Bobby makes them coffee and makes some comment about Sam's pallor and Dean's stubble. They laugh and Sam coughs and Bobby sits him down with a glass of water whilst Dean feeds him his meds.

They eat well that night, Bobby is a pretty good cook and he makes more than they really need. Sam hasn't had much of an appetite for a while but he makes an effort to eat, knowing that Dean is looking at him, aware that Dean is watching his every move, just waiting for Sam to make a slip, watching to make sure that Sam is really getting better.

Sam's chest hurts, the pain is tolerable at the moment, but he knows that it is just going to get worse. He knows what is going to happen to him, he listened to what the doctor said and he has made some sort of peace with that, but, deep inside he is scared, scared of losing control of his body, of becoming weak and sick, of dying in agony. Most of all, he is scared of what would happen if Dean saw any of it.

Sam knows what he is going to do, but he can't do it whilst Dean is around. He has to get away from his brother or get his brother away from him. Trouble is, he knows that it isn't going to be easy, knows that Dean is likely to stick to him like glue these days, scared of losing the only family he has left.

They always share a room, even though Bobby has enough rooms to spare and Sam waits until Dean is sleeping the soft, relaxed snores coming from Dean's open mouth telling Sam that his brother is not going to wake up any time soon.

Bobby is in the kitchen, sipping coffee, just as Sam knew he would be. Hunters like Bobby don't need much sleep, living on a knife edge tends to do that to a person and Sam knows, by personal experience, that Bobby dozes during the day because he doesn't sleep at night.

"Hey," Bobby pours another cup of coffee and pushes it over to Sam. Sam takes it gratefully and sits, cross-legged, on the floor near Bobby's open fire. It is warm and homely and Sam feels a strange comfort seeping into his bones, relaxing for the first time in weeks. "You are looking pretty sick boy," Bobby continues, eyes narrowed and shrewd, "looks more than a chest infection to me, so, spill it, what aren't you tellin' that brother of yours?"

Sam blinked, surprised at the sudden brightness in his eyes, his throat thick with salt and fear. He sipped at his coffee for a long moment, trying to find his voice, his mind playing over that dreadful day in hospital, the doctor's sympathetic face, the fact that the X-ray didn't lie.

"I'm…I'm gonna die Bobby," he finally ground out, voice harsh, tears spilling unbidden down his cheeks as his old friend stared at him, aghast, unable to hide his shock, "They – they found a shadow on my lung. It's terminal – there isn't anything they can do…chemo might prolong my life but it isn't going to save it – I – I refused treatment – I don't want anyone to see me suffer like that, lose my hair, lose my dignity…I just want to – want to do it my own way," he had to stop then, his breath hitching in his chest, his stomach clenching painfully. Bobby stared at him for a long moment and then wiped a hand across his own face, eyes shadowed and unreadable.

"Dean doesn't know does he?" Was all he said.

"No, and I'm not gonna tell him." Sam's voice wavered a little but he tried to sound confident, determined, "there are no more deals left Bobby, but you know Dean, he'll do anything, try anything to make sure nothing happens to me. I won't let him do that again."

"And just how are you going to stop him?" Bobby's voice was gruff, anger colouring the edges, "that idiot brother of yours isn't gonna let you go anywhere, so disappearing ain't an option and I'm pretty sure he is gonna start noticing when you don't get any better."

"I need your help," Sam was aware of how vulnerable he sounded, how desperate, but Bobby was his only hope in this and he had to make him see how much Sam needed him, how much he was relying on him.

"Sweet Jesus, Sam, how can you ask that of me?" Bobby's voice broke and Sam was mortified to see a single tear trace its way down the older man's cheek and disappear into his beard, "you boys are the nearest thing to family I have in this world and I have already had to watch you suffer more than any man should have to do. I can't do this anymore Sam; I just can't – won't – do this anymore."

"Bobby…" Sam felt something break inside of him and he bowed forward, tears spilling from his eyes. The ache in his chest grew, the lump in his throat so big it threatened to choke him. He rubbed his hands across his face but to no avail, the tears kept on coming, hard and fast, his breath catching, hitching, his whole body giving in to the tremors that had long threatened to overwhelm it.

Strong arms came around him and calloused hands gripped his biceps. Sam gave into the comfort, burying himself into that strong embrace, bending over so that his head rested against a solid shoulder, his hands gripping soft cotton.

Sam sobbed; he cried for the mother he had never known, for his father who had given everything for his sons, for his girlfriend, his only chance of normal, for Madison, Ava, Andy and even Jake, for everyone in his life who was now dead and gone, but most of all, he cried for his brother, for Dean and for the life they would never have together.

Bobby held him as he cried, silent and stoic, as if he were a wall that could protect Sam from anything the world would throw at him. Bobby's tears were silent, still, and he supported Sam through his breakdown, still holding on as the sky turned yellow and daylight pushed night aside to welcome another new morning.

Sam had no more tears left inside of him. He felt worn out, worn down, completely broken. His chest was burning and he could his lungs rattling as they forced breath in and out. Bobby let him go and lowered him gently to the chair, handing him another cup of coffee, hot and sweet, sitting silently as Sam drank it, watching the younger man for any signs of sickness.

"I don't know what to do," Sam could barely speak, his voice harsh with crying, "What can I do?"

"You planned to get that brother of yours away from you and then to eat your own gun, didn't you?" Bobby's tone was neutral now, calm.

"That about covers it," Sam nodded, gulping down the last of the coffee, feeling it hot against his, already, tortured throat, "I know it sounds pretty lame – considering I've died once and considering all the things I've seen and done, but I don't want to die like this Bobby, I don't want to die thin and emaciated in a strange bed, surrounded by strangers, I want to end it my way, surely there isn't anything wrong with me wanting that."

"No Sam – there isn't, but you can't keep this all a secret from Dean – you know that. Hell boy, you know, deep down in your soul, that your brother would kill me and then himself if he found out that I'd helped you do this. I know that it is gonna hurt really bad Sam and that it isn't gonna be easy, but you have to tell Dean – you have to. There have been enough secrets, enough partings, enough deals. Let your brother in Sam; let him help you through this. Please."

Sam stared at the older man for a long time; Bobby's eyes were bright with tears and he looked so old and worn suddenly as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"What do you want Sam?" Bobby said, finally, "What do you really want?"

"I want to go home," Sam couldn't, wouldn't, cry again and he lifted his chin, one last futile stubborn gesture, "I want to go back to Lawrence – to see mom again – to have normal just for a while – if I tell Dean the truth – will you do that for me? For us?"

Bobby swallowed hard and nodded.

"For both of you." He said.