Hi Everyone! I'm hard at work on my NaNoWriMo novel (an original work). I got my word quota in today and this just busted out of my brain and insisted I write it. So I did. In like an hour. As I'm rushing out the door for work...I got it posted! This is set at the end of season 7's Death's Door. I listened to Coldplay while writing this and made myself cry. I'm a hopeless sap folks! Hope you all enjoy! PS if you are a fan of The Christmas Spirit and haven't received a reply for your review for the last two chapters...I'm just behind on life! Promise I'll write back...and I so appreciated all your kind words!

Song inspiration for this one: Us Against the World by Coldplay.

Enjoy!

Just like five and a half years ago, they'd been pushed out of the room and left standing together alone in the hallway. Dean felt Sam's presence over his left shoulder, just like five and half years ago. He didn't spare a glance backwards. A feeling of lightheadedness swept over him, but he was gritting his teeth and every muscle in his body was tight, so he didn't so much as sway.

Time of death, 10:41.

He could hear those words as if they were being said aloud right now. Dean didn't know what time it was; time had ceased to matter about the time they'd arrived at the hospital. Time had mattered as he'd sped through the night. But once they'd arrived at the dreary, smelly, awful hospital, time meant nothing. It must have been at least a day by now, he vaguely mused, watching more people running in and out of the room. Could hear nothing specific from their raised voices, just an anxious babble.

Time of death, 10:41.

Dean heard it again. That voice telling him what he hadn't wanted to hear. What he hadn't quite been able to believe at the time. It had taken a long time for him to really wrap his head around what had happened that day. And right now, he was reliving it.

"I'm so sorry."

Time of death, 10:41.

"Sir?"

Time of death, 10:41.

"Sir?"

Dean blinked, realizing there was a man standing in front of him. A man speaking to him as if from a million miles away. A man saying he was sorry. Time of death…

"We did everything we…"

The words faded in and out like a bad radio station, but Dean knew what he was trying to say. Swallowing hard, he ground out, "What time?"

"What?"

"What time was it?"

The man looked confused, but said gently, "Four-thirty seven."

Dean nodded, turning away at the sound of a soft huff of breath from behind him. He turned in time to grab Sam's elbow as he went down. A nurse in Snoopy scrubs appeared on the other side and together, they managed to get to the ground without anyone breaking anything. The nurse began efficiently panicking as she tried to get Sam to respond to her, but he was staring at Dean and looked like he was going to be sick.

Shaking his head, Dean remained crouched next to his brother, gripping his shoulder. He couldn't speak. What could he say? Sam was pale, but he was breathing and not panicking; something Dean counted as a win under the circumstances. Even the nurse seemed to be relaxing a bit when it became apparent Sam wasn't about to pass out. Dean couldn't blame him for needing to sit down. Hand still on his brother's shoulder, Dean closed his eyes and let his head drop forward into his free hand. Running his hand through his hair, he fought to gather his thoughts. Needed a plan. Needed to focus. Now was not the time to lose focus.

But the noises around him were distracting and Sam's silence was distracting. He lifted his head and glanced at Sam. He was still staring at him, head leaned back against the nurses station, his eyes dull and heavy. He looked like he needed to sleep. Which he probably did. Dean couldn't remember when they'd last slept. Or eaten.

The nurse was pressing a bottle of water at Sam and Dean tried to focus on what she was trying to tell them. He nodded at Sam and his brother finally looked away and accepted the bottle from the nurse. He made no move to drink it though until the nurse opened it for him and basically forced it at him.

"There's a consultation room…" The nurse was saying, "right over here and Dr. Matthews will be able to come talk to you shortly…"

She wanted them out of the way. Dean found anger bubbling up through the heavy blanket of absolute despair. He kept it controlled because who was he going to punch? The nurse? Instead, he straightened and roughly yanked Sam to his feet, ignoring the way his brother swayed. The nurse was leading the way and Dean clenched his fists and followed her. He could hear Sam walking behind him but didn't stop to look at him.

The nurse scurried out of the room, closing the door behind her as soon as they were in the little consultation room. It had four chairs and a small couch, a tv and no window. Dean started pacing while Sam simply sank into the nearest chair. Every time he made his very small circuit in the stifling room, Dean took an assessing glance at his brother. Sam was frowning at the floor, looking lost and confused, the bottle of water shaking in his hands.

Dean needed to think. Had to figure out how they were going to deal with this. Kill Dick Roman. Needed to get Bobby...Bobby's body out and...Kill Dick Roman. Had to give him a hunter's funeral. How to get him released to them? Dean scrubbed at his face, staring at a blank wall, his back to his brother. Last time...last time they'd gone through this...Bobby had figured it all out for them. Kill Dick Roman. Bobby had been there for them. Had managed all the details of getting Dad released to them. Getting him to Bobby's place.

Bobby. Dean bit his lip, feeling the sting of tears in his eyes. What are we supposed to do without you?

The sound of something hitting the floor had Dean spinning around. The bottle of water rolled under a chair and Dean felt his heart sink at the sight of his brother's expression. He'd looked lost before, but now he was lost.

"Sam." Dean said, his voice stern enough that Sam flinched. His eyes were not on Dean though, they were staring at the far wall and Dean knew that he wasn't seeing the nick in the wall or the ugly picture of a farm.

He was seeing the devil.

"Sam." Dean repeated, stepping into Sam's line of vision and leaning down till they were eye to eye, "Snap out of it."

"No." Sam whispered, but it wasn't defiance. It was a plea.

Dean cursed under his breath, crouching down and shaking his head, "Not now, come on. Not now. I need you to keep it together, man." Hating the desperation he felt, Dean said, "I need your help, man."

"Dean?"

"Yeah."

"Bobby…" Sam trailed off, but his eyes were not so far away.

Dean didn't know what to say.

A shudder ran through Sam's body and he leaned back abruptly, his head thumping against the wall as his eyes closed. Dean sighed, seeing Sam gripping his left hand. Not out of the woods yet, then. He pushed himself up and sat down in the chair next to Sam. And let his head lean back against the wall too.

He was so tired.

The door opened a second later and the next three minutes were spent listening to the doctor explain everything they'd tried to do. Dean was certain the chair was going to have his fingerprints embedded in the armrest by the time the doctor finished. And then the doctor was asking about arrangements and Dean wanted to punch him and run, but then he noticed that Sam had been paying attention to everything; his eyes bright with unshed tears. Dean lost track of what the doctor had said, was surprised when the man gently suggested arrangements could wait until tomorrow and Dean would have agreed to anything to get them out of there.

Even if it meant leaving Bobby behind.

For now.

So they did. Somehow they made it outside and Dean cursed the fact that they didn't have the Impala. Sam was looking sick again as he stared at the van and Dean shook his head. He said, "We'll walk."

The motel and the Impala were a mile away.

He started walking. Kill Dick Roman. Time of death 10:41. Kill Dick Roman. Time of death 4:37.

Dean lurched toward a copse of bushes and threw up whatever he'd eaten last. It wasn't much and it didn't make him feel better. Spitting into the grass, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Hands braced on his knees, he stared at the grass for a long moment. And then he was pulling away and punching an innocent sapling. It didn't feel good, didn't help anything.

Kill Dick Roman. Time of death 10:41. Kill Dick Roman. Time of death 4:37.

Bobby!

Unsteady breathing drew his attention away from the sapling he was pummeling and Dean felt like a switch had been flipped. He looked for Sam and found him a few steps further into the trees, away from the road. He was facing away from Dean, his arms wrapped around himself as he fought back the tears.

Knuckles bleeding, Dean walked forward and stood shoulder to shoulder with Sam. His eyes were closed and tears were running down his face as he nearly silently cried. Dean thought about Bobby. Thought about Dad. Thought about the devil and hell and his brother's screwed up head and Cas and Dick Roman. But mostly he thought about his brother. And the fact that he wasn't the only one who had lost someone. Just like five and a half years ago.

Time of death 10:41.

And five and a half years ago, he'd shut Sam out. Left him to deal on his own. Dean already was walking the same tightrope. He wanted to shut everyone out and hold all of it inside and let it come up in anger and revenge. Just like five and a half years ago. It had nearly destroyed them both then. And Sam hadn't been dealing with the devil screaming in his head back then. Dean knew he wasn't going to be able to do much, he felt the desperate need to slam the door closed on emotion, but for the moment, he needed to be there for the one person he had left.

"Sammy." Dean said, breaking the stillness.

"Yeah?" Sam's answer was even softer and he was already scrubbing the tears away and trying to pull himself together. He met Dean's gaze and Dean was almost destroyed by the pain he could see in his brother's eyes. Pain and confusion. Dean wondered, then Sam confirmed what he'd been afraid of when he hesitantly asked, "Is this...real?"

Dean felt a tear break free from his control and he wanted desperately to lie to Sam. The devil made it nearly impossible for Sam to figure out what was real half the time, why shouldn't Dean let him think this, Bobby's death, was one of those things? But he couldn't. It wouldn't be fair. He swallowed and nodded, heart breaking as Sam nodded back, tears running unhindered down his pale face.

Sam whispered, "It's just us."

Grabbing his brother in a hug, Dean's voice was like sandpaper as he said, "Hey. Us against the world, right? All we need, Sammy. All we need."

It was only partially true. They needed Bobby. They'd needed their father. But as long as they had each other...Dean tightened his grip. He wasn't losing his brother. Not after everything they'd been through.

Tomorrow everything would begin again.

For now, he wasn't going to let go.

I have no idea what time Bobby's death actually was. :) I just wanted to explore what wasn't seen after the episode ended...and before the next episode began. I loved how on the show Dean dealt with Bobby's death in basically the same way he had with his father's...anger and pent up emotion. Sam, again, was a little more willing to talk, but even he was subdued and quiet in the beginning of "Adventures in Babysitting." I couldn't help but want to believe that Dean had been a bit more open initially before he locked the doors on his feels. ;) Esp given the struggles Sam was going through at this point...which of course I couldn't help but want to touch on since we saw him struggling even in the middle of the episode with his hallucinations. Anyway! Hope you enjoyed! ;)