"No. We're not gonna have that conversation."

"Well, we need to."

"He's not gonna die."

"He might."

"Sam!"
"Dean, we need to brace ourselves."
"Why?"
"Because this is real!"

But it was all much too real for Dean. He felt like he was suffocating, there in that hospital, with all the beeps of monitors and sounds of wheels on linoleum and looking at Sam, who was seemingly giving up on Bobby, their friend, their lifelines, their freaking second dad. It was all too much, and Dean couldn't handle it. But upon stepping outside, the suffocating feeling was even worse, because the fresh air and sunshine and singing birds didn't fit in at all with what was happening. No, this was dark, there should be storm clouds and rain to match this terrible feeling of despair and dread in his chest. It was squeezing him, vice like in its grip, and actually, for a few seconds, he almost dropped down to his knees and calling on Cas, because he'd fixed this before, he'd brought Bobby back once, he could do it again. But then Dean remembers that Cas is gone too, and the sobbing starts, and drops onto the steps of Hammonton Regional Hospital and sobs into his hands, because at this point the list of losses in his and Sam's lives were full, and he didn't think he could bear adding one more person to it.

Meanwhile, Sam wasn't sure what he was feeling, as he sank into the cold, plastic chair of the hospital's hallway. This couldn't be happening, he thought, there's no way this is real. It had to be another hellacious hallucination from Hell, even though he was sure that was behind him at this point. But upon reaching his thumb into his left palm, and feeling the scar there from the cut he'd made so many months prior, he found, it was real, and that's when his tears started spilling over the brim once more. It was striking, the realness of this, and for a few seconds, he wished it was an overlapping torture from Hell, because at least then he'd know that Bobby was really alright, that he was probably waiting for him, leaning against the Impala and drinking a beer, that he could run his thumb over that scar and this hospital would fade away and he could pull himself together and help find some more Leviathan to hopefully rid the world of. But no, everything around him was still intact, white, and absurdly clean, and the sound of beeping monitors and wheels on linoleum was driving him insane, so he closed his eyes and tried to imagine himself somewhere else, anywhere else, and surprisingly he thought back to just a few months ago, when he, Dean and Bobby had been at Bobby's house, back in Sioux Falls, before it got burned down. They were having a movie night, and he and Dean had been fighting over silly things; Chuck Norris, Jet Li, and licorice, but things were content, and they were a family, and all of them were in good health, and nothing (well, other than the obvious things) was broken, and as far as things go with the Winchester boys, things were perfect. So Sam sits there in the hallway of Hammonton Regional Hospital with his eyes closed, running his thumb over his palm, and pictures himself eating popcorn and drinking a beer, yelling at his brother about how much licorice sucks and wishes with everything that this is just a bad dream.