Chapter Ten

"How's Sam doing?" Bobby asked, looking over his shoulder as he washed the dishes.

Dean shook his head. After the talk he'd just had with Sam, he didn't think any of the regular terms one would use could cover the level of fucked up things were. He was not okay—far from it.

"He's been talking to Lucifer, like chit chatting apparently." Dean rubbed his brow, feeling the ache of stress behind his eyes. "I'm worried, Bobby. This is some screwed up shit."

Bobby shut off the water and turned to him, drying his hands on a towel. "Did he say what they talk about?"

"Yeah, kinda. I pushed Sam to talk. I thought it would help. It sent him into a panic attack." Dean looked to Bobby for disapproval but only saw only concern. "I thought I was talking him down. I thought it was me he was listening to—turns out it was Lucifer. The bastard was telling him to focus on the pain to ground himself."

Bobby looked down at his hands. "You know, Dean, like I said before, I think Lucifer isn't a memory. I think he is a piece of Sam—the part that needs control, the part that want to punish himself. I think he feels ashamed of what happened."

"I've told him though. We've been through it. He knows there is nothing to be ashamed of."

Bobby shrugged. "You might have said it, but does he really believe it? It's like he's building a wall around himself, and Lucifer is out front, standing guard."

"How do we get through to him?"

"I don't know, but I got to head into town and meet with Frank. He's got the meds for Sam ready. Why don't you bring him up lunch and we can talk later? We can go through all my contacts and see if there is anyone in there that can help."

Dean scrubbed his eyes. They burned from little sleep. "This all feels like some fucked up dream. I can't believe …"

"I know," Bobby said, walking passed Dean, giving him a squeeze on the shoulder. "I won't be long."

Dean grabbed the plate with the grilled cheese Bobby made and walked back upstairs.

He walked quietly down the hallway, stopping to peek into the room. He told himself he wasn't spying on Sam, but he was and he knew it. What he saw made him feel a combination of wounded and angry. Sam was talking, presumably to Lucifer. He couldn't make out the words, as he was murmuring them under his breath, but he was talking to someone.

Pushing his feelings aside, he cleared his throat, letting Sam know he was back. Sam's head snapped around to look at Dean, his face wrecked with guilt.

Dean sighed, walking over to the bed and sitting down. "I brought you a sandwich, you barely touched your breakfast. Bobby actually made it this time—wasn't me."

Sam reached out, taking the plate and setting it on his lap. He took half the sandwich, turning it in his hand, looking over it carefully. He gave it a sniff and then took a small bite.

Dean chuckled. "I told you. Bobby made it. With the amount of butter on there, it has to taste good."

"Thanks," Sam said, swallowing. "So, I guess you heard me."

Dean drew a breath, nodding. "Yeah, I'm guessing you weren't talking to yourself while I was gone?"

Sam looked down at the sandwich in his hands and shook his head. "He came back."

Dean nodded, trying to understand. "Did he … I mean, did he want you to hurt yourself?"

Sam's eyes snapped up to meet Dean's. "It's not like that."

"Then what's it like?"

"He makes sense, Dean. He doesn't want to hurt me. He helps me control myself."

Dean scoffed. "You call this him helping you control yourself? Have you even looked at your side, really looked, Sam? It was like stitching hamburger."

Sam looked down at his hands.

"You're hurting yourself, Sam, and I can't seem to do a damn thing right to stop you," Dean said, trying to duck into his line of vision, but Sam looked away. "Jesus, do you even care what this is doing to me? Doing to Bobby? He's worried sick about you. You should have seen his face when I told what happened to as a—"

The words had left Dean's mouth before he had a chance to stop them. He wished he could pull them back from the air they hung in. The look on his brothers face broke him. It was a look of a man who'd just had a knife stabbed in his back. Sam knew the truth—Bobby knew. Dean tried to find something to say as he watched his brother's face contort in an agonizing mix of pain and rage. He began to vibrate, his hands shaking. His breaths began to come in huffs. His fists balled at his sides.

Dean waited for Sam to something, anything, just let him have it. He deserved it for betraying Sam's trust, but Sam just stared at him, burning gaze cutting into Dean painfully.

"Sammy …"

"Don't," Sam warned through gritted teeth, a tear slipped from his eye, rolling down his cheek and Dean wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch his brother and tell him that he was sorry, that it was okay. Anything to take the look of pain from Sam's face.

"I'm sorry, I—" Dean couldn't finish as a fist was suddenly connecting with his jaw, knocking him back. Dean clambered to his feet, putting up his hands. "Stop, Sam," Dean said, not fighting, afraid of hurting him more. "I know you're mad. Yell, scream, but don't hurt yourself more."

"How could you!" Sam snapped. "I trusted you!"

"I'm sorry. I didn't do it to hurt you. I needed help." Dean said, heart clenching as he looked in to his Sam's blood shot eyes.

Sam wiped his eyes on his sleeve, sniffling. "So, that's why we really came here? Another lie."

Dean closed his eyes, unable to look at his brother's betrayed expression any longer. "Yes," he confessed.

"How long has he known? When did you tell him, Dean!"

Dean opened his eyes to face Sam. "The night we got here."

The words seemed to knock Sam back. He stumbled and turned to walk back toward the bed, but he folded toward his bad side, hand pressing against the wound.

"Let me help you," Dean offered, reaching out to his brother.

Sam shook his head, a whimper of pain coming from him that cut Dean more deeply than any knife could.

"Sam, please." Dean walked to his side, afraid to touch.

Sam just hung his though, eyes closed and breathing ragged breaths, tears rolling down his cheeks. Slowly, Sam made the few steps to the bed and sat down on the edge, never once acknowledging Dean. His mouth was tight line and his brows were pinched together. Dean imagined it was all he could do to not scream. Sam never liked showing weakness.

Unable to help, he just stood watching his brother suffer, wanting nothing more than to reach out and comfort him but he knew that the touch wasn't welcomed.

Sam's breaths slowed, and he wiped his face with his shirt. Dean was about to say something when he caught Sam glancing toward the corner of the room and give a subtle nod. The little acknowledgment wasn't meant for him and he knew it. He knew that something had just passed between Sam and Lucifer. He wondered what Lucifer had said. Was it another suggestion to hurt himself? Dean wished he could throttle the prick, but then he remembered what Bobby had said. Lucifer might be a part of Sam's own mind. He needed to start thinking of Lucifer differently. If he wanted to help Sam, he needed to also the understand the devil in his mind.

"I want to leave," Sam said finally.

So, that was it—that was what Lucifer had suggested. Over his dead body. He tried to understand though. He needed to for him. Sam had every right not to feel comfortable around Bobby now. It made sense he'd want to get away. Dean had screwed up telling Bobby, and he owed it to him to make it right. If he needed to get away, Dean would take him. There were plenty of old cabins hunters used that they could hunker down in for a few weeks.

"Okay, we can leave," Dean said. "We can go as soon as you want."

Sam shook his head. "I meant alone."

Sam's words hit Dean hard. "That's not gonna happen, Sam."

"You can't make me stay. I'll be fine. If I'm on my own, I can just forget everything. You just want to make me talk about everything—talking makes things worse."

Dean's brows knit together. "Is that what he's telling you?"

"So, what if it is?" Sam shrugged.

"You seriously don't think there is anything wrong with you taking advice from the devil? He doesn't want the best for you. He wants you to hurt."

Sam looked at Dean, face tight. "It's not like that—and besides—he's the only person I left I can trust. At least he tells the truth."

Sam's words hit Dean like a ton of bricks, knocking the air from his lungs. Sam didn't trust him, not just that, Sam trusted some cocked up version of the devil even more.

"Sammy …" he breathed.

"Just go, Dean," Sam said, turning to lay back in the bed.

Dean's eyes caught a growing speck of blood on Sam's side. "Shit. You're bleeding."

Sam looked down. He touched his shirt curiously, looking at the blood on his fingers as he pulled them away. "Oh."

"Sam, I need to lift your shirt and take a look. We might have no option but the hospital now," Dean said, sighing.

Sam sucked in a breath and moved to stand, but Dean pushed him back down with a hand on his shoulder.

"I don't need any help. I can take care of it," Sam's voice sounded emotionless, a stark contrast to earlier.

Dean ran a hand through his hair. "Sammy, please. I'm sorry. Hate me if you want, but I did what I thought was right. I was only trying to find a way through this shit storm. Let me take a look."

Sam's eyes flitted between Dean and the dresser and then he nodded, shifting so his side was turned toward Dean.

Carefully, Dean lifted the fabric of Sam's shirt. Trying not to hurt him, he peeled back the tape and took a look at what lay beneath. The edges of the wound were angry, swollen, and red. The stitches were pulled tight from the swelling. Dean was glad Bobby had thought to get antibiotics as this was beginning to look iffy. It was easy to see where the blood was coming from. One of the stitches had torn through. There wasn't much they could do about it though. There was no easy way to restitch it. Sam was just going to need to be very careful over the next week or so while it healed.

"Looks okay," Dean said. "I'll get it cleaned up and get a fresh bandage on it."

When he looked to Sam for a response, he saw that he was looking dully at the wall, his eyes vacant. He could only imagine what his brother was thinking. Was he lost in memories? Was Lucifer drawing him further away, lulling him with lies? Sam was already so far away. He should have talked to Sam before telling Bobby. It was a mistake he couldn't take back.

"Sam?" Dean prompted, pushing himself up to stand. He waved a hand in front of Sam's face.

Sam looked up, eyes so hollow that they sent a shiver through Dean. "It wasn't your secret to tell."

"I know."

"No, you don't. You'll never understand," Sam said.