This Sunday I finally give you some Bobby! I figured you deserved it after waiting so patiently for the moment. As usual, thanks for your reviews. I'm glad you're still finding this as entertaining as I am finding it.

Chapter 6

Bobby Singer had made a vow never to have kids. He'd come from a long line of drunks, each passing on their messed-up inheritance of frustration and abuse to their children. Bobby did not want to become that. He knew what his father had been and he had never wanted to expose a child to that kind of anger and hate. No, better if the Singer line ended with him.

The decision had stayed – more or less. Years ago, a strange man named John Winchester had visited him with his black car and his two boys, and before Bobby knew it he had become a trusted ally for the man, and a surrogate uncle for the boys. He kept them with him when John went to more dangerous hunts. He taught the oldest how to be a child from time to time and he indulged the youngest's love for learning and books. He was always there when they needed help – even when he cut off contact with John Winchester, he still made sure to let both of his boys know he was only a phone call away. And if one of the Winchester brothers ever called him and asked for help, well, then Bobby dropped everything and went to help.

If Bobby realized how much that kind of behavior made him a father - and a good one at that – he did not dwell too much on it. John had sharply told him more than once that he was not the boys' father, and while John Winchester had been alive, Bobby had kept to the boundaries imposed by him. But now John was gone and the brothers were all alone, and Bobby was finally free to admit the truth, if only to himself: Sam and Dean were as much his as they had been John Winchester's.

So when Dean called him that evening, barely keeping it together and muttering about Sam being in danger, Bobby did not even think of hesitating to show his support:

"What do you need?" he asked.

He heard Dean's intake of breath on the other end.

"The Wild Hunt, Bobby. Have you heard of it?"

Bobby was already in his library, tossing books off his shelves.

"I mean, I heard rumors of it cropping up here and there. Always turned out to be a false alarm."

"Not this time, Bobby. It's been going on for a while, and I think Dad had Sammy research it way back. Just research it, though. He didn't follow through."

Bobby frowned.

"That ain't like your Daddy at all, Dean."

He heard Dean sigh.

"I know. I thought…well, he had his reasons."

There was something Dean was not telling him. Something about Sam, most likely. There had been many rumors cropping up about Sam, and Bobby had always been quick to squash them and give whoever he caught spreading them a piece of his mind – quite often accompanied by a punch in the face. But deep down Bobby worried there was more to the rumors than met the eye. Where there was smoke and all that…

Of course, Bobby knew better than to share such opinions with Dean.

"Tell me exactly what happened," he urged instead.

He listened as Dean mentioned the hunt, the disappearances, Sam's strange behavior, and how Sam himself had vanished leaving nothing but a curt note behind.

"I don't even know if he was driving the bus himself when he left or if he was being controlled," Dean said.

"He probably thought he was the one in control," Bobby said. "Such stuff is insidious. Gets into your mind. Manipulates you."

"Yeah, that's true alright," Dean said darkly, and told Bobby how some of those who disappeared and returned were made to kill their families.

"Balls!" Bobby exclaimed. "That's not good."

"One of the victims mentioned someone call Holda. I think she's the one running the show. Ever heard of her, Bobby?"

Bobby took a deep breath. He could not tell Dean that, if this was really the Holda he had heard about, Sam was as good as lost to them. He knew this was the one thing Dean would never accept.

"She's one twisted lady, Dean."

"Oh, I'm sure. So how do I take the bitch down?"

Bobby shook his head. This was typical Dean. Always ready to dive into danger without caring for the consequences.

"Dean," Bobby said carefully, "You need backup."

He heard Dean snort.

"My backup is currently communing with nature in the forest, Bobby. I've got to get him out of there. I've got three days to get him back and this day's almost over."

Bobby nodded, even though he knew Dean couldn't see him.

"I never said give up on Sam, boy. Give me some credit. Look, I can be there in six hours."

"Not enough time, Bobby," Dean cut him off.

"Yes," Bobby said, "it is. We still have time to rescue Sam. But we need to be fully prepared. Now, do you know anyone who's faced one of Holda's zombies and survived?"

He heard Dean's hesitation:

"No…wait, wait I actually do, Bobby."

"Good," Bobby said. "You go fish for information. I'm heading your way right now."

He ended the call. It looked like he was taking a drive. Before he could go, though, there was something he needed to get. He took a deep breath and dialed a number from memory.

"Rufus?" he began. "It's Bobby. Wait, don't hang up. I need a favor…yeah, it might be one of those big ones."

xxXXXxxx

Dean headed back to the motel. A young girl of about eighteen was at the reception desk, but she allowed Dean into Alfred's private room when he mentioned his name. Dean found Alfred on the computer. Henry was asleep on a couch.

"You can talk," Alfred said. "Let's just say he prescribed himself a sedative."

Dean raised his eyebrows.

"He's just a nurse. Can he do that?"

Alfred grimaced.

"He was complaining about hearing someone's voice in his head. I figured it was safer for everyone if he was asleep. He agreed." He paused that raised his eyebrows. "No Sam, I see."

Dean scowled.

"I'm working on it. And I'm getting help. Back up is coming. But before that, I will need something from you."

Alfred looked resigned.

"What is it this time?"

Dean took a deep breath. He knew Alfred was not going to like his request – he would probably have a hard time convincing the manager to agree with him – but he was the only person Dean could think of.

"I need more information," he began.

Alfred looked helpless.

"I already told you everything I know."

Dean nodded.

"Yeah, you did. But it's not you I want to talk to."

He saw Alfred tense.

"Who then?"

Dean sighed.

"I think you know who. Your son's the only victim I know who actually got out of this alive."

Alfred's fists clenched.

"My son is not a victim."

Dean raised his hands pacifyingly.

"Alright," he agreed. "I'm sorry I called him that. You're right. I shouldn't have. But I still need to talk to him. He might know something we don't."

Alfred snorted.

"He was six for crying out loud. He had no idea what was happening to him and I never tried to enlighten him. How the hell was I supposed to explain to him that his own mother tried to kill him?"

Dean cast a glance towards Henry, who was still fast asleep despite all the shouting. He turned his attention back to Alfred.

"Look, I get it. More than you know. Hell, I practically raised Sam, so I get some of what's in your head right now. You want to protect your kid…"

"Damn right I do," Alfred interrupted.

"But this might put a stop to what's happening once and for all. Trust me, man. I wouldn't ask this if I didn't think it could help."

Alfred looked away. Dean knew what he was asking was not easy. He wouldn't have asked something like this lightly under any other circumstances – no matter how much Sam accused him of being ruthless, there were lines that he did not cross happily. But Sam's life was at stake, and he needed to get to the one person who might offer vital information.

Finally, Alfred nodded curtly.

"Fine. Have it your way. Just…let me talk to him first."

Dean could give him that.

"Sure. Let me know when you're ready."

xxXXXxxxx

Reality no longer functioned under conventional rules for Sam. He knew he was somewhere in the forest – but he also wasn't. He had lost all track of time, running with the Wild Hunt. It felt as if hundreds of years had passed. Surely everything had changed. Dean was probably dead a long time ago. He felt a keen sense of loss at the thought, and he wished he could stop, just for a little while, so he could mourn his brother – even though it seemed Dean had never come for him. The stab of betrayal at the notion took his breath away.

During rare moments of lucidity, Sam realized he was wrong. Annette Walker, too, had claimed she had been running for hundreds of years, even though she had only been missing for several days. Holda probably screwed with their perception of time. Dean was still out there, looking for Sam. The thought comforted Sam, but at the same time it scared him. He knew Holda had plans for Dean. He should be wanting his brother as far away from that place as possible.

Sam stumbled and fell. The clatter of horse's hooves was all around him. He was sure he would die in the stampede. Then a sharp pain drove itself into his skull and reality changed again.

xxxXXXxxxx

He was alone in the woods. He could hear the horse's hooves in the distance but they were getting further and further away. Sam seized his chance. He headed in the opposite direction. He did not stop to wonder how he had escaped, or if he was really free. He was sure Holda was not in his head anymore, and that was all that mattered. He could find his way out of there. He could find Dean.

The thought gave him new strength. The previous exhaustion was all but gone. Sam ran through the woods, not even pausing to hear whether the Wild Hunt was still going in the opposite direction, or if it was still following him.

Something tackled him suddenly and Sam landed hard on the ground. He quickly rolled onto his back to face his attacked. Dean was standing above him, his gun pointing straight at Sam. Confused, but confident his brother would not shoot him, Sam raised his hands.

"Dean, it's me. Am I glad to see you!"

Dean looked at him impassively. He clearly recognized Sam, but he did not lower his weapon.

"Dean what is it?" Sam asked. "Has Holda gotten into your head? Because whatever she's telling you, you've got to fight it."

"It's not me Holda is controlling, Sam," Dean pointed out coolly. "After all, she had you."

Sam shook his head.

"Yeah, she did, but I don't think she can fully take control of me. I think it's got to do with my visions or…I don't know. She can get in my head, but I'm sure she can't make me do things."

Dean looked at him sadly.

"That's what they think, the people she takes over. They think they're free. Then they turn on you."

Sam had frozen on the spot. Every instinct was telling him to wrench the gun from Dean, or, at least to flee. But the entire experience was surreal. He still found it hard to believe that Dean would ever shoot him.

"Dean, what the hell are you talking about? I got out."

Dean shook his head.

"No, you didn't, Sam. You're not free. There's only one way you can be free now, Sammy."

The name held no warmth in it. Dean raised his gun.

"Dean what are you doing?" Sam tried. "Dean, it's me!"

Dean did not answer. He pointed his gun at Sam.

"This is how it's gotta be, Sam. I see it now."

He pulled the trigger.

Pain in his chest the like of which he never felt before. Darkness on the edges of his vision. The terrible knowledge that he was dying, and that it was his own brother, his childhood companion and protector that had killed him.

xxxxxxXXXxxx

Sam found himself gasping on the forest floor. He placed his hand to his heaving chest, surprised when he did not feel any blood. He looked up to find shadows gathered all around him – Holda's twisted audience. Sam snarled.

"Enjoyed the peep show?"

Holda came to him. She knelt in front of him, assessing him critically.

"The question, Sam, is did you enjoy it? Did you understand?"

Sam struggled to get up.

"I understood you're one twisted lady. And delusional. Dean would never do that."

Holda smirked.

"I looked into Dean's mind, Sam, just as much as I looked into yours. And do you want to know something?" She approached him and whispered in his ear: "He is thinking about killing you. All. The. Time."

Sam drew back as if slapped. He wanted to reason with himself that it could not be true. She was lying to rile Sam up. But creatures like her could not lie. Not entirely. There had to be a grain of truth in what she said. And Sam had no idea what to make of that.

xxxXXXxxx

Evan, the manager's youngest son, turned out to be a tall, lanky sixteen-year old. He looked a lot like Alfred, although he had something Dean guessed had belonged exclusively to his mother. The mother he had barely gotten to know. The mother, Evan had just found out, who had tried to drown him when he was six.

"What the hell is this?" Evan was asking when Dean was finally allowed to talk to him in the staff room. "And who the hell is he anyway?"

Evan was pacing the room, looking furious and about to explode. Alfred was standing a couple of feet away from him.

"I know it's hard to take in…"

Evan rounded on him.

"Hard? You just told me my mother was possessed and tried to kill me. What the hell are you on, dad?"

"Evan," Alfred began warningly.

Evan, apparently, was on a roll.

"And that you killed her. Seriously, I don't even know you anymore."

"Alright," Dean said harshly thinking it was time to interfere. "As your dad says, it's a lot to take in. But listen to us, alright?"

Evan stared at him defiantly.

"Why should I? I don't even know you so why the hell should I trust you?"

"Well, trust your dad, if you don't trust me."

Evan scoffed.

"You mean trust the same guy who just claimed to have killed my mom?" he asked, then rounded on Alfred once more. "You told me repeatedly that was a nightmare. That I must have dreamed it because it never happened. And now you're standing here saying it did."

Dean took a step forward.

"Wait, so you remember?"

Evan's lips curled.

"Oh, I remember everything, down to the last, nastiest detail. I just thought it was a dream. Imagination. My messed-up mind." He pointed to his father. "He made sure I thought it was my messed up mind."

"You've gotta tell me everything," Dean urged him.

Evan rolled his eyes. His posture was still defensive.

"Why the hell would I?"

"Because I can stop this," Dean insisted. "Your dad was doing what he had to do to protect you and if you want this dealt with and if you want you and the rest of your family to be safe, you'd damn well better trust me and you'd damn well better tell me everything you know and more."

It had probably come out harsher than he had intended. Alfred was looking at him as if he was ready to pull the plug on the entire thing – not that he would be able to, now that he had told Evan the truth. Dean would have handled the kid better at any other time, but Sam's life was at stake now, so he did not have the patience for someone else's trauma.

"Listen, my brother's out there," he said. "And he needs help. And right now, you've got an important piece of the puzzle. You're the only one that can help me help him."

Evan swallowed harshly. He walked to the table and sat down. Finally, he nodded.

"Alright. I'm gonna tell you everything I remember."

xxxXXXxxxx

Six year old Evan was sitting on the living room floor, playing with his fire truck. It was technically his brother's fire truck, but Colin was at school, so what he did not know would not hurt him, as the saying went. Still, Evan could not find much joy in the game.

Things were suddenly weird. Mom had vanished (Dad said she was just lost and would come home soon, but he never explained where she was lost and Evan got the feeling Dad did not know either, however unbelievable that was). Then Mom had indeed come back, but Evan felt strange being around her. It was like she wasn't Mom anymore. He had tried telling this to Colin, who immediately reproved him of being an ungrateful brat who couldn't just be happy Mom was back home, and what did he know about what she had been through anyway? Evan had never seen Colin this angry – he was usually the best big brother, if Evan stayed out of his stuff. He decided not to mention Mom being strange again, not to Dad, either, because Evan did not want Dad to be angry at him, as Colin had been.

Still, Evan thought of this morning, when he had caught Mom talking to herself, like the old homeless lady who sometimes slept around the corner from their school. No, not talking. Arguing. Something about not wanting to do something. It had scared Evan, and he had hid in his room for a while. Mom had left now, and Evan knew that was not a good thing. He was not supposed to be alone in the house.

The front door opened. Evan looked up, hoping it was Dad. But it was Mom, and there was a lady standing next to her. No, not a lady, he realized, his heart beating wildly in his chest. A monster. She had a rotten face and she smelled like the forest and she was looking straight at Evan.

Evan tried to move, but he couldn't. He wanted to scream, but he had no voice. He could only sit there and stare at the monster lady that was next to his Mom.

The monster raised a thin skeletal hand and pointed to Evan.

"Him," she said.

Evan's mom shook her head.

"No, you can't want that."

The monster nodded.

"I do. And so do you."

"Why?" Evan's mom asked.

"Because this is how we keep ourselves alive. By the sacrifices the likes of you make for us."

"What if I don't want to make such sacrifices?"

"That isn't your choice anymore, you want what I want, honey."

Evan's mother took several steps towards her son.

"I can't…I won't…"

But the monster was nodding.

"You will. Remember, you want what I want. You're a part of me now. You breathe because I allow you to breathe. And you kill whoever I order you to kill."

Evan watched in horror as his mother's face changed, as she became something else entirely.

"I kill who you want me to kill," she repeated blankly.

Evan knew he should run, but he was rooted to the spot. The monster was gone, but his mother was still there, and he realized there was no difference between the two now.

xxXXXxxx

Evan took a deep shaky breath as he finished the story. He looked Dean in the eye.

"I was only six but I played that scene in my head over and over again, even though I thought it wasn't real. And I had some time to interpret it better. She thought she was doing the right thing – my mother. I mean, yes, she was being controlled, but there was something else. She thought that I had to die."

Dean's fists clenched. This was not good news at all. It did not bode well for Sam.

"Why do you think that is?"

Alfred cleared his throat warningly, but Dean caught his eye and shook his head. He needed this one answer. This piece of the puzzle that could very well save Sam.

Evan was fiddling with his sleeves.

"I think," he said in a small voice. "I know it's absurd, but I think she believed that if she didn't kill me – than I would kill her. Maybe the rest of the family as well."

Alfred moved from his place by the door to come stand next to his son. His hand was hovering above Evan's shoulder, but he seemed hesitant to touch the boy, as if afraid he would be rejected.

"Why didn't you ever tell me this?"

Evan shrugged not looking at him.

"You never admitted it happened, did you?" He paused and met Dean's eyes. "That thing also said she can't survive without people playing this twisted game of hers. If my mother had resisted, this would've been stopped then and there."

Dean was hesitant to answer, but the kid had been lied to all his life (albeit it was understandable why). He deserved the truth for once.

"Probably," he said. "We'll never know."

Evan swallowed harshly.

"There is something else that I never said. A few days before Mom came back, I was hearing the horse's hooves."

"What?" Alfred exclaimed.

Evan flinched at the loud tone.

"I never heard them afterwards. I swear. But for a while I had this urge to go into the forest." He glanced at Alfred. "I'm sorry, Dad, I should've told you."

Alfred knelt in front of him.

"No, it's…it's OK…it's OK, we're OK. This is gonna be over soon."

Dean left Alfred and Evan holding on to each other, probably in a better place emotionally than they had been in a long time, at least regarding Evan's mother. As for himself, he was starting to understand the game a little bit more. Holda enjoyed the hunt and the control – and she enjoyed upping the stakes.

Which probably explained why he was now hearing hooves and felt more and more convinced that he needed to go into the forest.

xxXXXxxx

Bobby was already by his truck when Rufus pulled into the junkyard.

"You took your sweet time," Bobby greeted.

Rufus rolled his eyes.

"My, my. Don't we have our panties in a twist today."

Bobby did not rise to the bait.

"Do you have it?"

Rufus nodded and moved towards his trunk. He got a long object covered in green cloth. Bobby felt disappointed, as if he had been expecting something else.

"That it?"

Rufus nodded.

"Some druid relic or other. Supposed to kill even the leader of the Wild Hunt. If you stab her in the heart with it, of course."

Bobby nodded.

"That's good. I'll take it and I'll owe you."

Rufus snorted.

"You taking it to the Winchesters, right?"

Bobby tensed.

"What if I am?"

Rufus shrugged.

"Hey, none of my business. But there are more and more rumors popping up about them. About the younger boy, especially."

"Well, tell whoever's handing you that information to stuff it," Bobby cut him short. "There's nothing wrong with Sam."

Rufus raised n eyebrow.

"If you say so."

Bobby gave him a pointed look.

"I do say so. If anyone's got a problem with Sam Winchester, they better come tell it to my face."

"Or to your shotgun? I swear, Bobby, I never thought I'd say this but the soccer mom attitude looks good on you."

Since Rufus had brought Bobby the means to save Sam and Dean, Bobby decided he was not going to shoot the old bastard. Yet.

Would you look at this, I even threw in a little Rufus into the mix. I hope it makes you happy, since I've left other things so tense in this fic. And yes, I do love messing with Sam's mind…I can't help myself. So stay tuned for next Sunday when I'll be messing with it some more ;)