(Thank you to Lenail125 and Souless666 for the reviews. You guys are great.)

Chapter Twelve

"You need any help?" Sam asked casually as he entered the garage.

His dad leaned over the hood of his massive truck oil stains on his face, arms, and shirt. The sound of Sam's voice however John stood up and looked over; a little surprised at the offer. "You figured out how to work engines?"

"I know enough." Sam shrugged. "Between Dean, you, and Bobby I picked up on more than a few things."

John chuckled. "No offense, but I don't think it's enough that I would feel comfortable." John went to go lean back in but froze. "Actually, I can show you a few things."

"Sure." Sam agreed instantly. He always hungered for more knowledge. Plus, he didn't get a whole lot of alone time with his father. "Teach away."

John gestured Sam over and smiled. Before Sam reached him he bent back over his entire half of his body under the hood. "Okay, she wasn't starting this morning, so I checked-" John's lesson was over as soon as it started when the hood of the truck closed and John gave a grunt. His father's legs kicked at the air, and blood and oil dripped from underneath the car. Sam rushed forward, his face paled when could hear the engine start on the car.

"Dad!" Sam was a reach away from getting to his father when a hand pulled him back and turned him around.

Mr. Robinson stood before him, eyes glowing yellow and a stern look on his face. "Do your job."

"What are you doing?" Sam snapped. "Let him go."

"They will all live, if you do your job. If you don't I will have to force my hand." His old teacher's nails were long and yellow, and they created crescent shaped marks on his arm as they pressed down. The more he pressed the skin broke and blood spilled from the wounds. Too much blood.

"Stop it!" Sam turned back to look at his father and found his father still. In desperation he tried to jerrk his arm back but the demon's hold remained. "You've- you've killed him." Sam held off again. He'd seen everyone he loved die so many times, and in so many horrifying manners.

"Do your job." Yellow-Eyes was glaring furiously at Sam. He pressed a gun into Sam's hand and released his arm.

Sam stared down at the weapon in his hand, before tossing it onto the small pool of blood forming at his feet. He glared daggers at the demon stepping back from him and the weapon. "No, I won't do your job. Whatever it is. I refuse."

"Do your job." The demon moved forward and an impossible speed and gripped Sam's chin. No matter what Sam couldn't get the hand off. "You have the blood to do it. You are the vessel to do it. Before you force me to choose a champion, make the smart choice and just do the job." His voice softened, and Sam gagged as a hand petted down Sam's hair. "After all you are my favorite. You have everything going for you."

"What are you talking about?! Let me go!"

"LET ME GO!" Sam shot up in bed. His bed was soaked with sweat, and his breathing escalated to short puffs. He raised a shaky hand to push back damp hair from his eyes.

"Sam?!" Thundering footsteps echoed in Sam's head and got louder with each second. Soon they were outside the door and it was being thrown open. It was his brother. In his panic Sam hadn't even realized that his brother wasn't even in the room. He must have been downstairs watching some crap TV. Dean quickly glanced at Sam, then scanned the room for threats. He finally rested his eyes on his brother again once he didn't see anything. "Sam, you okay?"

"Yeah." Sam knees knocked together as he pulled back sheets and dangled his legs off the bed. "I'm-" The image of his father limp in the hood of the truck assaulted him. The image of a starved Dean, Bobby hanging by the neck from a meat hook, his father his hands and feet severed and bleeding out, Dean falling from a cliff, Bobby getting shot; they all showed one after the other in his head. Soon his mind was a mess of bloody faces, and pleading cries. Sam felt his throat constrict and his face went green. "I'm- Oh God Dean- I'm gonna-"

"Shit."

Sam didn't ask for it, but Dean pressed the plastic laundry basket under Sam's head just as he leaned forward and gagged. Dinner from that night burned as it returned the way it came. Dean simultaneously held Sam up, managing to rub circles on Sam's back, and kept the bin tucked under his convulsing head. Dean alternated through giving Sam words of comfort and telling him to breath, to yelling through the open door for Bobby. Unbidden tears pooled at the edges of Sam's eyes and rolled downward when too much had collected. He hated crying. He hated being sick. God this was humiliating. Then when Sam had nothing left he dry heaved, inhaling desperately when he was able. Through his tear hazy vision Sam was painfully aware that every single piece of clothing he and his brother had tossed in the bin was now covered in his vomit.

Sam wasn't sure how long he'd been bent over the basket when he inhaled sharply and finally felt his chest relax. He pressed a hand to his painful chest and wheezed.

"You okay, boy? Bobby's hand was pressing a glass of water into Sam's hand.

Sam had to force himself to take some long breaths before he was able to even lift the cup up by himself. "Uh, yeah." Sam took a swallow and swished it through his mouth before swallowing and shivering at the awful taste going back down. "I'm-" Sam looked up and saw his brother in a pair of sweats and an old Metallica shirt, whereas Bobby was wearing a pair of Santa Boxers. "You haven't thrown those out yet?"

"Well, if you boys didn't wake me up in the middle of the damn night I won't have to show off my shorts." Bobby gripped, but he continued to look down at Sam, worry clear in his eyes. When Sam didn't continue drinking he tapped the bottom of the glass in the kid's hand. "Keep at it. You'll dehydrate."

"I'm fine." Sam kept his other shaking hand gripped in the tangled sheets to hide the tremor.

"Yeah," Dean's tone was dark as he took in the sight of his brother. "Perfectly fine."

"Dean-"

Dean finally released his hold on the plastic laundry bin unmindful of the clothes that had been inside. "Not gonna work little brother. I want to know what it was that bothered you."

"Just a dream…"

"No it is not." Dean growled. He locked eyes with his little brother, and grabbed up the shaking hand. He held it up so that it was within Sam's line of vision. "You're shaking. You've just finished throwing up all over our clothes, and I'm pretty sure that was all part of some major panic attack. I've remained silent but no more. What are those dreams?"

"Nothing." Sam shrugged. "Besides they-"

"No. I wake up to the sound of your panicked voice. Your begging someone to stop. Sometimes you want them to leave someone alone. You've once muttered 'you've killed him.' Those aren't normal dreams, and if they were visions then you would tell us."

Sam scrunched up his face. They were just horrific dreams he conjured up himself. Why should it matter to them? A deeper part of himself didn't want it exposed. He couldn't explain it. It was more worried about them having the knowledge. "Dean, they're- they're complicated."

"Well try."

Sam wanted to tell Dean to stuff it. Some things just didn't need to be said. Something things didn't need to be shared. Never let them know. He paused. Why? Why shouldn't they know? It was as if a curtain shifted and Sam saw the thoughts for what they were. He pushed back the impulse to hide it. "I- uh. I see him. It starts out normal. I'm with one of you; Dad, you two. Then-" A werewolf tore his brother into ribbons, and the demon held on to Sam's arms tightly preventing him from running forward. "Then it goes dark."

"Dark? How?" Bobby scowled.

"One of you-" Sam's voice softened. "One of you die. Different ways… You've been hacked, shot, stabbed, beaten-" John gripped desperately for his son's hand as he fell towards the professional grade wood chipper. "-fallen off of things. I try and save you and he always stops me; Yellow-Eyes. And he laughs and tells me I can't protect you."

Sam didn't meet his family's eyes. He didn't want the pity. He didn't want to see their concern; their horror.

"He keeps telling me I have a job."

Dean tightened his hand into a fist. "What job?"

"I don't know…he's never said. He just presses a gun into my hand." Sam suddenly felt lighter. "He just repeats it again and again"

Dean scowled and scrubbed a hand across his face. He turned around for a second staring at the wall. Sam imagined his face was turning into a multitude of expressions one after the other. He allowed Dean to have that time though.

Bobby just drew his lips in a taut line. "And you never told us about this, why? When Something that dark is happening you know shouldn't be keeping that a secret."

"I don't know. I never wanted too. Something stopped me."

Dean took in a sharp breath. "Something stopped you?!" He turned around. His face was now angry. Eyes narrowed and nostrils flared. "What stopped you?"

Sam tilted his head up and focused on the light. "An impulse. A thought. The dreams seemed so trivial. I never thought- I never wanted to share it." He brought his head down his eyes blown wide and panicked. I didn't think about that at all. "God! He's been mind-raping me hasn't he? And I just-" Sam squeezed his eyes shut. "I never thought-"

"Hey." Dean put a hand to Sam's shoulder, he struggled to keep a calm face. "Chill. We know now." He tilted his head towards his uncle. "Is there a way to prevent Yellow-Eyes from getting up in Sam. I mean- you know what I mean."

"Protect his mind." Bobby said thoughtfully. "Nothing comes to mind now, but I'll check the library. There has to be something inside one of those books. As far as the body goes, I'm beginning to think we need some solid protection from those demons."

"Charms?" Sam offered.

"Charms can be nullified, fall off, or break." Bobby said thoughtfully. "I'm thinking tattoos. Permanent sigils on the skin."

Dean looked shocked. "Great, matching tattoos. We're going to be one of those families. Hey while I'm there I can get your face on my butt."

Bobby scowled, and twitched up an eyebrow at the thought. "I would prefer you didn't." Bobby looked softly down at Sam. "We'll worry about that in the morning. Why don't you get some-?" He cut off as he watched Sam blanche.

"-Some sleep?" The boy finished, his voice broken.

Bobby's calloused hand patted Sam's shoulder and he kept his tone light and pleasant. "Tell you what, I'm up. I'll put something on other than Santa shorts, and we can dig around in the library for a fix."

"I can do it." Sam took another long drink of the water and swished around another swallow to get any remaining taste out. "Just because sleep isn't an option for me doesn't mean you should go without. You two should get some rest. Help me out in the morning."

"Kid, there is no sleep right now. Until I know that your protected, I ain't getting a damn wink." Bobby gestured towards Dean who stood tense beside him. "And I have a feeling neither will your brother. So accept the help."

Sam relaxed. "Fine." His puppy dog eyes came out full force nearly knocking the two men over. "Thanks."

"Oh don't thank me yet." Dean smirked. "You're doing laundry later."

xxxOOOxxx

The phone call came about six in the morning.

They had spent hours pouring themselves over books. The best they had found so far applied to black magic, something Bobby refused to do, white magic with its herbs and gemstones, and native American lore where they could purify the area. Of course they could go the route that an 18th century radical suggested, accept Jesus into their heart. Sam had a strange relationship with religion, but even he figured that wouldn't help him much in this case.

Bobby grunted and stood up from his desk. He shut the dusty tome before grunting again and shuffling towards the kitchen. "Singer."

"What do you need?"

Bobby brought a hand up and rubbed at red rimmed eyes. He already had a headache starting, Missouri calling wasn't going to make him feel any better. "What do you mean? I didn't call, you did."

"You were about to." Missouri snapped. "So what do you need?"

"Easy, I didn't wake you up." Bobby moved to defend himself. He paused. The last thought he'd had at his desk had been whether or not he should call the woman. Stupid Missouri and her stupid mind reading abilities. "I was going to wait until the morning, if I had decided to call."

"Is it Sam again?" She softened her voice. "What has that boy been getting into now?"

Bobby scowled, and leaned up against the counter trying to tamp down the irritation brought on by lack of sleep. He'd done this plenty of nights. The Winchester's brought all kind of trouble, he should be used to it by now. "Kid's being attacked at night. Mentally attacked. We figure the demon is showing the boy awful images of us-" Bobby took in a long inhale. "-us dying. He's trying to coerce the kid into doing some unknown job. I'm not quite so worried about that right now though, we'll address it later. What I need now is-"

"A way to block access to Sam's mind." Missouri stated thoughtfully. "Mental block would be the best way, but I don't know that the boy could accomplish that at his stage. It would take training. At least a few months' worth, and I figure you want a quick fix now."

"Preferably."

Missouri started humming loudly, and Bobby heard her flip pages. "Quick fix would be herbs. Burning and consuming. Got something to write, and write on? It's quite a list." Bobby rushed around for the articles. Before he could confirm he had them in his grasp, Missouri continued. "Burn Sage and Thyme. The sage should purify the area, and the Thyme will protect from nightmares. Then the boy has to swallow down an herbal tea. Sandalwood, spearmint, rosemary, and St John's Wort. St John's is the most important."

Bobby winced. He had a low level of herb knowledge, but he did know those all ranged in an array of tastes. Sweet, bitter, astringent, and minty. The kid was going to have to swallow down that awful concoction.

"Now I know it isn't preferred." Missouri sounded irritated. "It'll do the job until he can protect himself. Boy decides he doesn't want to swallow down the tea then then there's a spell you can do, it'll take time setting up, but it should effectively keep the demon at bay. However, if Sam's getting sleep in the next few days he's going to need that tea."

"Got it." Bobby nodded, despite her inability to see it over the phone. "I have a stock pile of the crap here. I'll whip up that concoction."

"And don't call me all hours of the night. I swear you boys are helpless babies sometimes." Missouri snapped her bad mood returning. The sharp dial tone followed.

Bobby put the phone away from his ear and stared down at it. "I didn't call you…"

xxxOOOxxx

The second they heard the engine they knew he was back, and from the staggering steps they could tell he was drunk. The sound was once familiar, but now it made the boys freeze. Their father for all his faults was especially careful about how much he drank. For him to be drunk now he had to be taking things in a bad way. There was a loud scraping at the door as John repeatedly missed the keyhole with his key and the boys didn't know what to do. Dean was the first to get up and head towards the door, but just as he reached for the lock John's key made contact and twisted. Dean jumped back and let the door swing open.

A very drunk John stumbled through the door smelling of tequila and whiskey. He started at the sight of his son. "Dean-"

"Dad…are you okay?" Dean scoffed at himself. Of course his dad wasn't okay. He'd been gone days. Two weeks to be exact. Smelled like he spent those two weeks' head down in some bar.

"'M sorry." John slurred.

Dean was taken back to those times when Sam kept apologizing for things beyond his control when he was much younger. John's face was even clearly exposing his emotions just like Sam's always had. For a long time he'd thought he'd taken after his father. But Sam…Sam was clearly John's son.

"Dad?" Dean rushed forward and caught his father as he collapsed. He grunted under the weight of his father. "Damn it. A little help Sam."

John stayed like putty in his eldest's arms and looked apologetically at Sam as he rounded the corner out of the living room. "It's my fault Sammy. 'M sorry."

"Balls." Bobby stood in the doorway of the kitchen watching as Sam and Dean tried their best to keep on hold on their boneless father. "What is it with you Winchester's and self-blame. It's like a damn hereditary disease." Irritation read on his face, but he retained any offenses on John's evident drunkenness. He had heard what had happened at the house and obviously it was disturbing the oldest Winchester.

Bobby injected himself into the mess and helped drag their father up the stairs and into the spare bedroom he claimed each visit. When a now unconscious John was finally spilled out over the bed Bobby dragged a hand across his forehead and huffed out a tired breath. "Geeze, your old man weighs a ton."

"Yeah." Sam agreed half-heartedly. He looked down at his dad wondering how Dean had tolerated his father's drunk antics as long as he did. "I'll uh, get some water. He's going to need to hydrate when he wakes up." Sam left the room his mind spinning.

Dean looked down at his father. Memories of tucking him in returning. "I'll grab his things from the truck. Damn bastard shouldn't have driven in his state. I bet he has more than a few dings on his car."

"And a few dings on himself." Bobby picked up John's rubbery head and twisted it to get a better look. "His neck's all scratched up."

Dean bent down to look. Sure enough there were scratch marks on his neck, some still oozing blood. "Jesus! What the hell did he do to himself?"

Sam returned and dropped a cup of water on the table next to the bed and a small bottle of Tylenol. He turned to see what Bobby and Dean were inspecting and cursed sharply. "I'll get the first aid kit."

Once Sammy had returned with a few damp cloths and the extensive first aid kit, Bobby and Dean set to taking care of John while Sam grabbed up John's keys and headed out to the truck.

Gently Dean washed the scrapes on his father's neck with a damp cloth. Bobby passed over a sterile pad with antibiotic and gathered up the bloody cloths and patted Dean on the shoulder. "I'm putting these in the wash, boy." Dean didn't turn around so he spoke to the back the man's head. "You got him?"

"I have him." Dean kept his face neutral. He'd always keep watch over his family.

"Okay…your brother has taken a while so I'm going to check up on him. See if he needs any help." Bobby patted the door frame before exiting. "You call if you need anything."

Dean grunted, and Bobby accepted that as an acknowledgement. Bobby continued down the stairs, despite his worry for the kid. He could only handle one Winchester at a time, and even then their problems were a lot more difficult than anything else his friends threw at him. Rufus didn't even pose the type of problems they did.

He found Sam sitting in his dad's truck watching the sun fade behind the maze of cars. Sam turned his head and glanced at Bobby as he came. Seeing his uncle, he was shaken from his funk.

"I was grabbing his pack and-" Sam stared down at the floorboard of the truck and pointed out the complete and broken bottles on them. "Well- I know what he's been up to the last few days. What if- what if the pain of-" Sam paused. "What if I never get over her? When I was too depressed to get up, and do- well anything, I saw Dean's face. He was suffering alongside me, and I didn't care. I was so focused on myself and my own damn pity. I'm just like dad. What if Dean spends the rest of his life making sure that Dad and I don't give into our depressions. What if he's just our babysitter."

"Would you damn fool Winchesters just get out of your own damn pity for damn sake." Bobby looked down at the bottles and glared at the boy. "You really think Dean thinks that way?"

Sam opened and shut his mouth. The words didn't come.

Bobby didn't care. He scowled at Sam. Sam gave out a grunt as Bobby swung his hand up and gave the back of his head a solid thump. "Well he sure as hell doesn't. I've known you and your brother for a long ass time and never has your brother regretted doing anything for you." Bobby's inner parent came out and he stuck out a hand with the pointer in Sam's face. "And okay you feel bad about this. News shock, you are never going to get over Jessica. You think every day I wake up and not think about Karen. We had been married a lot longer than you and your girlfriend being together, and she's been dead a hell of a lot longer than Jessica, and I still ain't over her." Bobby's voice softened. "You know what helps? What really helps? You remember her. Her laugh. You remember the way her hair curled around her face. You remember special nights where you went out, or stayed in. You remember stupid details, like when she would brush her teeth she had this ridiculous habit of tapping her toothbrush on the sink before and after."

Sam read Bobby's face as he spoke. His expression was a bitter sweet look as he sank deeper into his own thoughts the argument fading into the foreground. He was amazed at how functional Bobby was despite the love he had for his wife. Hopefully one day he would be as okay with everything.

"You get past this. The pain, it fades and scars, and it becomes bearable. Just don't let it overcome you kid. Because you start-" Bobby stopped and glanced at the bottles coating the bottom of his idjit friend's truck.

"Relying on an addiction." Sam supplied.

"Something like that." Bobby shrugged. "I was going with something more offensive, but I like yours better."

Sam met his uncle's eyes. "It is better, kind of, but not really. I mean I'm dealing with- with a lot. And the demon he didn't just show me you guys dying, he played her death on repeat too. Even with him out of my head it's hard to get past it when she's- she's on my mind every night.

"Well you've been drinking the tea." Bobby said firmly. "We keep you on that stuff, and collect those things for the spell and you won't have that jackass in your head. As far as what you conjure up in your own head I can't help that. You can."

"How?" Sam looked up at Bobby his eyes bleeding pure emotion. Sam always had been the King of Sap.

Bobby sighed and scrubbed a hand across his stubble. "When were you the happiest with her?" Bobby stuck out a hand to stop her. "I don't want to know; I want you to think about it. Think about when you were happy with her. Think about those memories where it seemed like nothing could possibly end your enjoyment. Think about those times and dream about that." Bobby then flicked out a finger that tinged against Sam's forehead. "And enough playing the guilty party. You had no clue what the rules were on your visions. Hell, we still don't. It wasn't your fault."

"I know." Sam said a little too quietly.

"No, you don't. In time you will, but right now you're still kicking yourself. Stop it." Bobby growled.

Sam smiled tightly. "Tell me again later." Sam cleared his throat clearly done with the moment. "Dad doing okay upstairs?"

"We cleaned him up. Looks like he clawed himself raw. Dean's going to bandage up the skin. It's not life threatening, but it should stay clean and covered for the next few days." Bobby inhaled the sharp scent of the alcohol coming from the cab of the truck. He made a mental note to clean the moron's car. "We should probably head inside. Besides we're likely to freeze our balls off out here."

"Very eloquent." Sam chuckled. He reached into the back seat and dragged out the tattered duffle his father carried around his sparse clothes in. He shut the door to the truck not focusing on the mess of glass. He didn't want to end up like his father. He wouldn't end up like his father.

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