Bobby Singer sighs as he hears the thumps from above as Sam Winchester thrashes about madly in his spare bed, caught between the world of what's real and what's not. He's been like this for days, ever since Castiel the Angel... Or, excuse me, God, had taken down the walls in his head that stopped the flow of Hell memories from rushing forward and consuming the younger Winchester's body in a mass of terror and flames.
Bobby takes a sip of his whisky. He's stopped pouring it in portions into the small cup in front of him because what's the use? He's gonna down the whole bottle anyway.
The thumping stops. A breath leaves Bobby that he doesn't realize he's been holding. Around the corner, Dean Winchester clambers into the little study space and collapses on the couch. He looks so worn down that Bobby winces internally before stating, "You look like Hell, boy."
Dean rakes trembling fingers through his dirty hair. "Sam's finally relaxed," he replies, voice hoarse from yelling desperately at his little brother to wake up. "He won't be nightmare free for long, but at least he's getting some real rest."
Bobby silently agrees. Sam's either awake trying to fight off imaginary darkness or asleep fighting it. The Winchesters never did get a break from the hard life, did they?
Without another word, Dean gets up, crosses the room to Bobby's desk, and steals a little bit of the ugly brown whisky. "'M gonna get back up there before the kid starts kicking again."
Already, a purple bruise is forming its way under the elder Winchester's left eye, and Bobby cringes in sympathy. "Wish it was somehow different," he empathizes.
Dean nods, soaking in the small encouragement and support before waddling back up the stairs to comfort his little brother, like he had been doing his whole life.
Bobby goes back to research. He doesn't know what he's looking for; most likely using it as a light distraction from the horror movie that's happening under his very roof, in the eyes of the boy he's proud to call a son.
That's when Sam screams. Bobby jumps up and is already racing for the stairs by the time it quiets again. He hasn't heard Sam scream like this ever from these dreams, not even when he collapsed after Castiel vanished into thin air after having them all bow down to him.
He runs down the hall, still surprisingly quick for someone his age, and freezes whenhe catches full sight of what had happened during his mad dash for the room.
Dean had his brother in a tight embrace. Sam's surrounded by his older brother, enveloped in the presence and the familiar smell that had been home his whole life. He had quieted, although silent tears flowed freely from the open, bright hazel eyes that shined in the light of the setting sun that seeped through the open window and illuminated the old room.
Bobby couldn't help but smile in relief and happiness at the friendly sight, because what lies here is a family.
Broken.
Separated.
Torn.
Betrayed.
And yet together. It's all that matters.