Dean knew what he had to do.
So he went out and got a fifth of whiskey. And a bottle of tequila.
He'd slumped onto his bed, facing the other bed, and downed nearly two thirds of the fifth before he picked up the phone to call the only person he could think to call.
Before he could finish dialing Bobby's number into his cell, he hesitated. He'd been a downright jerk to Bobby when he'd seen him last, he knew it. At best Bobby would be hurt and upset. Maybe calling him wouldn't be such a...but Dean knew he'd want to know...and he needed someone else here, he couldn't contemplate this- this- this hunt on his own...
Hunt had never seemed like such a disgusting and horrific word before.
Dean stared at the phone, uncertain, and it rang, Bobby's caller ID shining at him. He jumped, surprised and just barely realizing he was halfway drunk. Fumbling for a moment, blinking hard once, Dean answered, and tried not to sound like he'd bawled his eyes out an hour earlier.
"Bobby?" he asked, still surprised.
"Dean."
And just like that, Dean didn't care one bit about pride or bravery or the threat of loss of anything, he just needed the security of family right now, any family at all, and Bobby was the closest and truest family he had, would possibly ever have again, and he couldn't believe he'd been such and idiot to think it could go otherwise.
"Bobby," he said, and the tremor in his voice was pronounced, but he didn't even care, he was trying to hard to figure out how to say man, I'm sorry.
"Dean?" Bobby sounded concerned. Dean didn't know what to say, he could never do this chick flick crap like Sam could. He knew what he wanted to say, I'm sorry for what I said, I didn't mean it, and Bobby would say Boy it's ok, and they'd be good, just like normal. But saying it really frickin hard for some reason.
"Dean?"
"Yeah, m'ere," the slur was unintentional, but oh well. It was quiet for a moment. How could he tell him about Sam? What could he possibly say...
"Dean..."
"Yeah," Dean managed around his suddenly tight throat.
"You drunk?"
Dean would have chuckled at that. A month ago, he would have chuckled at a lot of things - he would have chuckled in general, period.
Now? Dean didn't chuckle. About everything. The laughter he had was gone.
"No," Dean shook his head, and then continued honestly, without any sarcasm, "not yet. I've got plenty o' whiskey left though, so I'm not too worried." He could practically hear Bobby's facial expression.
"Ah geez, kid," he gruffed, sounding sad, and then he asked like he already knew the answer, "what's goin' on?"
Dean swallowed twice around the lump in his throat, taking another swallow of the whiskey, his eyes feeling hot and his vision blurring again.
"Its...," Dean sniffed once, quietly, "it-it's Sam..."
It was quiet on the other end, and for a moment Dean wondered if Bobby had even heard him. Then, like a delayed reaction, he heard the sudden intake of breath, and the fumbled sounds of the phone switching to the opposite hand and ear.
"Whaddaya mean it's Sam?" Bobby spoke quickly, sounding suddenly intense, not exactly what Dean had expected but hey, another swallow of whiskey, and he was responding just as fast, his voice breaking.
"I mean he's not gone, not all'a way. He's following the parts o' the car, Bobby. He's fall...followin' the Impala, he's...he's hurting people. The people I sold the car parts to, Bobby, Sam's...Sam's not all th'way gone."
Bobby stood stricken, listening to Dean confirm his fears.
"...he's hurting people. The people I sold the car parts to, Bobby..."
Slowly, even as Dean was still speaking, ever so slowly Bobby turned, away from the dock for his phone and toward the small dresser by the kitchen door, she dresser where the Impala's keys lay, glinting in the orange setting sunlight.
"Oh," was all Bobby could think to say, "well damn."
"Bobby?"
"Do you know why?" Bobby asked, still looking at the keys, "I mean, what's he here for."
"I..." Bobby heard Dean gulp a breath, and god that boy must be tortured outta his mind right now, and he was shocked to hear what sounded like nearly a sob.
"I have no idea," Dean admitted, voice hitched and shaking, "I just...I have no idea."
Bobby shook his head, stunned.
He had no idea either. He walked to the dresser, tentatively picking up the keys.
He had no idea either.