Sam blinked, eyes heavy and immediately looked for his brother. He felt limp, weak, his chest tight and painful. He sat up in bed and swung his legs round so that he could sit on the edge of the mattress, rubbing his face and hair. He wanted to shower and maybe wash his hair, wanting to purge himself of the dirty, grimy feeling that clung to his skin.

"You're awake," Bobby poked his head round the door and smiled, "are you hungry?"

"I could eat," Sam forced a smile and stretched his arms above his head, wincing at the scent of sweat that clung to his body, "where's Dean?"

"He's gone," Bobby, said, his voice even, "should be back in a coupla days."

"Gone?" Sam could not keep the obvious panic from his tone and he swayed to his feet, wobbling disturbingly, "gone where?"

"It's ok Sam," Bobby came over and put his arm around the younger man, supporting him against his body, "I made him swear – he isn't gonna do anything stupid, I made him promise – I made him swear."

"Thanks," Sam smiled then, shaky but definitely there, "thanks Bobby."

"That brother of yours is an idiot," Bobby huffed, "both of you are bloody idiots if you ask me, always ready to sacrifice one for the other, I'm not gonna sit back and watch that anymore and I told your damn fool brother as much."

"Is he going to take me home?" Sam let Bobby lead him into the bathroom, watching with barely concealed relief as Bobby stared to run the bath, "Bobby, is he going to take me back to Lawrence?"

"Yeah, he's looking for somewhere for you to live, a job for himself," Bobby poured some lotion into the tub, "whatever you want Sam, your brother is gonna get it for you."

Sam nodded, cautiously taking off his shirt and undershirt, wincing as he gazed down at his naked chest. He could see his own ribs, see the flatness of his stomach, the way his jeans hung off his waist. He swallowed hard, pulling down the rough denim and standing only in his boxers. He saw Bobby glance at him and saw the older man turn away, rubbing at his face. Sam sighed, realising how bad he must look, how sick.

"I don't want to die like this," Sam said, as he climbed into the tub. Bobby kept his back turned and Sam saw his head move up and down in acknowledgement. "I wish that Dean had let me go that first time, at least then I died in the hunt, died for a reason," he chewed on his lower lip, letting the water flow over his heated body, breathing in and out, as he relaxed into the warmth.

"I know Sam," Bobby sounded broken and Sam felt a lump forming in his own throat, "I know."

"He isn't gonna let me go alone is he?" Sam poured water over his hair, rubbing in shampoo and working up a lather, "he isn't gonna let me die alone?"

"You boys make me despair," Bobby avoided his question but his tone told Sam all he needed to know.

Sam stared at the grimy wall of Bobby's bathroom and let the tears come. He had known, ever since he had told Dean the truth that his brother did not intend to live beyond Sam's death.

He recalled, with painful clarity, the day that Dean came to fetch him from Stanford, the hurt in his voice when Dean had told him he didn't want to hunt for his father alone. He remembered that time in River Grove when Dean thought he had contracted the deadly virus. He remembered Dean with the gun in his hand, ready to shoot Sam and then himself. Dean had told Sam then how tired he was, how he wanted to quit hunting. Then there was Cold Oak when Dean had, literally, sold his soul for Sam.

"Shit," Sam ground out, blaming the stinging in his eyes on the shampoo and the heat of the water, "shit, Bobby, please – don't let him do this."

"I can't stop him boy. I couldn't stop him after Cold Oak and I can't stop him now. He loves you more than life Boy and he isn't going to want to do this alone."

"What can I do?" Sam stood up on shaky legs and wrapped a towel around him. He felt clean and fresh but his insides hurt like hell and he couldn't keep the tears from flowing, feeling the unfairness of life weighing on him, holding him down, "I don't want him to die – I want him to live – that is why I got him out of hell – to live."

"Without you?" Bobby smiled, wryly, "there is no Dean without Sam, you should know that by now. It has been his one duty, your daddy's instruction to him on that fateful night 'look after Sammy', and that is what he has done."

"Yeah," Sam smiled, wetly, his eyes on some distant point, thinking of his brother, of that big black car, of the passenger seat forever empty. "Yeah and he has done it so fucking well," he sat on the end of the tub and began to rub his hair absently, "then we should go back home as soon as we can – have some fun – be a proper family again – I want us to have that at least, surely – surely we deserve that much."

"Yeah," Bobby said, wiping at his own eyes, "that and so much more,"

He helped Sam to his feet and into the bedroom, appalled at how skinny and weak Sam felt, the disease having already begun to ravage his body.

Bobby left Sam to dress and then went into the kitchen and began to prepare dinner, watching as the sun set and darkness fell, stars rising as the sun set.

He wondered if Dean had found his miracle yet.

TBC