I don't own Supernatural or any references to anything else you may recognize.

The boys and I ran after the response team that was wheeling Bobby through the hallways on a hospital bed. I tried to make sense of what the doctors and nurses were saying, but it all seemed like gibberish to me.

"Page the neurosurgeon on call!" one of the doctors said urgently. "Tell O.R. to put electives on hold. Move trauma 2 to bed 7 as soon as it's clean." A few of the doctors and nurses broke away to do as he said.

"Gunshot wound to the right frontal area, no exit wound found." The only nurse left spoke calmly, as if reading from a teleprompter. "Breathing spontaneously. Respiratory rate 18 and shallow. RST at 120. BP 90 over 60. GCS 5."

"Sam, what are they saying?" I asked desperately, clinging to the younger Winchester's arm. If anyone could keep up with the hospital-speak, it would be him. "I don't understand any of this!" He looked back at me with fear and confusion in his eyes, and I knew then that he was just as lost as I was.

"Push 80 grams of Mannitol over 30," the doctor instructed as we came to a halt. "Prep for intubation."

The nurse busied herself around Bobby's mouth, saying, "Air entry clear to bases."

"Let's get a central line in here now." The doctor also seemed too calm now, and I felt myself growing angrier by the second. They can't be calm! He's dying! Bobby's dying!

"What's happening?" Sam finally asked the doctor. "Please, just tell us—"

"Get them out of here," the doctor ordered the nurse, and she began guiding us away from Bobby.

"Sorry," the nurse said flatly. "You need to stay out of the way." Behind her, another nurse began cutting open Bobby's shirt. I stood on tiptoes to try to see more of what was going on, but to no avail.

"That's our uncle!" Dean protested angrily, surging towards the nurse and Bobby.

The nurse held up her hands defensively. "You've gotta stay back!"

"What are they doing?" Sam pressed.

"We need to get him stable."

"Okay, when are they gonna take the bullet out?" Dean asked.

"If we can get the swelling down, if it's in a place we can get to, if—"

Sam finished for the nurse quietly. "If he even lives that long." I stifled a cry and clung even tighter to Sam's arm, resisting the urge to bury my face in his jacket and just break down right there.

The nurse fixed us with a sympathetic gaze; then she stepped back and closed the curtains, effectively blocking our view of Bobby.

"C'mon," Sam said gently after a while, tugging me after him towards the waiting area.

"Sammy, wait!" Dean said suddenly, and Sam and I spun back around as frantic noises came from the trauma room.

"Push 30 more of Mannitol over 10!" I heard the already familiar voice of the doctor say. "CBC and 'lytes! Bolus him with 500 saline!"

"The vitals were stable two minutes ago!" the nurse said agitatedly.

"Well, he's crashing now!" the doctor responded.

I reached for Dean's hand, and I was surprised when he met me halfway and grasped mine tightly. I kept my hold on Sam, linking the three of us together as we waited fearfully for something else to happen. "He's gonna be okay," Dean said adamantly, though I couldn't tell if he was saying it to reassure himself or me. "He's gonna be okay."

"Blood pressure 130 over 90," the nurse said after about ten minutes, and I noticed that things seemed to have calmed down.

Just then, the curtain opened and the doctor walked over to us. Dean released my hand and stepped forward to meet him. "He's, uh, stable for the moment," the doctor said. "We'll just have to see."

Dean nodded slightly, no longer staring at the doctor, but at Bobby. We could see him through the part in the curtains. He had a bandage wrapped around his head, he was wearing a hospital gown, and there was a tube in his mouth.

"He looks so broken," I whispered shakily, and Sam's arm wrapped around my waist as he hugged me closer to him. "Sam, I'm scared," I confessed as tears started building in my eyes. "If—if he di—"

"Hey, shhh, it's okay," Sam said, pressing his lips into my hair, and I knew he'd interrupted on purpose. He didn't want to think of the possibility of losing Bobby any more than I did. "It's gonna be okay."

Dean walked back over to us and placed his hand on my back. "You wanna go sit down?" he asked. I got the feeling he was just talking to me, and I cursed myself for being so weak. Bobby had been a father figure to those boys since before my powers had even manifested, and here I was, making them focus all of their attention on me.

"I'm okay," I said quietly, and I pulled away from Sam. He stared at me confusedly, but his face softened when I maintained my grip on his hand. I may have been trying to be stronger, but I still didn't want to let go of him. I cleared my throat and looked at Dean. "D'you think… maybe you should call Ella?" I said hesitantly.

Dean's eyes hardened. "I'll call her when we know something. No need worrying her when everything could end up bein' okay." At the look on my face, he said, "No, this isn't about our fight. We made up when you took Greg's car back. I just don't wanna worry her yet."

"She deserves to know, Dean," I argued softly.

"Not yet," he replied stubbornly. "Not while there's still a chance!" He quickly walked away before I could say anything else, and I sighed deeply.

"You wanna go sit down now?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, sure," I said carelessly, and I followed him over to the waiting area and took a seat beside him. "I really hate hospitals," I muttered as I glared down at the tile floor.

Apparently, Sam didn't get the message that I was trying to change the subject. "You could call her if you really wanted to," he said.

I looked at him out of the corner of my eye. "I know. But—but I dunno what I'd say. And it's not like she can do anything—she can't just take the kids and drive to fucking New Jersey; it's like a three-day trip from where she is now."

"So you agree with Dean? About not telling her?"

"For different reasons. But… yeah," I sighed in defeat. "I guess I agree with Dean."

"You could go tell him that," Sam suggested.

I fixed the younger Winchester with an incredulous look. "And why would I do that? Can you imagine the ego boost that would give him?"

"We don't need to be fighting right now," he said quietly, staring down at his hands. "Even if it's something small. We've got bigger problems to worry about."

I sat in silence for a minute, contemplating what he said. I finally heaved another sigh and started to get up. "I hate you," I mumbled, giving him a halfhearted smile, and he returned it just as weakly.

I found Dean standing in front of the trauma room and staring at the curtain as if he thought the fury of his gaze could set it on fire. "What d'you want?" he asked sharply without turning around, and I didn't ask how he knew it was me.

I'm gonna regret this… "To tell you I agree with you," I said reluctantly. He turned his head and raised an eyebrow at me. "About Ella," I clarified. "You're right; there's no point in calling her. She'd wanna come out here, and she can't make a three-day trip with two toddlers and a pregnant belly."

Dean smirked slightly. "What made you come say that? You never admit when I'm right."

"We don't need to be fighting right now," I recited Sam's words back to him. "Even if it's something small. We've got bigger problems to worry about." I found my eyes drawn to the curtain separating us from Bobby, and I stepped closer to Dean. "You… really think he's gonna make it?" I asked him.

"Yeah, I do." He nodded assuredly. "He's made it through tougher scrapes than this."

When? I wanted to ask, but I bit my tongue in favor of not starting another argument. I started to lean against him, but, as soon as my right arm touched his, a jolt of pain shot through me and I let out a sharp gasp.

"Gari, what's wrong?!" Dean asked urgently. His eyes went to my arm. "You're bleeding! Did you get shot?!"

I groaned and rolled my eyes. "I got grazed getting into the van. I guess I forgot about it in all the commotion."

Dean raised his eyebrows disbelievingly. "You 'forgot' you got grazed?! What the hell?!"

"What's wrong?" Sam asked, walking up to us. I guessed he'd heard Dean's exclamation and came to figure out what was going on.

"Gari 'forgot' she got grazed by Dick Roman," Dean explained, both mockery and worry in his voice.

"You what?!" Sam yelped, and his eyes scanned me over, as if checking for more injuries.

"Guys, seriously, it's not a big deal!" I protested. "I'll get it looked at later! We can fix it when we get outta here, and we can do it ourselves!"

"We're in a hospital, Gari," Sam replied flatly. "You'll get it looked at now."

I rolled my eyes and huffed. "You're such a mother hen," I told him, but he just glared at me and went to find another doctor.

About thirty minutes later, I was all patched up and emotionally traumatized.

I wasn't lucky enough to get one of those grazes that just needs a little bit of hydrogen peroxide and a bandage—no, I had one deep enough to where I required stitches. So, after nearly giving the doctor I had a heart attack, I was now sitting back in the waiting room and thinking about the fact that I'd have yet another scar on my body. Sure, the doctor said that stitches seldom leave scars, but I wasn't too optimistic about my luck in that department. I still had plenty of scars from one of my last accidents, two of which were on my face.

"I've never seen a grown woman flip out so much over stitches," Dean said, shaking his head at me. "You've had way worse injuries than that!"

"I know I have!" I snapped. "I'm just still not used to not being able to heal on my own…" I felt an awkward silence growing, so I hurriedly said, "Plus, the main problem is just my hatred of hospitals. If we were back in a hotel room and you guys were doctoring on my arm and I had a bottle of whiskey in one hand, I'd be perfectly fine."

Sam chuckled, but Dean seemed to sink back into his angry mood. "I'm starting to understand why you hate hospitals," he said darkly. "They're not even doing anything; he's just lying in there right now!"

"Dean, they're doing the best they can," Sam assured his brother gently. "You've just gotta give them time."

"Yeah, well, they need to hurry up!" the older Winchester said, his voice rising to an almost yell, and he sank down into his chair. "I hate this! And I can't even really get mad at them for doin' nothing 'cause I can't do anything, either!" He stood up suddenly. "I can't sit here. I'm gonna go get some coffee. Want anything?"

"Are you sure you really need coffee right now?" I asked him warily. "You're already fired up as it is."

"I'll take that as a no, then," he huffed, and he turned and stormed away.

"I always consider going after him," I sighed, "but I know it wouldn't do any good."

"You're right," Sam agreed. "It's best to just let him deal with his anger on his own."

"So how are you doing, Sammy?" I asked the younger brother, effectively changing the subject. "Dean's on a rampage, which is to be expected, but what about you?" My voice dropped, getting serious. "Are you seeing anything right now?"

Sam shook his head slowly. "No, I'm not." At the look I was giving him, he hurriedly said, "I promise! He's not here."

"Why does that bother me so much?" I mused.

"Maybe he thinks this is a bad enough situation," Sam suggested casually, but I saw the way his shoulders sagged when he said it, and he ducked his head slightly to hide behind his hair.

"Hey, don't hide from me," I said gently. I got out of my chair and sat down on my knees in front of him, making sure he was looking right at me. I put my hands on his and smiled up at him. "No more lies and no more secrets, remember? Put everything out on the table for me to see." My smile became forced as I said the next part. "Even if you don't really need me, I'm still here for you. I'll always be here for you."

That was the first time I'd let myself think about what Sam had said to me earlier that day—God, was that all today?!—and I found it just as painful as I thought it would be. I'd played along when he'd changed the subject—I knew he regretted saying it, and I knew he was sorry, so I decided not to dwell on it. But, now, with Bobby's fate left to chance and no way we knew of to save him, I couldn't help but let my thoughts stray into dangerous territory.

I already felt useless, and Sam had basically confirmed it. I knew that he still loved me, that he still wanted me there beside him through it all, but I also now knew without a shadow of a doubt that he didn't need me at all. Two outta three ain't bad, an irrationally optimistic voice in the back of my head said, but that didn't make me feel any better. I wanted him with me at all times; I loved him with every fiber of my being; and I needed him to survive. And that last part wasn't true for him.

"Gari, hey." His soft voice broke me out of my thoughts, and I looked up at him again. "You okay?" he asked worriedly. "You did that thing where you zone out again."

"I'm… fine," I said weakly; then I cleared my throat and repeated it with more conviction. "I'm fine."

He gave me a strange look, and I knew he didn't believe me at all. He opened his mouth, and I knew what he was going to say before he said it. "What happened to no more lies and no more secrets?" he asked.

I sighed and dropped my head to rest on our entwined hands. "I promise I'll tell you, okay?" I mumbled, not bothering to lift my head. "Just… now is not the time or the place. We've got bigger problems to worry about, right?"

"Okay…" he said reluctantly. "Just remember that you promised."

"I will."

"You wanna get off the floor now?" he asked, the smallest trace of amusement in his voice.

"Nah, I'm pretty comfortable here. I could fall asleep like this."

"Go ahead. I'll wake you up when I hear something."

I lifted my head slightly, just barely able to make eye contact. "You sure?"

"If you can sleep, do it. We all need some sleep; I just won't be able to get it." He shrugged. "You could even go wait in the van if you wanted to."

My head jerked up all the way then. "No," I said firmly. "I'm not going back in there."

Sam frowned and reached out to me. "Hey, you don't have to. It was just a suggestion."

"I know; I just…" I exhaled deeply as I forced myself to calm down. "I'm just good right here."

"Okay."

I twined my fingers through his again and dropped my head. It wasn't the most comfortable position, but it also wasn't horrible, and being right beside Sam, being in constant contact with him, was making me more and more relaxed. I was still worried about Bobby, and I wondered how I could ever go to sleep with all of that stress taking up residence in my head, but, as soon as I felt one of Sam's hands go to my back and start rubbing small circles there, all thoughts were swept from my brain and I drifted into a light sleep.

~Supernatural~Supernatural~Supernatural~

Someone shook my shoulder gently. "Gari, hey, wake up," Sam murmured, and I slowly lifted my head and looked up at him through half-opened eyes.

"How long was I out?" I asked as I stretched my arms above my head, causing my back to pop in about five places.

"About an hour. The doctor's coming over."

I turned around and saw Bobby's doctor walking over to us. He fixed me with a strange look, but he didn't bother to question my odd seating choice. "What's up, doc?" I said groggily, my weariness taking the teasing tone out of my voice.

The doctor stared down at me, looking insulted, and he turned back to Sam. "Is she serious?"

Sam narrowed his eyes at the doctor. "What's up, doc?" he repeated, raising his eyebrows at the doctor, who heaved an annoyed sigh. I almost smiled, but I managed to hold it back. "Is there anything we can do?"

Dean walked up to us as the doctor shook his head apologetically. "I'm sorry," the doctor said. "We just have to wait. We'll see if the swelling goes down."

"How long?" Dean asked, and I noticed that he was already clenching his fists in frustration.

"It's hard to say in cases like this."

"Well, he's lasted this long," Dean said, an air of desperation in his voice. "That's something, right?"

The doctor gave Dean a pitying look, and I could tell that that only pissed the older Winchester off further. "Well, yes. Listen, the bullet didn't shatter. Only one hemisphere of his brain was injured. These are all positive things. But…" The doctor hesitated, looking at all three of us in turn. "I don't wanna give you false hope here. He's far from out of the woods. Most of the times, cases like this…"

"They die," Sam finished quietly. I closed my eyes, tightening my hand around Sam's.

The doctor didn't reply for a moment. "Right now, it comes down to him," he said finally. "I'll keep you updated."

As the doctor turned and walked away, another man came up to us. "Excuse me," he said. "Sorry to interrupt. Is one of you Robert Singer's next of kin?"

The three of us exchanged a look; then Dean stepped forward. "Yeah, that's me. What d'you want?"

The man hesitated slightly. "Can we… go somewhere private?" Dean nodded, and the two of them walked into the hallway.

"Wonder what that's about," I said, staring after them.

"I have a hunch," Sam muttered darkly. "But I hope I'm wrong." He shook his head. "You wanna go back to sleep?"

"Actually…" I chewed on my lip nervously. "D'you think they'd let me in there to see him? I mean, he's stable now, and they're not doing anything to him, so I wouldn't be in their way, would I?"

Sam shrugged. "No harm in asking."

"Yeah, alright," I nodded. I kissed his cheek and squeezed his hand once; then I walked over to the nurse standing outside of the curtains hiding Bobby.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

"Um, yeah, uh…" I stumbled out, just knowing she was going to reject me. "Is there… uh, is there any way I can see him?"

The nurse stared at me for a minute, seeming to contemplate my request. After a moment, her face softened and she nodded. "Just be quick. We'll be checking up on him again in a few minutes."

"Thank you!" I said gratefully, a nearly genuine smile crossing my face.

"Mhm," she said, and she pulled the curtains back, allowing me to go inside the trauma room; then she closed the curtains behind me, leaving me completely alone with Bobby.

"Hey, old man," I said softly, walking over to Bobby's bedside. I hesitantly reached down and took his hand in mine, trying to ignore how limp it was. I wouldn't allow myself to look at his face; I knew that I would take one look at that bloody bandage around his head and break down immediately, and I couldn't let myself do that. I didn't have long with him, and I wasn't going to spend my little bit of time crying.

"I came in here for a specific reason, and it's not to say goodbye," I told his unconscious form. "But… but I'm kinda wondering if I should say goodbye anyway, just to be safe." I swallowed deeply and shook my head. "Nah. Not gonna happen. But I do want you to know how worried I am. You're scaring me to death, old man. I can't stand seeing you lying here, looking all broken and defeated and actually old. You're supposed to be our Yoda!" I paused as I remembered the fate of Yoda. "Okay, forget that metaphor. You're way cooler than Yoda. You're more like our Gandalf, but without the bad habit of disappearing at totally inopportune times." I sighed and dropped my head. "I'm getting way off-topic here."

"What I'm trying to say is… is… I don't know what we'd do without you. You've always been a father to the boys, and you've been a father to me, too. You're one of the few important people in my life; you're one of the few people I'd die for, and…" I bit my lip hard as tears started welling up in my eyes. "And I don't wanna lose you. I-I can't lose you." I hurriedly wiped my eyes before the tears could spill over, and I tightened my grip on his hand.

"So I came in here to—to try again. I'm gonna try to fix you. And maybe… just maybe, it'll work this time." I breathed out shakily and mumbled, "It has to work this time."

I let out a deep breath and slowly closed my eyes. I pushed all the thoughts from my mind and tried to remember the feeling of my powers rushing through me: the surge of strength throughout my muscles, the fire tingling in my nerves, the absolute control over every situation possible. I imagined Bobby well and whole and alive again, pulling me in for a rough hug and a gruff "Thanks, kid." I focused all of my concentration on getting my second father back.

And nothing happened.

Only once I realized nothing was happening did I notice that I had been holding my breath the whole time. I gasped in air and released it in a half-sob, bowing my head over the railing of the hospital bed. "I'll just try again," I murmured to myself, forcing my breath rate back to normal. "I'll keep trying. This'll work. It has to work."

I screwed up my face in concentration again, trying to summon my long-lost powers one last time, but the results were the same. Bobby was still lying on a hospital bed with a bullet in his head, and I was still completely and utterly useless.

"I'm sorry," I choked out, tears streaming freely down my face. "I'm so sorry. I can't help you, I can't fix you; I can't do anything! God, please, just wake up! Just be okay again! Please! You can't die on us! Please! We can't lose you!"

I sat up slowly and sniffled as I wiped my tears away again. "There's still hope, right?" I said softly. "There's a chance that the doctors can fix you. There's a chance you'll get better. Dean said you've had tougher scrapes than this. You've gotta pull through this, Bobby. You can't leave us here."

I stood up, knowing that the doctor would be back to check on him any minute. Giving his hand a final squeeze, I finally looked up at his face, and a fresh round of tears welled up in my eyes. "I love you, old man," I whispered, and, though it took all of my willpower, I released his hand and walked back through the curtains, wanting nothing more than to curl up in a ball and cry until my body was completely rid of tears.

~Supernatural~Supernatural~Supernatural~

As soon as I saw Sam, I knew that he'd been hallucinating. I paused at the door to the waiting room against my better judgment, deciding to let him do what he wanted and deal with it himself—at least until it was proven that he couldn't deal with it himself. My heart lurched in my chest, and I had to grab the doorframe to stop myself from going to him.

I watched him carefully: his jaw was clenched tighter than I'd ever seen it; his eyes were halfway closed as if in concentration; his brow was furrowed deeply, the stress lines extremely prominent; and, as I watched, his clasped hands released each other and ran through his hair, only to come back to their original position.

Finally, I couldn't stand by any longer.

His eyes jerked over to me as I opened the door, and he heaved a sigh and visibly relaxed when he saw that it was only me. However, that relaxation didn't last long; then he was back to his original tense position, this time with his eyes flicking all over the room.

I sat down beside him slowly, so as not to scare him, and I bit my lip in hesitation as I cautiously placed my hand on his arm and saw…

Nothing.

I didn't see anything. Which meant Sam didn't see anything.

What the—?!

Realization hit me like a freight train, and I almost gasped aloud at the pain in my chest.

Oh, Sam.

His hands unclasped, and he forcefully drove his thumb into the scar on his hand, his movements even more desperate as nothing changed.

"It's real, Sam," I said gently, my voice cracking on his name. I placed my hands on top of his to stop their frantic motion, and he slowly lifted his eyes to meet mine.

I stifled a sob at the desperate hope in those hazel depths that was fading by the second. It wasn't just that he thought something so terrible had to be a hallucination—he wanted this to be a hallucination; he needed this to be just another of Lucifer's tricks.

And, God, so did I.

"It's really happening," I continued, somehow managing to keep my voice level, even though it was taking everything I had not to collapse in a sobbing mess on the hospital floor.

"I—I know," Sam said at last, dropping his gaze to our hands. "I just hoped…"

I squeezed his hands in understanding. "Me, too. So, uh, where's Dean?"

He cleared his throat and looked back at me. "I dunno. We, uh... He stormed off."

I decided not to broach that subject and instead asked, "So who was that guy he was talking to?"

"He, uh…" Sam frowned. "He was here to ask what we're gonna do with—with the body." I stared at him confusedly. "Um… organ donations, that sort of thing," he clarified uncomfortably.

Anger surged through me—Bobby's not gonna die! He's gonna need those organs for himself!—but I smothered my rage and nodded slightly. "I bet Dean didn't like that."

"No, he didn't," Sam agreed. I could tell that there was something else he wasn't telling me, but I ignored it for the time being, figuring that I'd find out eventually and being too tired to try to pry it out of him. I noticed that he kept looking in the direction of what I refused to refer to as "Bobby's Room," and I wondered what he was thinking.

"Y'know, you can go see him if—"

"No," he interrupted adamantly, shaking his head. "No, I'm—I'm good out here."

"Okay," I said softly, and I let the subject drop.

"Did you… did you, um…" he started, seemingly afraid to ask whatever it was he wanted to ask me, and I smiled slightly at him in encouragement. He looked back down at our hands and finally managed to say, "Did you try to heal him?"

I swallowed roughly. I can't say I'm surprised he guessed what I was doing. I just wish he hadn't confronted me about it. I couldn't bring myself to utter out more than a hushed, "Yeah." He stared at me, wide eyes patient and anticipating, and I hated to crush the small glimmer of hope creeping back into them. I simply shook my head once, and his eyes dropped to our hands again in a sign of defeat.

"But that's okay," he said, his voice stronger than I would've expected it, and something told me he was about to try to be reassuring. "He can still heal on his own." I was right—there was the forced optimism. "It's not a lost cause. He can still be fine. He…"

Sam sighed and fell silent, no longer able to fake confidence. I had no idea what to say, so I twisted my feet up under me and rested my head against his shoulder. He tilted his head to rest on mine, and I could hear him breathing shakily.

"Sam, do—d'you really think he's gonna be okay?" I asked fearfully, fighting back another wave of tears.

He didn't reply for the longest time, and I was about to give up on him when he finally mumbled, "I dunno."

"I feel so useless," I whispered. "I can't do anything to help him."

"We can't, either," Sam replied just as quietly, but there was a hard edge to his voice. "We're useless, too. Don't blame yourself, okay? It's not your fault."

Yes, it is, I wanted to say. If I had my powers, I could heal him. If I hadn't been detoxed, Bobby would be okay. If I'd never gotten addicted, we wouldn't be in this hospital anymore.

But I knew that Sam would argue whether he really disagreed or not, so I just sighed and closed my eyes, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with him. I also knew that Sam noticed that, but he thankfully didn't say anything about it.

Instead, he moved his arm and wrapped it around my shoulders, squeezing me to his side. I gripped onto the front of his shirt, the beating of his heart under my hand reassuring and comforting me somehow.

Then, all we could do was wait.

~Supernatural~Supernatural~Supernatural~

Sam jumped up suddenly, nearly knocking me onto the floor, and I looked around wildly for some sign of a threat.

"What? What's—?" I broke off as he jogged to catch up with a nurse headed to Bobby's room, and I quickly followed after him. Dean appeared out of nowhere and joined me as I stood behind Sam and the nurse.

"Wait, wait, wait, wait!" Sam said urgently, reaching out to the nurse. "What's happening?!"

"He's showing signs of responsiveness," the nurse replied. "We're taking him up for surgery. If you wanna see him, I'd squeeze in there quick."

Sam and Dean shared an almost hopeful look, and it was clear what they were thinking: They were about to operate on him. His chances of surviving were even greater. I hardly dared let myself hope with them, but I couldn't smother the spark of optimism starting in my heart. He might be okay. He might really be okay.

I followed the brothers into the trauma room and stood by the foot of the bed as they talked to Bobby. I put my hand on Bobby's leg and squeezed my eyes closed, trying to force out my powers once more, but I was barely even disappointed when they didn't work. I had known nothing would happen, but I'd still had to try one last time.

"You better be alright," Dean growled at Bobby's unconscious form, almost as though he were threatening the older man. "You gotta be alright, ya hear me?" The older Winchester took a step back then, blinking rapidly as if trying to hold back tears.

A nurse popped in at that moment and said, "Sorry, we need to get moving."

"Right," Sam said thickly, nodding once. "Yeah." He glanced at his older brother, then down at the man he called a father. "Hey, um… Bobby, um, hey…" He reached down and carefully took the older man's hand in his. "Just… thanks… for everything." Sam cleared his throat as he released Bobby's hand and made to move away.

"Alright, please step back," the nurse said.

"Yeah…" Dean murmured, turning his back on Bobby and his brother.

I sensed it before I saw it—Bobby's eyes cracked open and he slowly raised his hand toward Sam.

"Sam!" I yelped, alerting the younger Winchester.

"Wait, wait, wait, wait, stop!" Sam said frantically, catching the attention of Dean and the nurse. "His eyes are open!"

"Bobby?!" Dean exclaimed, a mixture of shock and wary relief on his face.

"Hey," Sam said as he put a hand on Bobby's shoulder.

The older man struggled to take off the respirator covering his nose and mouth, but Sam stopped his hands. Bobby shot an annoyed and amused look over at me, as if we were back in his house sharing secret judgments about the brothers and nothing was wrong, and I almost smiled.

He opened his mouth, about to say something, but Dean interrupted before he could even get a word out. "What—don't talk! Don't talk! A pen! I—" Dean grabbed the pen from the clipboard at the end of the hospital bed and handed it to Sam. "Here, here, here!" Bobby took the pen from Sam and grabbed the younger brother's hand again, baring down hard on Sam's palm. "What is it?!" Dean asked his brother.

Sam ignored him as Bobby gave a tired smile, his breathing heavy and labored, and he opened his mouth again. The three of us leaned in toward him, both anticipating and dreading what he was mustering up the strength to say.

"Idjits," Bobby sighed happily; then his eyes rolled back and his head hit the pillow as the heart monitor started to beep loudly.

"Bobby?!" Dean yelped. "Hey!"

"Bobby!" I cried, trying to make my way around the bed to reach my second father, but the rush of nurses and doctors flooding the trauma room kept me at bay. "BOBBY!"

Even over the commotion coming from the doctors and the sound of my screams, I could still hear the monitor flatline.

~Supernatural~Supernatural~Supernatural~

We gave him a hunter's funeral, salting and burning the body in an as-yet-unoccupied area of the local cemetery. I would've preferred for him to be put to rest back in Sioux Falls, back where he called home, but I knew we couldn't go back there with the Leviathans still looking for us.

I held tight to both Sam and Dean as smoke drifted up into the night sky, and I found that no more tears would fall from my eyes. I didn't know if it was because I'd cried enough all day or if I was subconsciously being the strong one for once to let the boys grieve. Sam made no move to wipe the few tears from his cheeks, unashamed as always to show his true emotions, but the one tear that escaped Dean was gone in under a second by a casual brush of his hand. I squeezed the older Winchester's hand even tighter, knowing that he wouldn't show any other sign of grief from that point on.

"What did he write on your hand?" Dean asked finally, and Sam glanced at him in surprise.

"Is now really the time?" I said.

"It's as good a time as any," Dean replied gruffly, and I sighed.

"It's numbers," Sam answered quietly. "45489. I dunno what they mean."

"It's gotta be important if he used his last bit of life to tell us, though, right?" Dean said, trying to mask the desperation in his voice.

"I dunno; I guess."

"You guess? What's that supposed to mean?"

Sam sighed and shook his head. "Nothing, Dean. It's just—Bobby's dead. We've been up nearly two days. I'm tired, man, and I know you are, too." He fixed his brother with a stern look. "And I know what you're doing. You're gonna go crazy over these numbers so you don't have to think about the fact that we just lost someone else, and I'm not gonna be a part of that. Not right now. Not while he's still burning."

Dean opened his mouth to argue, but seemed to find that he couldn't. He hadn't expected Sam to know what he was planning, and he certainly hadn't expected Sam to call him out on it. "Okay," Dean said finally. "We'll mourn. We'll sit and do nothing like normal people who don't have to cremate a friend every six months! Would that make you happy, Sammy?!"

"Dean, you know that's not what he's saying!" I jumped in the middle, hoping to avoid a fight. "You can rest for a day; you can mourn him for a day! He was like your father, for fuck's sake! Don't you think he deserves it?!"

Okay, maybe I didn't do so well at avoiding a fight with words like that…

But, to my surprise, Dean's face fell and his shoulders sagged. "You're right," he mumbled. "Okay."

Before I knew what I was doing, I released Sam's hand and threw my arms around his brother, holding him tightly. His arms slowly wrapped around my back, squeezed me briefly, and then released me. I stepped back and gave him a sad smile.

Dean shuffled his feet for a moment, avoiding my eyes, before saying, "You, uh… you wanna go back to the hotel?"

I glanced over my shoulder at Sam, who nodded once, and I locked my fingers through his again. "Yeah," I said softly. "Let's go."

~Supernatural~Supernatural~Supernatural~

I hurriedly dried my eyes as Sam came out of the bathroom. It seemed that, as soon as he left me alone, my strangely dry eyes had decided to open the floodgates, and I'd sobbed myself hoarse while Sam was in the shower. My head was still pounding fiercely and I still felt like I was going to throw up, but at least I'd managed to stop the tears from flowing.

It didn't seem to matter, though, for Sam frowned when he saw me, and I knew he could tell that I'd been crying my eyes out not a minute earlier. I imagined I had to look terrible, all red-eyed and splotchy-cheeked, and I wrapped my arms around my knees and ducked my head as Sam walked over to me.

"Gari?" he said softly, reaching out and pulling my arms away from my legs. "Are you o—?" He stopped himself with a small, pained sigh. "I'm sorry. That was stupid."

I tried to laugh to reassure him, but it came out as more of a whimper. "Yeah, I'm…" I ran a hand through my hair and bit my lip as tears filled up in my eyes again. "I'm fine," I said shakily, and it was his turn to force a laugh.

He got into bed beside me and wrapped his arms around me. "You wanna talk about it?" he asked, his breath ruffling my hair.

I buried my face in the crook of his neck. "It's just… I—" I paused, thinking about whether I really wanted to unload everything on him. Did I really want to tell him just how hard I'd tried to use my powers to save Bobby? Did I really want to tell him how useless I'd felt when I'd failed again? Did I really want to confess that he was one of the main reasons for me feeling so useless?

I couldn't do it; I couldn't burden him with even more worries and problems, and I couldn't bear to think of us getting in a fight at a time like this. I needed him too much right then.

So, instead of confessing everything, I snuggled deeper into his warm embrace. "Just—just hold me," I said, my voice muffled against his chest.

His arms tightened around me even more and his face pressed into my hair. I knew that he could tell what I'd been thinking, what I'd almost said, and it made me love him all the more when he didn't bring it up. I loved him for just being there, for just holding me instead of trying to get me to talk or trying to comfort me. It was one of the very first things I'd loved about him, before I'd even loved him at all.

After a while, he turned off the bedside lamp and we lay down. I rested my head on his chest and stretched my arm over his stomach, grasping his shirt tightly in my fist as I pushed back another wave of tears. He ran his hand up and down my arm slowly, and I managed to calm down enough to keep the tears back without trying too hard.

"I love you, Sammy," I whispered meekly, afraid that my voice would crack if I spoke any louder.

He kissed the top of my head. "I love you, too," he replied just as quietly.

I curled even closer into his side and squeezed my eyes closed, hoping for sleep to take me quickly so I could escape the nightmare that I was living in.