Author's Notes: So in blurbs for upcoming episodes, it says Dean makes a deal with Death to do his job for 24 hours in order to obtain Death's help in getting Sam's soul back. At the same time, Sam has decided he really doesn't want his soul back and has asked Balthazar for a spell to keep his soul out of his body forever. To do the spell, he needs Bobby's blood.
So my brain read that and this is what came out the other side. Dean's acting as Death for a day seems simple, but nothing ever is in the Winchester's world.
Summary: Season 6 spoilers. Dean's acting on his own to help Sam, but meanwhile, Sam's still running around with pieces missing. Deals are never as simple as they seem. Especially not with Horsemen. FatherFigure!Bobby
I Am Become Death
Dean moved forward to grab Sam, but passed right through him.
"Sam! No! No, don't you do this!"
Dean watched in mounting horror as Sam stalked closer to Bobby.
No, no, no. This hadn't been what he'd signed up for. A day as Death to reclaim his brother's soul. He had been promised that he would have to take no lives, harm no one, simply be there to lead the dead on their way. But to reap Bobby…see Sam kill him…No. He couldn't.
"You can intervene." Dean barely startled as the voice sounded behind him. "I told you, you can back out of the deal at anytime. I didn't lie."
Death didn't move, stood unconcerned behind the oldest Winchester.
"You'll be right here. You can stop your brother and save Bobby."
"And give up Sam's soul." Green eyes pinned the entity. "I stop Sam and you won't help get his soul back. If I don't…"
The old man let no emotion on his face. He shrugged, not cruelly, but simply impassive.
"I only give you the options. What you do with them is your choice."
Turning back to the scene before him, Dean felt sobs threatening as he listened to the conversation between his brother and the oblivious man who had become their father figure. The man Sam was going to kill to ensure that he never got his soul back. He knew he couldn't endure this. To lose Bobby…
But he didn't move.
Dean plead.
"Please Sammy, no…If there's any part of you…" Dean's voice broke. "Don't take them away from me."
He wasn't sure who he was talking to anymore, but Dean knew that if Sam killed Bobby, even if he got his soul back, he would lose them both. Bobby would be gone and Sam…Dean wasn't sure if he could ever look at him again, not to mention what a souled Sam would do once it hit him that he had done this.
"Your daddy was a damn hard nut too," Bobby was saying "And you and your brother fall so close to that tree you're in the branches."
Sam smirked without a hint of emotion and forced a chuckle where he recalled it was appropriate, all the while edging closer to his prey.
"Yeah, I guess we do." Sam was close enough to lunge at Bobby any moment now and Dean's heart was in his throat. "We all do what we have to."
"I don't know what fool move Dean's gone and started on now, but I'm sure he'll come out the other end." Bobby grinned, back still turned. "You two always do."
"With help from you, of course."
And how could he say that when he was about to…
'Sammy…Bobby…'
"Sammy…" Dean breathed unconsciously.
"You can stop this." Death reminded him
But he didn't move. He hated himself, but he couldn't stop it, he needed Sam back too badly. He couldn't stop it. He couldn't save anyone. Not Sam and not Bobby. He hung his head in despair, one last desperate plea pushing itself out.
"Please…" he sobbed.
"Sorry, Bobby."
He couldn't watch. He wanted to leave and not have to see this, but he was compelled to stay, to fulfill his obligation to Death.
"…Are memories the same as emotions?"
Dean managed to drag his vision up at the question. Bobby had turned to regard Sam who had hidden the knife up his sleeve once again, but still gripped the handle, ready to strike.
"Whaddya mean, kid?"
Dean took notice that Sam was staring at the room to his left, the one he and Dean used to stay in as children when their father left them with Bobby.
Sam was staring hard into the small bedroom, cluttered with books as the rest of the house. Two twin beds were just barely visible. Sam seemed to be wording his question carefully, giving nothing away.
"Knowing things from memory, but not feeling any connection to it…can that still be emotion?"
Bobby sighed and looked at Sam sadly.
"Maybe." He started. "Memories are memories because they left enough of an emotional impression to be remembered in the first place. So, yeah, I suppose you could say memories are a kind of emotion…Why, Sam?"
Sam was quiet for a long time.
Dean thought of the memory that could have imprinted itself so deep in Sam that it could stop him from using Bobby to achieve his goals. Sam didn't want his soul back. Killing Bobby would ensure that he never had to worry about that happening. Sam felt nothing, there was no sentimentality to him anymore, but he still stopped.
Searching for the memory, Dean was surprised when it was so easy to find. That was lifetimes ago.
The boys were both sick at the age when the flu felt like impending death. John was gone and Bobby had been left to tend to them. The man fumbled through it, clumsy in his reassurances, but steadfast in his care.
"Are we gonna die, Bobby?"
Dean remembered rolling his eyes, but he was too exhausted to actually say anything to Sam. His little brother's fever-bright eyes were wide and locked on the poor hunter.
"You're not gonna die, kid. Lie back down."
"What about Dean? Is he gonna be okay? What if you can only save one of us?"
Dean's attitude had changed immediately and he had the brief thought that he resented his father a bit because these weren't the sorts of things that kids like Sammy should be thinking about. He was trying to muster up the energy to reassure Sam when Bobby stepped in.
"Neither of you boys is going anywhere." Bobby had taken a seat on the edge of Sam's bed and was pushing the kid to lie back down.
"But-"
"I told you-" Bobby stopped and seemed to be reminding his short frustration fuse that he was dealing with a kid. A sick kid who was worried about he and his brother making it through the night because of the damn flu. Having managed to get Sam settled back again, Bobby laid a washcloth on his forehead as gently as his pride would let him. He took a deep breath.
"Ain't noting gonna happen to you two while I'm looking out for you." The hunter's usual gruff tone was deliberately tempered into something a bit softer. "If there's ever a choice between you two…"
Bobby had paused there for just a moment, staring at Sam like he somehow knew the gravity of the promise he was about to make. And he decided to make it anyway.
"Then I'll find a way to save ya both. I promise. Long as I breathe, I'll be here for you two."
Sam's eyes, always too perceptive for a kid, studied the hunter until he found whatever he was looking for. He nodded at Bobby and slowly allowed sleep to claim him.
Dean saw Bobby kind of scoff at himself, like who was he to promise something like that? He rose and started walking to the door. Dean found his voice as the man's hand reached for the light switch.
"Thanks."
Bobby seemed surprised he was awake. Dean was amused to see a slight blush on the hunter's cheeks before he turned out the light and walked out of the room, muttering a gruff, "You're welcome" as he went.
Pulling himself out of his thoughts, Dean wondered if this Sam could really remember that, let alone be affected by it enough to stay his hand. But he quickly found himself wholly uninterested in the reason for this small miracle. He was just thankful for it.
Continuing to watch the scene before him until he was pulled away to lead off some other less fortunate soul, Dean completely missed the small smile on Death's face as he disappeared.
"C'mon," Bobby said when Sam didn't speak again, "Let's get a beer and wait for your brother."
Sam slipped the knife back into his belt when Bobby turned away, Dean caught the relieved smile on the old hunter's face. He was going to let Sam…
"You son of a bitch." Dean swore. Oh, they would have words about this.
"Yeah, okay." Sam's face was blank again, but he followed Bobby to the kitchen and never made a move for the knife.
'Okay,' Dean thought, 'We can work with this.'