It had taken Dean a few minutes to figure out what the pervasive buzzing noise was that just rose above the gentle hum of AC/DC. When he finally did, he reached back and snatched the duffel bag lying on the back seat only to find the EMF meter going haywire. They were in the Impala, which was safer from any ghostly activity than most churches due to the sheer number of consecrated items stashed throughout the vehicle. The meter was obviously broken.

Dean flicked the device off, tossing it carelessly in the bag again as Sam stirred. He had been doing that on and off since Dean had got him in the car, obviously trying to fight off the effects of what Billy had given him.

"D'n." Sam moaned his name once, then shifted and called out more urgently. "D'n?"

"I'm right here Sammy." Dean shifted his eyes away from the road for a moment to glance at his brother. Sam was bone white, his eyes half lidded, his breathing heavy, and his skin glistening with sweat. His fingers were fumbling with the door for some reason. "Calm down, it's okay."

Dean tried to make his voice soothing but he doubted that the anger he felt was anything more than barely disguised.

"T-too hot—can't breathe."

Dean took his eyes away from the road again, worriedly looking over Sam. He was still panting heavily like he was out of breath. Dean wondered just what Billy had dosed Sam with and how much…some date rape drugs were so powerful it wouldn't have been very hard to accidentally overdose even a giant like Sam.

"Can't breathe—'s too hot." Sam continued mumbling the words sounding more desperate by the second. Dean wondered momentarily if a trip to the hospital was worth it or not. Would anybody believe what had happened? Or would taking Sam in cause more trouble...it wasn't like Dean had the cleanest record, and if anybody recognized him he'd be in jail faster than someone could say handcuffs. Instead, Dean decided to wait it out and see how bad Sam got. He reached over, rolling down the window so the cool night air drifted in. Sam seemed to relax marginally at that settling back in the Impala's seat, but he was still alternately moaning and calling out Dean's name.

"Don' feel—good." Sam muttered a few minutes later. The sweat on his face had dried and now he was shivering hard. He seemed to be breathing easier, but if anything he looked even more miserable. Dean rolled the window back up and then pulled off his own jacket draping it over Sam.

"Just try to sleep kiddo."

Sam seemed to hunch down under the familiar smell of Dean's leather was still barely coherent but soon he drifted into an uneasy sleep, somehow managing to contort himself so his head wound up pillowed on Dean's thigh.

O_o

It was another half an hour before Dean managed to find a cheap motel that looked halfway decent to spend the night. Sam hadn't budged during the rest of the car ride and besides occasionally checking to make sure he was still breathing Dean let him sleep.

He turned the engine off and hovered for a few moments, not wanting to leave Sam alone in the car while he paid for the room but also realizing the necessity of letting him stay while he did so. Ultimately he started to shift Sam's head off his lap, only to stop as his brother groaned and then unexpectedly and while still asleep vomited.

Dean swore as the warm mess soaked into his jeans, and the rest wound up on Sam's shirt and Dean's leather jacket. He fumbled in the glove compartment pulling out a few napkins left over from fast food runs and used that to mop up as best he could. He tried to wake Sam up and was rewarded with his eyes opening for a fraction of a second and a slurred "D'n."

"Yeah, it's just me…I'm going to go pay for a room , but I'll be right back."

Sam didn't respond, and Dean reluctantly left. He paid for the motel room, ignoring the desk clerk's quizzical look at his vomit stained jeans and slightly blood spattered T-shirt. Thankfully the teenager didn't ask though and instead silently handed over a set of keys.

Dean went back to the car to find Sam still half-unconscious and lying in a puddle of his own urine. It took several long minutes to get Sam into the motel room. Dean took a few minutes to drop a hasty salt line and grab the main duffel from the impala then he turned back to Sam. He would have liked to leave everything till morning but what Sam would already have to wake up to was bad enough without the added reminder of it on his clothes.

He ran a warm bath, trying to ignore just how different this time was than all the times he had bathed Sam as a child. His brother was barely conscious enough to protest as Dean undressed Sam and Dean was hoping Sam wouldn't be coherent enough to remember as he peeled off his puke and semen crusted shirt and piss soaked jeans. But as he dried off his brother and all but carried him to bed he knew that Winchesters never had such luck.

Sam fell into an uneasy sleep and Dean took his own shower and settled at the motel table with a bottle whiskey and their duffel bag full of weapons. The familiar rhythm of cleaning guns helped to take his mind of things, but only marginally. He couldn't get the thought from his mind that what had happened to Sam was his fault. He should have realized Sam was drugged earlier, he should have kept Billy from taking him out the bar…there was a hundred different things he could have done that wouldn't have led to the outcome it had.

Dean slid the final piece into the gun he was cleaning and made sure the safety was on before stowing the weapon away. As he reached into the bag for another one, his hand brushed something and there was a crackle then a familiar whining sound.

He had inadvertently flicked the EMF meter back on…and it was going off again. Dean stared at the dials for a moment, red lights flickering…

but he hadn't felt any cold spots, lights weren't flickering. Everything appeared normal. Still with the meter was going off, Dean walked around the room. The EMF readings faded out near the motel room door and Dean was about to stow the meter away when they flickered back on unexpectedly. Dean hadn't done anything different except move a few steps, carefully he followed the readings until he finally found out where they were coming from.

The bathroom.

But that room was just as innocuous as the rest of the motel room. It had a cracked stained shower, a garbage bin now stuffed with Sam's ruined clothes, and a graying toilet and sink.

Nothing pointed to anything of ghostly origin.

After minutes of a fruitless search Dean chalked up the readings to either a malfunction in the EMF meter (after all it had been detecting readings in the Impala) or some weird electrical wiring of the motel. Either way, Dean turned the meter off — though just to be safe he poured a salt line at the bathroom door.

He settled down in the bed nearest the door, watching Sam sleep and hating himself for not having gotten to him in time.

O_o

Morning came all too soon. Dean was awoken by a choked sound and twisted upright to find Sam struggling with his covers. It took him a moment to figure out where he was trying to get too before his brother managed to extricate himself and dashed to the bathroom.

Or at least tried too.

He was unsteady on his feet and instead winded up crashing into the door jamb. Dean swore and moved to help, but he was too late. The after effects of whatever he had been drugged with took over, and Sam bent over throwing up on the stained motel carpet.

Vaguely he wondered what was the crunchy white substance beneath his feet and why Sam was so sick before the night came rushing back to him in horrific clarity. As he remembered it took Dean all he could not to be sick himself. "It's okay, it's okay Sammy." Dean kept his voice calm as he pulled Sam up and situated him in front of the toilet bowl.

It was minutes before Sam stopped heaving enough to sit back. Dean busied himself running a glass of water from the cracked tap—anything to stave off the inevitable question.

"Shit, I feel bad." Sam's voice was so hoarse it was barely a croak. Dean turned back to find him leaned back again the shower stall, his face pale, eyes confused as he looked up at him. "What happened?"

Dean froze at that. How did you tell your brother that he had been raped?

O_o

Sam felt like crap, his head was splitting, his body ached, his mouth felt like cotton, his throat was sorer than the last time he had gotten strep throat and his stomach still felt like it was trying to turn itself inside out.

Dean had turned stock still after his question and the seconds were stretching silently on. Something about his face said that whatever it was…was bad….very bad.

Sam tried to remember the previous night—

Sam gingerly pulled himself to his feet just as Dean was saying. "What—what do you remember?"

"Not much—" Sam started to say, then his eyes landed on the trash can in the corner of the bathroom. He could still see half-his T-shirt from last night poking out…on it was a dried whitish stain. And just like that—it was enough.

He didn't remember it all but what he did had him retching anew. When he finishes he straightens up and finds Dean staring at him, he's not sure what to say and there's nothing to say that will make any of it better. Dean is staring at him with a mixture of guilt and sadness.

And it's not his fault…none of this is his fault But Sam can't say any of that right now. He can't think about what happened last night , instead he forces himself past Dean. He can heard Dean following him uncertainly. Sam ignores Dean and instead goes to the duffels bags stashed at the foot of one bed. He has to focus on something else, anything so he doesn't have that feeling of being weak, helpless, drugged out his head and unable to even protect himself.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked sounding worried.

"Where's my laptop?" Sam asked not answering Dean's question.

"In the grey backpack, why?"

He went to the backpack, starting to rifle through it. As he searched he talked, ignoring the pain in his head, or the lasting hangover he had, trying to pretend that it's just another day…and last night hadn't happened. "So the latest info on the vics said—"

"Wait hold on we're not going to just go back to the case—"

"We are Dean—"

"Sam you were—" Sam watched as Dean faltered and changed tracts. "There isn't a case here. I told you that when you wanted to check it out…we're chasing our tails."

"Fuck you, we're not stopping this case because of me."

"I didn't say this was because of you."

"You didn't need to Dean!" Sam stood up his backpack momentarily forgotten.

"I'm not arguing you with about this."

"Good, because I'm not listening to you. We're finishing this and that's the end of it." Sam turned back to the bags , trying to ignore Dean. As he bent back towards the backpack his arm knocked into the duffel bag laying on the bed, sending the bag tumbling to the floor. Knives, holy water, and other hunting supplies tumbled to the floor.

Angrily Sam started to shove them back in only to stop as Dean crouched down next to him grabbing the EMF meter which had turned on in the tumble to the ground. Dean was staring at it with a puzzled expression.

"What?"

Dean shook his head, staring at the meter still, he made like he was going to turn it off then seemed to hesitate. Abruptly he stood up the meter still in hand.

"What?" Sam asked again.

Dean answered this time, his voice thoughtful. "The meter kept going off last night and I thought it was broken or there was some interference that was messing up the signal but today…." Dean trailed off, turning slowly and pointing the meter in one direction than another. "It's weaker, but it's definitely coming from somewhere." Sam watched as Dean slowly walked around the motel room, tracking down the source of the readings

Finally, Dean had narrowed the signal down. "It's coming from the bathroom." Sam followed curiously, as Dean walked in the signal grew stronger. The shrill beep of the meter was almost deafening in the small confines of the tiled room as it picked up the source of whatever was causing the readings. Dean looked puzzled as his eyes scanned the room, looking for an obvious source. Besides a cracked shower, the toilet and a sink the bathroom was empty.

Except it wasn't—Sam held out an impatient hand gesturing for the meter and Dean grudgingly handed it over. It couldn't be—and yet it was. Sam walked closer bending over the only other thing in the bathroom—the still full trashcan.

Sam reached in and pulled out his stained T-shirt and carried it back into the main room, confirming what he had figured out as the signal stayed just as strong as ever.

He turned back to Dean, meter still in hand. "We've definitely got a case here."