," Dean said, handing Sam a glass of water. Sam groaned, not looking up at Dean. "Come on, you need to drink something." Dean added softly and Sam cringed. Must his brother always be so freaking loud? He took a deep breath, and tried the water. Oh, good. It stayed down. Wait, no, it didn't! Clutching the toilet, Sam retched again, spitting at the taste left in his mouth. God, now he remembered why he never drinks. And would Dean wipe that smug little grin off his face? Sam reached for the towel Dean handed him and groaned again, wiping his mouth. Dean found a small rag and soaked it in cold water, putting it on Sam's forehead. "Serves you right." Dean said, "What the hell were you thinking leaving that place on your own?" he snapped and Sam flinched.

"Man, relax would you? I already feel like crap." He said, closing his eyes and resting his head against the wall. His head felt like it was going to explode, then implode, and then go out dancing without the rest of Sam's body attached to it, just for the fun of it. Sam was really getting tired of headaches.

"Relax? Sammy..." Dean shook his head, licking his lips. "Whatever. You totally deserve to feel the way you do." Sam gave him an irritated glare. Was a little sympathy too much to ask for?

"Jerk." Sam muttered, closing his eyes again.

"Seriously, Sam, I nearly had a heart attack when I got back to the table and you were gone!" Dean said, glaring at him. "You have any idea how worried I got?" Dean went on. Oh, great. The guilt card. Like Sam really needed more of that. "You ever even think of disappearing like that again, Sam, I swear, I'll post stupid pictures of you all over the internet, with a special eddition sent especially to your Stanford buddies!" Dean threatened, and Sam groaned. What's the point of that threat? It's not like Dean knew his college friends. Or even had stupid pictures of him. Did he? "How'd you even get in here? I had the keys!" Sam winced.

"Shhh! Dean! Quiet, would you?" he snapped, wincing. "You want to yell at me, fine. Wait until after the hangover passes."

"What's the fun in that?" Dean smirked. Sam glowered at him, seriously pondering the joys of being an only child.

"Jerk." Sam muttered again.

"Maybe, but a jerk who has aspirin." Dean smirked again. Sam groaned, reaching his hand out for the painkillers. "Uh uh, say it." Dean said, holding the pills farther from his brother. Sam grunted, glaring ferociously at him.

"Gimme!" he said, making an attempt to grab the precious painkillers, but then frowned, turning greener, and rested his head back against the wall, taking a deep breath and trying to settle his stomach.

"Say it, Sammy." Dean smirked.

"Gimme now?" Sam tried. Dean crossed his hands over his chest, only to quickly drop them again. The sudden gesture didn't escape Sam. It wasn't the first time his brother avoided any contact with his chest. But he would have to worry about it some other time. When there wasn't an entire marching band banging around in his head.

"Uh uh," Dean repeated, "Say it Sam." Sam groaned, taking a deep, exhausted breath.

"Dean Winchester is God's gift to women-kind. Now give me the damn pills, dumbass!" he growled, reaching his hands for the pills again. Dean grinned, handing him the painkillers.

"Damn straight." He said, and then frowned, "Hey, Sam, what's that?" Dean asked, noticing the writing on Sam's arm.

"What's what?" Sam grunted. Dean motioned at Sam's arm.

"That." He said. Sam tried to focus his eyes, studying the fading numbers on his arm.

"Looks like a phone number." He said. That wasn't fair, it was Dean who was supposed to get drunk last night. Sam knew his brother could hold his liquor, but still, Dean didn't even seem nauseated. There was just no justice in the world.

"Really? A phone number?" Dean asked, slipping down next to Sam, punching him on the shoulder. "That's my boy!" he smirked.

"Ow! Dean, shut up!" Sam snapped, punching Dean right back. That was a mistake, his stomach announced, and made sure he regretted it.

"So, you gonna call that number?" Dean asked once Sam finally got out of the bathroom.

"No." Sam said simply, slumping on his bed.

"Why not?" Dean asked.

"Because. I don't even know whose number it is." Sam said dryly. The last thing he remembered from the previous night was Dean getting him the food, and then ordering a couple more shooters once Dean was off to hustle pool. Sam shook his head. It wasn't like him to be stupid. He blamed it on the damn visions. And on Dean. Just because.

"You dog!" Sam groaned as the mattress shifted under his brother's added weight, he could practically see that grin even though his eyes were closed. "There was more than one? Seriously, Sammy, I really didn't think you had it in you!" Dean cried.

"Oh, shut up." Sam muttered and covered his head with the pillow.

Sam gave a tiny sigh of relief when the motel door opened and his brother walked in. He was startled for a moment when he woke up to find an empty room, but then noticed the car was gone. It was something his brother started doing after he was released from the hospital – taking off, driving aimlessly for a while, unwinding. Sam had learnt to accept it, even if he still didn't like it. He had spent the last hour and a half trying to think of a way to get Dean to talk to him. He found it, or at least hoped he did. Being patient didn't work, neither did being direct or getting his brother drunk. The only other thing Sam could think of was to annoy the crap out of Dean. There was the risk of finding out more than he really wanted to, but at this point, Sam would take it.

"Had a nice ride?" Sam asked as Dean took his jacket off, tossing it unceremoniously on his bed.

"I hate this car!" Dean grunted, slumping down on the bed himself.

"You're spending an awful lot of time in it for someone who claims to hate it." Sam noted, and Dean glowered at him, but said nothing, staring at the ceiling.

"How's the hangover?" Dean asked just as Sam was about to speak.

"Fine. Better." Sam said. "Took any good pictures?" he asked. That brought a smile to Dean's lips. "You didn't!" Sam breathed, jumping to his feet. Dean's grin widened, but he didn't say anything. Sam was about to punch the truth out of him when he remembered he actually had to keep cool to annoy Dean into talking. At the moment, though, the only thing that came to mind were stabs about the car, and even Sam knew that it was way too low. "Heard anything from dad?" Sam asked instead. Dean shrugged.

"He left a message." He said. Sam raised a brow.

"Saying what?" he asked.

"He got there too late." Dean said matter-of-factly. Sam sat down heavily, the guilt creeping back and making his body heavy. They sat there in silence for a while until Dean rolled over to his side, looking at Sam.

"It wasn't your fault, Sam." He said simply. Sam nodded lightly, the words rolling over him. He didn't, couldn't, believe that. Dean sighed, sitting up. "Sam," he said, pausing long enough for Sam to look up at him. "It wasn't your fault."

"I could have killed it…" Sam muttered and then caught himself and cursed under his breath. Dean stared at him for a long moment, and then gave a slight nod.

"Yeah, you could have." He agreed, and Sam looked up at him, shocked. "But you didn't. What's done's done. Time to move on." Dean said firmly, though he didn't look at Sam, laying back on his back instead. Sam stared at him for a long moment, shocked. "I'm hungry. Let to grab something to eat." Dean said eventually, getting up and grabbing his coat. Still stunned, Sam followed more slowly.

He looked questioningly at Dean as he pulled over by the same bar they were in the previous night. "What?" Dean asked, "They have awesome hot wings." He shrugged, and Sam raised a brow. "And besides, maybe you'll get lucky again and find the woman that left you her number." He said as they got out of the car. That's more like it, Sam thought, giving his brother a dirty look. Dean stopped suddenly. "It was a woman, right?" he asked, and then smirked. Sam punched him as hard as he could.

"Jerk." He muttered, following Dean more slowly, annoyed at his brother's mocking laughter. Oh, wait, wasn't it supposed to be the other way around? Damn him!

Sam had to admit, the food at this place, which, during the day doubled as a small restaurant, was pretty good. And the hot wings were really good. Sam watched his brother. When there were other people around, especially of the female kind, Dean was his old self. Maybe Sam was just imagining thing. And then his eyes landed on the coke nestled in his brother's hand. It wasn't a beer. No, there was definitely something there, and Sam couldn't hold on any longer.

"So, Dean," he started, and his brother turned back to him after winking at the waitress and sending her off giddily to the kitchen. Definitely some sort of under the table deal with the devil – Dean wouldn't hunt it for a couple of years, and in return, every woman will find herself unable to resist him… Sam thought. "How did you do last night?" Dean cocked his head to the side.

"Not too bad." He said, his eyes following another waitress. "Almost two hundred bucks." He said, "Didn't even have to hustle. They just sucked." He added. "Maybe we should come back here again tonight, get some gas money." He suggested.

"Or just hang out." Sam offered. At that, Dean's easy-going appearance seemed to disappear. He stiffened.

"I thought we were here for a job, Sam." He said coolly, "We ever going to get around to that?" he demanded. For a moment, Sam was lost for words. He shook his head.

"We are here for a job…" he stuttered, "Just need to figure out what it is exactly."

"We haven't exactly been doing that, have we?" Dean said, and Sam couldn't ignore the underlying accusation.

"You're right." He said, "Maybe we should get you some beer and get a paper, start looking." Sam said, trying his best not to appear like he was studying Dean for a reaction, even though he was. Dean frowned.

"What is it with you and getting me drunk, little brother?" Dean snapped, "'Cause I don't swing that way." He said, getting up, "And even if I did, you're not my type." He added, reaching for his wallet and putting a twenty on the table before he walked away. Sam added a tip and hurried after his brother.

"Dean, wait," he cried after his brother. Dean slowed down, but neither stopped nor turned around to face his brother.

"Sam, I'm sick and tired of all this shit," Dean said, unlocking the car and looking at Sam, opening the driver's side door. "Either we have a job here, or we don't." he said simply, locking Sam's eyes with a stern gaze. "And if we don't, then we don't need to be here." He added, and then got in the car. Sam gave a slight nod. He was officially irritated. No, make that pissed off. Yanking the passenger's side door open a little harder than necessary, he got inside, clenching his jaw. He didn't close the door. Instead, he reached over, snatching the keys from the ignition. Then he slammed the door shut. "What the hell?" Dean snapped.

"Shut up!" Sam snapped back. Dean made a face, cocking a brow.

"Excuse me?"

"Look, you may not think these visions mean anything. Fine! Don't! But I do!" Sam said heatedly, and went on just as Dean was about to speak. "There's a reason I see these things, Dean! I don't know why, but I see them! Me! I know what will happen if we're not there to help them, me, not you! I'm the one responsible!" Sam cried. Dean seemed a little taken aback. He said nothing a long moment, and then sighed.

"Whatever, man." He said eventually, and then looked intently at Sam. "But no more messing around. We came here to work!" Dean added seriously. Sam glared at him. What the hell, he was on a roll.

"And another thing," Sam went on, his voice a little harsher than he intended it to be, "What is it with you?" he demanded. Dean frowned.

"What is it with me?" he repeated.

"Yes!" Sam yelled, noting Dean shrank back a little, "There's something wrong with you, there's something different," he held his hand up to stop Dean from talking, "and don't give me that bullshit about you being okay! You're not okay!" Sam yelled. "Tell me what's going on!" he demanded.

"What are you talking about? Nothing's going on!" Dean snapped back.

"You're not drinking! I've been watching you for a while, Dean, you're not drinking anymore!" Sam accused. Dean seemed actually surprised for a moment, and then his mask was back in place. He frowned.

"You know, little brother, you're really starting to freak me out." He said flatly. Sam glared at him, setting his jaw. "What the hell do you care if I drink or not?" Dean demanded a moment later, and Sam thought he heard a slightly accusing underlying tone.

"Because you're different! Because there's something wrong, and you're too big of an ass to tell me what it is!" Sam insisted.

"I'm different?" Dean smirked, "Wow, coming from you, Sammy, I'm not sure that means a lot. If anyone here's different…" but Sam was done. He was done listening to excuses and diversions and lies. He wanted the truth, and he was going to get it. Now.

"Why aren't you drinking?" he demanded again. Dean narrowed his eyes, clenching his jaw. For a slight second, Sam could read a myriad of emotions in his brother's face, and that truly surprised him. There was shame, guilt, anger, irritation, maybe even fear - and a few other things Sam didn't have the time to register before his brother exploded.

"Because I can't, Sam! Happy?" Dean demanded angrily. Sam blinked, shocked and a little startled. He frowned.

"Why not?" he asked. Dean rolled his eyes, his entire body language making it perfectly clear he didn't want to talk about it.

"Oh, jeez, Sam…"

"What? What is it!" Sam wasn't about to let it go. Not now. He knew for certain that if he let it go now, he'll never again have the chance to get to the bottom of this thing.

"Drop it, will you?" but it wasn't a question. It was an order. And one Sam wasn't willing to follow.

"No!" Sam insisted. Dean let out an exasperated grunt and pushed the car door open, getting out of the car. Sam followed him, not giving his brother the chance to cover up whatever it was he was trying to cover up. "No, Dean I won't let it go!" Sam repeated, circling the car and coming to stand by his brother. "Would you?" Sam demanded, looking Dean in the eye. Dean returned the look with a cool gaze, saying nothing but speaking volumes. His eyes clearly said back off! But Sam wouldn't. "Look, I know there's something wrong, Dean. What do you mean you can't drink?" Sam demanded, getting in Dean's face and preventing him from stalking away. Dean tried to sidestep him a couple of times, but Sam wouldn't let him. He was beginning to think Dean would actually shove him or punch him, but instead Dean just let out an irritated cry.

"Because pills and booze don't mix!" he cried exasperatedly. "Happy?" he demanded. Sam blinked, shocked. He really didn't think it was anything remotely like this.

"Pills? W-what pills?" Sam asked in a hoarse voice, his mouth suddenly dry. Dean clenched and unclenched his fists, his jaw set, not answering, not even looking at his younger brother. "Dean, what pills?" Sam demanded. In another attempt to get away, Dean got back in the car, and cursed loudly when he remembered Sam still had the keys. Sam crouched down next to him. "Are you still on painkillers?" Sam demanded, the thought was making his head spin. Dean still didn't answer, and Sam took that as a yes. "Jeez, Dean, it's been almost six months!" he exclaimed. Dean looked coolly at him. "Dean!"

"What!" Dean snapped angrily, and Sam felt the blood rushing to his face. How could he not have noticed this? How could he not have known?

"Do you have a… problem?" Sam asked in a small voice, forcing the words out. Dean rolled his eyes angrily.

"Yes! I have an annoying little brother that won't get off my back." He snapped, "What do you think I should do about it?" he added, glaring at Sam. Sam gave him a long look and then straightened and got back in the car. They both stared at nothing for a long moment before Sam said,

"I'm serious here!"

"So am I!" Dean snapped. Sam gave the older hunter another long look as Dean reached out his hand, expecting the keys back. Reluctantly, Sam gave him the keys, crossing his hands across his chest. This wasn't over. Not by a long shot.

Sam jumped out of the car as soon as it stopped, practically leaping towards their motel room before Dean had had the chance to protest or to stop him. He had locked his brother out of the room. Dean might be pissed, but Sam had work to do, and he wasn't going to let Dean get in the way. Taking his brother's duffle, Sam turned it over, pouring its contents on Dean's bed. He spent the next couple of hours meticulously going through Dean's things. He even went through his own things, just to make sure his brother wasn't trying to hide things in clear view.

Sam sat on the floor, looking at his 'loot'. Three bottles. That's what his brother had been hiding. And too of those were Tylenol. The third, however, wasn't. It was much, much stronger. It also had Dean's name on it, in tiny print, along with the instructions. Five times a day for the first couple of weeks, and then when needed. The prescription had been refilled a couple of months ago. There was still a handful of pills left. And Sam relaxed a little. It didn't look like his brother was addicted to pain killers. That was a lot of weight lifting off his shoulders. But then, what was his brother hiding? And why was the prescription refilled? Sam sighed, looking at the mess around him. Dean was still hiding something. Something bigger. And he had lost his chance to find out what it was.

Dean stood by the car, leaning against it, a water bottle in his hand as he watched his brother go through his things back in their motel room. Dean had no doubt Sam would find the pain medication sooner or later. He had hidden it, but it was still in reach. He couldn't afford for it not to be. Dean sighed, getting in the car and resting his head against the headrest. Sam would probably be surprised at how potent it was, Dean thought, closing his eyes. He had filled the prescription a couple of months ago. The bottle was more than half full. Dean didn't have a problem. Well, not that kind of problem, anyway.

He was actually glad Sam thought he had a problem with painkillers. It was a good thing that he had found those pills. That way, he'll find the bottle and see that it wasn't really a problem, and he'll back off. Eventually. What he won't do, is look for something else. Dean would make sure of that. The pain medication was the lesser of two evils, and Dean now had the ammunition - the false accusation - to make sure Sam kept off his back.

Dean let out a sigh and looked through the motel room window. Sam was ransacking his things, looking for more pills. Won't get him far, Dean thought, the most he'll find is aspirin and Tylenol. Dean was smarter than that. Smarter, and experienced. With another glance at the motel room to make sure Sam was still busy, he'd better put my things back in place before I get back there, he popped the trunk and made his way to the back of the car. Another glance, and a good look around, and Dean moved some of their stuff around, exposing the bottom and the emergency tool kit. He got it out, and reached his hand in the space it left. Poking around for a couple of seconds, Dean found what he was looking for. A small zip-lock plastic bag containing two little plastic bottles. Dean closed his eyes for another second, and took a deep breath. Sam will never know about these pills. No one will, Dean thought as he opened one of the bottles and carefully took out one pill. They cost a bundle, he wasn't going to let any pill drop. He quickly swallowed the pill, taking a sip of water and wiping his mouth. One down, one more to go. He took another pill from the second bottle. Those were running low. He has to refill the prescription soon. Taking another sip of water, Dean put the pills away and returned everything in the trunk carefully back to where it was, returning to the driver's seat. He sat there a moment, closing his eyes and waiting for the medication to take affect.

The heart medication gave him heartburn, but it did help – or so his cardiologist claimed. He was showing improvement. In a few months, maybe he could finally be rid of those pills. The blood pressure pills, well those he was probably stuck with for the rest of his life.

The Demon cut him deep, very close to the heart, nearly carving it out. It didn't hurt it, not directly, but with the excess strain, the blood loss and the time it took to get Dean to surgery, a small artery somehow ruptured. He was basically dead when he got to the hospital and was rushed into surgery. The surgeon told him his heart gave out three times on the operating table. Shesaid they had nearly lost hope for him, but that he never stopped fighting. Well, of course not. What else was he good for?

Dean turned the radio on, and closed his eyes again once he found a station he didn't dislike. Those pills made him so tired…

Dean tried to fight the fatigue. His doctor kept telling him not to, that his body desperately needed rest and better care. But what did he know, right? The damn doctor kept telling him to get re-admitted to a hospital, or at least take a long vacation with plenty of bed rest. Well, that's kind of what he's been doing. This gig was nothing but a waste of time. Fighting to keep his eyes open, Dean's hand found the paper and he forced himself to read it. The words kept mingling together as his eyes refused to stay open, but Dean insisted. He was a Winchester after all. Stubbornness was in his genes.

"Hmm…" he said out loud, focusing his eyes and reading the article again. "Now that's interesting…"

TBC