Bobby was sure Sam didn't sleep a wink that night. When he went to bed, the light was still on in the guest room and when he got up, Sam had already been up and made breakfast. As Bobby stomped into the kitchen in search of his morning cup of coffee, he was greeted by a small spread of toast, eggs, and bacon. Sam was already sitting and playing with a plate of eggs.
"I hope you don't mind," he said with a small smile. "I figured I could at least make breakfast since I invaded your house."
Bobby loaded a plate. "Boy, you keep this up and I'll pay you to live here. 'Sides, you're welcome to stay however long you want. You know that."
"I was going to set out milk, but I'm pretty sure it's growing."
"There was milk in there?"
Sam snorted and went back to pushing eggs around his plate. "Do you mean it?"
"What?"
"You don't mind if I stay a little while?"
Bobby looked up at him sharply. "Sam, I've always told you boys you're welcome here whenever you need. Don't expect a red carpet or anything, but you've got a roof and a bed here. Now quit being a girl and pass that bacon."
Sam chuckled and passed the plate over. "You're heart attack on a plate, sir."
"At least I'll die happy."
The laughter only lasted a few seconds before the silence was back. Finally, Bobby couldn't stand it any longer. "You gonna stare at those eggs all day, or you gonna eat them?"
Sam jerked up. "Oh! Uh…umm, I don't think I'm as hungry as I thought I was."
Bobby frowned. He might not be Dean, but Sam had always had an appetite. At one point, Bobby had worried that between them, they'd eat him out of house and home. "Sam, did something happen?"
He just smiled. "Nah, it was just a rough semester."
Bobby hmmed in response but didn't call him out on the lie. "There's a new stack of books I haven't gone through in the study if you want to take a look. There's some old mythologies in there you might like."
"Okay," he said. He scraped his plate into the trash and deposited it in the sink.
"I'll be out in the back garage if you need me. I have a few things to take care of today."
Sam nodded then ducked out of the kitchen. Bobby finished his breakfast and moved on to his morning work. The garage was more like an extension of the house. It was insulated and heated so that he could work during the winter without having to battle the elements. He had run his phone lines out there too, just in case. His mind wandered as he began tinkering on the old Chevy he'd pulled in yesterday.
He was worried about Sam. The kid was quiet, withdrawn. He seemed to be staying as small as he could and he was starting to resemble a raccoon. About an hour into his work, Sam joined him. He brought a book and a blanket and curled up in the corner chair, quietly keeping Bobby company. Sam might not be much of a conversationalist at the moment, but it was nice to have someone else there. Bobby hadn't realized how much he'd missed the boys.
Sometime later in the day, decided to take a break and walked over to see what Sam was reading. The kid must have been really into whatever it was because when Bobby set his hand on Sam's shoulder, Sam shot out of his seat and was across the room in a matter of seconds.
He stood across from Bobby, wide eyed and panting as though he'd run a marathon. Bobby couldn't do anything but stare. "Sam?"
Sam made an effort to calm his breathing. "Sorry. You startled me. I didn't realize you were behind me."
Bobby knew better than most what Sam and Dean's typically reactions to being startled were, and it usually ended in bruises. That wasn't startled. Even now, his pupils were dilated and Bobby was pretty sure he was still coursing with adrenaline. "You okay?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just going to go, uh, start dinner. Yeah."
Sam fled up the steps and Bobby was left watching, slack jawed. He gave Sam a good ten minutes then followed, peaking around the door between the garage and the kitchen. Sam was sitting at the kitchen table, swiping his hands across his face to wipe away tears. Bobby frowned, but ducked out to give him time to collect himself. When he came back a half hour later, Sam had soup on the stove and toast in the oven.
He barely said two words over dinner and fled to his room by seven o'clock.
Bobby let him go. The kid was obviously embarrassed. Bobby spent a couple of hours organizing the new book arrivals, but ultimately decided to turn in early himself.
He put away the leftover soup, checked his wards and all the various protections he had in place, brushed his teeth, and set out fresh water for Rumsfeld before finally climbing the stairs to his room. On his way down the hall, he passed by the bathroom and heard a gasp followed by a soft curse. He paused to listen. He could hear Sam rummaging in the cabinet under the sink and swearing.
Finally, Bobby was too worried to listen anymore. He knocked. "Sam? You in there?"
"Yeah." He sounded strained and Bobby's concern ratcheted up a notch.
"Open the door."
There was a long pause.
"Sam!"
"It's unlocked," he said.
Bobby tried the knob and, as promised, the door swung open. What he saw nearly made him gag. Sam's hands were covered in blood. It was dripping into the sink and he had managed to smudge a bit on the mirror. Bobby could tell he'd been rummaging for something to make the bleeding stop, but the only thing Bobby kept in the bathroom was a box of Band-Aids and a bottle of rubbing alcohol. His first aid kit was in his bedroom.
