Bobby swore. He was gonna strangle Dean when he got his hands on him again.

Well, if the kid wasn't dead already.

It had been days since Dean's phone call, and every attempt Bobby made to call him back was met with voicemail. Well, that was until Dean's voicemail filled up. Then his phone just rang and rang.

"Damned! Stubborn! Idjit!" Bobby muttered as he tossed clothes into a scarred and beaten duffle. "If you're still in this world, Dean, you better pray I don't find you, boy."

The old hunter zipped up the bag and tossed it on the couch. He turned and rooted through the mess on his desk, coming up with an equally battered map of Arizona. He was marking the quickest route to Tucson when he heard it.

That old Impala had a distinctive rumble that anyone with an ear could hear. Bobby's head jerked up like a springer spaniel's. He beat it to the window and tugged the curtain aside to see Dean pulling right up to the porch.

The sun was glaring off the windshield, but Bobby was sure there were two heads inside. Then Dean pulled forward into the shade cast by the peaked roof of the house, and Bobby's heart dropped.

Sam's body rested beside his brother in the front passenger seat, head tilted back, eyes closed, skin white and lifeless.

Dead.

Dean had brought the body of his dead brother - the brother he'd likely killed - home for a hunter's funeral.

Bobby turned away, swallowing hard.

Whatever he'd prepared himself for, it hadn't been this. And suddenly all the older man could picture in his mind's eye was Sam that time he was laid up with a broken leg, and John had dropped both boys off with Bobby. They were just teenagers, and Sam couldn't have been more than about 15. He'd spent weeks camped out on Bobby's couch, poring through those dusty old volumes of lore like they'd held the secrets of life. Bobby had never seen the kid so happy for such a prolonged period of time. Every morning, when Bobby and Dean came down the stairs, Sam had been there - hair wild like a living thing and a bright smile lighting the room.

Bobby felt something wet run down his cheek as he lowered himself to the couch. He hadn't felt a pain like this since … since Karen.

He couldn't do it.

He just … he couldn't do it. He couldn't wrap that boy up in bedsheets and place his body on a pyre. Couldn't set it on fire. Couldn't watch the kid he'd mostly raised go up in smoke.

Damn Dean for doing this to him.

Bobby sat, waiting, but nobody came to the door. No traumatized older brother climbed the steps dejectedly, eyes downcast, heart broken. And truthfully, the older man had no idea what he would have done if Dean had.

Bobby sat, drawn forward on the edge of the couch, his face leaning against clasped hands, rocking, and waited for Dean. He couldn't meet him halfway. Not this time. He couldn't … couldn't look at Sam in the front seat - white and lifeless. He just …

"Bobby! A little help here!" He heard Dean call out from the front porch.

And Bobby swore. What the hell was the kid doing? Bringing his brother's body into the house?

The older hunter swallowed, and worked up the courage to glance toward the screen door. Dean stood just on the other side of it, Sam's arm over his shoulder, his arm around Sam's waist.

He frowned. Why was he walkin' the body in? Surely, Sam wasn't … He looked closer as Sam raised his head and their eyes met through the window screen.

"Son of a bitch!" Bobby yelled, jumping to his feet. He made it to the front door in record time, shoving it open and staring at the spectacle before him. His eyes met Dean's.

"He's alive!"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, he's alive. He's heavy as shit too, Bobby. A little help here would be great."

"Oh! Yeah. Sure." Bobby stepped out and slid Sam's other arm over his shoulders, the boy crying out at the movement.

"Careful! He's hurtin'."

"Sorry, Sam. I'm sorry." Bobby babbled.

"S'okay." Sam whispered, trying to smile at the old hunter. "S'okay Bobby."

Bobby exchanged a look with Dean over Sam's head. "What the hell happened to your phone? I was twenty minutes away from driving down there."

"Lost it. Sorry."

It was Bobby's turn for the eye-roll. "Lost it. Well that's just great, Dean. Like there ain't one damned public phone in all of got a library in that town? You still remember how to send an email?"

"I kind of had other things on my mind, old man. Ya' know? I mean, it ain't like I didn't find my brother two inches from death, curled up in some … some IMPORT."

They eased Sam's stiff body down onto the couch, Dean fluffing the lone pillow like a fussy old lady. They were as gentle as possible, yet still Sam let out a small whimper that was heartwrenching in the silence. Dean looked up at his uncle, desperate.

"We got any good painkillers?"

Bobby nodded. "Yeah. I'll get 'em." He shot a single, concerned look in Sam's direction, then turned and hurried to the kitchen.

As soon as they were alone, Dean sat down on the edge of the old couch and carefully brushed Sam's greasy hair from his eyes. "It's gonna be okay, Sammy. You know Bobby always has a stash of the good stuff hidden around here somewhere."

Sam stared back at his brother through eyes leaking tears. He nodded, a bit of panic in his movements. "This pain .. it just … "

Dean nodded. "I know. First, we take care of the pain. Then we get you in a nice, hot bath. That should help loosen up the stiffness. Make you all clean and cuddly, hunh?" Dean teased. "That'll make things better."

Sam tried to snort, but it came out as more of a groan.

Dean grinned. "Then we get you some hot soup and a good night's sleep, and then tomorrow, we start researchin' the hell out of demon blood withdrawal, okay? How's that for a plan?"

"Here." Bobby stood over them, two bottles of prescription pills and a water bottle in hand. He sat down on the edge of the coffee table and opened the first bottle, handing Dean three pills. "Pain relievers." He uncapped the water bottle and handed it over.

Dean nodded, leaning forward, he tugged Sam's mouth open and placed both pills on his brother's tongue, following up with a tilt of the water bottle. He sat back, staring. "You good?"

At Sam's nod, he looked back at Bobby. "What's this one?" He asked, accepting the third pill.

"Muscle relaxer."

"Hear that, Sammy? Muscle relaxer. Just what the doctor ordered, right?" He helped Sam take the last pill, then offered him the water bottle again. "Good?"

Sam nodded, sighing. "Good, Dean. Thanks, Bobby."

Bobby smiled, "Ya' ain't gotta thank me, son. It's real good to see you again, Sam. Damned good." He took a surreptitious swipe at his eyes.

"You too, Bobby." Sam smiled just before both legs seized up, leaving him gasping in pain.

"Dammit, Sammy. Just hold on, okay? Those pills should start working any minute." Dean reassured him. He slipped off the couch and onto his knees. Placing both hands on his brother's legs, he began cautiously kneading. "That helping any?" He asked, afraid he might be making things worse instead of better.

Sam's hands grasped the sides of the cushions so tight, his knuckles whitened. "I-I think so." He ground out between clenched teeth.

"Maybe some hot towels." Bobby mused, jumping up and heading back to the kitchen.

But by the time Bobby returned with hot, wet towels, the medicine was beginning to kick in, and Sam was resting much easier.

"What hurts, Sammy." Dean asked.

"Just my legs still, a little."

They placed the warm towels over the tense muscles in Sam's thighs, exchanging relieved glances when he visibly relaxed.

"Oh … that feels so good." Sam breathed.

"Yeah? It's helpin?"

"Yeah. It is. Thanks."

So, you up for a nice, hot bath? Cause I gotta tell you Sammy. You stink, man."

Sam snorted. "Yeah. I think so."

"Okay then, let's get you out of those clothes so we can burn 'em." Dean joked, pulling Sam gently forward and removing his soiled jacket to reveal bare chest beneath, and Dean and Bobby could count every rib.

"When's the last time you ate, Sam?" Bobby asked, horrified.

"Week. Week-and-a-half maybe."

Bobby glared at Dean. "You didn't stop anywhere on the way?"

Dean shook his head, contrite. He turned to Sam. "Why the hell didn't you say something, Sam?"

"Hurt too bad. Couldn't have kept it down anyway."

"Think you could keep something down now? You hungry?"

Sam looked ashamed suddenly, "I'm starving."

Bobby stood up, sighing. "Sounds like that's my cue. You gonna need help gettin' him in the bath? Use my tub down here. No use making him navigate the stairs."

Dean shook his head. "Thanks Bobby. I got this."