Title: Invincible
Chapter: 1/1
Rating: G
Warnings: Spoilers through the end of 2011. (I don't remember what episode it is. Mid-season 7 somewhere.)
Summary: Sam and Dean are coping with Bobby's death.
A/N: Okay, so really, this wasn't supposed to have such a sad beginning. I had the last line of this in my head, and the rest just kid wrote itself. Basically, if I could write the first episode of 2012, this is what it would be. Also, I didn't put a characters/pairings list cause I didn't want to ruin the surprises.

After their dad died, Sam had had a pretty hard time coping. Dean had had a worse time, though he wouldn't tell that to Sam. Sam could see if, though.

This time, though, it was worse. Sitting in another crappy motel room, each trying to go about business as usual. They didn't speak, but Sam knew what they were both thinking: It wasn't supposed to happen. Not to Bobby. Sam and Dean had each died more than once. Their parents had both died. Their brother and even Castiel too. But Bobby wasn't supposed to die. He was just that guy that was always around. Invincible. No matter how much messed up crap came into their lives, Bobby never died. He came close, more than once.

And yeah, he'd died for about ten minutes one time. Sam remembered that all too well. Remembered watching the life flicker out of Bobby's eyes. The life he had stolen from the man. But Castiel had revived him so quickly that in Sam's mind Bobby hadn't even been dead.

Now he was. And as much as Sam hated to believe it, he wasn't coming back this time. Dean, though he didn't say anything, didn't even pretend to not care. He'd pretended when their father died and when Castiel had too. But he didn't even try to hide the pain. Not this time. Dean had a newspaper in one hand, saying that he was looking for a new job, but his eyes never moved across the page, and he never flipped from the front page of the paper.

Sam cleared his throat and Dean looked up at him, eyes vacant and uncaring. "I, uh, I think I found a job," Sam said, gesturing to the laptop.

Dean looked back down at the paper. "Don't," he said. He folded the paper and tossed it onto the table. "Just don't, alright?" Dean leaned forward, elbows on the table and head in his hands.

"Come on, Dean," Sam said. "Bobby'd want us to keep going."

"No, Sam," Dean said, looking up to glare at him. "He'd want us to figure out that damn cryptic message he left us."

"Well, do you have any clues?" Sam asked. "Cause I sure as hell don't. And until we figure it out, we can at least help some of the people in this town."

"Screw the town!" Dean yelled standing up so fast his chair hit the floor. "The whole town can burn in hell for all I care."

"Dean—"

"No, Sam! This is Bobby we're talking about," Dean said. "Maybe whatever message he left will help us bring him back."

"It won't, and you know that," Sam said. "It's probably something to help with the Leviathan."

Dean made a noise of annoyance, but otherwise ignored Sam. He walked across the room and ran a hand through his hair. He snatched the keys from the table and started for the door. "I'm going for a drive," he said.

"Dean, wait," Sam said, standing up. He didn't know what he'd say, just that he had to say something. But nothing. Nothing would make this any better. Bobby was gone, and that was that.

But it didn't matter what he wanted to say or couldn't say. Dean ignored him and started across the room. Sam looked back towards the laptop when he heard the door open.

"Bobby?" Sam whipped his head back around when he heard the weak whisper of his brother's voice. The man in question was standing on the other side of the door, looking like he'd been through hell, but smiling anyway.

"Didn't think you'd get rid of me that easy, did ya?" Bobby said, his voice weak, though a laugh still coming through in his words. "Idjits." Bobby stumbled to one side and caught himself on the doorframe.

Sam was out of his chair in a second and rushing towards the door. "Bobby, Bobby come on," he said, pulling Bobby's arm around his shoulder and pulling him into the room. Dean helped him get Bobby to the bed closest to the door and laid him down. "How'd you—Bobby, what happened?"

"Didn't think I'd be back," Bobby muttered, sounding half asleep or half drunk. Sam wasn't entirely sure which was more probable. But alive. He was alive and that was all that mattered. Hell, maybe the guy really was invincible. "Didn't think I'd see that excuse for an angel again."

"Angel?" Dean asked immediately.

Bobby smiled at Sam, apparently having not heard Dean. "Good to see you boys again," he said. "You figured it out yet?"

"The message?" Sam guessed. He reached towards the table and snatched up the piece of paper, handing it to Bobby. "Not a clue. Wanna help us out?"

Bobby took the paper and laughed. He squinted at it for a moment then dropped it onto the bed. "Got anything good in here?" Bobby asked. "Need somethin' to drink."

Sam laughed. "I don't think you need to be drinking much right now," Sam said.

"Bobby," Dean said. "How'd you get back?"

"Miracle," Bobby muttered. "Them angels are all about the miracles."

"What angel, Bobby?" Dean asked urgently.

"Bobby groaned, eyes shut tight as though he was trying to recall a distant memory. "Its, um…"

"Dean," Sam said. "Let him rest."

"Shut up, Sam," Dean said, glaring up at his brother. Sam snapped his mouth shut, looking at Dean sympathetically. As much as they both were glad Bobby was back, Sam knew what Dean was thinking. There was only one angel that would know or care to bring Bobby back. "Bobby, who was it?" Dean asked.

The familiar rustling of wings made Sam and Dean turn around. "It was me," Castiel said. His suit was covered in mud and torn in places. The tie that he normally wore was gone, as well as his trench coat. His eyes, trained on Dean as always, were poorly masking a look of fear.

"Cas," Dean breathed. Dean looked back at Bobby, then at Cas again. "How'd you—How are you alive? I didn't think we'd ever see you again."

"I wasn't dead," Cas said. "I was trying to recover my strength after the Leviathan left my body for dead."

"Why didn't you come back sooner?" Dean asked. "Hell, you could've healed Bobby before he even died."

"I-I'm sorry, Dean," Cas said, eyes falling to the carpet. "I was afraid to come back."

"Afraid of what?" Dean asked.

"Of your reaction," Cas said. He finally looked at Sam, then back at Dean. "I didn't trust you as I should have. And many lives were lost because of my poor judgment."

Dean looked like he wanted to argue, but Sam caught his eye. Dean glared at him a moment, then looked away. He knew Dean couldn't really deny it. If Cas had come back from the dead any earlier, or without the gift of Bobby's life, Dean probably would've killed him.

After an awkward silence that stretched for several minutes, Dean cleared his throat and walked to his suitcase in the corner. He dug to the bottom of the suitcase and pulled out a dirty trench coat. Dean walked over and handed it to Cas. Sam watched a silent apology and forgiveness be exchanged between them as Cas accepted the gift.

"I, uh, kept that for you," Dean said. "Thought you'd want it when you came back."

"Thank you, Dean," Cas said, looking down at the crudely folded coat in his hands. He looked back up at Dean with a curious expression. "But I don't understand. Why did you keep it?" He asked. "You have already said you expected never to see me again."

Dean froze, a mortified expression on his face. Sam turned his laugh into a cough that didn't go unnoticed by his brother. He carefully skirted around the pair towards the door. "I'm just gonna go grab some food," he said. "I'm sure Bobby's gonna be starving when he wakes up."