A Moment Too Late

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, its characters, its ideas or its situations, obviously.

A/N: Good lord, but life sure gets busy, eh? Sorry for the wait. Also… my b key is busted, so to use this letter, I've copy pasted it wherever it's needed. That said, I may have inadvertently left out a few b's or neglected to properly capitalize, so if you notice that, my apologies!

ALSO… a huge thank you to my roommate Victorian Taxi for her assistance, both in idea- bouncing and reading/critiquing various drafts of this chapter. She's awesome!

Chapter 3

When Bobby reached the hospital, visitation hours had just started, but he figured Sam likely had never left the night before, so without hesitation he approached the front desk, where a bored-looking secretary clicked away at her keyboard, periodically snapping her gum.

"I'm looking for my nephews – one of them's a patient, other's probably visiting."

She glanced up at him, droning, "Name? snap."

"McGillicutty. Dean McGillicutty." 1

With a nod (and another snap), she entered something on her computer; a few seconds passed before she spoke, again, reaching over with thickly painted nails to point down the hallway to the elevators. "346. snap Take an elevator up. snap Left out of the elevator lounge." 2

"Thank you."

"Mm. snap."

She didn't bother to look at Bobby as he thus made his way off to find room 346. Upon locating it, he lingered in the doorway, taking in the scene before him. Dean, as expected, lay upon his hospital bed, still unconscious and hooked up to both IVs and oxygen, but he didn't seem to be on actual ventilation nor on particularly critical watch, so Bobby took that as a good sign. Sam, meanwhile, looked as ragged and upset as he'd sounded on the phone the day before, albeit with extra sleep deprivation thrown in. The taller man sat, elbows on knees, staring at his brother and the monitors with red-rimmed eyes, waiting and trying not to think. Glancing in the trash can by the door, Bobby saw a collection of crunched up coffee cups and figured caffeine was probably the only thing keeping Sam awake. The older hunter suppressed a sigh and properly entered the room.

"You look like hell."

Starting, Sam half whirled to his feet at the voice; however, upon recognizing Bobby, he relaxed, shifting, as if trying to cover his nervousness. Save for the brief moment of ascertaining identity, though, Sam did not meet Bobby's eyes, shame and guilt all too clearly written across his expression. "H-hey, Bobby…"

The older man came to a halt at the foot of Dean's bed. "How's he doin'?"

Sam licked his lips, turning to his brother's monitors. "Dean's… the doctors said that Dean should be ok. He needs to take it easy, give his lungs and such time to heal, but he should wake up soon."

Bobby nodded, putting a hand on Sam's shoulder. The younger man flinched away at first, but when Bobby kept his grip firm, Sam seemed to relax and even lean into it a little. Silence followed for a long while, broken only by the steady beeping of Dean's monitors. Comforted as he was by Bobby's presence and exhausted from two days of almost no sleep, Sam began to nod off; however, his attention was soon caught by a soft noise from the figure on the bed. Immediately, he snapped to full wakefulness, all his focus on Dean. Bobby, too, switched gears almost immediately, looking anxiously towards the older of the two brothers.

Dean, meanwhile, stirred and at last surfaced into consciousness. Blearily, he blinked up at the ceiling several times before looking around, dazed and confused by the unfamiliar surroundings and an altogether fuzzy sense of being. Nevertheless, he recognized Sam and so ultimately fixed his attention on his brother.

"Sam?" He grimaced at how hoarse and weak his voice sounded, but there wasn't much he could do about that, yet.

"Dean! You're awake," breathed Sam, momentarily relieved. "H-how are you feeling?"

"Dunno… I feel kinda… floaty? Can I have somethin' to drink?"

"Y-yeah. Of course. Just a sec…" Sam rose and turned to fetch a cup of water, but Bobby had already gotten one from the sink and now handed it to Sam. "Ah, thanks Bobby."

"Bobby's here? Oh… hey, Bobby." Dean lifted one of his hands in a weak wave before (with Sam's assistance and some wincing) he sat up and took the proffered cup.

"Good t'see you awake, Dean," said Bobby.

"Haa…" He sipped at the water. "I think I'd rather be asleep, again. Seriously, whatever the hell I'm on… floaty. Speaking of… uh… why'm I in a hospital, anyway?"

Sam froze. "You… don't remember?"

"Obviously not." Another sip. "So… what happened? An' why aren't you here, too? I mean… you are here, but I mean in a bed and stuff… You look like crap."

Sam hesitated, wondering how far back Dean's lack of remembrance extended and how much he ought to tell his brother at this point. He didn't really want to lie to Dean, and yet wasn't it better to keep things as stress-free for Dean while he was recovering? "Uh… you—"

"You got yer ass kicked by a demon," interjected Bobby, making the decision for Sam, who nodded when Dean looked to him for confirmation.

"He tried to pull your lungs out your chest, I think," explained Sam, softly. "You've been out for a bit over a day."

"Well… that certainly explains why breathing kinda hurts," Dean said, after a few moments of thought; he then attempted to give Sam a sharp look, though he only succeeded in looking vaguely stern, as he was having much difficulty in focusing. "Bet you haven't slept. Don't worry 'bout me. Go sleep." Seeing Sam's frown, Dean then looked past him to Bobby. "Make him sleep."

Bobby nodded. "Mm."

Sam, on the other hand, just shook his head. "I'm fine – you're the one who needs to rest, Dean."

"Whatever, Samantha."

And at that, Sam rolled his eyes. Meanwhile, Dean found himself growing steadily more 'floaty,' and though he tried to stay awake, he was asleep again before he knew it. Sam extricated the empty water cup from his brother's hand and eased him back into a supine position before sighing and sitting back in his chair again.

"Do… do you think he'll remember later?" he asked Bobby, once he was certain Dean was fully asleep.

Bobby shrugged. "He might. Or you might have to tell him yerself."

Nodding, Sam took a deep breath and swallowed, looking down at the floor, wondering whether it would be worse for Dean to remember on his own or to have to tell his older brother what he had done.

"He's right, though," said Bobby, breaking into Sam's thoughts. "You need sleep and a good meal. So, c'mon."

"No." Sam shook his head. "I can't leave Dean."

"Don't be stupid. Yer getting food an' rest, even if I have t'drag you outta here," declared Bobby, rolling his eyes.

"Bobby..."

"I'm serious. C'mon, kid. It's near enough lunch time, anyway."

Sighing, Sam at last assented. "All right. Lunch." He rose and followed Bobby to the door, though he paused to look back at Dean before exiting. "Are we going to the cafeteria here?"

"Tch. No," scoffed Bobby. "For all I know, the meat's leftovers from the morgue. I ain't eatin' that." 3

"Heh." Sam mustered a brief, half-smile at that. "Fair enough."

And so, a walk and a short drive later found them at a nearby diner, sitting in a booth and peering at sticky, laminated menus. They'd only been sitting a minute, though, when the waitress – a leggy, young blonde who reminded Sam painfully of Jessica – bounced over. After the initial glance, Sam kept his eyes directed steadily at the table.

"What can I getcha to drink?" she chirped, smiling brightly.

Sam opened his mouth, but Bobby beat him to the punch. "I'll take coffee," the older man said. "And he'll take water."

"Ok – I'll be right back with those, then!"

Sam frowned up at Bobby, who returned it with a level stare. "You need sleep, and you ain't gonna get it if you keep yourself buzzed on caffeine."

Looking away, Sam began to fiddle with the edge of the paper placemat beneath his menu. "I don't wanna sleep," he murmured, immediately feeling slightly childish.

Bobby opened his mouth to say something, but he never got it out, for the waitress chose that moment to return. Setting a glass of ice water in front of Sam and a steaming cup of coffee in front of Bobby, she beamed at them and pulled out a small pad of paper.

"You guys ready to order?"

"Yeah," said Bobby, slowly looking away from Sam. "I'll take the burger."

"Fries ok?" At Bobby's nod, the waitress continued, "How would you like that cooked?"

"Medium."

"Ok, and what about you?"

Sam, caught a little off guard, hurriedly skimmed the page of the menu before him. "Uh, I'll take the… uh… Caesar salad." 4

"You got it!" The waitress smiled at them again, took their menus and disappeared off to the kitchen, leaving Sam and Bobby once again alone.

Once again, Sam began to fiddle with the placemat, as if by constantly moving and twitching he could somehow avoid dealing with things he knew he should confront.

"It don't matter how much you don't want to sleep. It ain't healthy," declared Bobby, sipping at his coffee. "I care 'bout you, boy, and I ain't gonna stand by and watch you kill yerself by not taking care."

If anything, though, this pronouncement only seemed to make Sam fidget more. "How… how can you…? I was the one who – I mean, you – you know what… what I… "

"What's done is done, Sam and there ain't no goin' back. But that don't mean you can just stop."

Sam stilled, glancing up in surprise, for that had hardly been what he'd expected Bobby to say. The older man, meanwhile, simply took another sip of his coffee, while Sam searched his eyes for the condemnation he had anticipated and certainly felt he deserved. It wasn't there, though. In its place was a look of sad understanding, instead. And that look held Sam for several long seconds before he gazed down again, put a little more at ease.

"I'm not going to stop," he said at length. "I just… I'd rather stay by Dean… in case he wakes up again." It wasn't the complete truth as to why he didn't want to sleep, and Sam was aware that he was avoiding what Bobby was really talking about, but he hoped the man would let it go for now.

And to his gratitude, Bobby did just that, nodding once after a long pause. "Tell you what. I gotta a few things I need to look into anyway, so I'll take you back to the hospital 'till I'm done. Then, you come back with me. Sleep or not, but you're spending the night on the spare bed." When Sam hesitated, looking less than satisfied, Bobby went on, "The only other option involves me knocking you out."

Sam blinked and then sighed, nodding. "All right."

He then turned to his water, taking a sip and tracing patterns through the condensation on the glass, and the remainder of the time passed in silence, until the waitress brought them their meals. Sam merely picked at his salad, not actually eating any until Bobby reminded him, "I can still knock you out." Only then did Sam actually begin to eat, though he still didn't eat much. But then again, Bobby didn't seem to have all that much of an appetite, either. When the waitress brought them their check, Sam started to fish in his pocket for his wallet, but he stopped when he caught sight of the stern frown on Bobby's face, and he let the older man pay for it before they left and returned to the hospital.

Bobby watched Sam settled back into the chair beside Dean's bed. "Be back in a few hours. If you need anything before then, gimme a call.

Sam nodded. "Thanks Bobby."

And with that, the older hunter departed.

A/N:

1: This is the surname John uses in In My Time of Dying, when he gives the insurance. I like the name, so I'm using it here. Coincidentally, Elroy McGillicuty is also the example name my 8th grade civics teacher used to always use when he needed an example citizen/senator/whatever.

2: This number certainly doesn't add up to 13. -shifty eyes- oh no. -cough-

3: This was apparently a running joke at the hospital where my mom used to work, although they blamed the sketchy meat on the entire pathology department – not just the morgue.

4: Sam actually doesn't eat. He subsists on air – like an air fern, he filters nutrients from the atmosphere via his fluffy hair. The reason he drinks demon blood later on is that he slicks back his hair and so it no longer provides a reliable stream of sustenance; he must therefore find an alternate source, and since demons are so abundant, why not?

General notes: Bobby is harder to write than he seems. x.x; I tried to get his voice as close to IC as possible. I hope I succeeded, but if I didn't I hope you'll forgive me and also point out ways it can be improved. Please – any and all advice can be helpful, and though I don't always follow advice given to me, I do take it under consideration.

Also, I did a little research, and the most common visiting hours for hospitals I found began at either 10 or 11 am and ended at a variety of times in the evening, usually 8, 8:30 or 9pm. Why do I bring this up? Well, first of all to point out that forty-five minutes to an hour or so after Bobby arrived is a perfectly reasonable time to go to lunch, and second, because I find it interesting. :) muahaha. Trivial knowledge FTW~!

ANYWAY… I don't know when I'll get the next chapter done – all depends on inspiration and how much homework I have and so forth. It won't be for at least a week or two, though – tests, projects, busy weekends, etc. I'll try to get up it up quicker than a month, but we'll see.

Please leave a review telling me your thoughts, good or bad!

Thank you muchly~!

- Snarky