Author notes: Because I promised myself I wouldn't touch S3's cliffhanger with a ten foot pole... and because I wanted to write a Cowboy!Dean fic. Yeah, both plans worked out so well...! Title from Johnny Cash. I owe gratitude to tanaquisga for her comments on the initial draft, and to inimicallyyours and erinrua for reading over later incarnations.

Legend In My Time
By AmandaK

"Dammit." Bobby stuffed his watch back in his pocket and looked out the window again. Across the street, demons using the bodies of the hapless citizens of New Harmony blocked access to the house. There was no way Bobby could get to Sam and Dean and do... well, anything.

He hated being helpless.

Somewhere across town, a bell was striking midnight. Bobby hardly dared move while he waited for what was to happen. A minute passed. Another. He was about to sigh with relief when a scream disturbed the still, quiet night.

Christ, no...

Outside the house, the demons stirred. Another agony-filled cry reverberated through the air, and Bobby wanted to put his hands over his ears to block out the sound, but he found he couldn't move, horror keeping him pinned.

They'd failed. Sam had failed. He had failed.

"God, have mercy," Bobby murmured, knowing there wasn't much God could do for Dean Winchester. Not after the deal he'd made.

At least the screaming didn't last long and the sudden silence that followed was so thick it was almost tangible. Bobby knew those screams would haunt him for the rest of his life.

He was about to go down the stairs and find a way to reach the house regardless of the demonic vigil outside, when the building started to glow in an eerie, otherworldly white light that rapidly grew too bright to look at. Bobby squeezed his eyes close to shut out the glare, but it still hurt, and he brought his hands up, pressing his palms over his eyeballs, cringing beneath the window sill and waiting for the blast that would wipe New Harmony off the map.

But the expected explosion never came. Instead, the light petered out, leaving him with a painful blind spot of afterglow. He blinked, his eyes watering, and gradually his vision returned more or less intact. He peeked out the window again. People milled about in the street, dazed and confused about how they came to be out in the cold night in their pajamas or house coats.

The demons were gone.

Bobby picked himself up and raced down the stairs and across the street as fast as his legs would carry him. But on the doorstep of the Fremonts' house, he hesitated, suddenly afraid to go in, scared of what he would find.

A soft noise drifted out, a heart-wrenching sob.

"Dean... No."

Sam.

The naked anguish in Sam's voice made up Bobby's mind, and he pushed the door wider. The smell of fresh blood was heavy in the air, and he had but follow his nose to find Sam cradling Dean's mangled body in his arms, tears dripping down his nose and mingling with his brother's drying blood.

"Sam..." Bobby reached out a hand, hesitating a moment before lightly resting it on Sam's shoulder.

Sam tilted his tear-streaked face up to look at him. "I tried, Bobby."

Bobby swallowed down the lump stuck in his throat. "I know, son. You did the best you could."

"No." Sam was shaking his head. "No, I didn't. I shouldn't have... I should have..." His voice trailed off as he glanced at Ruby's body lying next to Dean's, seemingly undamaged.

In the distance, sirens began to howl. Someone had come to their senses and called 911.

"We gotta get out of here," Bobby said, nudging Sam's shoulder. For a moment, Bobby feared Sam would refuse to go but then he clambered to his feet. He lifted Dean in his arms and Bobby reached to help, but Sam shook his head no. He cradled Dean's body against his chest, not caring about the blood that seeped into his shirt. One limp arm fell away and dangled loose. Bobby took it and angled it gently back across Dean's chest. Sam gave him a look of gratitude.

"Yeah. I gotta... gotta get Dean patched up. Make sure he's ready." He suddenly caught Bobby's gaze, and Bobby almost flinched at the steely determination in those eyes where moments ago there had been nothing but bottomless grief. "I'm gonna get him back, Bobby."

Bobby didn't reply; this was neither the place nor the time to have that particular conversation. He merely nodded, and made a mental note to keep a close eye on Sam for the next few days. A grief-stricken Winchester was like a trapped animal: bound to try something desperately idiotic.

A few minutes later the Impala roared out of town, leaving the approaching red-and-blue lights to fade in the rear view mirror. Sam crouched in the back seat, still holding Dean in his arms while Bobby drove. It felt kinda sacrilegious, him driving, Bobby thought, hands resting lightly on the leather of the wheel worn smooth beneath Dean's palms. But at the same time, it seemed just so right that Dean's last journey should happen in his own car.

Besides, Sam was in no condition to drive, so Bobby's Chevelle would have to wait until he had a chance to pick it up.

The journey back to South Dakota took the rest of the night and most of the following morning. Bobby hadn't known where else to take the boys; his place seemed the closest thing they had to a home. And Sam didn't seem to particularly care where Bobby brought them.

Once they reached the house, and Bobby switched off the engine, Sam stirred for the first time in hours, carefully sliding from the back seat and struggling to get Dean's body out. Without a word, he carried it inside and padded down the hallway to the guest room that the boys used whenever they stayed at Bobby's. Bobby followed him wearily, feeling every one of his fifty-odd years in his bones. He didn't offer to help, convinced that Sam neither wanted nor needed his assistance.

In the guest room, Sam laid Dean on top of the nearest bed. Without looking at Bobby, he said, "I need hot water and a wash cloth. And the first aid kit that's in the trunk." Murmuring to himself, prodding with a light finger at torn arteries that were coated with black, dried blood, he added, "Don't worry, Dean. I'm gonna fix you right up. Done it so many times; this is no different."

Bobby didn't move. He feared to leave Sam alone, worried that the kid was losing it. Not that he could blame him; no one who suffered the losses Sam had could be expected to stay sane. First his girlfriend, then his father, and now his brother, all killed by goddamn demons... It'd be enough to drive anyone insane. Bobby recalled how he'd been a little crazed himself after he lost his wife, bless her soul.

Sam shot him a look over his shoulder and said, "Bobby, please."

Bobby sighed and shrugged. What could it hurt to let Sam patch his brother up a little? If it made the boy feel better...?

Deciding, at least for now, to give in to Sam's wishes, he went into the kitchen to put the kettle on. While the water was heating up, Bobby headed down to the bathroom for his own first aid supplies. His kit was probably better stocked than what those boys carried around in their car.

After Bobby had returned to the guest room, Sam gently cleaned Dean's injuries and sewed him up with neat little stitches before covering his brother's body with a blanket, tucking it beneath his chin as if he were merely sleeping. Finally, Sam seemed satisfied with his handiwork. He pushed to his feet, holding a bloody wash cloth and a bowl of pink-tinted water. He put both on a nearby cabinet and turned to Bobby.

"Watch over him for a while?" he asked. "There're a few things I need to get." The look he gave Bobby was calm, if a little coldly determined. Bobby wasn't sure what frightened him more: the idea that Sam might be losing his mind, or that he might hide it so well.

He planted himself in the doorway, blocking Sam's path.

"No," he said. "You're not going anywhere. I'm not lettin' you go do something harebrained too." He folded his arms before his chest. He'd listened to Dean when he told him to go and leave him, a year ago. And see how that ended up. He wasn't about to be fooled twice.

Sam blinked, appearing more startled than anything. "What?"

"Didn't you hear a thing your brother said?" Bobby asked. "Sam, he's dead. And I'm not gonna let you make the same mistake Dean made, that your daddy made. I'm not gonna let you make another deal."

"What?" Sam said again, peering down at him. "Oh. You think I want to offer up my own soul to that bitch." He shook his head. "Don't worry, Bobby. I won't. But I am going to bring Dean back."

"How?" Bobby demanded. "Dean's in hell."

A hint of a knowing smile made Sam's lips twitch, and a shiver ran along Bobby's spine.

"I know. But I've done some thinking," he said. "We got Dad out. I can get Dean out too."

"How?" Bobby repeated. He was certain now that Sam had gone crazy. "You gonna open the devil's gate? Again?"

Sam nodded, almost eagerly. "He'd do no less for me."

Bobby gave a wry snort. "Don't mean to piss on your parade, boy, but I think you need the Colt for that, don'cha?" He winced mentally at the harshness of his words, but perhaps that was what Sam needed: a grim reality check.

Much to Bobby's surprise, Sam merely nodded again and smirked. "I know where to get it." He lowered his voice. "When I was looking for a way to save Dean, I found something. A ritual. I couldn't get it to work, before, but I think I can now. Please, Bobby, just let me pass."

Bobby stared at him, unsure. There'd been a certain undercurrent of a threat in Sam's soft plea to let him by. And he seemed so coherent, as if he knew exactly what he was talking about.

"What ritual?" Bobby asked. "And what makes you think you can make it work now if you couldn't before?"

The smirk on Sam's face grew a little wider, but Bobby saw no humor in it. "Because I flipped a switch."

And that, Bobby decided, was the weirdest thing Sam had said since they'd begun their race against time to save Dean.

TBC