There was so much about Bobby that was different. He walked in a way he never had before, limping along like a much older version of himself. And…his fingers. There were still three less of them. He still wasn't saying what had happened to them—and Sam did ask, and even felt interested in the answer.

And it was weird how neither of them knew how to act around the other. As long as Sam could remember, their relationship had been an easy one—Sam would drool over Bobby's books and Bobby would roll his eyes and say something gruff, and then Bobby would help him and Dean kill something. But now…

Well, now everything was different, and Sam had probably been stupid to think that his and Bobby's relationship would remained untouched by past events when nothing else had. It hadn't, and the two of them treaded lightly around each other, as if they were walking on glass and eggshells.

Bobby did take care of things, though, which had been all that Sam was really hoping for when he'd made the call. The older man got him out of the diner and both of them checked into a motel room and used the money that he actually had and made it so Sam could sleep in a comfortable bed without restraints for the first time in a long time.

But they didn't talk. Not really. Not beyond the most perfunctory, simplified speech. Neither of them really knew what to say.

At least—not that first night.

Not until Sam dreamed.

XXX

You were supposed to let them take the body away.

When people died, you let them take the body away.

You waited and tried not to disturb things and then people came and took the body away.

That was how it worked.

But not this time.

This time, no one was going to take the body away.

Sam wouldn't allow it.

"Sam…"

Bobby's voice was wrong, somehow—he sounded hurt, choked.

Sam didn't really care.

He didn't care if Bobby was wrong or if Bobby was hurt or if Bobby was dead.

He didn't care if he was wrong or hurt or dead, either.

"Sam, please. You…you have to let go, okay?"

Sam shook his head and buried his face deeper into Dean's shoulder.

He'd wake up anytime now, he knew.

He'd wake up and it'd be Wednesday and the Trickster would tell him ha ha, he hadn't really reset anything after all and the hellhounds hadn't come and it was all a dream, just a dream…

"It's time, Sam. He's…he's gone."

And then hands reached out, tugged Dean from his grasp, and Sam was done.

XXX

"I hurt you, didn't I?"

Bobby was too good to jump, but Sam could tell he was surprised when he turned around, coffee in hand. "Didn't know you were up, kid. It's the middle of the night."

"It's true, isn't it?" Sam asked, ignoring the comment. "I hurt you."

Bobby set his cup down on the table and said slowly, "You been dreaming, Sam?"

"I saw it," Sam explained, voice too calm even to his own ears. "You tried to get me away and I…I hurt you real bad."

"Sam—"

"Don't tell me I didn't," Sam said. "I threw stuff at you and hit you and…and now you're scarred and your fingers are gone. I did that."

Bobby sighed. "Yeah, you did."

"And then you had me locked up so I wouldn't hurt anyone else."

"Or yourself," Bobby said quietly, as if each word pained him. "I didn't know what you were capable of. Sam, I'm sorry. I didn't want—"

Sam shook his head. "I know. I never blamed you."

"Maybe you should have."

"Or you should blame me. Look at what I did, Bobby. I could've killed you."

"You wouldn't have," Bobby said.

"You don't know that!" Sam said, feeling a spark of anger in his belly. "I don't know that! I don't know if I'm dangerous to me or to you or to anyone. I don't know anything, except—I'm angry. I'm angry all the time and I just…I don't want to be angry anymore." His voice quieted, became a small, weak thing. "I just want Dean."

The heavy tread of footsteps reached his ears, and then a hand landed on his shoulder and squeezed. Bobby's voice was gruff and choked.

"I know, boy. I know."

XXX

He saw hell again, and it was pretty much the same as last time. Big, scary, black, evil. Jus the same—except for one thing.

Dean.

He was screaming this time. Screaming, crying, shouting and the words were all the same.

"SAAAAAM!"

Sam wasn't sure if this was now or then or sometime in the future or if time had any meaning at all down there, but it didn't matter. The point was, Dean had changed. He had been tired before—he was scared now. Terrified and screaming Sam's name.

And the anger broke over Sam again.

Only it wasn't the hot anger that had been boiling in him, unnoticed, for months now. It was a cold stone inside him, bringing clarity and knowledge.

Before him, Sam saw the world.

XXX

"Sam! Sam!"

Sam snapped awake and away from the shaking hands, and Bobby backed off instantly.

"Jeez, Sam," the older man said tiredly. "We're never gonna get any sleep, are we?"

Sam sat up slowly, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "No," he said softly. "No, we're not. Not tonight." Then he looked up at Bobby and said, "We're gonna get Dean back instead."