(Again you are Deans familiar, this time taking place in Season 7 Episode 10, Death's Door. It is my rendition of what would happen if Dean didnt go after Dick Roman.)
"Walk away from me! NOW!" Dean Winchesters voice was pained, his throat hoarser than usual from what seemed like days of sleepless nights. Glass crunched beneath his is fist as he withdrew it from the shattered announcement board in front of him, behind the head of the stubby little collections man in front of him. The mans eyes all but popped out of his head, and he immediately fled, terror written on his face. Dean examined the blood coating his shredded knuckles and shook his head in frustration. One look and I knew he didnt know how to cope with this, with Bobby being comatose and seriously injured. I gagged against the stale taste of the so-called sterile hospital air, and stood up on my hind legs, becoming human. Fur melted away into flesh, paws shifted into hands and feet, and my muzzle drew back into lips. It didnt take long for me to put myself between Dean and the door, ripping away my false police issued dog collar in the process. "Dean. Dont. Walking away now wont solve anything. Bobby needs you." I said, resting my hand on the faded shoulder of his ragged old leather jacket. "I c... I can't... His words were cut off by the sudden sound of activity within the waiting room a few feet away from us. A swarm of doctors and nurses herded us into Bobbys trauma room at that moment, and there was a weight lifted from our chests for a breif second when we saw that the grizzly old hunters eyes were open. "Bobby... thanks. for everything." Sam said, taking Bobbys weakened hand. Dean reached for a pen and pressed it into that hand, and the struggling man scribbled a few numbers onto Sams outstretched palm, before beggining to choke. A mumbled "Idjits." escaped his lips, and with a sigh, he flatlined. "Bobby?! Hey?! Bobby?!" the older Winchester gasped, and that was it. Dean couldnt take it. He broke, scrambling from the room as fast as he could without running, and leaned against a wall nearby. "Oh Dean..." I whispered, and leaned against him, offering what little comfort I could. "He didnt have to die! It was one bullet! Why?! Just why?!" His voice was loud, but quavering. I could tell he was on the verge of tears by the way he choked down air between every word. Sam and I were both hurt as well, but we could handle ourselves. For Dean this was too much. Bobby was like a father to him, always there for him, even after his and Sams father, John Winchester, passed away a couple of years ago. The old hunter was a hero in Deans eyes, and I didnt know how long he could hold out before he just collapsed. "Dean... Look at me. I need you to listen to me. I want to help you." I said gripping his shoulders forcefully and turning him around. He looked up at me, slumped and defeated, and I immediately knew the words i needed to say. "Dean. People die. Every day. Thats just life. And it sucks. It hurts, you feel like your heart is being squeezed and your insides are being blown apart, peice by peice. You cant think, you cant function, you cant even breathe! Every part of you is on fire and everything is blank except that one deep insatiable pain. And yet although it is one single agony it feels like a thousand. Its knives, its bullets, its fear. Everything youve ever done or plan to do, every last feeling and emotion and ounce of guilt laid out on a table for all to see. You feel weak and vulnerable, an pathetic. But theres nothing you can do to stop it. All you can do is let it play out and it KILLS you! And the worst part is, You have to watch everyone else around you suffer and you cant stop it. You feel helpless. Useless, like a child. You have to stand there trying pointlessly to hide your pain while you watch everyone else pretend. Like they think lighting a candle's going to make everything OK, or even saying a prayer. Or pretending that the rest of us might not end up in the same place. you think, "What can I do? I can help them, i just have to watch Them run themselves in a circle. Those stupid, delusional, exasperating little children. And I know what you're going to say: 'It makes them feel better, _.' So what? For how long? A minute, a day? What difference does it make? Because in the end, when you lose somebody, every candle, every prayer is not going to make up for the fact that the only thing you have left is hole in your life where that somebody that you cared about used to be. And a rock with a birthday carved into it that I'm pretty sure is wrong. Youre going to think 'Thanks, friend. Thanks for leaving me here to babysit. Because I should be long gone by now. I didn't get the girl, remember? I'm just stuck here watching over my little brother and taking care of whatever Job I can find. You owe me big.' And yet, What you think, what you feel? to everyone around you its nothing. Just more words garbled into the mess of emotion floating around in those moments. And it gets worse. You get strong enough to bear the pain and then every time you turn around it rears its ugly head. Because thats what pain is. Ugly. The best thing you can do, the ONLY thing you can do, is to remember the good, and remember the beautiful. Because those are the moments you want to remember, not those last miserable ones as your loved ones lay dying. I know this. Ive felt this. So promise me this one thing. Hold on. Hold on like your life depends on it. Because thats what will keep you going in the long run. Its alot easier to just give up. But trust me. Thats not the road you want to take." I said, and the words tumbled out of me like a waterfall, surging past my minds dam in a raging river of all of the emotions id ever held back inside me. "I miss him already." Dean replied, and when i took a moment to look him over, there were tears in his eyes. "Dean." I said, and my tough act fell through. I hugged him tightly, and falt the tingle of warm salt on my skin as his first tears fell. It wasnt a large step, but i was definately foot foreward in the right direction. It was painful to see him cry, but at least he let his guard down long enough to show his real emotions. My own tears fell and we held eachother, saltstaining eachother with the bitter tears of two souls coping with the loss of a dear dear freind.