They walked in and Dean had a hard time keeping his cool. The whole time since they'd received the call, he'd been getting more and more wound up. And now here they were. And there was Bobby. Unconscious.
He wasn't sure how Sam was. He wasn't sure how he was. It kinda felt like his legs might give out. Something about this was too much. Reminded him too much of seeing his own father in a hospital bed… just before....
But this wasn't his father. Just the next best thing. And didn't that sound so much less than it should? Bobby wasn't second best. Bobby was… Bobby was his uncle, his big brother… Bobby was all the gaps where his own dad should have been. Bobby made him feel safe – like everything was going to be okay, however bad things were. Bobby was tough. Solid. Reliable. He knew everything and could fix anything. Bobby was always there – whenever he needed him. Always there.
Now, looking at his mentor, deathly pale and still, Dean felt scared. If Bobby died he wasn't sure how he would deal with it. Wasn't sure he wouldn't just fold up in despair.
Was it selfish? Was it wrong to need this person so much? Was it wrong that he was heading to hell but couldn't face losing his old friend before he got there?
Did anyone get how much he loved this bad-tempered, gruff old man?
Of course not. How could anyone know, when he would cut off his own tongue before admitting it - least of all to Bobby.