Disclaimer: Sadly, I own nothing. Playing in Kripke's sandbox purely for fun. No offence and no profit intended.

Spoilers: Set just after AHBL2 so everything up to then is fair game.

A/N: I really wanted to finish and post this story before Ep. 3.10 airs. Most of the story is finished, but I may post it without including all of the chapters that I had originally intended….

I love Bobby and this is my little tribute to him and the special bond he shares with Dean.


Time to Kill

Dean slammed the trunk closed and moved around Sam to the driver's door. Sam moved to his usual position as shotgun.

"We'll follow you back to your place, Bobby," Dean called to the older hunter as he and Ellen climbed into Bobby's old blue truck.

Sam slid into the passenger seat and closed the door of the Impala. He was lost in thought. Dean had one year. He couldn't work up any surprise that his brother had sacrificed himself for him. He wondered if his body had even been cold before Dean had made the deal. He'd been dead. His brother was going to hell. The hell he was. All the time he'd spent honing his researching skills had to be for a reason, and Sam was pretty sure this was it. He was going to find a way to save his brother. Even if it meant marching into hell after him.

Dean climbed into the driver's seat of the Impala. The shaking that had started almost as soon as their father had "disappeared" wasn't getting any better. His head hurt like hell, and he was pretty sure that he'd done something to his ribs – again – when the damn demon tossed him into that headstone. His back was killing him too where the bastard had pinned him up against the headstone. He was cold and he was bone tired. In fact, he couldn't remember ever being more tired. Dean cranked on the heater as the Impala rumbled to life, pulling out behind Bobby. Truth be told, Dean always hated following anybody, being dependent on someone else to set the pace and choose the turns and stops, but tonight, he was more than thankful to have Bobby's taillights to focus on. Both sets of them. Dean's jaw muscle jumped as he put all of his concentration into following those lights.

Sam was completely lost in his own thoughts. He'd taken his jacket off just before getting into the car to be more comfortable. They'd been on the road for about an hour and a half when Sam came out of his introspection long enough to realize he was sweating. The stereo was going almost full bore, which wasn't unusual, but so was the heater – and that was a bit unusual. Sam glanced at his brother. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel. In fact, he had both hands on the wheel, and that was unusual. Dean was hunched a little forward toward the steering wheel. He was actually hunkered down into his coat and Sam could see the intermittent tremors that passed through his body – he was definitely not sweating. He was shivering. There was a crease between Dean's eyes as he frowned at the road ahead of them, at Bobby's taillights. There was still drying blood on Dean's face from where his head had hit the tombstone and it stood out in sharp contrast to the rest of his face which was unnaturally pale – at least by comparison.

"Dean, man. You alright?"

"'M fine, Sammy." Sam rolled his eyes. Why did he bother to ask?

"Don't think you are Dude. It is like a million degrees in here, and you're shivering. What gives? Why don't you pull over and let me drive?"

"'M ok. Maybe just got a little chilled sitting around in that graveyard." Dean swallowed. He wished Sam would stop talking. It was hurting his head. Thinking was making his stomach start to protest. Thinking about feeling sick was making him feel way worse. Sweat started to trickle down Dean's face. He wasn't hot. It was a cold sweat. And suddenly Dean was hauling the Impala to the shoulder and leaping out of the car. He lurched to the back of the car; leaning heavily on the trunk, Dean was violently ill. Sam came sliding up behind Dean, putting a steadying, comforting hand on his brother's back.

"Easy bro. I got your back."

In the meantime, Bobby had noticed the Impala swerve off the road and had turned around to investigate what the problem was.

Dean heaved again and again. White spots jumped in front of his eyes and his ribs cried out in agony. They probably weren't broken, but they sure as hell hadn't signed on for this abuse. The muscles in his back were also letting their presence be known as they spasmed through the heaving. Finally, the retching stopped, and Dean dragged in a deep shuddering breath – well as deep as his damn ribs would allow. His head was swimming. If he was honest with himself, he knew he'd pretty much reached his limit. Emotionally he was numb, and physically he wished he was numb.

"Sorry. I'm good." Dean pushed himself off the trunk.

"C'mon Dean. Let me drive. You look like total crap, man."

"'S ok, Sam. I got it." Dean turned to stalk back to the open driver's door. Bobby and Ellen were just getting out of his truck. Great, Dean thought, I don't look like much of an ass. Dean attempted his favoured cocky smirk and tried desperately to come up with a snappy one liner to cover his recent trip over the technicolour yawn rainbow. He was pretty much hoping they would think he just desperately needed to check out the trunk of his car. As luck would have it, Dean was saved from having to be clever – at least for the moment – because he only managed to take one step towards his car door before his eyes rolled back in his head and he slid bonelessly to the ground.

"Dean!" Sam was on the ground beside his brother almost before he hit the ground. Bobby and Ellen came running. Sam shifted his brother's head gently into his lap from the ground which was both hard and cold. He looked up at Bobby and Ellen as they made it to Dean's side.

"What the hell, Sam? What happened?" Bobby's face was creased with anxiety.

"What's wrong, Sam?" Ellen's face was also a mask of concern.

Sam smiled slightly in spite of himself. Dean would never acknowledge that there were people in the world who cared this much about him. He gently patted his brother's cheek.

"I don't know. You know how stubborn he is. He didn't say anything was wrong, and I was a little distracted, so I didn't really pick up on anything until I realized that I was sweating it was so hot in the car and he was shivering with cold. When I asked him about it, he said…"
"He was fine," all three chimed in with the Dean mantra at the same time and laughed despite themselves.

"Yeah. Then he pulled over, was sick, and passed out cold." Sam couldn't keep the worry out of his voice. He patted Dean's cheek a little more insistently. "C'mon Dean. Wake up for me?" Dean was still shivering, but Sam was rewarded by seeing his brother struggle to open his eyes. Finally, his eyes fluttered open and a slit of hazel gazed up at the three faces hovering over him.

"Sonuvabitch. What the hell am I doing down here? And why are you all staring at me?" Dean immediately started to try to sit up. Sam laid a restraining hand on his chest.

"Not so fast, fainting boy."

"I so did not faint."

"Yeah Dean. You pretty much did. Take your brother's advice and just stay down for a minute, will ya?" Bobby added.

Bobby, Ellen, and Sam looked at each other.

"Shock?" Ellen suggested.

"Exhaustion?" Bobby contributed.

"Concussion?" Sam offered.

"Right here people. Look down, way down," Dean hated to be shut out of any conversation.

All three looked down at Dean and said simultaneously, "All of the above."

"Let's just get back to my place to regroup. Dean can rest up there. You aren't keeping anything else from us, are you boy? You haven't got a log shoved up your sleeve or pant leg instead of a missing limb?" Bobby frowned down at Dean. Sam was struck yet again by just how much Bobby cared for his brother. He'd always known that there was some special bond between Dean and the older hunter, but he'd really only just realized how strong that bond was on Bobby's part through this last ordeal. Bobby got Dean. He was one of the few people who saw through the mask. He was also one of the few people that Dean couldn't deny. Dean might hate all authority figures in the "normal" world, but there were a few in the world of hunters that he obeyed without question. Dad had been one, and Bobby was another.

"Uh…" Dean hesitated.

"Spit it out," Bobby insisted.

"Ok, well my ribs and back are a little tenderized from repeated banging into a freakin tombstone." Sam gaped. Not for the first time he wished he had that kind of power over Dean. The puppy dog eyes worked most of the time, but rarely instantaneously like this.

"We'll take a closer look when we get back to my place. Let's go." Bobby bent down and helped Sam to gently help Dean to his feet. He swayed unsteadily and closed his eyes against the vertigo that assaulted him. His stomach flipped, and he clenched his jaw against the tide of nausea, managing to keep it down this time. His breathing was quick and shallow as his back and ribs protested the new position.

"You okay, Dude? I suppose the back seat is out of the question?" Sam figured he had to at least try.

"Just get me around to the passenger side." Dean ground out. "I'm not dying here." And immediately regretted the words as they left his mouth and there was a collective flinch. Even from Ellen. Great. Bobby must've told her. Dean thought. Part of him was relieved that she knew, but the part of him that didn't like anyone knowing the family business was annoyed. He tried for the trademark smirk as he added, "Sorry."

Bobby and Sam managed to help Dean to the passenger side and slide him in. Sam grabbed the extra blankets and a bottle of water from the trunk and covered Dean up.

"Dude, really. Stop fussing." Dean rolled his eyes and swatted ineffectively at Sam's ministrations.

"Here. Drink some of this." Sam thrust the water bottle at his brother. "You don't need to become dehydrated on top of everything else." Sam closed his brother's door and made his way to the driver's door. Bobby and Ellen started back to his truck.

"See you back at my place," Bobby shot over his shoulder.

As the Impala roared to life, Sam looked over at his brother. Dean was obviously struggling to stay awake.

"Give it up, man. Just try to relax and go to sleep. I'm gonna be waking your sorry ass up every hour or so anyway."

"'K Sammy," Dean sighed and let his eyes fall shut. His breathing deepened almost immediately as he slumped against the door and window. Sam turned his eyes to the road and concentrated on following Bobby's taillights.


It was just before dawn when they pulled into Bobby's yard. Sam had woken Dean, just as he had said he would, about every hour and a half, which went a long way to explaining Dean's reaction on being woken yet again.

"Dean? Wake up, man." Sam gently shook Dean's shoulder as he watched Bobby and Ellen make their way up the porch and into the house.

"Not again, Sam." Dean's voice was close to a whine that would do a three year old proud.

"Dean!"

"Oh, damn it. Fine. Have it your way: my name is Dean Winchester; I live in my awesome Impala; I hunt supernatural, creepy shit for a living; and I am the most awesome big brother ever. Goin' back to sleep now." Dean didn't bother to open his eyes.

"Dean, we're here, man. How about going back to sleep in a bed?" That got Dean to crack one eye.

"Oh. That would explain why we're stopped."

"Ya think?" Sam couldn't help but grin at his brother. The sleep he'd already had had helped return at least a bit of colour to his face, and Sam was pretty sure his awesome big brother was going to be ok. At least in the short term. Sam frowned again.

Sam swung out of the Impala and moved to Dean's side of the car. Naturally, Dean was already trying to heave himself up out of the car. Leaning heavily on the door, Dean was able to haul himself to his feet before Sam made it all the way around.

"'M fine." Sam rolled his eyes for what felt like the millionth time. Dean's colour, what little there was, was draining from his face and he was swaying like a drunken sailor.

"Sure you are, Captain Jack." Sam waited.

Just as Dean's knees started to buckle, Sam slipped his arm and shoulder under Dean's to support his weight. Dean groaned.

"Sam…" Dean gulped; it was a warning. Sam was ready for the heave when it came. He'd pretty much been expecting it. You just didn't change altitude that quickly with a concussion and not pay the price. Dean had only had the one bottle of water, so there wasn't much to come up, and luckily after one or two dry heaves, his stomach stopped protesting.

"Ok, Dude?"

"Yeah, Sammy. Thanks."

Bobby stuck his head back out to check on their progress.

"You two planning on joining us any time soon?"

"Comin' right now Bobby." Sam steered Dean towards the house. Bobby came down the steps and slid under Dean's other arm to help him up the stairs.

"Take him into your usual room, Sam. You should find everything you need in there."

"Thanks, Bobby." Sam smiled over at their old friend. He knew that there would be a fully stocked first aid kit in the bathroom off the bedroom that he and Dean had shared ever since they first started coming to Bobby's.

Sam gently eased Dean down onto the bed closest to the door. Dean immediately tried to toe off his boots but lacked the coordination and energy to get the job done. Sam quickly bent down and undid the laces and slipped them off. Next he peeled off Dean's jacket and flannel shirt. Dean's head was hanging and his eyes were barely open. Just as he was about to slide bonelessly back to sleep, though, Sam stopped him.

"Just give me two minutes to clean up that gash on your forehead, Dude and take a look at your ribs and back. Then you can go back to sleep."

Dean grunted. "You promis'd … could….sleep…'gin…bed."

"How about you slide out of those jeans.." Sam shot back over his shoulder as he went in the bathroom. He half expected Dean to be flat out asleep and still fully dressed when he came back in. To his surprise, Dean was still more or less upright and without his jeans.

"Here." Sam handed Dean two ibuprofen and a glass of water. Dean gratefully swallowed the pain meds. He wasn't sure they'd stay down, but he was willing to give it a shot. Sam gently probed Dean's ribs. Even thought Sam was as careful as he could be and Dean tried to repress it, Dean hissed, groaned and winced at Sam's probing. Then Sam raised Dean's tshirt to inspect his torso. He wasn't at all surprised to see bruises forming in technicolour all over Dean's chest, sides, and back. There were a few minor scrapes as well, but nothing to worry about. Dean would sting in the shower for a few days, but otherwise he should be ok.

"Doesn't look too bad, man. I think we can worry about that tomorrow."

Next, Sam took the warm, damp cloth he'd brought with him from the bathroom and gently wiped the dirt away from the cut on Dean's head and then gently washed his entire face. Luckily, Sam figured he could get away with just a few butterfly bandages and no stitches. He worked as quickly as he could and then gently eased Dean back on the bed and under the covers. Noticing that Dean still seemed a bit shivery, Sam grabbed the extra blanket and bedspread off his own bed and gently laid them on Dean as well. Just as he was tucking Dean in, Bobby stuck his head in the door.

"How's he doin'?"

"I think he'll be fine after a little more sleep."

"Coffee's on if you're interested."

"Thanks, Bobby. I'll be right out." Sam moved quietly about the room, shutting off the lights. Just as he was leaving the bedroom, Dean stirred.

"Thanks, Sammy." He murmured.

"No sweat, bro. That's what I'm here for." Sam left the bedroom door slightly ajar and moved into the kitchen where Bobby was just pouring two cups of coffee.

"Where's Ellen?"

"She's making some calls, and then I think she's gonna turn in. You sure you don't want to turn in yourself?" Bobby gave Sam one of his more penetrating looks, frowning slightly.

"Naw. I'm good. At least, I want to stay up for at least a couple more checks on Dean before I turn in." Sam sank into one of the kitchen chairs making sure that he could still see the bedroom door. He gratefully took the cup of coffee Bobby handed him as Bobby joined him at the table.

"Hell of a night." Bobby said quietly.

"Yeah." Sam barely breathed his response, but it was fraught with the emotions that were still churning within him. He'd killed Jake. Dean had killed the YED. Their father had escaped from Hell – he hoped. Sam himself had died – well hadn't died tonight, but had it confirmed. Dean had saved them all – again – and Dean had one year to live.

"Damn, Bobby. What the hell was he thinking? What the hell are we gonna do with that stubborn ass brother of mine?" Sam raked his hand through his hair and raised pain filled eyes to Bobby under a hint of a frown.

"Well Sam, he comes by that trait honestly enough. Your Daddy was – is – about as pig-headed, stubborn, single-minded, and convinced of his own rightness as anyone else I've ever known." As always when Bobby spoke about their father, Sam could sense a number of underlying emotions in Bobby's voice. On the surface, Bobby seemed to be implacable. But Sam knew there was more to Bobby than met the eye. Certainly, he'd always been there for Sam and Dean whenever they'd needed him. Dean in particular.

"Course, those same traits are what got him out of Hell in time to help you boys tonight. I always knew when the time came, he'd do the right thing by you boys."

"So, I guess you were happy to see him tonight too, Bobby?" Sam smiled. "Didn't wish you had your shotgun handy?" Bobby chuckled at that.

"You know, Bobby, I've never heard the story about why you did pull that shotgun on Dad. I asked Dean once and he just shut me down." Sam raised his eyebrows at Bobby expectantly. Bobby looked a little uncomfortable.

"It's kind of a long story, Sam. Goes back a lot of years." Sam suspected that that would be the case. Bobby wasn't the type to act on impulse. In fact, he'd seen his Dad piss Bobby off on several occasions – to quote Bobby, 'John just had that effect on people.' But Bobby never got really pissed at his Dad; Bobby was a slow burn, but when he was fully heated, he was a four-alarm fire.

"We've got time Bobby…" Sam used his best puppy eyes on Bobby. Bobby put up a good front, but he was only human and even he couldn't resist that gaze.

"Ok. Well, like I said, to really understand why I pulled a gun on your Dad, I gotta start at the beginning…"

A/N2: I live for reviews (yes, very shallow, I know…). Please let me know what you think. The number of chapters I am able to produce will, no doubt, be a reflection of the amount of interest there is in the story.

Some of the following chapters will be mostly whumpage, some will be mostly angsty…..