Bobby could tell that something was up with Sam.

The boys had dropped in on his junkyard after another one of their adventures, and of course Dean was not quite his normal self (he tried, but even Bobby could tell that he was worrying about that impending deadline that they still hadn't gotten to go away), but Sam…

The boy had given him a look when he opened the door, as they came inside.

He'd tried to hide it, but his expression had been kind of worried, or anxious.

Or guilty.

That instantly made his these-idjits-have-done-something-stupid radar start tingling like crazy, and he was sure that some new cockeyed deal had been made behind his back.

Dean didn't seem to suspect any such thing. He clearly could tell that something was wrong with his brother, but he was worried, not angry, so if Sam had made a deal, Dean didn't know about it yet.

And then he went to put their stuff in a spare room and get ready for bed because it was late at night by the time they showed up-and Sam looked like he was about to have a panic attack the moment his brother was out of his sight, before he quickly tried to compose himself...but not soon enough to keep Bobby from noticing. That meant that they were alone in the kitchen.

***/***

"There something you need to tell me, Sam?" he asked once Dean was (possibly) out of earshot.

Sam's shoulders hunched as he looked down at the floor. "No."

Bobby folded his arms, gave him a stern look. "I didn't ask if you wanted to tell me, I asked if you needed to tell me." He took a step until he was strategically placed between Sam and the doorway, sending out a clear message: you're not leaving this kitchen until I've got the truth, boy.

How exactly did you tell the man who'd in many ways been a third father figure to you throughout your life (the other two being John and Dean; I leave it to the reader to decide in what order they came) that in an alternate reality, six months in the future, you'd driven a stake through his chest?

It definitely wasn't something Sam had any desire to divulge. Unfortunately, Bobby had reminded him how perceptive he was, and was clearly not willing to give him much choice in the matter.

It wasn't even much of an excuse that he'd been pretty sure it was just the Trickster in disguise; something about the way he'd just given up had seemed too suspicious, too unlike Bobby. He wasn't the kind of guy to just let himself die-well, if it ever came down to it, of course he'd willingly sacrifice himself to save one of the Winchester boys, but not like this. The real Bobby would try to find some other loophole, like having them both donate enough blood to create a gallon-sure, that would still be risky, but better than anyone dying. That was the Bobby he knew and remembered, even in the deadness of soul he'd felt during those six months-not this joker who'd given that spiel about being old, and Sam needing Dean back, and being so...fatalistic.

Either way, though, Sam had still willingly and heartlessly stabbed him. And now that he felt like himself again, the memory made him a little sick.

He wasn't sure, if he told, that Bobby would be able to look at him the same way ever again.

***/***

A bit of a silence, before Sam looked up and croaked, "Have you ever heard about a ritual that you can use to summon a Trickster?"

Bobby blinked. "A-what? Sam, what the he-"

"Have you?"

The anxious, guilty look was back again, more open this time now that it was just the two of them around to see it.

Not sure how this was pertinent but deciding to bite, Bobby tilted his head thoughtfully. "Well, I found a ritual when we dealt with the one in Springfield, but you really don't want to try it. It requires a gallon of-Sam?!"

The old man quickly caught Sam before he could finish collapsing, despite how much taller the boy was, and managed to push him into the closest available chair.

He quickly forced Sam to bend at the waist and take a few deep breaths, until the color came back into his face. As soon as it had, though, Sam was jerking his head up and demanding, "A gallon of what, Bobby?!"

"Chocolate, Sam! A gallon of chocolate!"

Sam gave him a long, disbelieving look. "Chocolate?"

"Well, there's a few other ingredients, but yeah. I told you, they usually have a sweet tooth."

Sam looked like he didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

Maybe like he felt like doing both.

Bobby finally sat down in a chair next to him, and folded his hands on the table.

"Did you meet another Trickster?"

Sam shook his head, jaw clenching.

"It was the same one. He was still alive."

A slight raising of the eyebrows gave evidence of his surprise, but he supposed it wasn't that big of one. There was a good reason they were called Tricksters, after all.

And then he put two and two together.

"He did something to you and Dean."

Sam didn't move, his expression didn't change, but that was evidence enough. He didn't have to ask; he could tell it had been horrible, whatever he'd done to them. And he found himself having to almost physically suppress the urge to find that gallon of chocolate so he could call up the Trickster himself, and give him the business end of a stake.

Instead, Bobby read further.

"And it had to do with me too, didn't it?"

"He disguised himself as you for a little bit." Sam's big pawlike hands clenched. "And I was pretty sure it wasn't you, but part of me had doubts, and I still-" He swallowed again- "I still tried-" He mimicked a halfhearted staking gesture.

Silence reigned for a minute, but really, he'd kind of said all he needed to for the older hunter to get the gist of it.

***/***

Bobby wondered what Sam was expecting. I mean, he could guess. Sam looked like he expected a lecture of some sort, or maybe being thrown out on his ear for having been willing to potentially kill him. Which was ridiculous; the idjit should really know better by now.

"Sam…" Bobby said softly.

And then Sam looked at him, the guilt shining in his big puppy eyes, and whispered, "I'm sorry."

Bobby gave him a gruff nod. "I know."

And then, because the situation seemed to call for it, he reached over and ruffled the boy's hair, before lowering his hand to his shoulder and squeezing it, gently.

Sam gave him a sad smile, but seemed a little less shattered. For the moment, anyway.

I probably apologize far more than I need to in these disclaimers, but sorry if there's any objections or OOC-ness to this. I know Sam hasn't really explained everything to Bobby, but the whole situation doesn't seem like something he'd be all that comfortable explaining; I know I wouldn't be. And the gallon of chocolate might be a little crack, but it was just too amusing to pass up.

I hope I did a good job writing Bobby; he's my favorite character. I took a Supernatural personality quiz once to see which character I am, and I got Bobby. At first I was a little perturbed, because I thought I was going to be Sam, but then I kept watching, and realized just how awesome that makes me. Especially with Bobby's "not willing to take crap from anyone" attitude and soft side that only a few people get to see.

*Cue Sam Winchester puppy eyes*

If you want to review this, I certainly wouldn't object.