A.N.: I read smalld1171's wonderful story 'Done' and before I knew it this story had bloomed in my mind. Spoilers up to 7 x09. I sincerely hope that Bobby will be just fine and have yet another battle scar to brag about. I don't think I (or the boys) can handle anything else. This is sad, don't say I didn't warn you. Thanks to all who read and review.

Disclaimer: Well I checked and I don't have their name on my underwear so I guess I don't own them. Darn!

There is one brief moment, one single, solitary second where nothing moves in the van. Dean can see his tears reflected in the eyes of his brother and a shadow of an overhead light catches on the bullet hole that they both have just realized the meaning of. It's the silence that he can't stand. The damn silence is the loudest sound he has ever heard.

And then the steering wheel catches as the van sways and Sam reaches out a hand to him.

"Whoa Dean!"

All of his senses slam back into him at once as he hears himself hiss out a held breath and his sense of smell is assaulted by the pungent odor of fresh blood.

"Sam," he whispers, his brother taking the cue and disappearing into the back after a curt nod towards him.

His eyes follow where his body cannot.

"Sam?"

"Oh God, Oh god."

Dean cranes his head backwards. "What? What is it?"

"He's...um...God, he's bleeding really bad."

Dean divides his eyes between the road and the only family he has left. "How bad is it?"

A nearby car horn screams into his window as the van starts to swerve.

"Shit!" He cries out, hishands gripping the wheel as he narrowly misses sideswiping someone.

"Dean!"

"What Sam? Jesus, is he..." He gulps, can't force himself to say that one word, the one he has been married to formost of his life.

"No, there's a pulse. It's weak, but it's there."

Dean can't stop the strangled sob that forces itsway out of his throat. "Son of a bitch."

He hears some movement from behind and feels his brother's hand clamp down on his shoulder. "Just drive, I'll take care of Bobby."

If there is one thing Dean has always excelled at, one thing he can concentrate on when the shit really hits the fan, it's his ability to take orders without question. "You got it Sammy."

His foot presses down on the accelerator so hard he's surprised that it doesn't end up in the engine.

Just let a cop try and stop him.

It's almost comical how opposite everything seems as soon as they tear up into the hospital. Instead of everything slowing down, everything is hyper speed and Dean can't keep up with what all the people are saying, let alone doing.

Thank God he has Sammy.

"Middle age man, gunshot wound to the head, been unconscious since it happened, but I was able to find a pulse."

A chill goes through Dean at the sight of Bobby laying on the gurney quiet and motionless. He forces thefood he suddenly feels crawl its way up his throat down with a loud gulp.

Somehow he makes it inside to the waiting room where he watchesSam with a cold sort of detachment that he hasn't felt since Dad.

Dad.

The thought slices across his mind.

"Robert Singer."

Something in the name has Dean's mind drifting, unable to handle the horrible here and now.

"Dean, Sam, this is Robert Singer."

Sam had waved shyly before taking his hand back to slip it into Dean's. He always did that when he was nervous.

Dean, the fearless eight year old, had leaned into the man and sniffed the air around him. The very alcohol permeated air.

His father ran a hand through his hair. "Look, I wouldn't ask if I had anyone else, but Caleb is dealing with the multiple possessions in Tulsa and Jim has the stomach flu."

"Do I look like a baby sitter to you?" The surly man had groaned.

"Bobby, I'm asking you as a favor. Please."

There is a tense stare down to which the unfamiliar man finally backs down from. "Fine, but any more than a week and I can't be held responsible for what I do to them."

"Thanks Bobby. I owe you big time." He leans down to hug his sons goodbye and promises them that he will be back. Just like he always is.

Dean pulls Sam in close to his side and eyes the older man with distrust as he crosses over the threshold. "You smell funny."

The man's lips curl up in a smirk. "And you look funny, but I'm polite enough not to announce it."

Dean frowns and grips tighter to his pudgy brothers fingers.

That night passes in uncomfortable silence; Sam likes all of the books in the house even though all of them are grownup books and therefore boring as hell to Dean.

Bobby digs out a small stack of children books with a look on his face that would take Dean many years to understand.

Dean decides when he sees Sammy's face light up, that he just might like the old geezer a little bit.

He decides it's a lot when he wakes up in the morning and sees all of his awesome cars.

It takes no time at all for the scary, strange man to transform into cool Uncle Bobby.

"Dean," The shift of his shoulder jerks him out of his thoughts.

"Huh? What?"

"I said I finished filing out the paperwork, they said they will come get us when we can see him."

"Okay. And?"

"And nothing. We just have to wait."

"Well that sucks."

"I know. Are you?"

"Don't ask if I'm okay Sam. Just...don't."

The younger man plops down beside him. "Sorry, I'm just worried."

Dean leaps to his feet. "Don't be worried about me Sam, I'm not the one with a freaking bullet in my skull!"

"Okay, okay Dean. Just calm down."

"I'll calm down when we get some damn news, but for now...I'm gonna freak out if you don't mind!" Dean throws both of his arms into the air.

Sam waits until they come back down to his sides and then tentatively reaches for one.

"I know Dean, okay? I know. This sucks, it's awful, you're losing your mind and so I am. Jesus, dude, so I am. But Bobby needs us," He huffs a sad sound into his chest. "Hell I need you man." He stares up at his brother with tear bright eyes. "I can't handle losing you right now okay? Please."

Dean lets out an unsteady breath. "Okay Sammy. Okay."

Its hours later when Sam finally succumbs to sleep inthe awkward, cheaply made orange plastic chair, hislimbs too big for the damn thing so they end up all over the place.

Dean would laugh if he had it in him. It seems like ages since he has had a good laugh, or better yet, a reason to laugh.

Sounds of the hospital lull him into a half awake state, the elevator music making it so easy to follow his brother down into oblivion. Just for a few minutes...

"Dean, I just think we should talk about it."

"There is nothing to talk about."

His little brother gives an exasperated sigh. "Yes there is. It's not going to go away if you just ignore it."

"Really? Oh jeez Sam, I guess all your heart to hearts have finally worked. I can feel myself healing right now."

"Don't mock me! We need to deal with itDean."

Dean finally lifted himself up from his eye level with the Impala. "No, we don't need to do anything. You need to do whatever the hell you need to do and let me fix the car."

"Dean,"

It's been a week of this back and forth bullshit and Dean has finally had enough. "No Sam!" He slams a wrench into the frame of the car. "You go to group, you write in your diary, you do yoga or whatever the hell you have to do, but leave me out of it."

His younger brother looks hurt, but continues to stand there, eyes filling with infuriating wetness.

"Dean, I just..."

"I know okay, I get it. But it's not happening," he looks down at his feet. "Just leave me alone Sam okay? Just let me do my work."

His younger brother shakes his head. "Yeah okay." and by the time Dean can feel sorry for what he has done Sam is gone.

Dean hangs his head as he tightens a bolt. "And the dick of the year award goes to!" he declares.

"That really something you want?" Bobby walks up to him with a clean t shirt and a bottle of water.

"Bobby, shouldn't sneak up on me like that. You could get yourself hurt."

"And you could get yourself dead." the older man chuckles.

"Yeah, keep dreaming."

Bobby hands him the water bottle. "How are things coming along out here?"

"Slow. I thought I would be done by now."

"Get done a lot faster if you would let someone help you."

He chokes on the mouthful of water in his throat. "Sam? You have got to be kidding me! Kid doesn't know a wrench from a toothbrush. No, no he'd just get in the way. Better for me to take care of it myself."

Bobby shrugs. "If that's the way you want it. I didn't just mean Sam, although you should stop being a jackass to him. I was talking about me, I could help."

Dean swipes a hand across his forehead. "No offense Bobby, but I don't think you can."

Bobby pats the side the car with a sad smile. "No, I suppose not."

Dean chuckles awkwardly, feeling like he has insulted him somehow. "Thanks anyway."

Bobby walks past the car to pat Dean solidly on the shoulder. "It'll be alright son."

Dean grins at him. "Course it will! I'm gonna get my baby all shiny and new and she'll be eating road in no time."

It occurs to him after Bobby has sauntered away with sorrowful look in his eyes that he wasn't just talking about the car.

Dean wakes with a start, the sensation offoreign liquid drying on his cheeks.

Sam is no longer folded origami style into the chair beside him and Dean wonders sluggishly where he has gone.

He pulls a hand across his weary eyes having just enough time to clear his face of all the evidence before Sam comes bursting through the double doors.

He's on his feet and striding towards his brothers in seconds.

"Dean,"

"What is it Sam?"

"He's out of surgery."

Dean tries to gauge what Sam isn't telling him. "How did it go?"

"They've done everything they can do. They said it was touch and go there for a while, but he pulled through. They just aren't sure what sort of damage has been done."

"Okay? But they said he's going to be fine right? He's gonna be fine."

"They don't know Dean. It's up to Bobby now."

"What the hell does that mean Sam!"

"He's not out of the woods yet."

"Okay, stop speaking fortune cookie mumbo jumbo, just tell me."

"It's not good, they said...they said he could still die Dean. He might," Sam stops to run a hand down his face. "God, he might still die."

Dean can't respond, can't do anything but gulp for air as his knees finally give out and he goes crashing to the floor.

Sam catches him on the way down, muttering bullshit and lies and calling out to him.

Bobby had always been there.

When Dad couldn't take them on a hunt.

When Sam and Dean were fighting.

When Dean showed up plastered because he was hunting solo and God, he missed Sam so much.

When Dad made the deal.

When Sam had died in his arms.

When Dean made the deal.

When he got out of Hell… and… when Sam went.

He was there to tell him he was being stupid, and stubborn and an ass.

He was there to tell him that he loved him (in that gruff way he always talked), that he mattered, and that he wasn't the biggest piece of shit ever crapped out.

He was there to back up Sam and him more times than he could count.

And now, he might die. Might be gone, dead, like so many others snatched away from them, from him.

He remembers what he said about strapping his Beautiful Mind brother into the car and driving off of the nearest pier.

Fuck that, drowning takes time. He was going to find a cliff.

Sam's voice couldn't be heard over the din in his mind.

He just hopes Bobby knew what the hell he was talking aboutall those years ago, when he told him 'It'll be alright son.'

Otherwise, the end of Robert Singer will be the end of the Winchesters too.