When Spencer told Sam that he could pray to him for help, he honestly hadn't been sure on whether or not Sam would do it. Not just because the Winchester brothers seemed the type to not want to ask for help unless they absolutely had to, and not just because it was obvious that Dean didn't know what to think of him and didn't quite trust him, but also because Spencer had gotten to know Sam ever so slightly during that short visit at Bobby's and it was very easy to see that Sam tended to put pretty much anyone's safety above his own. Spencer could see Sam not wanting to contact him for help simply because he wouldn't want to risk Spencer having to run into Castiel or any other angel. Sam had been extremely understanding about Spencer's need to hide from angels.

With all of that, he knew it would most likely take something pretty big to get Sam to actually pray to him the first time. He was right. Only, he'd been expecting something along the lines of serious injury, either to him or to Dean. What he hadn't expected was the quietly devastated voice, thick with grief.

Spencer was barely home from work, had only had enough time to put away his weapon and change into lounge clothes, when the soft prayer came through.

"Spencer? I, ah, I don't really know how this works, if you're actually getting this. You said all I had to do was say your name and direct it to you, so, here's hoping. I don't know if you're busy right now or what, but if you're not, I could…I could really use someone to talk to right now."

There was no hesitation in Spencer to respond to that. One second he was standing in the living room of his apartment and the next he was standing in the living room area of the latest Winchester motel-of-the-week. He even still held his cup of tea in his hand. He found Sam sitting on the couch, arms tucked in to rest on his stomach and his head turned towards the window, eyes staring sightlessly. It gave Spencer a second to just look him over. There were stress lines at the corners of Sam's eyes and a furrow between his eyebrows. His eyes carried the slight bruising of not enough sleep and his lips were curved down. More telling was the way he was slightly curled in, long legs up on the couch with his knees somewhat close to his chest like he was trying to curl in on himself a bit, and his shoulders were tucked forward and down as if they carried a great weight. Spencer read body language for a living and everything about Sam's was screaming grief, pain, and even anger.

Spencer wasn't sure what it was that gave him away but suddenly Sam was blinking his eyes clear and turning his head towards Spencer. He only startled a little bit when he found Spencer standing there. "You came." He said the words with just the faintest hint of surprise.

Any other time and Spencer might've taken slight offense to that. After all, he'd said he'd come if called, hadn't he? But he couldn't bring himself to be mad right now. "You called."

"I didn't mean to take you away from anything important. You look like you're getting ready for bed."

That brought Spencer's attention to the fact that he hadn't bothered to change his clothes before he flew out here. He'd heard Sam's prayer and just reacted. Looking down now, he saw he was still dressed in his house slippers, plaid pajama pants and the oversized Caltech sweater he'd had since his second year at college. It was comfortable, lounge around the house clothes, perfect for an evening spent with a really good book. Not exactly the best clothes to go out visiting in, though. A hint of color crept into Spencer's cheeks. "I wasn't. The most you interrupted was a night with a good book. I'm not worried about that. I can read anytime, anywhere. You said you needed to talk and that's much more important." Something caught Spencer's eye and he paused mid speech. It was just a small movement on Sam's part as the hunter turned a little more towards him. However, it was enough to pull up the edge of Sam's sleeve and show the hint of bandages underneath. His eyes snapped up to Sam's face in just enough time to see his eyes tighten from pain. Immediately Spencer started forward, setting his mug down on the coffee table and folding himself onto the couch at Sam's side. "You're hurt."

"What?" Sam looked confused for just a split second. Then his expression cleared and he looked down at his arms. "Oh. Yeah. We ran into a couple of ghouls the other day. That's, actually…that's part of what I wanted to, to talk to you about."

"May I see?"

It took Sam and Spencer both to get Sam's arms stretched out just right and both of the sleeves pushed up. Mostly because Spencer, upon seeing just how much it bothered Sam to move, basically took over and kept Sam's arms still while he did the work. His hands were gentle as he unwound the bandages over first one arm, then the other. The sight of what he found was enough to have him grimacing in sympathy. The gashes that covered Sam's forearms had been well stitched up but they no doubt had to be hurting like crazy. Every move probably pulled at the stitches and only made the ache worse. "Sam," Shaking his head, Spencer kept a loose grip on Sam's wrists and cast him a chiding look. "I told you to pray to me if you needed anything. Having your arms cut up by—ghouls, was it? That qualifies in the 'anything' category."

The caring in his voice seemed to make Sam slightly uncomfortable. The sarcasm at the end, though, worked to set him at ease once more, and Spencer filed that little fact away. "I didn't think about it." Sam admitted almost sheepishly.

Rolling his eyes, Spencer shifted his grip off of Sam's wrists and moved his hands to hover just a hair overtop the injuries. Grace flowed between them with a soft glow. When it faded, the injuries faded with it, leaving only smooth skin and loose stitches behind. "There." He brushed away the thread until Sam's arms were clear. Drawing his hands back, he smiled. "See? Simple."

"Thank you." Sam said honestly. He lifted his arms, twisting them and making fists, testing them out.

Spencer picked up his mug off the coffee table and settled himself back into the corner of the couch. "I told you, it's no problem." He brought his mug up and took a sip off it, humming happily at the flavor. "So. You ran into a couple of ghouls, then? They don't typically go for live victims." He kept his voice at the same relaxed, casual tone, sensing that he might get better answers that way. Sam wanted to talk about this; calling Spencer had showed that. But it was obvious this wasn't an easy topic, whatever it was. No need to make it any harder on him.

Even with his calm tone, though, Sam still tensed. "Yeah. Ah, this case was a little, um, different."

Watching him, Spencer debated for a second. Then he waved one hand and a bottle of his best bourbon and two glasses appeared on the table at the same time that his mug of tea vanished. At Sam's surprised look, he smiled. "Something tells me this story calls for a little something stronger than the tea I had." He leaned forward and unscrewed the lid on the bottle, filling both glasses. "This is a bottle of my best bourbon I keep at home." He set the bottle back down and took one glass, handing the other one over to Sam, who was looking at him with a cross between amusement and disbelief. The amusement seemed to be winning. Good. Spencer curled his knees up, bringing his feet onto the couch, and turned so he was better facing Sam. "Okay. So what was so different about this case?"

There was a moment of quiet while Sam looked down at the contents of his glass. "I found out I have a brother." He finally blurted out.

Woah. Okay, that hadn't been what Spencer was expecting to hear. He kept his expression controlled, reminding himself that Sam hadn't seemed to respond well to open, blatant concern, reacting better to the sarcasm and humor. He tried it again now, hoping he was playing this right. "I feel safe in assuming that you're not referring to Dean."

The laugh he got had him relaxing a little. Yeah, he'd played it right. Sam looked a little less tense when he smiled up at Spencer, showing a brief flash of dimple. "Yeah."

"Where is Dean, by the way? Out to get dinner?"

"The bar." Sam said, eyes darting away and smile fading.

Ah, yes, because that was where everyone should be when they've got someone to care for who couldn't move their arms without wincing in pain. Spencer kept that nasty little thought inside, knowing it would do no good to say it. Besides, I don't know the whole story yet. This case could've been just as hard on him as it was on Sam. He gave himself that firm reminder and held his tongue. He gave Sam the same courtesy that Sam had once given him, staying silent and allowing the man to gather his thoughts and speak when he was ready. It didn't take long.

"We got a call on Dad's old phone the other day…" Sam began. He didn't look at Spencer the entire time that he spoke. His eyes stayed on the far wall while he told Spencer about getting the call from a young man named Adam who claimed to be John Winchester's son. He spoke of going out there and meeting him, of how Dean had been sure it was a trick or a trap, only Adam had passed every single test they put forward. Then he spoke about Adam's missing mother, about going out to the house and looking around, and about the pictures they'd found there. Sam had to pause there for a moment to gain his composure. He emptied what was in his glass and Spencer silently leaned forward to refill it for him.

Spencer kept perfectly silent as Sam told the rest of his story. Finding the mother's remains in the vents, trying to hunt down what took her, the arguments with Dean and the decision to train Adam in the life despite his older brother's protests. Then…then he told Spencer about the end. About Adam's mother coming back while Dean was gone—and about discovering that Adam and his mother were nothing more than ghouls. Ghouls who had wanted revenge from a case John had worked all those years ago during which their parent had been killed. So they bided their time and finally got revenge on those they blamed. Adam, Adam's mother, the cop who'd worked the case at the time, and then they'd hoped for John only to find out that he was already dead, and so they'd settled for his sons instead. Sam's voice only quavered once when he spoke of being tied to the table and cut so that they could feed off him while he was still alive. But his voice firmed again when he told of Dean coming in. Of Dean rescuing him, cutting him free, patching up his arms. And there was a faint hint of pride when he told Spencer how Dean had insisted on giving Adam a proper hunter's funeral.

By the time the story was done, Sam was well on his way to drunk. Spencer had lost count of how many times he'd refilled his glass for him. He knew that sometimes a little alcohol could be just the therapy a person needed. Something to loosen the inhibitions that usually prevented a person from feeling or grieving properly. And it sounded to him like that was just what Sam needed—to grieve.

"I really liked the idea of having another brother." Sam sighed, looking down at his half empty glass with a mournful look. "I mean, I know I don't exactly do a great job looking out for Dean. But I thought maybe I could with Adam, y'know? Like, maybe I could give him a bit of what Dean gives me. Be that big bro."

"There's nothing wrong with that." Spencer said softly.

Sam huffed and shook his head. "Doesn't matter. Can't even be a good little brother. I probably would've sucked at being a big brother." Lifting his glass, he downed what was left.

"I'm sure you would've been a fantastic big brother." Spencer reassured him. He could see that his words didn't quite click, though. They didn't mean as much coming from him. No, words like those needed to come from someone else and that someone else wasn't here right now. Spencer couldn't make that part of things better for Sam.

"Yeah, well, guess it doesn't matter in the end, does it?"

"Sam, there's no shame in grieving." Spencer gentled his voice and put just a little grace in it to try to give his words the strength needed to maybe reach this man. "You lost a brother. Granted, the brother you got to know was a ghoul in disguise, but Adam as a person still existed, and you have every right to grieve his loss. There's no shame in it."

He wasn't sure how Sam would take his words. They were still new to their friendship, still learning the right and wrong ways of talking to one another. Spencer knew that generally he wasn't the most socially appropriate person. He was too blunt at times. Tactless, even, without ever intending to be. He didn't always recognize when he needed to back off a subject and let something go until it was too late and he'd already upset or hurt the person he was talking to. There'd been no need to worry about those kinds of things when growing up. Friends had been a rarity and neither his mother nor his true father had ever worried at all about his bluntness. If anything, he was more open with his true father than with anyone else, ever. It was kind of hard not to be open and honest when you spent your time with someone who could read the thoughts straight out of your mind if you didn't shield properly. Years at the Bureau had helped Spencer refine the socialization skills he'd missed out on during his childhood and teen years, but only by so much. It had been JJ, really, who'd helped that along. She'd helped teach him what signs he needed to look for, little tells that all of his profiling hadn't taught him.

He watched now and carefully read Sam's face and body language. When he saw a bit of the tension melt away, he almost sighed in relief. Blue-green eyes flashed up through shaggy bangs and a small smile curved the hunter's lips. "Thanks, Spencer."

"You're welcome." Smiling, Spencer lifted his glass, holding it out towards Sam. "To Adam."

Sam's answering smile was wide as he lifted his own glass. "To Adam."

Two hours and the rest of the bottle later, Spencer was carefully helping Sam into his bed. The hunter was on the last legs of consciousness. Spencer doubted he'd stay awake longer than a minute once his head hit the pillow. It took a bit of tricky maneuvering to get him there. Once he did, though, Sam proved him right. Spencer had barely let go of him before he heard the first snore. He gave a fond shake of his head. Well, the night might not have started off the best for Sam, but it seemed to have ended well. Once they'd really gotten to drinking, it had been easy to get Sam to start talking about happier things. To share stories that made him smile and laugh. In turn, Spencer had shared a few stories of his own. Ones that were deliberately cheerful. Maybe it wasn't much, but giving the man a night of smiles and laughter would hopefully ease the ache in him just a little bit. Even if it did leave him passing-out-drunk.

Thankfully, Spencer's physiology gave him a much higher tolerance for alcohol. He could've drunk the entire bottle himself without being drunk.

He was just bending to straighten Sam's legs onto the bed when he heard a key in the lock. He barely glanced up as the door opened. No need; he knew who it was. Just as he knew what kind of reaction he was going to get. Sure enough, out of the corner of his eye Spencer saw Dean freeze just steps into the room. Before the man could freak out at the sight of his unconscious brother, Spencer called out "Don't worry, he's not hurt. He just passed out."

"Oh, is that all?" Dean growled. The door shut with a snap and the hunter moved quickly into the room, straight to the head of the bed. He went right to Sam's head, brushing hair back from his face and checking his neck for a pulse, all in one move. Satisfied with what he found, he shot a sharp look down to Spencer, who was now squatting down by the foot of the bed. "What the hell did you do to him? Better yet, what the hell are you doing here?"

Spencer resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Reaching out, he caught hold of Sam's left foot and started to untie the laces of his shoe. It took effort but he kept his voice calm. "I'm here because your brother asked me here. As for what I did to him, I'd think that'd be obvious, considering you've been doing the same the past few hours." He paused and lifted his head just enough to send a sharp look Dean's way. "He's just had too much to drink, Winchester. I thought you'd be familiar enough with the sensation to recognize it."

"You got him drunk?"

Spencer tipped his head just enough to look at Dean with one eyebrow cocked. Considering where Dean had just been, that question seemed a bit hypocritical and Spencer's look clearly showed that. He held it as Dean dropped his gaze and cleared his throat, obviously getting the message that Spencer was sending. Satisfied, Spencer turned back to his task, nimble fingers quickly undoing the laces of Sam's other shoe. "He should sleep through the night." He said, keeping his voice neutral. "Come morning, he shouldn't have too bad of a hangover. He'll need to eat, though."

Out of the corner of his eye he could see as Dean's body tensed once more at the perceived insult. "I know how to take care of my brother. I've been doing it my whole life."

"I'm not the one that seems to have forgotten that." Spencer said pointedly. Setting Sam's shoes alongside the bed, Spencer put his hands on his knees and pushed himself up straight. He met Dean's gaze head on and read the grief and anger lurking in there. It reminded him that Sam wasn't the only one going through something difficult right now. Both Winchesters had been hurt by recent events. Spencer changed the words he'd been planning on saying, his tone softening ever so slightly. "Take care of each other, Winchester. At the end of the day, you're all each other has. Don't let everything else make you lose sight of that."

Before Dean could say a word, Spencer was gone.