Endless thanks to Jenjoremy for beta'ing this for me and catching the spots I miss. Thank you Gredelina1 for living with this story for weeks and supporting me. Thank you all for reading and reviewing. I appreciate the heck out of you all xxx

Chapter Fourteen

Dean saw Sam and Doctor Platt into the study for their session and then he went into the kitchen where Alfie and Elsie were. Elsie was rooting through cupboards and Alfie was sitting at the table with a pen in his hand and notepad open. Dean quickly surmised that they were making a shopping list.

"Flour," Elsie said without turning. "And confectioners' sugar."

Alfie made a note on the pad and looked up again. "What else?"

"I'm looking," Elsie said, pulling her head out of the cupboard and spotting Dean. "Oh! You snuck up on me. Did Sam go in okay?"

"Yeah, no problem. I don't know if he'll say much, he's been quiet all morning, but the doc might get him talking."

"We'll hope," Elsie said. "I'm going to the store later. Is there anything special you'd like?"

"No, I don't think so," Dean said, sitting beside Alfie. "I can shop for you if you like. Just tell me everything you need and I'll get it. Or I can come with you."

Alfie chuckled. "You may regret that offer. Elsie in the grocery store is a force to be reckoned with. She likes nothing more than to spend an hour or two examining fruit and comparing nutritional values."

"I like to have the best," Elsie said. "And I don't hear you complaining when you're eating what I make, Alfie."

"I never would," Alfie said. "I love your cooking, and I value my marriage too much to try to change you now."

"Good," she said, giving Dean a quick wink before going to the fridge and opening the door. "We need milk and butter, too."

Alfie made a note and looked up attentively. "Anything else, dearest?"

"Just put fruit," she said. "I will see what they have in that we can't get from the garden. I definitely want blueberries though. I was thinking Sam and I could bake tomorrow if he is feeling up to doing something."

"Muffins?" Alfie said hopefully.

"What else would I make with you in the house?" she asked. "Do you think Sam would like that, Dean? I don't want to pressure him, but Alfie told me how important it is to keep him active and I think he may be tired of doing dishes and folding clothes for me by now."

Dean considered. "If he's having the right kind of day, yeah, he'd probably get a real kick out of it. I don't know if he's ever baked before even. He might have with Jess but…" He shrugged. "This could be something new."

"Imagine," Elsie said a little sadly. "Baking with the children was one of our favorite things to do when they were young. To never have that…"

Dean shrugged. "Not many places we stayed had actual ovens let alone baking pans. It just wasn't our life. Lisa was a baker, though, so I did some with her and Ben."

"Lisa is the woman whose son you saved from the changelings?" Elsie asked.

Dean smiled. When he spoke to them about his past, they tended to connect the timelines with hunts they'd read about. "Yeah. I lived with her and Ben for about a year after Sam took Lucifer down."

"Oh," Elsie said. "I didn't know that."

"The books didn't go that far," Dean said. "Though Chuck was still writing them after he lost his publisher. Sam kinda… persuaded him not to start publishing again."

"That's a shame," Elsie said. "I would have liked to have the insider knowledge of what happened."

Alfie tutted. "You and those books, Elsie. The stories were fascinating, yes, but the books themselves were trash. Besides, Dean is here now. If you want the inside scoop, ask him."

"It's better they weren't published," Dean said before Elsie could start asking. "People would have connected the dots to what was happening in the world back then to what Chuck wrote. I don't think they're ready for the truth to become that real to them. Besides, there were already enough fake Deans and Sams out there when they thought it was fiction. If they knew the truth, some of them might decide to start hunting, and that wouldn't end well."

"Fake Deans?" Alfie asked.

Dean grimaced. "They had this convention thing with Chuck. A bunch of fans got together in this hotel—which turned out to be actually haunted—and did something called LARPing. They dressed up as us and wandered around quoting parts of the books. I've lived through some pretty crazy times, but seeing a copier repairman dressed as me and reenacting some of the roughest points of my life is way up there."

"I can imagine," Alfie said as Elsie asked excitedly, "There was an actual convention about the books? I wish I'd known."

"You really don't," Dean said. "Like I said, the hotel was haunted, and the fact Becky was there should have been enough to put anyone off."

"Who's Becky?" she asked.

Dean chuckled. "Sam's super fan. She's nuts about the books, adores Sam, and even writes some of her own… fanfiction I think Chuck called it."

"What's fanfiction?" Alfie asked.

"Long story," Dean said. "But don't go looking for it. There's some really crazy stuff out there according to Sam." He grimaced as he remembered Sam explaining some of the fan stories he'd found one night when he'd gone online loaded.

Alfie pointed a finger at Elsie. "I know that look. Don't go looking for it. Stick to the awful books if you must."

Elsie nodded. "I will. I am curious though."

"Curiosity killed the cat," Alfie said wisely.

"Satisfaction brought it back again," Elsie replied with a smile.

Alfie shook his head with an indulgent smile. "I shouldn't even try, should I?"

"You shouldn't," Elsie agreed. "But you should open the door," she added when the doorbell chimed.

Alfie got to his feet and crossed the room into the hall. Dean heard the door open and Alfie's voice. He came back in after a moment with a small FedEx box in his hands. "I believe this is for you, Dean," he said.

Dean frowned. "It is?"

"I think it's Sam's wrist monitor."

He handed it over and Dean pulled back the seal and opened it. It was a red box with a plastic window that showed a square faced unit similar to a watch. He took it out and opened the package, shaking the unit free of its plastic packaging. It had a black fabric band, and it could easily be mistaken for a regular watch. Dean didn't think he'd have any trouble getting Sam to wear it. He opened the leaflet and read the instructions for how to turn it on and link it to his phone.

"This is great," Alfie," he said. "Really. It will help a lot." It might make his sleep easier as he wouldn't need to fear not waking if Sam needed him, and he could go out and relax knowing he would be alerted if Sam had a seizure.

"Good," Alfie said.

"How does it work?" Elsie asked.

"A body reacts in many ways to a seizure," Alfie said. "The motion you can see, but there are also skin changes. This will detect the motion and the–" He cut off suddenly as there was a muffled shout from down the hall.

Dean knew the voice and knew it meant nothing good. He leapt to his feet, scraping the chair legs against the floor, and ran into the hall to the study. He could still hear Sam shouting, obviously upset, and he threw open the door without hesitation, despite Doctor Platt's stern instruction that he and Sam should always be left alone to talk unless they were otherwise instructed.

Sam was on his feet, facing the corner, his face red with exertion. His eyes were wide and his hands fisted as he shouted at an empty space.

"No! Stop! I don't want to hear it!"

"Calm, Sam," Doctor Platt was saying. "Remember your breathing. Focus on that and the rest will fall away."

Dean thought Sam had as much chance of focusing on breathing as he had of stopping his own heart through will alone. He was panting hard and he looked furious.

"Stop it!" Sam shouted, still staring into the corner.

Dean stepped in front of him and held his shoulders. "Sam! Sammy, look at me. Whatever you're seeing, it's not real. Focus on me, remember."

Sam stared right through him, fixated on whatever it was only he could see.

"Dean, give him some space," Doctor Platt said. "He just needs a moment."

"Screw you," Dean snapped. "What did you do to him? What the hell did you say to make him like this?"

"Nothing," the doctor said, raising his hands. "We were just doing some mindfulness exercises. He has always responded to them well before. Something distracted him. He's seeing something else."

"Well duh," Dean said, fixing his attention on Sam again. He grabbed Sam's fisted hand and held it against chest. "Feel this. Feel me. I'm real. You remember this, Sammy."

Sam shook his head jerkily. "Don't say it!"

The volume of his voice pulsed in Dean's ears. He didn't know what to do. Sam's hand was shaking against his chest so hard it was juddering. Dean was afraid he was going to trigger a seizure like this. He didn't know what he was seeing, but it was clearly tormenting him unimaginably.

"What are you seeing, Sam?" Doctor Platt said calmly. "Talk to me about it. I can help you."

"Out!" Dean snapped at him. "Get out now!"

"Dean, I think–"

"If you ever want to come back here, you'll leave now," Dean said. "I don't care about your article or helping other people, I only care about him, and right now you're not helping. I know what to do for him."

"Come on, Doctor," Alfie said calmly. "Dean can handle this."

Doctor Platt allowed himself to be led from the room by Alfie with Elsie following him, leaving Sam and Dean alone.

Sam was still livid, staring through Dean at the corner, and Dean pulled his wrist down from his chest and forced his fingers to unclench. It was like trying to move stone, but when Sam sucked in a shaky breath, his fingers relaxed minutely and Dean was able to squeeze his thumb between them. He felt for the rough crescent scar that was there and pressed against it hard, hoping to trigger the memory in Sam.

"This is real, remember, Sammy? This is you and me, and it's real."

He willed Sam to relax, to hear him, but he couldn't. He was still shaking and when he shouted, "No, she isn't!" it was so loud it hurt Dean's ears.

Dean grabbed his chin and pulled his face down. "Look at me, Sam. What's happening?"

Sam seemed to realize he was there for the first time. "He's hurting me, Dean!"

Still keeping pressure on Sam's scar, Dean asked, "Is it Lucifer? He's not real. He's just talking. He can't hurt you." Though was that true? Whatever Sam was hearing now, it was hurting him.

"Not Lucifer," Sam said. "Bobby. He's saying things."

"Sammy," he said miserably.

Sam finally focused on him and his eyes were desperate. "Dean, make him stop."

Dean rubbed even harder on the scar, pushing through till he felt bone and said, "Feel that, Sam?"

Sam nodded, though he still looked infuriated. "I feel."

"Good," Dean said. "Don't look at Bobby. Look at me. See me."

Sam obeyed, staring in Dean's eyes with his tortured gaze. "He's still saying it."

"Don't listen," Dean said. "He's not real."

"He said he is. He said you just don't see. Why don't you see, Dean?"

"I don't know," Dean said miserably. "But he's not here to help. You have to ignore him and focus on me."

Sam stared into his eyes, his horror evident. "He keeps saying things."

"Tell me," Dean said. "I can tell you the truth."

"He's saying Jess is dead," Sam said, glaring through him again. "Dean told me she was okay! He wouldn't lie to me."

Dean's heart sank at the certainty in Sam's voice. He truly believed what he was saying. His faith in Dean's honesty was absolute, and Dean had let him down. He'd lied through omission. He'd wanted to protect Sam from grief, but now Sam's mind had opened the truth to him and he was suffering because of it. Dean hadn't protected him at all.

"She is okay," Sam said, looking at Dean again. "Tell me, Dean. Tell me she's okay. Make her be okay!"

Dean didn't want to lie. Sam had faith in him to tell the truth, and he didn't want to let him down now. The truth would hurt him, he knew, but didn't he deserve it? Maybe his honestly could start to untangle some of the chaos in Sam's mind.

Ultimately, he didn't need to say anything at all, as Sam saw the truth in his hesitation. His face crumpled, and his knees buckled. He fell to the floor, dragging Dean down with him with his hand still clasping Dean's.

"No," he moaned. "Please, no."

"I'm sorry, Sam," Dean said desperately.

"You said she was okay!" Sam accused.

"She's in Heaven," Dean said. "She'll be okay there. She'll be happy." He knew that was a lame defense and Sam would never accept it, but it was all he had to offer.

"She's dead?" Sam asked. "Really dead?"

"Yes," Dean said.

Sam released Dean and hugged his arms around himself. He rocked back and forth, howling, expressing grief in a way Dean had never seen. Even at the moment of Jessica's death, he had been more composed. This was a release of pain such as Dean had never seen in his life, and he would never have expected to see it from Sam.

He put his hands on Sam's shoulders and gripped them hard as Sam rocked. "I'm sorry, Sam, I am so sorry."

"Hurts," Sam moaned.

"I know," Dean said, feeling tears pricking his eyes.

"I have to do something. Save her. I can deal?"

"No," Dean said, his voice harsh at the idea of Sam doing that. He calmed himself and said, "It's been a long time, Sammy. We can't bring her back now without spoiling it for her. She's got peace now. We can't take that away."

"I want her."

"I know you do, but it's been too long."

Sam stopped rocking and looked at him. "How long?"

"Years," Dean said. "She died when you were in college. That's why you started hunting again. Do you remember?"

Sam shook his head. "No. It's all confused. What's wrong with me?"

"Some stuff happened," Dean said evasively. "You were hurt."

"By Lucifer?

"In a way," Dean said. It was ultimately down to his hallucination of Lucifer that this had happened.

"Tell me, Dean. Make me understand."

Dean dropped his hands from Sam's shoulders and clasped them in his lap. "I don't know what to say."

"Tell me," Sam insisted.

There was a knock on the door and Dean looked up as Alfie peered in. "Can I help?" he asked.

Dean had never been more grateful to see his friend. He needed guidance from someone better than him; he needed help so he would not fail Sam.

"Please," he said. He didn't ask Sam what he wanted as he was scared Sam wouldn't want Alfie there, but Dean needed him.

Alfie came in and pulled up a chair and sat beside Dean, looking at Sam. "Hello, Sam," he said gently.

Sam turned his hauntingly sad eyes on him and said, "Can you help me?"

"I'm going to try," Alfie said. "I think it's time you heard the full story."

Dean's eyes darted to him and he looked questioning.

"Yes," Alfie said firmly. "The full story. You're ready for it, aren't you, Sam?"

Sam nodded.

"Dean, you should start. Tell Sam about Bobby."

"Bobby told me Jess was dead," Sam said quickly.

"He did," Alfie agreed. "And you know he was telling the truth, don't you?"

"Yes," Sam said miserably. "She's gone."

"Bobby's gone, too, Sammy," Dean said.

"He's dead?" Sam asked, shock stealing his volume. "What happened?"

"He was murdered by Dick Roman," Dean said. "He shot him."

A fresh tear slipped down Sam's cheek. "I don't remember."

"That's okay," Alfie said. "Things are going to be confusing for you at the moment. We'll help you understand it."

"Why am I confused?" Sam asked. "Why does it feel like this?" He waved a vague hand at his head.

"How does it feel?" Dean asked, curiosity drawing the question from him before he could suppress it.

"Everything is cloudy," Sam said. "I can't remember things. My thoughts slip away before I can catch them. Things get mixed up and they scare me. Why am I like this?

"You were in a car accident," Alfie said.

"I told you about this before," Dean said. "Do you remember? It's why you have the seizures."

"I forgot," Sam said quietly. He cast his eyes down and began to toy with the hem of his shirt.

"That's okay," Alfie said. "Things will be confusing for you. As Dean said, you were in a car accident. You were thrown around and your brain hit the sides of your skull. It hurt it, bruised it. You had a bleed in your head, too, and that put pressure on your brain. That pressure has injured you."

"I'm brain damaged?" Sam asked, obvious fear in his eyes as he looked at Alfie.

"You have a brain injury," Alfie corrected.

"You're a survivor," Dean interjected.

Sam shook his head. "It's the same. I'm wrong now. It's broken me."

"No," Dean said firmly. "You've been through something and it's hurt you, but you're not broken. You're still Sam."

"I'm not. I'm different. I know it."

"Different doesn't mean bad," Alfie said.

"It does for me," Sam said, the words bitten off. "I can't think properly anymore. I try and it drifts away. And then Lucifer comes and it's worse."

So it was Lucifer that made Sam withdraw. Dean and the doctor had guessed it, but now it was confirmed and that was somehow worse. Each time Sam would go, it was because he was seeing Satan. What kind of hell was that for him?

"Is that why I see Bobby, too?" Sam asked. "Because of the accident?"

"We're not sure," Alfie said. "That wasn't happening before the accident, was it, Dean?"

Dean shook his head. "Bobby's new."

"He hurts me, too," Sam said. "He told me about Jess because he was angry. He wants me to do something but I don't understand. I don't remember."

"What does he ask you to do?" Alfie asked.

"I have to kill the monster. I don't know what one though. He doesn't make sense."

Dean wondered if Bobby was Sam's subconscious reminding him of the Leviathan threat. It could be his mind's way of trying to prompt him to get back to what they were supposed to be doing. Perhaps that was why he 'remembered' Jessica was dead, because she was a distraction from the truth. Sam wasn't supposed to take out Dick Roman though. This wasn't his fight. The real fight for Sam was scraping through each day with all that was against him.

"We don't need to worry about that," Alfie said. "It's not your monster this time, is it, Dean?"

"No," Dean said firmly. "Other people are taking care of it. What matters is taking care of you. Whatever Bobby else is saying, he's wrong about that."

"Where does he come from though?" Sam asked. "And Lucifer? Why can I see him?"

"Lucifer is because of what happened to you," Dean said. "You went somewhere that hurt you."

"The Cage? That's real? It's not the damage?"

"Yeah, the Cage really happened," Dean confirmed sadly.

"I really went there," Sam said. "I did it? I hurt all those people?"

"You saved the world," Dean said resolutely. "That's all that matters. Everything else was a mistake."

Alfie didn't know about their part in starting the apocalypse or what Sam had done, and through he'd clearly heard enough to be curious, he didn't show it. He was focused completely on Sam.

"In human, medical terms, what's happening with Lucifer is called Post Traumatic Stress Disorder," Alfie said. "That's why Doctor Platt comes. We're trying to help you. It might be different, it could be something supernatural that's happening to you, but we only have the means to work on it as a human problem."

"But we can't fix my brain," Sam said. "That's human and it's broken."

"You might fix yourself," Alfie said. "The human brain is an incredible thing. You might recover when it changes the way it works."

Sam shook his head. "I can't do this. I can't wait and I can't stay lost. I can't live this way."

Dean felt sick. "You have to, Sam. You have to be strong."

"I can't," Sam said desperately.

"You can," Dean said fervently. "You're the strongest man I know. You beat the devil. You can beat this. You just have to hold on while your body does what it's got to do. Are you hearing me?"

Sam nodded but Dean knew he wasn't listening.

"There is a good chance of recovery," Alfie said. "I have seen incredible things. Dean is right. You have to stay strong like I know you can."

Dean held up a hand and Alfie fell silent, watching Sam. He wasn't gone, but he wasn't fully there either. It wasn't Lucifer, Dean was sure; it was Sam blocking them out himself.

"No, Sam," he said firmly. "Look at me!"

Sam's eyes drifted slowly to him and Dean grabbed his hand an uncurled his fingers. There was no strength holding them closed this time. He rubbed against the scar. "Do you remember this? Do you know what this means?"

"Stone one," Sam said quietly.

"Exactly," Dean said, relieved Sam had retained at least part of that memory. "It means I'm going to help you. I will find a way to do this for you."

"Dean," Alfie said, caution in his voice.

"I'll find a way," Dean repeated stubbornly. "There has to be something, and I'll find it. But you have to fight until I can. You use me to hold on to. Understand? Will you do that?"

"Dean," Alfie said sternly.

Dean looked at him. "You read the books, Alfie. You know what I have done for him before. You know what we do for each other. There's plenty you haven't read. I'm going to find a way to do this, whatever it takes."

"That is exactly what I am afraid off," Alfie said, obviously angry now.

Dean looked at Sam who seemed oblivious to their conversation. "Look at me, Sam," he snapped. Only when Sam's eyes moved to him did he go on, impassioned. "I am going to do this. I will fix this for you, do you understand?"

Sam just looked at him. There was no sign he believed what Dean was saying, or even hearing it. He was empty.

He pulled his hand free of Dean's and got to his feet. He walked to the door and said, "I want to sleep now," under his breath.

Dean scrambled up and followed him out. "I'm going to fix this, Sam," he promised. "No matter what."

"Yeah," Sam said in a dead voice.

He could tell Sam wasn't convinced yet, but he would be. Dean would make sure of it. Sam was his brother and whatever it took to save him would be worth paying, as the alternative was to lose him, and Dean couldn't live with that.

So… That was some serious angst. Sam had to learn the truth eventually, and Bobby is the perfect tool for that. It still hurt to write it though. Forgive me for hurting our boys?

Until next time…

Clowns or Midgets xxx