A/N: Someone gave me an idea for this chapter ages ago and I'm sorry I don't remember who it was. And I don't want to say more or else I'll give it away!

If you knew how lonely my life has been
And how long I've been so alone.
If you knew how I wanted someone to come along
And change my life the way you've done.

"Feels Like Home" –Edwina Hayes

It was so dark that Dean couldn't see his hand even when he waved it right in front of his face. Couldn't see the knotted twine bracelet he'd made himself a couple weeks, couldn't even see the raised white scar tissue on the back of his wrist from when he'd burned himself last summer. His seven-year-old body was trembling hard enough to make his teeth clack together and Dean half hoped this was all in his imagination because Dad had said he had to be as quiet as possible. Silent. Another wave of fear rolled through him at the thought of disobeying. John hadn't hit him since they left Uncle Bobby's months ago but the ex-marine could get loud, and it always made Sam cry. So Dean tried to avoid mistakes, from waking up too early or too late to making sure Sam didn't whine about his toes being cold even though it was January and the shoes Uncle Bobby had bought them were now too small.

Dean had no idea how long he'd been hiding. John had brought Dean into this place—something he called a root cellar—where the floor and walls and even the ceiling were made of dirt. Every now and then some of it crumbled into Dean's hair; he could feel it slipping down his neck. John had told Dean to just stay in the middle of the room and not make any noise, but prolonged minutes of sheer terror had forced the boy into a closet, sheltered only by a flimsy wooden door that had enough of a crack down the middle for Dean to peer out of. It didn't matter though because he couldn't see anything. Not the bracelet, not the scar. Certainly not whatever was coming. So he'd plunked down into the cold dirt—how could dirt be this cold—and drawn his knees up to this chest, trying to make himself tiny tiny tiny so that the monster would not find him.

He didn't know what kind of monster it was. The image he'd concocted in his head had fangs like a vampire and claws like a werewolf; it stole your skin like a shapeshifter and drained your blood like a djinn. He could hear it pacing back and forth, back and forth, just outside the root cellar door, the one John hadn't chained back up when he'd left Dean here. The shuffling was now louder and not so distant and Dean almost lost his mind with fright when there was a loud bang. More of the ceiling rained down and he swore the wall to his left shifted. Dean had seen someone buried alive on TV late at night when John thought he'd been sleeping and it was that memory that drove him out of the closet and into the open space of the cellar. Nothing happened. He was just thinking that maybe the monster had gone away when two bodies crashed through the doors leading to outside. Huge pieces of splintered wood flew and Dean felt one connect with his cheek, spinning him around and to the floor. By the time he got up, the two people were locked in combat, one wielding a large knife that was outlined against the starlight now coming in from the hole in the ceiling. The blade was almost the length of Dean's entire arm.

"Dad?" he coughed out. Some of the dirt had gotten into his mouth, down his throat. He coughed again.

"Hold on, kid," said the man with the knife. "Let me gank this guy real quick."

So not his dad. Where was John? He swore he wouldn't leave Dean alone, that he'd just be on the other side of the root cellar doors, within spitting distance of the Impala where Sam was sleeping. Because it was nighttime and he should be sleeping. It looked like Knife Guy was winning, backing the monster into the corner farthest from Dean while shouting all the bad words Dean had ever heard, one right after another, no breaths taken in between. And then Dean blinked and the monster was pushing back, driving Knife Guy back toward Dean and he scrambled out of the way just in time. Knife Guy faked left and the monster bought it, crashing into one of the two beams as the guy used its own momentum against it. The cellar seemed to quake but maybe that was just Dean's brain trying to run out his head. His whole body was trembling so hard he was barely on his feet.

"Hey, kid, come on." The guy was in Dean's face, knife on the ground next to them.

"No," Dean managed. His throat felt hot and itchy, his cheekbone ached where the wood had struck him.

"It's okay." The man was like John, with dark stubble and a deep voice. He wore a baseball cap and his eyes were kind as he reached out a hand. "My name is Caleb. I'm going to get you out of here." Caleb glanced around them and slapped the wall with an open palm. The cellar quaked again and Caleb's lips became a thin line. "See that? This place is gonna collapse. We got to go. Now." So it wasn't just in Dean's head. He took a step back.

"My dad said stay here. He said to hide until the monster came."

"He what?"

But Dean didn't get a chance to explain; the monster was at Caleb's shoulder.

"Look out!" Dean shrieked just as several fangs appeared, missing Caleb's neck by an inch as the Hunter rolled to the right, somehow keeping his body between the vampire and Dean.

"Crazy son of a bitch," Caleb panted. He took a split second to wink over his shoulder at Dean. "Let's get her done."

He lunged.

When Dean looked back on this fight, years, even decades later, he would remember not the smell of blood or the pulsing of his bruised face, but the dance between Caleb and the vampire. It was the most graceful thing he'd ever witnessed, a perfect rhythm between man and beast. One would take a step and the other would parry with two steps, or a sweep of an arm. Everyone move seemed calculated but beautiful to the small boy in the corner.

And it was over too soon. Caleb swung the machete a minute later and Dean knew even before it connected with flesh that it was a killing blow. The vampire's head thudded to the ground, rolling into the shadows.

"That's that," Caleb said, wiping vamp blood from his brow. "Can we go now?"

"My dad said not to," Dean whispered. He wanted nothing more than to take Caleb's offered hand and follow this glorious man into the night. But John had said stay until he came back. "He hates when me and Sammy don't listen."

"I get that," Caleb said, voice gentle. "But can you wait for him outside? I'm not kidding, the ceiling is going to come down any minute."

Dean debated, but in the end he shook his head.

"I can't."

"Sorry, kid," Caleb said, scooping Dean up and throwing him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. His face was inches from the blade of the machete that swung from Caleb's hips as they walked. "But your dad is wrong."

"No!" Dean shouted. John had taught him what to do if a stranger touched him. And that was to scream and flail and hope one of his tiny fists landed somewhere important.

"Put me down, put me down!" he screamed, lashing out with his feet, trying to aim his kicks downward.

"Holy shit, what are you doing?" Caleb said, hefting Dean further over his back. He grunted when Dean swung up and dug his nails into the tender skin under his right ear.

"Let me go!"

"Kid, stop, you're going to-,"

And that's when one of Dean's feet connected with the same beam the vampire had been flung into ten minutes earlier. The beam that had been knocked out of place; the only thing keeping the ceiling from collapsing on them.

There was a moment of stillness during which both Dean and Caleb paused before the latter bolted for the door.

He wasn't fast enough.

They had almost made it, were so very close, when Caleb stumbled and Dean was thrown from his shoulders, seeming to float through the air before colliding into something solid. He both felt and heard the bones in his left arm break and that was before the beam came tumbling down after him. Dean saw a patch of stars, saw the meteor shower of impending dirt, and then the stars blinked out and there was only blackness.

xxx

Bobby had been off the phone with Rufus for only thirty minutes when there was a banging on his front door.

"He said three days, right?" Bobby asked his Rottweiler. The dog had barked once at the noise but otherwise stood with his head cocked, ears perked toward the outside. Bobby swore the animal look downright puzzled. "And you'd be hollering something wild if it wasn't human," Bobby mused, grabbing his pistol from the side table. Someone was shouting on the other side of the door but Bobby had the radio turned up and couldn't make out the words.

"Alright, alright!" he yelled. "Hold your goddamn horses." He almost tripped over a pair of boots he'd left in the doorway and gave Karen a silent apology up in Heaven. God, she'd hate how sloppy he'd become, how the house was strewn with dirty clothes and hunting gear and very little else. "I said I'm coming," Bobby growled. He flipped all three locks and slid the nose of his pistol into the crack. "Who is it? Rufus if it's you, I'll cut your-,"

"Help," came the reply and the hoarse, desperate voice was certainly not Rufus Turner. "Bobby, please." Rummy nudged the door the rest of the way open and Bobby's reprimand died in his throat as he took in John Winchester. On his door step. At seven in the morning.

"John?" The pistol hung at his side. "That you?"

"Yeah," John said. There was a smear of blood on his neck and when Bobby swiveled his eyes downwards, he saw John's hands were covered in the stuff as well.

"You hurt? Where are the boys? They with you?"

"It's Dean." John said, each word a knife to his gut.. "I need your help with him." But Bobby had starting move past the other Hunter as soon as he'd heard Dean's name. Rummy was at the Impala, front paws up on the backseat window.

All of Bobby's breath left him when he opened the door.

Dean was in there, but unconscious. The little boy was slumped up against the backseat, head flopped onto his chest like a ragdoll and there was a wet sound coming from somewhere. It took Bobby another second to realize the noise was Dean's breathing, harsh and shallow.

"A vampire," John said at his shoulder before Bobby could ask. "Didn't bite him, as far as I know."

And there was Sam, strapped in his booster seat with silent tears covering his cheeks, leaning over as far as he could to push his small hand into Dean's side again and again, movements growing more frantic as his brother didn't respond.

"Sam, I told you to stop that," John said. "Dean's hurt." Sam stopped prodding and stuck his fingers in his mouth but didn't take his eyes off his brother. A sucking sound joined Dean's raspy breathing. The toddler hadn't even noticed Bobby..

Bobby crawled into the cramped backseat and was about to put his arms around Dean to lift him when he saw the boy's left arm. It was one of the few times in his life when he actually felt the blood drain from his face and he half-wondered if he was about to faint at the sight of Dean's injury.

"Shit," he whispered, breathing in deep through his nose. He would not pass out. "John, why isn't he at a hospital?" John did not have a good answer and he knew it as he stuttered through a broken excuse.

"I-I didn't know how bad it was. Thought maybe… maybe you could patch him up. Like last time." Bobby stared at the Hunter, the words not quite sinking in all the way before he turned back to Dean's arm. The limb was mangled. As far as Bobby could tell—and Lord knew broken bones were not his specialty—it looked crushed in at least two places and when he used both hands to oh so carefully raise it away from Dean's body, he found white bone poking through at the elbow. Dean's fingers were swollen, rigid, and cold and Bobby wanted to scream when he noticed how blue the nail beds were. The kid would be lucky to keep the arm. As Bobby lowered the mess back down, Dean's eyes opened and they were just as bright a green as he remembered, even through the haze of pain.

"Unc' Bobby?" the boy mumbled, gaze unfocused. "Wha's goin on?" The right side of Dean's face was swollen as well, a spiderweb of scrapes with one long gash running from just beneath his right eye down to his jaw. Bobby wondered if that was broken as well.

"Don't bite me," Bobby warned as he stuck a finger in Dean's mouth and gingerly swept it back and forth, making sure nothing was gonna block Dean's airway if he moved. "Still got all your teeth," he said a moment later, wiping his finger on his shirt. It had come out bloody. Sam watched all of the proceedings with a distressed but curious expression, still slurping away at his fingers, his other hand clutched around something Bobby couldn't see.

"Bobby?" John was hovering at the open door like a fool, shifting from foot to foot, trying to peer past Bobby's stocky frame to his boys.

"Get in the car, John," Bobby said as Dean's eyes closed. He clutched Dean's good hand in his own, afraid to break contact with the boy. As long as he held on to him, Dean would be fine. "Get in the car and drive. Now. We're going to the hospital."

By the time they pulled into Sioux Falls General, Bobby was sweating through his shirt from the effort of trying to remain calm. He'd called Carolyn on the way and let her know as much of the situation as he could. Which was practically nothing, especially with John riding up front and not willing to divulge any more details. The doctor wasn't happy to hear any of it but agreed to help in any way she could. She had missed the Winchester brothers the past six months and though she hadn't spoken to Bobby since they'd left, she had a feeling their reappearance wasn't going to be taken lightly, especially with Dean in such bad condition.

"I gotcha," Bobby soothed as he lifted Dean out of the Impala twenty minutes later. The kid was covered in sweat as well but Bobby knew it was likely from an infection or even just the amount of pain Dean was in.

"Stop," Dean said, groaning as his injured arm was moved. "Hurs'."

"I know," Bobby said. It was almost February and there was a good foot of snow on the ground with more on the way. At least Dean had been wearing a winter coat before his injury; Bobby had seen it on the floor of the Impala. He hadn't noticed what Sam was wearing but God, he hoped the little one had on some decent clothes. The youngest Winchester hadn't said a single word the entire way to the hospital and both adults were too focused on Dean to pay much, if any, attention to the toddler.

Bobby cradled Dean close to his chest and started into the ER.

"What are you doing?" he snapped a second later as John made to follow him.

"I'm coming in."

"Get Sam," Bobby said through gritted teeth. John's face paled.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking. God, Sam."

"Meet you inside," Bobby said.

Carolyn was waiting just inside the doors as she promised and Bobby resented the empty feeling in both his heart and arms as he laid Dean down on a gurney. The boy seemed to have passed out again but his strained breathing was loud enough to break through the noises of the hospital.

"Walk with me," Carolyn said as an orderly pushed the gurney through a set of double doors. She carried Dean's thin file from the previous summer. "What do you know?"

"Almost nothing," said Bobby. "Just that his arm is a mess and his face ain't looking great either."

"What happened?"

"I don't know."

"When did it happen?"

"I don't know."

"Bobby," Carolyn said. "We need details."

They were in a room now and there were nurses everywhere, cutting off Dean's clothes and sticking monitors on his skin. The air filled with beeping. Bobby watched Dean's heart rate spike again and again on the screen closest to him.

"He's awake!" one of the nurses said and Carolyn swooped in, Bobby right at her side.

"Dean, can you hear me? It's Dr. Carolyn, I helped you last spring when you had pneumonia. I'm going to take care of you now, okay? You hurt you arm." Dean's eyes were skittering over the room, landing first on Carolyn, then on Bobby, then on the activity around them. There was blood smeared on the sheet under his face and his bangs were stuck to his forehead with sweat. Bobby brushed them away, tears pricking the back of his eyes when his hand met hot skin.

"Heart rate is 130," someone said.

"Blood pressure is 90/50 and dropping," someone else called out.

"I know you're scared, Dean," Carolyn said. How she could be so calm, Bobby had no idea. He wanted to snatch Dean up and run for the hills. "But we're going to take care of you. Do you remember what happened to your arm?" Dean stared at her, his chest starting to heave, those green eyes flicking over to Bobby for answers.

"Heart rate is 140."

"It's okay, kid," Bobby said. He went to pick up Dean's good hand and give it a squeeze but it was already being held by someone else who was inserting an IV into the back of it. He captured Dean's gaze at last, leaning over him so his face was the only thing Dean could see.

"We're gonna help you, Dean," he whispered as he watched more panic gather behind Dean's eyes.

"Heart rate is 145. No, now 150."

Dean suddenly tore his good hand away from the nurse holding and reached across his body, grasping for his injured arm.

"Hurts," he panted at Bobby. "It hurts!" Bobby caught the boy's flailing hand and held it tighter than was probably comfortable. His heart near exploded when he felt Dean grip back. This, this feeling was why he loved Dean Winchester so much. That even when he was gasping on a hospital bed, he could still manage to put his trust in Bobby. The Hunter bent low as Dean's lips moved without sound but he couldn't make out what the kid was saying.

"He's scared," Carolyn said. "And probably going out of his mind with pain." She turned to a nurse.

"Give him a low dose of morphine. I don't want to knock him out just yet, but let's get him more comfortable."

"Hey, Dean," she said, voice still remarkably gentle. "I'm going to listen to your lungs, okay? It won't hurt, I promise." Dean's body visibly relaxed a few seconds later as the morphine slipped into his veins. His eyelids lowered to half-mast and his fingers stopped scrabbling against Bobby's hand.

"He's got some crap in his lungs," Carolyn said, looping the stethoscope back around her neck when she done. "But they don't sound too bad."

"Heart rate is down to 140."

"Blood pressure is stabilizing."

"Carolyn," a voice said and Bobby looked up to find another doctor in the room. He was younger than Bobby, but also shorter. His white coat looked so clean, it was brighter than the snow outside. The Hunter took a step away from the bed in order to put himself between Dean and the new doctor.

"This is Dr. Fielding," Carolyn said to Bobby, sensing his trepidation. "He's a pediatric orthopedic surgeon. In town for a conference, believe it or not." She glowered right back at him when Bobby gave her a look. "Bobby, this is so far out of my league, it's not even my sport. Dean's arm needs an expert. Otherwise, he'll have to be transferred out of Sioux Falls and I know you don't want that." There was shouting from the hallway.

"Dean! Bobby!"

John practically skidded into the room, Sam on his hip, the child looking even more nervous than he had in the car. Once he saw all the people in the room, he hid his face in John's shoulder and didn't look back up.

"Are you Dean's father?" Carolyn asked and John nodded.

"How is he?"

"Not good," Bobby said. "As anyone with two eyes can plainly see." John cringed then straightened his spine. He wasn't used to being talked down and he certainly wasn't going to take it in a room full of doctors, much less from another Hunter.

"I messed up, I got it, okay? Geez, Bobby. Now, how's Dean?"

"He's hanging in there," Carolyn said taking a step toward John which caused him to reflexively move backwards, toward the door. "But we need to clear the room so Dr. Fielding and others can work. There are too many people in here right now."

"I'm not going anywhere," John said. "That's my son!"

"I know," Carolyn said. "We'll take good care of him."

"Carolyn," Dr. Fielding said and there was a warning in his voice. He was bent over Dean's arm, nose almost touching the kid's shoulder. "This arm doesn't even have a pulse. He needs to go to surgery immediately."

"Okay," Carolyn said, ushering John and Bobby out of the room, both of whom were wearing matching horrified expressions.

"Surgery?" Bobby said.

"Dr. Fielding is one of the best in the region," she said, directing them into a room across the hall. There was barely enough room for two chairs and a small table. Carolyn still had Dean's file and as opened it, Bobby's mind filled with memories of Dean sick with pneumonia, lying pathetic on the guest bed, his ribs digging into Bobby's side as he carried him. That had been some of the worst few days in his life and the kid had only spent a few hours in the hospital. Now? Bobby's nerves lurched, his whole body swaying on the spot. He couldn't lose Dean, he just couldn't.

"You can help by telling me what happened," Carolyn said to John. The two of them were sitting. Bobby shook his head and focused. Sam was on his father's lap, hand back in his mouth but at least he wasn't hiding his face anymore. Bobby attempted a smile at the toddler but he knew it came out disfigured. Maybe he would never smile again. As it was, the world was breaking apart just across the hall and here Bobby was, cooped up in a glorified closet.

"It was a freak accident," John said, running a hand over his face. "He was playing in an old dirt cellar and it caved in. One of the supporting beams came down on his arm." Carolyn kept her face blank; it wasn't her right to judge in front of the parents. Not even Hunter parents.

"When did this happen?" John swallowed and he didn't seem to want to meet Bobby's eyes. He knew he should have gone straight to the nearest hospital but Bobby had only been a few hours' drive away and he hadn't realized just how injured Dean was. "How many hours ago?" she prompted.

"About two o'clock this morning." Carolyn couldn't help it; her eyebrows shot up.

"Dean was playing in a dirt cellar at two o'clock in the morning?" She glanced at Bobby but he was busy trying to murder John Winchester with a stare. Carolyn laid down her pen. She gave Sam a smile and a wave. Still looking at the child, still smiling, she asked,"Mr. Winchester, was there any type of…creature…involved in Dean's freak accident?"

"No, ma'am," John said immediately. Bobby had to wonder if the man even know how to tell the truth anymore. Bobby wasn't an upstanding citizen but he knew the difference between right and wrong. There was a time to fib and a time to tell the truth and this was clearly a situation for the latter.

"She knows," Bobby growled. He could barely get the words out. "You don't gotta lie to her. She ain't telling anyone."

"It was a freak accident," John repeated. There was danger in his tone, too much for the tiny room they were in. Sam looked up at his father and whined softly but then his fingers were back in his mouth. He was like a little robot, Bobby thought. He only did one thing. Several possibilities of what could have happened to Sam since Bobby last saw him flashed in his. None of them were kind.

"Alright," Carolyn said slowly. She stood up. She might be judging John Winchester just a little now. "I'm going to check on Dean. You can wait in the waiting room down the hall to the left. I'll update you as soon as I can."

xxx

"You know," Bobby said as they walked down the hall. Anger threatened to spill out of him, the tremor in his words was just the start. "I sent a Hunter after a vampire a couple days ago, just south of Broken Bow. In Nebraska. Which is," he paused as if calculating something in his head but stared hard at John, "about a 4-5 hour drive from here. Maybe 5-6 if you had to stop and triage someone along the way. Or, say, dig someone out from under a roof."

John sat Sam down in a chair near the corner of the waiting room. Sam glanced up at Bobby, brow furrowed, as if trying to guess where he knew him from. Then his attention was caught by the TV mounted on the opposite wall, which was playing a cartoon on mute. He was dressed in jeans and a long sleeve shirt and, Bobby noticed with relief, a puffy winter jacket.

"But that vampire," Bobby continued in a lower voice, "was preying on small children and I can't imagine a parent letting their child—children—close to him knowing that."

"It was an accident," John spat. Bobby could tell Sam was listening, watching the two men of out of the corner of his eye. The kid was a hell of a lot smarter than he let on. "What do you wanna do, Bobby? Crucify me? Fine." He swept his hand over his face, then shrugged. Bobby shook his head in disgust.

"You ain't supposed to be hunting with those kids in tow."

"Yeah?" John said. He sank into a chair next to Sam, stretched out his legs so they almost touched the row of chairs opposite him. Dirt fell from his boots to the linoleum floor, breadcrumbs leading to the culprit. "What should I do with them? Leave them alone in a motel room with cockroaches and bad drinking water? Hire a babysitter?" Sarcasm carved his words out of the air.

"Put them in school!" Bobby cried. One of the nurses at the reception desk shot him a nasty look. "You promised," Bobby said. "Back in August, you said-,"

"I know what I said," John snapped. "And it didn't work out that way."

"If Sam wasn't here, I might be tempted to smack you, John Winchester." The other man didn't reply, only glanced away as Bobby's cell started going off in his pocket.

"I'll be right back," Bobby told John, more of a threat than reassurance. This was far from over. Bobby would hold a goddamn inquisition until he found out what exactly had been going on since last summer. He picked up the phone once he was outside the double doors of the Emergency Room.

"Hello?"

"Bobby, it's Caleb." The younger man's voice was full of exhaustion, almost hoarse with it.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I just need to sleep for a hundred days but then I'll be fine. How's the kid?"

"The kid?" Bobby could almost hear Caleb's confusion in the following pause.

"The little boy? His father didn't seem keen on taking him to the hospital so I told him to go straight to your house. Geez, he wasn't a no-show, was he? That kid was in bad shape when he left here. Don't know why you set a Hunter with kids on this case, Bobby. I could have handled it on my own." During this short speech, Bobby had slid down against the wall of the hospital until his butt was on the concrete. The ground bit through his jeans.

"Bobby?"

"I'm here. I'm at the hospital."

"Good. How is he? What's his name anyway? You know him?" Caleb had always been curious and though he asked more questions than Bobby cared for, the young man never seemed particularly bothered when Bobby chose not to answer.

"Dean. His name's Dean. He's in surgery." There was another pause then, "Caleb, I didn't send John and the boys on this case. I don't send him on any cases. I ain't seen him in six months."

"Winchester…" Caleb repeated, letting the word slide off his tongue. "That name sounds familiar. Why?"

"These are the boys I took care of last summer," Bobby explained.

"No," Caleb said. "That's not it. I'm sure I've heard the name John Winchester before. In monster circles. Must be making a name for himself since you know they don't usually give a rat's ass about who we are."

"Listen, I'm glad you checked in but I've got to be getting back in the hospital. I don't want to miss Dean's doctor."

"Right, right, I did have a reason for calling." Caleb took a deep breath and when he spoke again, his voice was lower, almost timid.

"Bobby, I ain't sure what happened, but something was off here."

"What do you mean? The vampire?"

"No. I mean, he was a nasty son of a bitch but I ganked him easy enough. Got the one other we didn't know about too, the female. But I'm talking about Dean. You know, he was down in vamp's nest when I found him?"

"So the vampire took him?" John had allowed the boy to be stolen right out from under him? Sloppy, especially for a Hunter. Especially for John Winchester if those stories Caleb talked about were true. Bobby had heard them too.

"Well," Caleb said. "I-I don't think so. We didn't have much of a chance to chat before all hell broke loose, but it sounded like John told the boy to wait in the nest." Caleb was quiet for a second but Bobby's head had already filled with a roar. Heat that started in his ears flooded down his neck and into the pit of his stomach where it coiled like a flaming dragon. "Bobby? I think John was using Dean as bait." Somehow Bobby was on his feet, the phone clenched in his fist as he headed back inside. "Bobby? You there?" The roaring was louder now that John was back in his sights and Bobby couldn't see past the fury filling his vision, couldn't see the deep lines of worry in the other Hunter's face or the way his whole body seemed to bend under an invisible weight. He saw only Dean, that precious boy, the one with the green eyes and fragile sense of worth. The one who liked to build with blocks and throw snowballs. He saw that child waiting scared in a dark cellar facing a monster with fangs. He saw Dean crushed under a wooden beam.

Bobby saw red.

His fist connected with John's face just as the latter looked up from saying something to Sam. Seeing that the punch was filled with months of fear and anger and frustration, it sent John reeling backwards. He crashed into a cluster of chairs. Someone screamed from across the room.

"You piece of shit," Bobby said, hauling John up by his collar and hitting him again. This time, blood flew from John's nose. Bobby was vaguely aware of Sam being scooped up by a nurse, the little boy's eye wide, but not fearful. "You used your own son as bait, didn't you?" John's hands came up but he was too late. Bobby struck for the third time. It was only then that a pair of security guards pried the two men apart. Or rather, extricated John from Bobby's grip.

"Out," one of them said. He had a large blonde mustache that quivered as Bobby righted himself. "Outside until you cool off."

"I didn't do anything," John protested, wiping his bloody face with his sleeve. He jutted his chin at Bobby. "He punched me. And it's too cold for my son out there." He looked around for Sam only to find the boy in the arms of a nurse several feet away. The toddler's whole body was tilted away from the nurse, but he wasn't screaming or crying as Bobby would have imagined. The nurse pursed her lips but set Sam down, perhaps expecting him to run to his father. Instead, the child looked between the two Hunters one more time and then dropped onto the floor facing the TV. The nurse's glare deepened.

"Are you going to behave yourself?" the blonde mustached guard asked Bobby. He shook his head at Bobby's already swelling hand. "This is a hospital, sir. You need to have some respect."

Bobby opened his mouth but to say what? He wasn't looking to turn John into the cops for what he'd done. Even if he could spin a solid enough lie for them to believe. It wasn't his place to break up a family. Not another one. All he wanted to do was protect the boys, and taking John away from them wasn't the way to do. Not matter how much he wished it was.

"Sorry," he muttered, turning away from John and his bleeding lip. "Just worried about the boy." The other security guard left as the blonde one patted Bobby gingerly on the back.

"We see it more often than you'd think. But if either of you throws another punch, you'll have to leave the premises." Bobby nodded.

Aching for something to do with his empty hands, Bobby walked over to Sam who was still on the floor. In his hand was the same action figure Bobby remembered from last summer, the one Sam had clung to for weeks. It was a wonder the thing hadn't been lost or forgotten somewhere.

"Sam, you wanna get up in the comfy chair? The ground's awfully cold." Sam didn't even blink. "Sam?" Bobby repeated, crouching down.

"He doesn't talk," John said, from his seat a few chairs over. The same frowning nurse had brought him an ice pack for his face and John grimaced as he held it up to his lip. There was another one on the chair next to him, probably meant for Bobby's hand.

"Well, you've always been quiet, haven't you?" Bobby said. "Hey, Sam?" John sighed.

"Bobby, he doesn't talk at all. Stopped saying words. All except for one."

"Dean?" Bobby guessed. At the mention of his brother's name, Sam's head whipped around and he searched the waiting room, even getting up on his knees to look past the rows of chairs.

"He ain't here," Bobby said, trying to make his voice as quiet as possible without actually whispering. "Well, he's here in the hospital, but he'll be gone for a little while. While the doctors make him better." He had Sam's attention now; the boy was still up on his knees but staring straight at Bobby. His cheeks had lost the baby roundness they'd had before and it made those hazel eyes seem bigger. Even more innocent. Long hair flopped over his forehead, the ends greasy. Again, Sam didn't appear scared; it was almost as if he was waiting for something. Bobby still couldn't tell if he recognized him.

"Can I put you up on the chair?" he asked. After a couple moments, Sam stuck his arms up toward Bobby. When he went to put the boy down, Sam clung to Bobby's shirt, eyes turned upwards.

"Dean," he said expectantly. Bobby swung them both around and sat in the chair himself with Sam on his lap. The toddler's attention went back and forth from Bobby to the TV and back to Bobby again.

"I know," Bobby said. "You want yer brother. I would too if I were you. Bet he takes real good care of you, huh?"

"Dean," Sam said again, releasing his grip enough to stick one hand in his mouth. John grimaced.

"Don't know where he picked that habit up," he told Bobby. "Started sucking on his fingers a couple months back. Dean never even sucked his thumb. Didn't care for a pacifier either, though Lord knows Mary tried."

The only thing Bobby knew about Mary Winchester—Sam and Dean's mother—was that she'd been killed by something supernatural when Sam was an infant. Sam didn't remember her and Dean had never spoken of his mom outside of asking for her when he was sick or tired. Bobby clutched at this new information as tightly as Sam held onto his action figure; any information about the boys' upbringing was a goddamn revelation to him. He ached to know more about their first years of life, of the woman who had given birth to such gentle and intelligent children. This part of him also wondered what John had been long before the Hunting life kidnapped him. If he'd been the doting father figure.

So, Dean had never sucked his thumb. Part of him felt foolish for caring about such a small scrap, the portion of him that still wondered if him being in the boys' lives was doing them any good. If maybe he was setting expectations too high. He'd worried about that after they'd left; had paced the house for more than one night questioning if all he'd done was give them something to miss and want.

"I'm trying, Bobby," John was saying, the words coming out half-strangled. "I really am. But-but, I look at them and I see her." Sam was propped up with his back against Bobby's chest, head tucked under Bobby's chin so he could see the TV. "Dean looks just like her, you know? Same exact eyes. His hair is getting darker now but when he born, it was blonde like hers." John stood and handed Bobby the extra ice pack. When the elder Winchester blinked, tears fell and Bobby finally recognized the other Hunter. At least part of him. And hear he thought the two of them had nothing in common.

"I lost my wife," Bobby said without looking up. Sam's slurping had settled into a soft rhythm and Bobby let it lull him back several years. "Her name was Karen. And she was beautiful." When John sank into the chair directly across from them, it was with the heaviest sigh Bobby had heard yet.

"What was it?"

"A demon." There was a shrug in his words. "Just your run-of-the-mill bastard having some fun." He finally let his gaze meet John's and Bobby saw himself. How he would have turned out if he hadn't killed the demon, if he'd been the one driven near-crazy with revenge. It was not a happy thought.

"I try not to remember her that way though. I remember other things. The way she had a different wristwatch for every outfit—she loved coordinating those types of things, was always real put together. How she chipped one of her front teeth giving the Heimlich to a stranger in a restaurant. She always wanted to get it fixed but it just made her even more perfect to me."

"Sometimes, Dean will say something and I know it came from her," John said. Sam craned his neck around to look at Bobby but he shook his head no and Sam turned back around. "The other week I caught him tell Sammy to 'Hush up', something I hadn't heard him say since she died. She used to tell me that when I said something she disagreed with. Dean doesn't know that he's doing it of course, and I'm stuck in this place of wanting him to always say it and never wanting to hear it again."

"I still lose my appetite when I hear old tapes Karen made. She used to make cassette tapes of her singing or even just talking. I got 'em all tucked away." He didn't mention the other times he listened to those tapes were when he was up to his neck in whiskey. The last time it happened had been the night after John took the boys away in August.

"I wish it got easier, John," Bobby said. "But as far as I know, it doesn't. You gotta learn to live with it. And if you can't," he said, watching John shake his head, "you gotta learn to live around it." John opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by the appearance of Carolyn.

"Dean's stable," was the first thing she said and John—having sprung out of his seat—rocked back on his heels letting out a gasp of relief as he clutched both hands behind his head. His lip was already swelling brilliantly, the ice pack forgotten on his chair. Carolyn swept her eyes over both men's injuries but didn't comment. "He also had an MRI and there is no bleeding in his brain, thank goodness. Probably just a nasty concussion from whatever gave him that gash on his face."

"Can I see him?" John asked. He was pacing, a couple steps to the left, a couple to the right, as if caged in his own personal Hell. Every bit of softness Bobby just witnessed had vanished.

"They just took him into surgery," Carolyn said. "And it's going to be a long one. Maybe five or six hours. I recommend maybe taking a breather." Her eyes bounced off the ER doors and back.

"No way," John said. Carolyn gave Bobby a pointed stare, slipping her gaze down to Sam.

"Maybe one of you could take Sam to Bobby's then. I know the boys are close, but the hospital isn't the best place for an anxious toddler. And Sam won't be able to see Dean until tomorrow when he's out of ICU."

"ICU?" Bobby said. "I know the break was bad, but…"

"It's mostly a precaution," the doctor explained. She motioned for John to take a seat and then took one herself. "Dr. Fielding will explain in more depth after the surgery and he can show you x-rays, but the short version is that Dean's arm was badly crushed." She made a fist in one hand and cupped her other around it. "A shoulder is mostly comprised of two parts." She raised the fist, "Dean's humeral head is almost completely shattered." She dropped her hands and Bobby watched them come apart in her lap. The word shattered vaulted around in his head like a boomerang. "He's also got a compound fracture to his elbow and we think another break in between the elbow and shoulder. Radiology is still reading the rest of the x-rays. Dr. Fielding will take care of the shoulder first, most likely by putting in a metal rod to stabilize the bone."

"It sounds like a lot because it is," Carolyn said when both men failed to speak. "But Dean is young and his bones are strong but still flexible. Which is good."

"Five or six hours?" Bobby said because nothing else seemed appropriate. It was a wonder any words got out at all considering the desert his throat had become.

"At least."

"Dean?" Sam said suddenly, taking his hand out of his mouth. He wriggled off Bobby's lap and stood directly in front of Carolyn. "Dean?" He reminded Bobby of a dog begging for food.

"Dean's with the other doctor," Carolyn said. "So we can make him all better." Sam's expression stayed blank; Carolyn wasn't sure how much the kid was taking in versus how much was just his personality.

"Thanks," John said. "I appreciate what you've done."

"I'll keep checking on him and giving you updates. If both of you decide to head out for a couple hours, I'll call Bobby's cell with any news as soon as I have it." She was several feet away when she turned around.

"He's a special kid, I can tell. We'll all fighting for him."

John collapsed back into his seat but Bobby stayed standing, watching his old friend disappear down the hall, heart swelling with pride at her last words.

Yes, he thought. If there was anything the Winchesters boys could be considered this early in their lives, it was very special indeed.

A/N: To be honest, I'm ashamed of this chapter. It's not great writing. But, if I keep editing the sh*t out of it, it's only going to get worse. I don't believe in my heart it's the end of this story arc, but I need to unbury my head from the sand dune I've stuck it in before I can post another. In the meantime, please leave a review with nice words. Or constructive criticism. And please, please, if you have any ideas for what should come next, review or DM me! I need help