Title: The Woods are Lovely, Dark and Deep

Author: Wysawyg

Summary: Sam Winchester was beginning to wonder whether the demon had forgotten his plans for him. Sam Winchester had forgotten that the demon played a long game. Dark!fic. Multi-chapter. Not WIP.

Disclaimer: Everything the light touches belongs to someone else. The darkside too. It's all Kripke and the guys and gals at the CW.

Warnings and notes: Multiple character death. Dark fic.

Rating: PG-13 to R

Pairing/Characters: Mostly gen, some very mild Dean/Jo in future chapters.

Timeline: Diverges AU from season 2. Approximately after Born under a Bad Sign but before Heart.

Beta: Beta'd by the wonderful TraSan who is a wonderful writer and beta but does torture flame-retardant ducks hence proving that no-one is perfect.

Feedback: Makes the hamsters in my head dance, especially concrit.

Chapter 8

A/N: This chapter was intended to be Dean PoV however before I could start writing, Bobby was there standing in front of me with his arms crossed saying 'Dean don't feel like talking' and well, I'm not about to argue with Bobby here. So Bobby did the talking instead. (Should I be worried that my muse likes taking on the form of a 40-ish year old trucker?

Apologies for the long wait on this. Had a few family things, a trip to meet friends and an addiction to Picross on the DS to deal with. All of which combined to make me not in the mood to post. Sorry! I hope this chapter is worth the wait and I promise posting schedule should be back to normal now.

Also, there is quite a lot of medical stuff in this chapter relating to Dean's recovery. I claim no medical expertise beyond what I can google though I tried to make it realistic if not completely accurate. Hopefully it won't pull anyone with superior medical knowledge out of the story too much.

Bobby Singer had always had good instincts. This was a very good thing when his body reached out to grab and steady the man currently plunging towards him while his brain was still running in confused circles. As it was he almost ended up lobbing Dean backwards when the weight he caught turned out to be far lighter than what he braced for.

As he looked down at the slack face lolling against his bracing arms, he searched for anything amiss, anything that indicated this wasn't really Dean Winchester. The boy was certainly a lot thinner than Bobby recalled and paler too but other than that, he looked exactly like the boy Bobby recalled.

Bobby was anything but stupid though. He hoisted the still form up in his arms and carried it towards his battered couch, laying it out maybe a bit more carefully than he would any other potential demon. The next move was to pull the couch out from the wall a little, enough that Bobby could get a ladder up to the ceiling and draw a Key of Solomon centred on the couch. Then Bobby packed away the ladder, sat at the table nursing a beer and waited.

Sixty long minutes ticked by and then another thirteen more before the figure on the couch started to stir. Long eyelashes fluttered over closed eyes and then finally cracked open, squinting even at the dim light in Bobby's cabin. Bobby raised a beer in a welcoming gesture, keeping his expression calm like he wasn't expecting anything to be wrong, "Hey there, Dean. Quite an entrance."

Dean tilted his head in Bobby's direction, blinking several times as sleep-borne confusion whisked about his face. He pushed himself up awkwardly with his left arm and then twisted to sit up straight on the couch, arms stretching out briefly, "Hey Bobby." He said, his voice sluggish and a little slurred, Bobby presumed from sleep, "W-when d'I get here?"

"About an hour ago, give or take." Bobby stated, heading over to the fridge and pulling out one of his special spiked beers and popping it down on the table, "Want a beer?"

"Hell yeah," Dean said, still slurry but with his customary enthusiasm. He pushed himself up off the couch and Bobby noticed he was again favouring his left side. When he started walking over, there was a distinct halting drag to step, a limp in the right leg that he hadn't smoothed around yet. When he walked outside of the circle of the Key of Solomon without even a sign of a flinch, Bobby breathed out a sigh of relief.

Dean noticed that with a puzzled frown and then slowly twisted, bringing his eyes upwards. He wasn't slow, that boy. He looked back and there's a distinct hurt look in his face but he didn't speak for a long moment, just stood there, his jaw working slightly. "Yah," He frowned, closed his eyes and pursed his face in concentration, "You thought I was a demon?"

That was when Bobby realised there was something more than just sleep blurring his speech and he pushed out a chair for the boy to sit to make it easier, "You've been declared dead for almost seven months. What was I supposed to think?"

Dean lowered himself uneasily to the seat and grabbed the beer with his left hand. Usually that'd be a cause for alarm for Bobby, one dead giveaway for demonic possession was the person switching their handedness, but from the way Dean had been acting, he knew there was something a little less supernatural and a bit more medical wrong, "Was in the hospital," The words were clipped this time, the syllables separated and enunciated.

"For seven months?" Bobby asks, unable to keep the scepticism out of his voice. A Winchester staying in one place for longer than a month was a cause for alarm, staying in hospital without going spare for seven months was a sign of the apocalypse. The joke tasted sour in Bobby's mind.

"Di'n zac.. zach…" Dean slammed the bottle down on the table, frustration clear on his face, "Di'n have much of a choice." He took a swig to reward himself for managing to get a sentence out. The next word was said with relative ease but that was no great surprise to Bobby, "Sam?"

Bobby never thought such a loaded question could be made out of one word, "Sam's alive." Bobby replied, figuring anything else might be a bit too much for the man opposite him at the moment, "He turned up at the road house, told Ellen a werewolf had got you."

"'Member we were hunting a werewolf." Dean lifted his right hand up a little and then apparently thought better as he raised his left instead and rubbed at his forehead, "Sam got two but there was a three.. a third." Dean sagged back in the chair, taking a long gulp from the beer, "Don't 'member next."

Bobby nodded. Given Dean's condition that was hardly a surprise, "So, what are your injuries?"

Dean looked hesitant and rubbed his fingernail against the label on the bottle, peeling it off, a nervous habit Bobby swore the boy picked up off him, one of his few tells. Bobby liked to think he had a hand in the boys' poker training, God knows John's poker face was worse than awful, but right now, every single one of Dean's tells were showing, signs that he's edging beyond nervous. Bobby'd liked to reassure him, tell him to tell it when he's ready but this wasn't a happy bunny rabbits and flowers world they lived in so instead Bobby just leaned back and tapped his finger in an increasing tempo, knowing that would drive Dean to tell him faster.

"Had a stroke," Dean blurted out and whatever Bobby was expecting, it wasn't that as he half-chokes on the mouthful of beer he'd taken, "Right side don't work as good. Can't speak as good." Dean shrugs both shoulders, "Something bit me. Not wolf." He said, so quickly that the words blurred together a little and he had to pause afterwards to focus. It was almost painful for Bobby to see how much the boy had to concentrate just to speak, "Had venom. Messed me up."

Bobby Singer was unflappable, even if sometimes he had to remind himself that, "I see. Sounds like a snake demon to me. Let me have a look at the bite mark." He could feel the weight of Dean's eyes on him, waiting for him to back away or look pitying or do anything which would have the boy closing up faster than a brothel at the sound of sirens. Bobby wasn't going to give Dean the chance to shrug this off as nothing.

Dean gave a nod which seemed to be as much about the temporary relief of aching neck muscles as it is about agreement and Bobby stood from his chair and stood behind Dean. Dean didn't even make a basic objection when Bobby tugged his jacket off, draping it over the back of the chair and then lifted the t-shirt off.

Bobby noticed the bite mark, it's hard not to. The indentation of teeth looked human, not elongated like werewolves would tend to be, and there was a slight curve in the entry wound at the incisors which spoke of hollow fangs rather than brute canines. The bite mark only drew his attention for a moment though when the cornucopia of scars across the rest of Dean's back was revealed. Several white scars criss-crossed most of his flesh, some thick speaking of deep injuries and flanked by tiny white pocks, the last remainder of stitches.

Bobby didn't give Dean a chance to object before he pushed Dean back against the back of the chair and took a look at his chest. There were similar scar lines etched across his chest and belly too along with the white circle where he knew Sam had shot him while possessed. There were still red, healing scars that Bobby recognised as surgical scars and there, close to his heart, was another bullet hole, this one still a dark healing red.

Bobby brought one finger beneath Dean's chin and brought the Winchester's face up to his, "Were you going to mention that?" He didn't need to give any indication of what he was talking about, he knew that Dean would know.

Dean shrugs lopsidedly, "Di'n seem important."

Bobby is sure that somewhere out there is a list of what a Winchester does and doesn't find important and he's equally sure that anyone who isn't a Winchester seeing that list will have their mind irrevocably destroyed by the overall insanity of its contents, "So you were bitten, poisoned, shot and had a stroke. Glad to know you kept yourself busy while you were gone."

"You know me," Dean said with a flash of the old smile, "Idle hands and all that." Bobby can almost pretend he doesn't hear the stutters. "Call Sam?" He asks after a few moments of silence.

"That might be difficult," Bobby started to say but then squeezing Dean's good shoulder when he saw the look of panic, "Sam is fine, I'm sure." For only certain values of fine, "I just don't have contact details for him at the moment."

Dean scowled up at the older hunter, "You s-s-s," He winced and thumped himself back against the chair, closing his mouth and just breathing through his nose for a long moment before attempting to talk against, "You s'posed to keep eye out. If I was gone."

Bobby really didn't think this was a good time to go into the whole 'Well, I didn't and now your brother is quite possibly evil.' The fact that Dean was already tilted to one side and his eyes sliding towards closed were a good indication that he was too tired to deal with, either that or an indication that feeling a recent far-too-skinny invalid a beer is probably not the best idea. There's a reason no-one had even given him the nickname 'Nurse Bobby.' "Well, you weren't really gone, were you?" There's times that Bobby's reputation for omniscience comes in handy, "How about we get you set up in the spare room and hash this out later?"

"M'not four." Dean said and Bobby saw him fight off a yawn.

"Just four minutes away from asleep." Bobby quipped though he knew it was below his usual standard, "How 'bout we make a deal?" Dean looked up, blinking curious wide green eyes which made him look far too young, "I won't baby you and you don't make me need to."

Dean paused and puzzled that one over before looking up to Bobby and trying to work out if he was pulling a fast one. Finally assure that he wasn't, Dean nodded his assent, "Guess that means I go sleep?" He pushed himself up a little unsteadily onto his feet and Bobby resolved to get some food into the boy as soon as possible, "Spare free?"

Bobby just nodded and tried not to stare as Dean limped his way from the table and into the spare room. He didn't even allow himself a breath of relief when the door closed, suspecting the younger hunter would be listening out for just that sort of sign. Instead he stood from the table and put the empty beer bottles into the trash before heading out to one of the cars he'd recently declared unsalvageable. By the end of an hour, there was nothing left of it but a pile of metal.

Bobby didn't get many visitors. Sure, the odd hunter would stop off to get information or for Bobby's rough-handed healing but they'd rarely stay overnight. When the Winchester boys were younger, John used to drop them off at his a few times, usually when he thought Pastor Jim had reached his exasperated limit of what he could cope with. Then there was the female company but they didn't tend to stay the night either.

So when Bobby woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of muffled cries punctuated by the occasional whimper, his first thought was that one of the damn dogs had gotten in. His second thought was that a damn werewolf had gotten in. It took a while for his brain to kickstart itself and he remembered his new housemate and rapidly stomped out of his room and into the spare, forgetting all about his promise not to baby.

Dean was lying on the edge of the bed looking about two seconds from toppling off the edge, the sheets and blankets were snarled around him. Night sweat stood out on his pale brow and even in the dim light, Bobby could see the rapid shifting of eyes beneath closed lids that spoke of nightmares.

Now Bobby is a damn fine hunter, pretty much the best around but his knowledge came to a grinding halt when it came to people. He could deal with them, sure, and talk to them most of the time but the correct procedure for waking someone up from a nightmare was just never something Bobby had to learn so he just barked, "Dean! Wake up!" and waited for a response.

The response comes in the form of a startled 'Huh' and then a loud thump as the Winchester finally tumbled off the bed though the curl of blankets lead to his right leg remaining trapped on the bed. That alone is enough to provoke a pained groan and Bobby strode to the bed and hurriedly freed the leg, allowing it to join the rest of Dean Winchester flat on the floor.

When Dean didn't make any particular effort to get up beyond a few muscle movements which were probably more down to the pain in his leg than ambulatory effort, Bobby frowned, "You need a hand up?"

"No," came the swift response, "Jus' need minute. Will be out in a minute." The words were said to the floor and Bobby knew a dismissal when he heard one. He left the room, keeping the door ajar so he could at least hear what's going on in there. He heard a few thumping noises and the drag of blankets and then obviously Dean made it to the door because it clicked properly shut and all noise was blocked.

There wasn't a hunting matter in the world that Bobby couldn't at least posit a suggestion on but he realised rapidly that he was in way over his head here. Injured Winchesters were a whole new level of tricky. You can't shoot them with rock salt or burn them or recite a Latin chant and hope they go away. Well, you can but it's almost certainly not the right way to deal with the situation. He ran through a list of contacts in his head, trying to think of anyone to contact who won't seem like a complete betrayal.

Jo Harvelle at the roadhouse is one possibility but Bobby had a feeling Dean liked having the rookie hunter look up to him and wouldn't want her seeing him looking three shades of hell. Pastor Jim would be the perfect person if he wasn't so inconveniently dead. Jefferson was a nutcase who'd probably try to dose Dean with two dozen 'herbal' remedies. Missouri Moseley was a definite possibility, she had a good habit of kicking people out of whatever funk they'd gotten themselves into but on the other hand, the mood Dean was in, Bobby doubted he'd want a psychic within a five mile radius of him. Who he really needed was Sammy but he's not entirely sure that Sammy even existed anymore.

Dean emerged from the bedroom after a long while and Bobby could see him making an effort to stifle his limp though all it did was make it more pronounced and it's very slow going to the table. Dean kept silent the whole way, the effort to walk over-ruling the effort needed to talk and Bobby didn't miss the relieved expression when he can finally sink down at the kitchen table.

Bobby stood almost as soon as Dean sat, heading towards the kitchen, "Fry up good with you?" Dean just grunted which Bobby took as a yes and he fetched the ingredients out of the fridge. The bacon is still good but he tossed the half-open pack of sausages into the trash. He switched on the gas and popped a lump of lard into the bottom of the frying pan, waiting for it to sizzle before laying on the bacon and turning away from the cooker to slice up some bread, "Sleep well?"

He almost missed Dean's shrug but caught the verbal "Think so."

"Think so?" Bobby quizzed, pausing to push the bacon around a bit in the pan, "You don't remember?"

"Think so." Dean repeated as he idly pushed a piece of paper across the table with his left hand. Bobby knew he needs to have a work with him about favouring his left side that much but it's a talk for another time.

"You looked like you were having a nightmare when I came in." Bobby said, cracking a couple of eggs into the pan. He never had patience for the whole separating out the food nonsense, it all tasted the same in the end.

"Think so." Dean said and Bobby started to wonder if Dean's mental needle had gotten jammed.

"Any idea what about?" Bobby pushed, sticking the bread into the toaster and slamming the lever down.

There's a long silence apart from the swish of the paper being pushed across the table until Dean spoke again, "What I don't 'member. S'there, just not there." Bobby didn't need to hear the cracking note in the middle of the sentence to sense Dean's frustration.

"It'll come," He said because it seemed like the right thing to say, not necessary because he believed it. More than that, he was worried about what happens when it goes because given all Dean's injuries, Bobby was fairly sure there was a damn good reason Dean had forgotten and he had a bad feeling that reason was all too pertinent to the bullet hole.

Dean apparently had his bullshit detecting hat on as he looked up to glare at Bobby from beneath half-closed eyes, "Don't s-s-s- fuck!" He exclaimed, beating his good hand against the table and Bobby had to look away as Dean's face twitched in his attempts to get the words out. In the end he just gave up with another aggravated "Fuck."

Bobby served the breakfast up onto two plates, heaping Dean's up a little more generously than his own but carefully not enough to be noticeable. He poured a couple of mugs of coffee and then juggled the lot over to the table, almost spilling the coffees along the way. He thumped the plate and mug down in front of Dean and then placed his own and got on with the matter of eating, trying not to notice the stretching silence.

Dean at least didn't seem to be adding loss of appetite to his current list of ailments as he dug into the plate of food like it was going out of fashion. He paused, one fork full of mashed egg and bacon and said clearly, "Sugar coat. Don't sugar coat shit." And then he stuffed the fork into his mouth and continued eating like he hadn't said anything.

Bobby wasn't sure whether he was supposed to pretend the words hadn't happen or pretend that they'd happened five minutes ago and that Dean had never had any difficulties. Bobby opted for answering, "I'm not sugar-coating it, Dean. The fact you are having nightmares is a good sign." Dean paused, a piece of bacon sticking out the corner of his mouth to shoot Bobby a disbelieving look, "It means your brain is trying to piece together the information. What do you remember?"

"One plus one is two. Two plus two is four." Dean mocked. Bobby flicked a piece of bacon at Dean and saw the hunter's right hand flick up to try and catch it mid-air but the moment was too slow and the bacon went sailing by. Dean's eyes tracked it as it landed on the floor and then Dean's loaded fork was lowered to the plate and Dean sullenly watched his plate. "Trees," Dean said in such a monotone that Bobby wondered for a moment whether John's eldest had taken to just spouting random words now, "Running. A third man. Normal eyes. Sam shot him. Then.." Dean frowned and rubbed at his head as if trying to coax the memories that wouldn't manifest, "Then something else."

Bobby mulled that over, "Normal eyes? What does that mean?"

"Sam had a vision. All had gold eyes and Sam said t'other two in forest had gold eyes but the third didn't."

Bobby looked troubled, "And Sam still shot him?" If Sam had been heading towards the darkness even before Dean's 'death' then they could be in a lot more trouble than just a grief-stricken brother.

"Sam had a vision." Dean half-shrugged as if that explained everything, "Guy ran at me, Sam reacted." Dean's level angry gaze offered the challenge that his uncooperative mouth couldn't manage.

"Dean," Bobby started to say and then had to pause for a long breath, "Look, after you were gone, there's been a few rumours about Sam."

"He alright?" Dean's expression instantly morphed into worry.

"He is fine," Bobby stated, knowing that Dean would pick up the emphasis on He.

"Who isn't?" Dean asked.

"Another hunter. Edgars."

Dean frowned, "We hunted with Edgars 'fore. When Sam at Stanford. 'Minded me of Sam. What happened?"

"He and his group were out after an Incubus, they tracked it down but Sam stepped out of the woods and said he was protecting it. When Edgars tried to take Sam's gun, Sam shot him." Bobby let the words force themselves out, not stopping even for breath until the story was done.

Dean blinked and shook his head, pushing the chair backwards, "No. Not Sam. Shapeshifter." The slur became more and more pronounced as Dean's words rushed over each other, "Or glamour or something else. Not Sam."

"I didn't want to believe it either. Hell, Jo only told me about it shortly before you got here. I rang her while you were asleep and apparently it's not the only incident," Bobby reached into the fridge and pulled out a couple of beers, sure it was early but this wasn't the kind of conversation that could be had on coffee, "More and more hunters have been going missing, not just Ellen, and demonic incidents are up. I'm not saying this is all to do with Sam, mind, just that whatever is going on, the darkness is definitely up to something."

Dean took the beer and just held it for a while, minute tremors running through his hand and twitching the bottle, "Find Sam," He snapped out the words, "Get truth. Sort this." Dean rammed his finger into the table to emphasise his point.

"I've been trying to think of how to do that." Bobby said.

"Cell phone," Dean said and Bobby saw him reach towards his pocket, probably for a cell phone that wasn't there. Dean didn't currently seem to own anything except the clothes he'd walked in with, an empty-looking wallet and a bag full of enough medicines to put the local pharmacy to shame.

"Don't know the number of Sam's cell," Bobby admitted before the thought about medicines drifted back to his mind, he hadn't seen Dean take anything yet that morning, "You need any of your pills?"

Dean took a defiant swig of beer and then paused, "Just one. Bottle marked Dilantin."

Bobby headed over to where he's dropped Dean's bag and fished through the bottle until he found the one he was looking for and tipped out one of the contents, a small liquid capsule, "Should you be drinking with these?"

"No," Dean admitted as he closed a hand tighter around the bottle but didn't lift it for another drink. Instead he shifted up from the clear breakfast plates and poured himself a glass of water, holding a hand out for the pill. He tossed the capsule back and followed it with the water before edging back to the table and sitting.

Bobby glanced at the label before putting it back into the bag, "What are they for anyway?" Bobby thought he knew most of the common or garden medicines that hunters tended to need but he didn't recognise that one.

"Seizures," Dean quietly admitted and Bobby winced, someone up there was having a good laugh at the Winchester's expense and Bobby was beginning to wonder if rock salt would work on angels.

"Man, you're fucked up," The words slipped out before Bobby could stop them and he stiffened in place, waiting for the boy's reaction.

To his shock, Dean just began to laugh and Bobby turned his head in shock. Tears rolled down Dean's face but he was laughing as hard as his body would allow him, "Thanks Bobby," He said when the laughter subsided, "'bout time someone said the damn truth."

Bobby snorted. Figures that he could only say the right thing by saying the wrong one, "Doesn't mean you'll stay fucked up."

Dean just shrugged again and Bobby was beginning to hate that gesture, "Doc said most stroke victims," And Dean snorted at the words, "tend to show recovery up to six months then," Dean splayed his fingers, "That's it. Been seven."

"But you aren't exactly most stroke victims," Bobby countered, "And you were in a coma for two of them so that shouldn't count. Got a month to get your ass in gear."

"Wha's the point?" Dean asked, pushing the beer bottle back and forth in his hand, "Not gonna be able to hunt. Not when I can start twitching like a puppet."

"I'd hunt with you," Bobby said and was a little surprised to find it was the truth, "You'd need to get yourself back into shape first. You are too damn skinny, you aren't exercising your right side enough and don't get me even started on the haircut."

Dean began raising his left hand and then blinked owlishly at Bobby and cautiously raised his right instead, running it back through his grown-out hair, "Get me scissors." He demanded.

Bobby smirked, should've known that'd bother the boy most, it also gave him ammunition, "Nope. You've got to earn the scissors back. Once you start looking like you could hold your own in a stiff breeze, let alone a hunt, then I'll think about it."

Dean glared, "Gimme. Damn. Scissors."

"It's not like you could even cut your own hair at the moment," Bobby pointed out, "So you are going to need to rely on me for a bit." Bobby glanced at the ashes of a hunter currently regarding him and nodded, "I think the first thing will be getting you some new clothes. You are really beginning to stink."