Sam startled awake. Head snapping up, eyes scanning the room before his brain could even consciously instruct such.

"Bobby!" Sam took two long strides to the motel room door and let it fly open into the wall.

"What in the?..." Bobby started but was cut off.

"HE'S GONE!"

Bobby got from the bed as quickly as his aging body could manage. Sam was right, the parking lot was empty of Dean's second half.

"I knew he would do this! Son of a bitch!" Sam was frantic. Not wearing it like a cape but letting it slither dangerously under the surface. His eyes darting around, pupils dilated.

"He's such an idiot! I knew he would never... I felt this coming… Where's the nearest bar?!" Sam demanded as he slammed a full clip into his pistol. Bobby's face was drained of color, jaw slack: he was losing them both. There is pain, then there is something more. Something dark and dangerous that destroys and desolates. Bobby watched as Sam broke into a sweat, hands shaking. This was it. No more pretense of hope. The day would end bloody, or worse.

There was no acknowledgement from the youth to his old friend. Sam was moving mechanically as if Bobby wasn't even there. Bobby saw the tears pooled on the young man's lower lids. Sam was trying to secure a false sense of being sufficiently prepared unfortunately there was no such thing. Sam tried to storm out but Bobby still stood at the doorway. He grabbed the kid's shirt front and pulled him in. Sam fought, caught off guard, then within seconds relented. The fear and dread fueled bubble of anger popped in an instant: collapsing into Bobby's embrace for all it was worth. The tears flowed.

"Bobby…" Sam cried, trying to hold it together while his voice broke: betraying his efforts. Bobby squeezed his eyes shut pulling the youth in tighter. Sam fisted his shirt in return.

"I can't lose him…" Sam mumbled into Bobby's shoulder, trembling. "What if I…"

"Listen to me boy. This is not the end. For either of ya. You hear me?"

Images of hitting Dean, his big brother, over and over until Dean's face was more distorted then intact setup front stage in Sam's mind. Sam tightened his hold further. Feeling Dean's bones break against his knuckles, the warm blood splattering up onto his face…

"We're gonna go get him and drag his sorry ass back." All was still. "Got that?"

"Bobby..."

"Nothing more about it now." Bobby let go. Sam wavered, turning away to collect himself. He felt so exhausted. Next thing Sam realized was the pair was driving away from the motel. Sam wasn't sure he remembered being ushered into the passenger seat. That didn't matter now however, because a few miles later there was the Impala.

Dean arrived at the bar with a single thought - get drunk and then let go. Dean had been to enough bars and subsequently in enough bar brawls to know there was always someone itching to release rage through fists. Its just how a drunk crowd got on. Death by beating… Spare Sammy. But Dean hesitated. He was very familiar with the specificity of most curses. They tended to lash back more furious if double crossed. Yes, Sam and him had maneuvered between the lines on numerable occasions, but this was different. There was no shred of evidence towards leniency. Bobby's words a constant echo in the back of his mind. You will fade slowly and painfully over the course of the next week. No medicine can help ya. If the deed isn't done within seven days… you'll be a brutal mess for 48hrs until you just… Maybe that was the key. To drive, drive, drive. To just keep driving. Disappear where Sammy could never find him. Let time do the dirty work. No reason to burden some poor sap with his own cowardice… How brutal could 48hrs really be?

Dean looked at his haggard reflection in the rearview mirror. He looked ghostly, too bad Halloween was still far off on the calendar. Every bruise and cut still fresh as day one. Beard stubble on his chin. Black bags hung under each eye, or was that just more bruising? His lips were cracked. His eyes shone dull, worn out, and in pain. It's getting worse. It felt like Bob the Plumber had setup shop in his abdomen, running a wired brush slowly through every vein, every tube. The feeling had started compounding sometime yesterday afternoon. From non-existent, to an ache, to at times, flares of pain that nearly had him folded in two. After fighting the witch, he felt like he was hit by a truck, now he felt like he was hit by ten trucks all hyped up on super juice.

"Already dead." Dean closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the seat. He was so tired. Another perk to slowly dying he supposed.

"Dean." Dean startled, shooting an angry glance out the driver window.

"Unlock the doors Dean." When did I lock them? "Now, Dean!"

Sammy?

"Dean, pull it together. You hear me? Focus. Open the door."

Dean blinked slowly. Why does it feel like I am wading through a vat of ectoplasm? Sam's voice climbed to another octave of concerned.

"DEAN!"

"Uh… Nah Sammy… Not this time." Dean forced out.

"Dean. Stop. We are going to work through this." The feeling faded. Dean was back, whatever that meant, he no longer felt like a zoned out tweaker and appreciated it.

"I know… what that means Sammy. Ain't happening..."

"Dean. No. You can't. Whatever you're planning is a worse alternative… I'll be fine... You'll be fine." Dean managed to lift an extremely heavy right arm and turn the key, the Impala's engine rolling over, muffling his brother's words.

"Dean. You listen here boy." The low growl reminded him of his father. Dean wanted to scream and cry. This unfairness in comparison to the rest of their lives nearly took the cake: which is saying something. The two men Dean valued most in the world were standing outside his door. Begging entry so that later today his younger brother could beat the life out of him in hopes of saving his life. Laugh! How do you not laugh? Or cry. What the fuck is wrong with us? This had to be the lost script of a terrible teen drama.

The pain flared. Dean flung forward and Sam palmed the window nearly hard enough to shatter it.

"DEAN!"

Dean kept his eyes closed. Forehead pressed into the steering wheel. His mind reeling with options while his heart already knew what he was going to do.

"Dean. Listen to me. I will follow where ever you go. There is no path that saves me from a terrible future if you die Dean. I know that is what you are trying to do. Stop. There is a path here where I can save you." Dean, arms still wrapped around his middle, turned to look into his brother's tear-filled eyes. The lock clicked open. Sam threw the door open with too much force and hit his knees at his brother's side. No matter the gravel. No matter the bystanders staring.

"What is it Dean? What's wrong?" Lie. Tell him you pulled a muscle… Yeah, that'll work genius. Dean groaned.

"I'm being gutted from the inside-out I think."

Sam glanced up at Bobby who shook his head sadly.

"We're going back to the motel Dean." Sam didn't wait for a response. He pushed his brother into the passenger seat and climbed behind the wheel. With a curt nod to Bobby, the brother's pulled away, a big black truck close behind.

Day 4 done. Day 3 dawning, only 2 left.