A/N: Thanks to Mandancie for pre-reading. Mistakes are mine. I'm overtired and posting with just a glance though.

Chapter Eleven

The old screen door clacked behind Bobby as he made his way into the house, his hands full of bags. He'd stopped at the grocery store in town to pick up some food that Sam might be more interested in eating. He never was a big meat and potatoes eater like Dean and himself. He hoped the head of lettuce and few tomatoes he bought would do—a chef he wasn't, but he'd give it his best.

He set the bags down on the table, looking around expecting to see Dean or maybe even Sam, but it was quiet. Shrugging it off, he put away the groceries. His meeting with Frank had gone well. Bobby didn't tell him what was going on, just that he needed some supplies and the meds he'd requested. The vet seemed curious about the antidepressants, but didn't ask. He filled in Bobby on the everything he should know about taking them and things to watch out for. Turned out, Frank often prescribed antidepressants to dogs, so it didn't look too suspicious. Bobby chuckled to himself as he picked up the prescription bottle, imagining a depressed dog, popping pills and drinking whiskey.

This whole situation had caught Bobby off guard, and brought up things from his own past he had put to rest. These boys were like his sons and it tore him apart thinking about what happened to Sam. He could only imagine if John was alive, if he had known. Whatever Dean had done to the man, Bobby imagined his father would have done worse. No one touched his boys and got away with it. As the next best thing to a father, Bobby felt it was his job to fill John's shoes now. He needed to take care of them now. It wasn't going to be easy. He had some experience in trauma, but this was complicated. What he did know though, as much as Dean was trying to help, the kid was just making it worse. Sam needed to heal. He needed reassurance. They had to find a way to reach him behind the wall he'd built.

Sighing, Bobby walked into the den, pulling out his flask and taking a drink, the burn of the cheap swill burning its way down his throat.

Hearing footsteps upstairs, he glanced at the ceiling and sighed. Sam must be awake. Dean needed to tell Sam he knew. Bobby wasn't gonna lie to the boy and pretend he didn't know. The lying had to stop. It was the damn Winchester way though, he thought. They do anything to protect each other but don't realize the damage they are doing until it's done.

The footsteps were moving down the hall and then he heard someone coming down the stairs. He could only assume Dean. A moment later, the older brother appeared in the doorway. He looked worn and tired. His eyes a little red like he'd been crying. His five o'clock shadow was starting to turn into a beard.

Bobby offered his flask to Dean. "Looks like you could use it."

Dean walked over and took it, taking a drink and passing it back.

"Wanna talk about it?" Bobby asked, looking Dean over. His hunting skills not missing the bit of blood wiped on Dean's jeans. He braced himself for whatever answer may come.

Dean ran his hand through his hair. "He knows I told you. It slipped. He doesn't trust me anymore." Dean looked crushed. "And to make it worse, he said the only person he trusts now is Lucifer."

Bobby sucked in a breath. "Well ain't that just peachy."

Dean walked over to the ragged, old chair and plonked down, putting his head in hands. "I can't believe I let it slip."

"You think the problem is letting it slip?" Bobby asked.

Dean glanced up, his eyes looking tired. "He pulled one of his stitches because I couldn't keep my mouth shut."

"Oh, keeping your mouth shut is definitely part of the problem, but knowing when to open it is damn well part of it, too."

"Huh?"

"The way he sees it, you told his secret, and instead of coming clean and being honest, you lied. The problem here isn't about you slipping up, it's about not respecting your brother enough to tell the truth, and now that you haven't, look at the mess we're in."

Bobby crossed his arms over his chest as he watched the gears work in Dean's mind.

Dean slumped back in the chair. "I give up, Bobby. I don't know how to do this. I just want to help. I feel like I'm losing him. He said he wanted to leave—without me."

Bobby wished he knew what to say to make him feel better, but the truth was words weren't going to fix this. It was clear the harder they pushed Sam the further away he got, and now he wanted away, and it scared Bobby he might just bolt. They couldn't watch him every second.

"I know you may not like this, but I think it might be for the best if I take care of Sam for the time being. I haven't … Well, we don't have the trust issues you two have right now. He needs to heal."

Dean hung his head. "You're right. He needs help and it can't be me right now. I'm just a fuck up."

"Don't beat yourself up about this, Dean. Things like this don't come with instruction manuals."

"He doesn't like to be jumped, knock first when you get up there," Dean said.

Bobby nodded. "Alright, why don't you take a nap and get some rest. I'll go up and see Sam."

Dean looked up at Bobby. "Bring the meds. His side isn't looking too hot either. I don't want an infection to set in."

"It's okay. I'll take care of him."

Bobby walked back to the kitchen to get the meds and a bottle of water. He doubted Sam was going to take the antidepressants, but he'd offer. He wasn't going to force anything on him. He wasn't going to lie either. Sam was in charge in Bobby's mind. He knew Sam had to set the pace of his recovery. Bobby had been down this road once before, with someone he loved very much, his wife. She had been attacked and Bobby never forgave himself for not being there to stop it—the same guilt he knew Dean carried. He had made some of the same mistakes Dean had made, pushing too hard and letting his own hurt get in the way. Dean needed time to process.

He grabbed the meds and headed upstairs to see Sam. He could hear whispering when he got closer. He let out a sigh. He might know a little from helping his wife Karen, but then she never saw the devil and had chats with him. This he wasn't too sure about how to handle. He knew that Lucifer was some part of Sam. He wondered if he could gain Lucifer's trust if he could slip behind Sam's wall. He shook his head. This wasn't gonna be easy and it wasn't gonna be fast, but just maybe if he could Sam to trust him, lean on him, he wouldn't need Lucifer anymore to guard against the pain.

The door was partly open, and he gently knocked, remembering Dean's warning.

"Come in," Sam's quiet voice said.

He pushed the door open and walked inside, Sam stiffening when he saw him.

Bobby gave a weak smile. "You mind if we talk for bit?"

Sam shrugged. "Depends on what about."

Bobby gestured to the bed. "Can I sit?"

Sam nodded and looked out the window. "You here to see the freak for yourself?"

Bobby sighed, shaking his head. "You're not a freak."

"I know he told you. I doubt he stopped at … I am sure he told you about Lucifer." Sam turned to look Bobby.

Bobby nodded. "He did, and it doesn't change a damn thing about you. You're still the same Sam you always were. Ain't nothing that could change how I think of you. You're like a son to me, both you boys are."

Sam turned his gaze back to the window. Bobby didn't want to push him, so he just waited. Sam had been through enough. It didn't really surprise him how Sam was coping. Pandora's Box was opened, and all the hurt was unleashed. The kid was grabbing at anything he could to try to get it back inside, but there just wasn't a way. It was out, and they needed to deal with it—the shame, his lack of self-worth, the loss of his innocence.

"Lucifer thinks I should leave," Sam said.

"Do you want to?"

Sam shrugged. "Everything just feels like too much. I just want to find a way out. I can't even get away when I'm sleeping."

Bobby knew he meant nightmares. Dean hadn't filled him in much on that, but he had guessed it.

"The funny thing is, I was doing okay. I was going along in life. I knew it all happened, but I kept it locked up. I didn't go there. I was detached from it in a way—numb. It never felt it was me it happened, not until I said it out loud. When I told Dean, something broke. Suddenly it was me. I was feeling it for the first time."

"It was your minds way of helping you. It was protecting you. It happens in PTSD."

"I don't have PTSD."

Bobby drew a breath. That was a conversation for another day. "Look, I know you don't want to be here and I know Dean has made some mistakes, but we both just want to help. I won't push you, and I'll make sure Dean doesn't either. Just rest. That's it. No need to go anywhere."

He noticed Sam's eyes were fixed on something in the corner of the room. Causally, Bobby glanced over, just to see for himself no one was there. He wondered what Lucifer was saying. He didn't need to wait long though to find out as Sam look back to Bobby.

"If I stay, do I have to talk?" Sam said.

"Nope, you can just rest."

Sam looked distant for a moment, then glanced to Bobby again. "Okay."

Bobby let out the breath he didn't realize he was holding. "Well, that's good to hear. Now, I don't know if Dean mentioned it, but I picked up some meds. One an antibiotic and the other"— He scratched at the back of his necked— "well, it an antidepressant. Nothing strong and you don't have to take it. Hell, we aren't even doctors. It just seemed like it might help things. It's up to you."

Bobby watched Sam's face for a response, not sure how he'd take the suggestion. Sam's brows pinched together, and he narrowed his eyes a bit. Bobby braced himself for the shit storm about to happen. He knew it was a bad idea, but then before he could start to apologize, Sam's face softened.

"Okay," Sam said quietly.

Bobby blinked, confused. "Okay? You sure."

Sam looked down at his hands and just nodded.

"Hey, I've taken them before myself. Nothing to be ashamed about," Bobby said, hoping his words reassured Sam. After his wife passed, he had fallen into a deep depression and needed help to get back to himself. "You'll probably only need them for a little while. Doesn't make you weak."

"I know."

"Okay," Bobby said, standing to reach in his pocket and pull the two bottles of pills. "First, let me take a look at that gash of yours. I don't want to give you something you don't need if I can help it."

Sam nodded and rolled to his good side, lifting his shirt to uncover the bandage on his ribs. "Dean just checked it."

"Yeah, well, I just want to see for myself, nothing against your brother."

Carefully, he peeled the tape and lifted the gauze. Immediately he saw the faint yellow and pink staining on the gauze, the beginnings of infection. The stitches were tight from swelling. He'd been overdoing it. He recovered the wound and pulled the bottles of pills from his pocket. He shook one of each of the pills into his hand and passed them to Sam, handing him the bottle of water he brought.

"Looks like you're gonna need the antibiotics. We caught it early though. We're gonna need to keep an eye on it though and clean it again it."

"It hurts," Sam said, swallowing the pills.

A chuckle broke from Bobby. "No shit, you don't say? Damn, Sammy. What are we gonna do with you?"

"You're not mad?"

Bobby shook his head. "You're strong, Sam. You've been through something that breaks people. You survived though. This"—He motioned to Sam's side— "this isn't you being weak. It's all you have right now to control the pain, I know you feel alone. I know you don't think you'll ever be able to talk about it, but you will. Trust me, Sam. I know something about his kinda stuff."

Sam's gaze snapped to Bobby. "What do you mean?"

"My wife was attacked, the first year we were married. She waited six months to tell me."

"Was she …"

"Yeah, she was raped, Sam, and one day she fell apart and told me. I didn't know how to be there for her. I did my best and made mistakes, just like Dean. It wasn't easy, but she survived—not just survived, thrived. She was amazing, and you are no different. You'll make it through this, Sam. You're strong."

"I don't feel it."

"You have Winchester blood running through your veins, you're the strongest breed out there. You won't just come from this, you'll come back stronger."

Sam seemed to sink into the bed and Bobby watched as he started to pick at his nails. He looked like he was thinking. Bobby kept an eye on his hands, making sure he didn't start hurting himself. He hoped the conversation hadn't been too much for him at once.

"Am I going crazy?" Sam said, pulling his arms around himself, still looking out the window.

Damn the kid was breaking his heart. "No, Sam. I promise things are gonna get better."

"Lucifer is singing."

Bobby sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Try to rest, Sam. Get some sleep. Things will be get better."

Bobby stayed, watching over Sam as he drifted off to sleep. Things had gone better than he'd expected. He knew it would be two steps forward and one step back, but things were finally moving forward. Pandora's Box may have been opened, but hope lay in the bottom of the box, and Bobby sure as hell wasn't gonna let that go.