A/N:

LIKE ALREADY MENTIONED:

"RATED Mature & probably above"

Please continue reading with caution!

Chapter 26 ~ Time Will Tell

Dean stopped by at Bobby's room to check on him, but the old man was fast asleep by the time he got there.

On his way back to his room, he met Castiel, strolling through the corridors of the bunker. Dean filled him in on Sam's condition (only the things he thought it was absolutely necessary for Cas to know).

Castiel filled him in on Bobby's condition.

The old man was exhausted, dehydrated. The hike he's taken on had taken a toll on him. All Bobby needed was rest, water, sleep, and even more rest and water.

Dean went to get one of the spare mattresses from the storage room and dragged it into his, placing it beside the bed.

He didn't bother to go and get a bedding, nor blankets, since he felt utterly exhausted, and the soft buzz from the booze didn't make it any easier on him.

~*Apple Pie & Bacon*~

When Dean woke, he felt better. A lot better. – UNTIL, he remembered last night. Until he remembered Sam. Cleaning him up, getting him dressed … Those empty eyes staring at him.

He sat up with a groan, his first look dedicated to Sam – including his absolute attention.

He listened to Sam's breaths.

Sam had changed his position, while Dean had been out. His partner laid curled up on his side, back turned towards him. The covers and blanket worked down to his lower back, exposing skin.

Tanned scarred skin stretched over muscles and bones. The muscles of Sam's shoulders twitched.

Dean got up awkwardly, stretched, look trained at Sam's back, wandering down to where MINE had been carved into his skin.

Sure, it was gone – Dean had healed him, had taken the marks away from him – but the pictures of it had burnt into the back of his eyes.

"How're you?", Dean asked softly, keeping on watching Sam. Awaiting an answer, since – to Dean – it looked like Sam had to be responsive again. After all he's changed position.

No response.

"Sam?"

Dean flexed his muscles, strolled around the bed and looked down, spotting a pair of dull eyes staring ahead.

With a disappointed sigh, he sat down on the bed's edge. Hesitantly, he reached for a strand of hair in Sam's face and brushed it back, tugged it behind his ear. Ghosting along Sam's cheekbone, when he withdrew.

Sam was holding his arms close, hands loosely against his chest, fingers twitching occasionally.

"You … you know …" Dean wasn't sure what to say – if he was even supposed to say anything at all.

"Asmodeus's gone. He broke the warding to get in. – Bobby shot John. – I'm mean, in the leg, not really shot him. But Asmo smoked out. – Charlie and the others made sure he's gone and put the warding back up." Dean told him. "So … you know … you're safe to come out." Dean waited patiently.

No signs that Sam was even hearing him.

"I can … I mean, I can't imagine. – But … I think it's nicer where you are right now. Far away from …" Dean gestured around the room, but was actually meaning the entire world, "… this. Here. – You should've seen Bobby. He's devasted. You can't just decide to shut down."

Dean brushed over Sam's cheek and over his hair, stroking it.

"You killed a buttload of hellhounds back there. – You … brought me back to the bunker. You made sure I wouldn't give up until … until we were here, didn't you?" Dean frowned. He knew Sam was there. There was a glimpse of something in those eyes – sparks of fight behind all that hurt and anguish.

"Go away.", Sam's lips quivered. "Leave me alone." It was a plea. A weak, haunted plea, begging him to let him be. To let him go.

"I won't." Dean told him, keeping his voice low and even. He wouldn't let Sam go down this road. Not ever. He might not know what was going on that brain of his, but he was certain it was nothing good.

For all the things he knew. For everything he was assuming. For what he had learned about Sam and his past and the way – Dean thought – he was dealing with it – he was pretty sure that the man was about to give up.

Telling himself to fuck this life and everything that got to do with it, because it wouldn't end.

It would never end. No matter what he'd do. No matter where he'd go. It'd always end up with him in hell.

"I'm not gonna leave you alone.", Dean moved his hand onto Sam's shoulder and kept it there.

Sam kept staring, and wouldn't say another thing, pressing his lips together into a thin line.

~*Apple Pie & Bacon*~

This was not real. None of that.

Sam wouldn't buy any of it.

It was just another sick game. Another play to get him to let his shield of protection down, and then, Asmodeus would tear the charade of a hallucination down and yank him back into the darkness, destroying his hopes, feeding his fears.

There was no way he would let that happen again. Not ever again.

No matter with whom he was going to taunt him, no matter whose face he would be wearing, so Sam would let his guard down. No matter how nice and sweet he would let those … hallucinations … appear. He'd rather die, then falling for anything of this ever again.

Sam knew, he just needed to hold on. To ride it out.

And at some point, his body would give in. Would let it go and stop fighting to keep his heart beating and his lungs breathing.

~*Apple Pie & Bacon*~

When Dean went to get breakfast, he stopped by Bobby's room to check on him. He didn't knock though, only nudged the door open a bit and lurked inside, seeing and hearing the old man snore softly.

He didn't meet anyone on his way to the kitchen. Even the kitchen was deserted. Two used glasses and two mugs stood on the table.

There was milk in the fridge – five glass-bottles actually. Something that didn't happen often, since milk was a rare good.

He filled two huge glasses and put them on a tray.

When he placed the bottle back into the fridge, he went through it, searching for other edible things, Sam may would like. There were boiled eggs and sausages, some vegetables and fruits.

Dean thought for a long time, debating, if it would be okay to take two of each. – He came to the conclusion, that it didn't matter, so he took two of both and put them on the plate, aside with sliced bread and some butter.

"Dean?" John stood in the doorway. – Dean hadn't even heard him coming, as he was too sunken in thoughts about what Sam would like to eat, and if it'd be enough for the giant man. – Besides, he had to be starving. Just like Dean.

He turned around to face his dad, who was limping towards the table.

"Hey, dad. – How're you doin'?", he asked, took the tray and walked over to the table, where he sat it down, before he took a seat too.

"Depends.", John answered, avoiding to look his son in the face. He cleared his throat. "We need to talk."

Dean reached for one of the sausages and took a bite. If his dad wanted to talk it might take a while … "Shoot."

John hesitated. "About … I … - The demon maybe had a look at the decoding Charlie did on the tablet. – She isn't done yet … but. – He might know." He paused. Then exhaled audibly. "I … maybe the demon knows where the angel-tablet is too … There are some pieces of memories and- … I think Sam told him."

Dean cocked an eyebrow at his father. "No way. – Sam would never do that. Besides. He haven't had any Visions since …" He snapped his mouth shut, before he could reveal anything else about Sam's secret, which might set his father into predator-mode.

"I know. – Bobby told me. – I know everything." John offered a weak smile. "So … Yeah. – I believe you, that Sam wouldn't tell him – Not by his own accord anyway. But. – Cas told me I – Asmodeus –took something from the infirmary's fridge. And … one of the shaman's venoms is missing. It's used – if not to poison someone – to make them pliant. Brainwash them."

John paused, obviously giving Dean time to digest what he was trying to tell him.

"So?" Dean knew, that getting filled in was important, but they wouldn't be able to do anything about the tablets, or yellow eyes right now, so he didn't get his dad's point. – Well, except for that Sam high likely had gotten drugged. Which may would explain – among all the other shit – why Sam was the way he was right now.

"So. – I think, I – Asmodeus – drugged Sam. I think – because of the things I can remember – he made him see things. He messed him up bad, Dean. I don't even know where to start – if I'm even … I don't think your partner would want anybody to know what I've done. What I've made him do." John swallowed hard. Looking tense at the brink of tearing apart.

"I think it won't be easy to … maybe trust any of us. If he comes around." John looked at his son, waiting for him to understand what he was trying to say, since John Winchester was no man of huge words – ever. Specially not when it came to sensitivities. "And most certainly not after what Asmodeus did to him."

"And by us, you mean me. And by not easy, you mean it's impossible.", Dean translated from John Winchester to English.

"Right now? I don't actually care, if the demons have one of those tablets. I don't care if they know what's written on them. What could eventually happen if they do have them? Except for … burning the world down? – No wait, they already have." Dean exclaimed and took another bite from the sausage.

He chewed and swallowed. "We can't change a thing about it. – Not right now. Not without Sam. – So, here's what I'm gonna do. I'll take care of Sam. Brainwashed or not. It doesn't matter. – He didn't give up on me. And I won't give up on him."

"I was going to die because of the hound's venom. I would have. If it hadn't been for him, getting me back to the bunker – despite of you being here. Knowing who you are. Who you were. What you MAY would do to him because of what he is …" Dean rose and plugged the sausage in between his teeth, then reached for the tray. "You taught me loyalty. – And that's what this is.", he mumbled around the food in his mouth. "Now excuse me. – We are hungry."

John put his hand on his son's. Pride flaring up in his eyes. He looked at the tray, then back up at Dean.

"Don't you think that's too little for a Sasquatch like Sam?", he asked and stood up limped towards the fridge. When he returned, he placed his share of boiled eggs on the tray.

It wasn't like they were supposed to ration their food. – It were the special things (like milk, eggs, chocolate), of which everyone got a share.

Dean gave him a thankful nod, then grabbed the tray and was out of the door before John could say anything else and delay him any further.

~*Apple Pie & Bacon*~

Sam was still awake, when Dean returned.

But Sam refused to sit up. He refused to eat. He refused to drink. He refused to do anything, but to lay there and stare ahead.

So, Dean ate and watched Sam. He drank his share of the milk.

When Sam wouldn't make an attempt to even look at him. Didn't react in any way of his audible eating-habits, he peeled Sam's eggs, put them back at the plate and places it with the glass of milk on the nightstand, where it would be easy to reach for Sam.

~*Apple Pie & Bacon*~

Dean left him on his own for a couple of hours.

When he stopped by the next time, to check on him, Sam must have been up, because the bathroom-door was open and the lights inside were on. – And he was wearing a shirt now and laying atop of the covers.

Still staring.

Food untouched. So was the milk.

~*Apple Pie & Bacon*~

Bobby stopped by, checked on Sam and sat with him. He talked to his son. Talked about when he had been a teenager and the good times on the salvage.

Then he talked about hunts they've taken on together, and tried to offer him the milk or water. – Fluids.

Sam didn't even spare him a side-glance.

When Bobby became too tired, still exhausted and hurting, he left.

And Dean showed up. Not talking at all, but trying to get Sam to drink.

Sam still refused to even look.

So, Dean drank the milk (it's been out of the fridge for too long now, and there was no use in wasting good food).

He left the eggs and sausage though, content that they wouldn't get spoiled that fast and the little hope, that maybe – Sam would consider to eat.

The night came and went.

So did the upcoming day.

Nothing had changed. Nothing at all.

~*Apple Pie & Bacon*~

Bobby sat on the couch in the library, staring ahead, when Dean came along and sat down beside him.

"How are you holding up?", Dean asked and looked over at Bobby, examining his face, his posture.

Bobby looked like hell. – Worse than Sam. – As if he was suffering along with his son.

"Sam won't talk. – He doesn't even look at me." He sounded calm, and sad. He looked drained and tired. Hiding very well, that he was hurting. That he was devasted and on the brink of giving up hope. Sam was drowning, and Bobby giving up the hope, that he'd find his way back to the surface.

No matter what kind of anchor they were throwing his way, Sam refused to reach out to it.

"He … I'm not even sure if he knows who I am …" Bobby blew out a long deep breath. "How am I supposed to fix this, when I don't even know where to begin? If … what if he can't be fixed this time?" Grey, watery eyes under bushy eyebrows seeking help in Dean's.

"John's keeping out of my way … He can't even look me in the eyes." Bobby's expression changed to demanding. "What happened, Dean? What are you and your dad not telling me? – What is it, that I don't know?"

It was a justified question.

And not Dean's place to answer it. – He and John had come to terms, that it would do no good – to anyone – if they knew all the devasting details about Sam's captivity.

They knew what they needed to know. Nothing more. Nothing less.

"Asmodeus was screwing with his mind, Bobby. – I … think he knows who we are. But he doesn't believe that we're real." Dean cleared his throat. "He told me … to leave him alone. To go away." A lump was building in his throat. "I think that he thinks he's still played with."

"What do we do then? – Talking obviously doesn't work … I don't know what else to do." The grizzled hunter's mood changed to devasted.

"I'm working on it, okay? – We're gonna figure something out. And until then … We just keep talking. We keep being there." It wasn't only hard on Bobby.

Hell, it was ripping Dean apart. From the inside out. He liked the man. – And maybe it was even more than only liking him.

It may would have sounded strange if he'd said it out loud, but Sam was his. He was a part of him – somehow. Hell, alone thinking it, made the hair in Dean's neck stand up, letting goose-pumps popping up all over his body.

"Yeah … you're right." Bobby sniffed. "I'm just bein' damn melodramatic."

Dean patted Bobby's back. "We'll get him out of there. Promise."

~*Apple Pie & Bacon*~