-Dying Wish; Chapter Five

-A day earlier

He charges forward at the back of the last vampire as he raises his machete high, catching it unaware as he swings his acuminous blade at its neck and successfully decapitates its head off. Blood spatters all over his face and clothes, more little specks of fresh red drying into a disgusting brown.

He wipes the back of his sleeve at his red-dotted face, his mouth twisted into a snarl as he stares down at the corpse of the now dead creature.

His phone vibrates in his pockets once again, as it has been ever since he turned his phone on in favor of receiving word of new kills from his fellow hunters. Bobby hasn't stopped calling him for seven days straight, and it sure was beginning to get on his freaking nerves.

"Great job, man." Trace, his current hunting partner, praises him with a wide grin on his face, clapping him on the back.

"Thanks. You too." Dean replies, smirking back at him.

Trace looks down at the low vibrating sound his pocket's emitting, and he gestures at it. "You gonna pick that up?"

He bites his lip, his hand slowly coming to rest on the solid lump of his phone underneath his jeans' pocket as his heart and gut begs him to answer the call.

But he ignores it.

He raises his chin, his fingers withdrawing as he looks at the other hunter straight in the eye.

"Nah . . . it's nothing important."

.

.

He knows there is just no other way around this. No other way out of this, except to tell the truth.

So that's what he does.

"I called yer brother the very first day you got into this hospital." He begins softly as his nauseous stomach clenches with anxiety and his heart pounds heavily to the point where he could hear every single beat in his ears, not believing what he is really about to do. He feels detached from his body, like he is another person, watching fate's cruelty unfold in front of him with him having no control over it no matter what he did.

His mind is stuck on that memory of Dean refusing to come here, of Sam's hopeful eyes and heartbreaking questions, and he desperately hopes that this wouldn't be the thing to kill him (make him stop fighting), that this wouldn't be too much for his already weak heart. He allows his mouth to do all the work for him as the words tumble out, while he tries not to dwell on what will happen next. "I told him to come, but he... he said no."

("Well, tell him I can't come, I'm sorry.")

"It's my fault. 'Cause I shoulda told him straight out what was really going on, but instead I decided ta beat around the bushes. Said I'll tell him everything once he gets here when I shoulda told him right then and there that..." He pauses, swallowing hard against his aching throat. "That you were dying." He hates his voice for breaking, hates himself for being so weak (Hates himself for what he did to this kid).

("I can't keep running to him every time he gets hurt, Bobby.")

"Tried to call the idjit a hundred times, probably two hundred by now, but he's avoiding my calls like the freaking plague."

("He's a grown up now and he doesn't need me anymore.")

He swallowed shakily, a thin line of tears crowding the edge of his weary eyes. "I'm sorry, kid." He whispered softly, swallowing shakily once again at the weight in his throat (Wishes he can somehow get rid of the weight in his chest). "I thought I could fix it, ya know? Thought I'd get through ta' him before ya found out."

Bobby has barely ever cried in all his years, barely ever come close. In the place of shedding all his tears of agony, he had always chosen to drink it all away. He didn't cry when John died, or when he lost Caleb or Pastor Jim. Instead, he drank until he couldn't anymore. Drank until he passed out or until he was only a few millilitres away from getting alcohol poisoning.

But he had never cried.

For the first time in so long, he does.

The dam finally breaks as a few tears rush down his cheeks, and he takes ahold of his youngest's hand. "I'm . . . I'm so damn sorry, kid." He says, his voice nearly a whisper as his face crumples. "For . . . for lying to ya. For not being strong enough to tell ya."

("I'm sorry, Bobby.")

Everything remains silent for a while.

"S'alrigh'." Sam whispers, hoarse and weak.

Bobby's heart crumbles all together.

Because of the way his voice breaks, a trembling strangled sound that shoots a sudden sharp pain at his heart. Because of the way he bites his lips, trying to control its quivering. Because of the dejection and hurt that he could hear in those words in a thousand volumes. Because of the way his eyes are ducked down, no doubt trying to hide the tears that were probably shining in his eyes like a reflection of the shattered pieces of his hope and joy.

This was the reason he never told him.

He swallows, his grip tightening slightly. "He has no idea that your days are numbered, kid. He doesn't know that he's losing ya."

He swears his heart breaks even more, if possible, when he sees those tears fall.

He sighs deeply, raising his other hand to drag a hand down his own wet and haggard face. "Goddamnit." He breathes out, shaking his head as he huffs out an unamused laugh. "Really screwed up this time, haven't I?"

He closes his eyes, swallowing hard as he fought the burning of more incoming tears, his hand still on his ducked head. Now he has seen the outcome of his actions, and he can't believe it. Can't believe what he has done, how much he has failed them both.

But then he feels the weight of a large hand lying on top of his.

And his heart lurches in his chest.

He slowly removes his hand away from his head, and looks up at Sam.

At his gentle hazel (still damp with tears) eyes, staring fondly at him.

And though his face and eyes are pained and sad and full of longing for his big brother.

His smile, although small and weak and tired, is full of happiness and love for him.

And with that smile and a feeble pat to his hand, he utters the words that give Bobby all the confidence and determination and strength he needed to keep going.

"Y're...y're a g-g'd...f-fath'r."

.

.

He calls and calls and calls.

An hour elapses, and he still calls.

Once again, he finds himself in the hallway outside Sam's room, calling that idjit's number like some crazy stalker. And he has to give Dean credit for his damn stubbornness, though he also wants to curse at him for it.

But Bobby isn't going to let himself be any less persistent than him.

Even though he is just really sick and tired of hearing the sound of the phone ringing (anyone would have after hearing it a hundred times in only a week), he'll do this.

No matter how long it takes, no matter what it takes.

Because Sam really wants this, and it's the only thing he does. Not an entire long bucket list full of vacations to his favorite places and adventures he had always wanted to try out, or people he had always wanted to meet and things he had always wanted to see or do. None of that. Just his big brother, that's all he wants.

Because he doesn't want to see Dean break even more than he already will after he loses the person he spent his entire life protecting and caring for. After he loses the most important thing in his world.

Because they're his boys, and he doesn't want to let them down.

No, he isn't letting go this time, not until he gets through.

He didn't know what he expected, whether he believed it would work this time or not.

All he knew was that there was nothing he wanted more in that moment than to hear Dean's voice come through his phone from the other end.

And so, he was understandably shocked when he finally got his wish.

"Damn it, Bobby! What the hell?!"

Author's Note: Thank you all for your amazing tags and reviews! I'm so, so, so sorry for the late update...again. Life and school just got in the way and I always came home exhausted and just slept the rest of the day. And if I ever had time to write, I got completely blank on what to write in this chapter. I hope you can find it in your hearts to forgive me... again. But at least I've updated, right? :D

That reminds me, some people seem to think I'm abandoning this story. I can assure you that's not true. No matter how awfully late it becomes, there will always be a next chapter in store. Unless the story's finished, of course.

And I'm also sorry for not replying to your reviews. But I really do appreciate them, I promise! I'm always having a stupid grin on my face every time I read them or see a new favorite/alert. :D

And last, sorry about the cliffy! Heh heh. *sheepish*

No flamers.