I'm sorry about the long delay, I broke my arm snowboarding which sucked out loud. So not only did it end my hockey season and skiing early, but made it really hard to write with only one hand. I just got my cast off this week, so I should be posting in a reasonable amount of time now. Seth

Chapter Thirteen

Bobby stood outside of Sam and Dean's hospital room with a folded newspaper in hand and head lowered. A buried article on the third page of the local section was what had brought him to the hospital, and the fear of facing the two remaining Winchesters again was what kept him from entering the room.

"I won't do it." Bobby could hear Sam's voice clear in his mind, the sad desolation of it bring tears to the old hunter's eyes. "I won't be the one to take his leg from him. I won't."

"He's dying, Sam." He swallowed hard, recalling how the words he had spoken cut deep into his own heart even as they shattered Sam's. There was no denying that Sam had made the right decision, just as there was no denying that the youngest Winchester would never forgive Bobby for forcing him to be the one to make it."If they don't remove his leg soon, the infection will spread through his body, an' it will kill him."

"H-how am I suppose to tell him that I'm the one who took his leg from him?" Bobby swallowed hard, remembering how amidst his broken sadness for both Sam and Dean, he felt an undeniable twinge of relief that he hadn't been the one forced to make the decision to have the doctors take Dean's leg from him. "How's he ever gonna forgive me for that?"

"He'll forgive you, Sam – he'll forgive you because he loves you."

"How can he when I'll never be able to forgive myself for this." Sam had shrugged free of Bobby's grasp on his arm, and from the look in his eyes, Bobby realized that he was pushing him out of his life as well. "Get the paperwork, Bobby."

His hand trembled as he laid it against the door, stomach churning at the thought of seeing the hatred in both boys' eyes, and he turned away from the entrance. "Even if they can somehow manage to get beyond this, an' Dean forgives Sam, they'll never forgive me," Bobby muttered under his breath.

Uncharacteristically, he had the urge to run, to return to the safety of his home where he could pretend that this was all just a terrible nightmare. If he didn't have to face them, he could pretend that nothing had changed, and that they wouldn't think of him differently. For as much as he believed they were his family, the ties created by hunting could only go so deep, and Bobby had little doubt that those bonds had been irrevocably severed when Dean lost his leg.

I shouldn't bother them. He glanced down at the newspaper in his hand, and heaved a weary sigh. But what if they didn't kill the Wendigo an' it goes on killing people?

After a lengthy hesitation, in which he mulled over every possible reason in the world not to bother Winchesters with what could be just purely coincidental missing person reports, Bobby turned back and pushed open the door to their room. Through lowered lashes, he noticed Dean was not there, and caught himself before he let out a sigh of relief.

Sam straightened in his bed, and closing his laptop, he focused his attention on Bobby. From his rigid posture and the scarcely concealed look of anger that etched his brow, Bobby understood that his presence was unwelcome. His hand tightened around the newspaper, crumpling it within his grasp.

"I thought you went home." The accusation in Sam's tone cut deeper than any knife wound Bobby had ever received. "You should've gone home."

Bobby pulled the brim of his cap lower to cover his eyes in hopes that Sam wouldn't see how much his words had sliced right though his heart. "Figured I'd stick around until you both were well enough to travel back to my place."

"We're staying here until Dean's ready to hunt again." Sam's sights strayed to the empty bed belonging to his brother, and swallowing hard, he added, "So there's no reason for you to stay."

"What do you mean, until Dean's ready to hunt again?" Bobby had never even considered the possibility that the Winchesters would resume hunting. The job was hard enough when a hunter had no medical limitations, but to his way of thinking, it was practically suicidal to think they could fight creatures under these circumstances. "It's not worth it. You're both gonna get yourselves killed."

"It's not like every damn hunter doesn't already know that they're eventually gonna die hunting," Sam shot back, voice rising just enough to leave Bobby with little doubt that the youngest Winchester had his own fears and doubts about Dean hunting. "It's what Dean wants, an' I owe him that much."

"An' if he wanted to jump the Impala over the Grand Canyon, would you be okay with that, too?"

"It's not the same thing an' you know it." Sam folded his arms, and glared defiantly at Bobby. "He's a damn good hunter – probably the best there is, so if he thinks he can do this, I have no doubt that he will."

"But what if he can't?" Bobby hated being the voice of reason, hated being the one to tell Sam that things could never be the same again, but he couldn't let them recklessly destroy the lives they had left. "It's time you both gave up hunting, an' start having real lives of your own."

"Just giving up would kill him a helluva lot faster than it would take for all the demons in Hell to do the same thing."

The truth in Sam's words struck Bobby momentarily speechless. He had never met another hunter who had put his whole heart and soul into the job the way Dean did. The eldest Winchester lived and breathed to protect people. He had never given any thought to himself, and gave of himself until many times there was nothing left to give. And in those times, he dug even deeper and through sheer willpower alone gave whatever he had left.

"I still say you should talk to him, make him see that he can do something else with his life."

Sam's jaw practically dropped wide open as he glared at Bobby. "Oh, that's a great idea, Bobby. I've already taken his leg from him, why not fuck up the rest of his life as well. Maybe I should tell him to get a desk job somewhere, I'm sure he'd really go for that brilliant plan."

"He has other options, Sam," Bobby hastily defended himself. "Dean's a helluva lot smarter than people give him credit for."

"If this is the only thing you came here to talk about, you might as well leave before he gets back here, cause he wouldn't be any happier to see you than I am."

Bobby lowered his head, not wanting to see the intense hatred in the youngest Winchester's eyes. "No, it's not the only reason I came." With a heavy sigh, he trudged to the hospital bed and handed Sam the paper. "A woman went missing shortly after Dean . . . ." Bobby's voice abruptly trailed off, not certain this was the best time to bring up the missing girl or his fears about the Wendigo. "It could just be a coincidence, but I need to know for sure."

Sam flipped through the paper until he found the article, and hastily scanned it. Abruptly throwing the paper aside, he glanced up at Bobby with a look of clear disbelief written plainly across his features. "I saw it die, Bobby. It burned up right in front of my eyes, so there's no way in hell this is related."

"I would've thought so as well, but she isn't the only one who's gone missing." Bobby fished around in the pocket of his jacket, and yanked out two more newspaper clippings. "I went to the library and found these. One happened a day or so after the accident."

Sam opened his mouth to further argue, but the door suddenly swung open, and Bobby spun to stare at Dean, hobbling into the room with the assistance of a walker. A dark-haired woman followed closely behind him, and once inside the room, she shuffled passed him to lower the bed rails on his hospital bed.

After hearing Sam's revelation that Dean planned to continue hunting, Bobby hastily pocketed the newspaper clippings so he wouldn't see them. If both Winchesters had a death wish, he had no intention of giving them the ammunition to load the gun.

"Bobby," Dean acknowledged him with a short nod. "I was wonderin' if you'd show up before I left this God forsaken place," he grumbled, but there was no look of anger in his green eyes as he smiled at Bobby.

"I wasn't sure you'd want me to come," Bobby answered truthfully, careful to keep his gaze at eye level with Dean.

"You're family, Bobby, of course you're welcome." Dean glanced at Sam, and his brave smile faltered. Under his scrutinizing glare, Sam quickly ducked his head, and went back to working on his laptop. "What were you two talking about when I walked in?"

"It was nothing," Sam uttered evasively, without looking up from his computer screen.

Eying Bobby for a moment, Dean appeared as if he were trying to decide whether they were keeping something from him, but after a second his smile returned. He pushed aside the walker, and took a cautious step toward Bobby, but as he went to take a second step, he teetered and fell forward into Bobby.

"Dean." The raven-haired physical therapist rushed forward to help him back to his feet.

"No!" Dean held up a hand to stop her from coming any closer. "I've got this, Monica," he breathed in a harsh raspy whisper. Bracing his hands against Bobby's forearms, he used them as leverage to push himself back into a standing position.

"You're pushing yourself too hard, Dean," Monica snapped. "I knew I shouldn't have agreed to let you walk back here."

"M'okay, Monica," Dean huffed, pushing her hands away as she tried to help him back to his bed. "An' I told you, I could make it back here without you following me. An' look," he added sarcastically, "I only fell once which is a brand new record for me."

"An' I clearly told you that I didn't care whether you thought you could walk all the way to Canada, I was still coming with you," Monica replied with a grin, not the least bit intimated by Dean's menacing scowl.

"Well, you did your fuckin' job," he growled, hands clenching into fists as she guided him toward his bed. "I made it here in once piece, so you can leave now."

"Not until I see you in bed like you promised."

Bobby stared incredulously at the pretty young girl, amazed and impressed that she wasn't the least bit offended by Dean's obvious dislike of her. But what surprised him even more was that Dean, albeit grudgingly, listened to her.

"You know I'm leaving here the day after tomorrow," Dean grumbled as he let her help him remove his prosthesis. "So you have to stop trying to catch me when I fall – An' truthfully, I 'd rather slam my face into the ground a million times than be so damn helpless that I have to have someone there to help me stand on my own two feet."

"Everyone needs help sometime, Dean, and that even includes a pain in the ass like yourself," Monica shot back, blue eyes sparkling with fierce determination as she fixed her sights on Dean. "But if you're so hellbent on falling on your face a million times once you get out of here, then I'd suggest you get yourself a well-stocked first-aid kit."

Monica must have realized that both Bobby and Sam were now staring at her with somewhat awed expressions on their faces. She chose that moment to turn and grace them with a completely disarming smile. Smoothing a hand through her hair, she pushed back the wispy tendrils that had fallen loose from her ponytail, composing herself. "Don't worry," she chuckled, waving a hand in Dean's direction, "he's used to me being a bitch by now, an' secretly I think he kinda likes it. It makes him feel justified when he calls me . . . what was that you called me again, Dean?"

"Bitchzilla," Dean uttered sheepishly, not bothering to raise his head to look at anyone in the room.

"So we've compromised," she went on to say as she made her way toward the door. "He let's me tell him like it is, and in turn, I let him call me all those cute little nicknames he keeps coming up with." With her hand on the door handle, she paused and cast a meaningful glance in Dean's direction. "Since tomorrow's your last day, I was thinking we should tackle walking up inclines, and after that I thought we could go for a walk outside . . . maybe practice walking on uneven terrain, if you want to."

"Sure, if you let me use a cane instead of that stupid walker," Dean groused, but the small grin that lit up his features belied his attempt at sounding angry.

Bobby watched the look that passed between them, and silently cursed under his breath. The last thing Dean needed at the moment was someone who would become attached to him as it was only a matter of time before he moved on. "I think I'd better get going as well," Bobby said, heading toward the door. "If ya want, I can swing by here an' pick you both up on Friday."

"We don't need a ride," Sam answered curtly.

"Hank's gonna pick us up," Dean added, casting a glance in Sam's direction, and shook his head in what looked to be clear disgust. "But I'd really appreciate it if you would bring my car to his place."

"Yeah, alright." Bobby looked once more to Sam, hoping he might see some sign that he might relent in his anger, but he kept his head lowered, pretending to be engrossed in whatever research he was studying. Without another word, he pushed open the door and left.

SNSNSNSNSNSNSN

Dean waited until he was certain Sam was asleep before he pulled out the crumpled pieces of newspaper he had snatched out of Bobby's pocket when he had pretended to stumble. He hated tricking the older hunter, but both him and Sam were hiding something from him, and he damn sure was going to find out what it was.

Flipping on the small overhead light, he smoothed out the two articles and read them. His stomach twisted into knots after reading through both of them twice. Everything had seemed to happen so fast, but he was certain he saw the Wendigo go up in flames before the avalanche dragged him down the hill. But now as he stared at the news clippings in his hands he wasn't so sure. If Bobby brought them for Sam to look at, he obviously realized there was more to both stories than two people mysteriously disappearing. And if Bobby thought it, Sam sure as hell must have had some doubt as to whether he really had killed the Wendigo.

For all his little brother's talk of them hunting again, he had kept this a secret because he really didn't believe that Dean would ever be able to hunt anymore. Anger surged though him as he glared through blurred vision at his useless left leg, and then shifted his sights to Sam. "Sam, wake the hell up," he shouted, not caring if it was the middle of the night or if anyone else could hear him.

Startled awake, Sam shot straight up in his bed, and glanced wildly about the room, looking for any signs of danger. Once he had determined there was no immediate threat, his wary gaze settled on Dean. "What the – " the words died abruptly on his lips when Dean waved the two pieces of paper in his direction. "It – it's not what you think, Dean. I killed that Wendigo. You saw him die yourself . . . those three people – "

"Three!" Dean's anger exploded. "Three people are missing – are probably dead, and you thought to keep it from me cause you think I'm a fuckin' cripple!"

"That's not true, Dean, an' you know it," Sam tried to defend himself, but couldn't quite meet Dean's steely gaze. "People go missing all the time, an' I just didn't think these three had anything to do with us."

"Well, Bobby certainly seemed to think so, an' right now I'd take his opinion on the matter a helluva lot more than I would listen to yours." Dean threw the articles on the bedside table, and pushed himself forward in his bed. "I believed you, Sam – I believed all that crap you threw at me about Carl Brashear, but you don't even have the smallest amount of faith in me."

"You're making this all about you, and it's not," Sam snapped, his own voice now rising to match Dean's. "I killed that fuckin' Wendigo. You saw it go in flames with your own goddamn eyes. But I knew damn well that you'd somehow twist it around in your head to be my fault, so I kept it from you. But I swear to God, it had nothing to do with your leg."

"So what your saying is that you thought this is some sort of odd coincidence?" Dean sneered, a bitter laugh erupting from deep within him. "When has anything ever been just a coincidence where we're concerned, little brother? It's always connected. You know it," he jabbed an index finger toward Sam, who flinched as if Dean had punched him in the gut, and then pointed at himself, "an' so do I."

"It really doesn't matter if it's our kind of problem or not, Dean, cause we're not hunting it." Sam uttered with a firm shake of his head. "My leg's in a cast for at least another month. An' you . . . well, let's jus' say I don't think you could really outrun whatever this thing is using a walker." Instant regret filled Sam's face, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, but he made no attempt to smooth things over with what Dean would know to be a lie.

"I don't have to outrun it, I just have to outsmart it. And just because I left my fuckin' leg up there on that damn mountain, doesn't mean I left my brains up there like you did. I can be a hunter again, Sam. Maybe not like I was before, but that doesn't mean I'm willing to give up. So that means you either have to support me or just stay the hell out of my way."