Wow. Bobby was going to be a cameo, but he's just shouldered on in here like he owns it and I can't say no to a man with a grasp of Aramaic. Not really got the hang of writing him yet, so your thoughts are welcome.
Chapter Two
Sam came back in for dinner when Dean called, leaving the door open behind him. His eyes were starry with the chill night air, and they looked straight through Bobby for a couple of seconds before clicking back to his face.
"Sorry, Bobby. I guess Dean explained everything."
"Everything is a longer story than I reckon anyone knows. Not many people who can pull off an Orpheus, Sam. When you're crazy you're pretty smart about it."
"Thanks, I guess." Sam lowered himself onto the floor as Dean went to root through the cabin for an extra plate.
"What happened down there?"
Sam looked Bobby straight in the eye "Auditions were tough, but I got the lead role in South Pacific. Sold out show, great reviews – my Broadway dream come true."
Bobby snorted. "Keep your sass for your brother, kid."
"Honestly? I got no new scars, all my fingers and toes are still on. The rest isn't worth talking about."
"Hey, guys - I found a fork! And a bowl!" Dean said excitedly, head buried in his duffel bag.
"Clean?" Sam asked.
"We got water, don't we? I'll be a minute."
"Panic attacks?" Bobby asked quietly, once Dean was out. "Are you sure you don't need to talk?"
"What good does it do?" Sam laughed, light and hollow as an empty seashell. "I think I'd rather keep it to myself."
"Look, if it's 'cause you don't trust me, fine. I did just try to shoot you. But Dean has a right-"
"-not to hear what I saved him from. Not that. There's enough evil stories in the world, I don't need to bring in more." Resolution set Sam's features into polished rock. Bobby couldn't bring himself to ask again.
SNSNSNSNSNSN
"We don't have have a table, but Sam can grab a chair if you need one." Dean kicked him – subtly – in the back. Sam had a brief moment of catatonia, before remembering what his reaction was supposed to be.
"Ow. You get it, asshole."
"I ain't so old I can't sit on the ground, Dean." Bobby retorted, though his voice lacked bite.
Over slimy pasta spirals, they talked idly of hunts Bobby had wrapped up before the boys were born, of diners in California, Nevada and Wisconsin, of the effects of a lunar eclipse on werewolves, of heavy snow over the Great Lakes and heatstroke in Pueblo country. Sam yawned over his plate, pushing half-eaten food back and forth. The other two watched him covertly, startling a little when he unfolded upwards like a cheap magic trick. Watch as Sleepy Sammy becomes a Giant before your very eyes.
"I'm gonna hit the hay. If you want to talk me over in private, I won't hear you once you get past the dogs-head boulder." Sam said with suppressed violence.
"Sam-" Dean started to protest, not sure what he would say.
"Seriously. Get out those textbooks, get a second opinion. Stop watching me like I'm gonna sprout horns."
Bobby studied his almost empty beer bottle.
"That's not fair on us, Sam." Dean spoke straight from his gut.
Sam's mouth tightened to a thin line, trapping a thousand hurtful words. Bobby waited for the storm to break.
"Yeah. Not fair." Sam's voice was dry as the dust of the Valley of the Kings, ancient with unknown wrongs. A moment to refocus and he was back to sleepy again, smiling a bewildered little smile of apology. "Sorry. I know you're trying to... M'getting cranky in my old age."
"Old age my ass." Dean snorted. "Get some sleep, you teenage drama queen."
SNSNSNSNSNSN
Bobby pushed his cap back off his forehead, frown lines forming like furrows in the Iowa fields in spring.
"He ain't right. He ain't come back wrong either, just... off."
"Got a theory. Been doing some reading up." Dean grimaced. "These psych guys can't write worth a damn, but some of what he's doing looks familiar. The zoning out, thousand yard stare thing..." He flipped some pages.
"Psychic attack?"
"Psychiatrist guys." Dean shot him a what the fuck are you smoking?look. "Yeah, here it is. Learned helplessness. They had these rats, right, and they stuck 'em in boxes. Group A got a lever in the box, group B didn't. When they gave the rats electric shocks, group A could pull the lever and the shocks stopped. The group B rats started off running around and trying to climb the walls, but then they just. Stopped." He handed the book over. "Like they knew they couldn't do shit and gave up, just lay there."
"And you reckon Sam got himself into a box." Bobby said meditatively, looking at the photo of a rat curled up on a sawdust-covered floor.
Dean swallowed. He had a sudden mental image of Sam trapped in a cage, twitching with every shock, doing nothing.
"Yeah. I don't know... well, anything, really. He won't talk about it to me. He fought them off in Hell, I'm pretty sure. You should have heard him at the hospital, trying to exorcise the doctors. But maybe he couldn't keep fighting all the time."
Bobby patted Dean's shoulder, awkwardly offering comfort.
"Is there any chance it could be a spell? Goodbye present from the crossroads bitch?"
"Naw, from what Sam says that was part of the deal. No demonic hangovers. Hell, I almost wish it was something in our line of work. I might be able to kill it or exorcise it – I'd know where I stood. I haven't got a map for this." Dean gestured at the textbook.
"Bull. You're telling me a Winchester don't know the first thing about getting tortured? Do you even remember your life?"
"Yeah, okay, but I never had to talk about it. I never had to ask how Sam was feeling, what did they do to you, did it hurt, did you scream-" He stopped, choking on the words, and turned away.
Wiped a hand down his face – his father's gesture, Bobby remembered – and got doggedly back on track.
"Anyway. I-"
"That's your problem, right there."
"What?"
"You can't break down. You won't break down. And Sam's the same, you'd both get beaten to your knees rather than give an inch on doing exactly what you want to do. What you think is the right thing to do."
"Yeah, and?"
"He doesn't want to tell you."
"So?"
"Sam doesn't think it's right to tell you."
"Oh. Right." Dean picked up a stick and broke it methodically into pieces. "Stupid bastard."