Set between All Hell Breaks Loose Part 1 and All Hell Breaks Loose Part 2.

Bobby had realised that the boy was too fast for him the moment he started running, but upon turning back towards Dean, he heard a scream. Not a scream of physical pain, nor a scream of fright, but a scream of inconsolable sadness.

Bobby's feet were rooted to the ground, the sound of Dean screaming Sam's name still ringing in his ears. In that moment he knew Sam was gone. Nothing else could have made Dean shout like that.

Synapses firing fast, he pushed the thought to the depths of his mind.
'Priorities. Get the boys out of here, focus on getting them out of here. Just one thing at a time, Singer. One foot in front of the other.'

He kept repeating it in his head. 'Keep going. Just one foot in front of the other.'

Then he saw the tangled mess of two bodies knelt in the mud. A big brother's face buried in his baby brother's neck. A dark patch of blood against the youngest's back. Every cell in his body froze and his feet rooted to the spot; not wanting to look but unable to tear his eyes away.

Finally, when Dean was shivering and his jeans soaked through, he stood. He tucked an arm behind Sam's knees and an arm around his back before lifting him with measured ease, Sammy's head lolling backwards.

Looking to Bobby with red, tear-filled eyes, his mouth fell open; saying so many words without speaking.

Bobby pressed a hand to Dean's shoulder and nodded slightly.
"Just one foot infront of the other, boy."

Bobby watched from a few paces behind as Dean walked slowly, like a man with age beyond his years and with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

His little brother was easily taller and heavier than Dean, but he carried him to the impala as easily as he'd carried him from their burning home as a child. "It's ok, Sammy. I've got you." he whispered, staring straight ahead, just focusing on walking.

Without a word, Sam's body was laid in the back of the impala and with the gaping wound hidden from view, he could just be sleeping. It reminded Dean of those countless nights when the boys had found themselves without a place to stay, penniless or miles from a motel, and had crashed in the car, nestled in ratty old blankets and jackets to keep themselves warm.
The memories crashed over Dean like scalding water, leaving him gripping the open door as his shaking knees threatened to collapse from below him.

Bobby pressed a hand, hard and solid, against Dean's back, and the only remaining Winchester let out a shuddering breath he didn't even know he'd been holding. Biting his lip to still the trembling, he shut the door and climbed into the driver's seat.

They needed a place to stay, a place where Dean could be alone and find a way to reverse what had been done. Somewhere he could hit the bottle and hunt down that yellow-eyed son of a bitch. Do that and it'd all be ok. He could fix this. He had to.

"It's gonna be ok, little brother", he whispered, letting another tear spill over and trickle down his cheek.
He was gonna make damn sure it was gonna be ok, no matter what.

Fin.