BOBBY'S PLACE... UMM... DAY?

Sam walked from the kitchen to the living room, foggy. Not really looking where he was going. He was wearing a big Aladdin t-shirt. "This Used to Be My Playground" was playing on the radio, but everything was otherwise dark and peaceful. The sky was a hazy orange and grey, and it reminded Sam of the tornado that wiped out the old mom 'n' pop store twenty years ago. He remembered walking through the living room that day... And while he was thinking about that, he forgot where he was going and why.

"Hello, Samuel," said Death.

Bwuh?

Sam turned, still hazy - he wasn't lucid enough to be lucid dreaming, so he just when with the sight of Death Himself sitting in the armchair behind him like it happened every day.

"I trust we've met before," actual friggin' Death went on. "In another life, perhaps?"

"Yes, sir," he said, getting Death's meaning. It all began coming back to Sam. What dimension he was in, what year it was, that he was really nodding off on the living room sofa and that he outgrew his Aladdin t-shirt in middle school. And that he was very afraid of Death. The room seemed to have grown darker, the radio playing static. A tornado siren began to sound and the house began to shake.

"Then you know I've been lending you my limes for quite some time now. I'm here to collect. Give me your hand, boy."

Sam laughed just a little bit. "Uh, pass."

Observing the going chaos around him, Death softened. Well, soft for him. "Don't worry, I'm not here to reap you. If I bothered to do that myself every time a Winchester died, I'd have to move in." He took something out of his jacket wrapped in cloth. It fell open in his hand: the Colt.

Sam just stared at it. Had Death had it this whole time?

"Your brother dropped this. I want you to hold on to it for a while."

Sam came closer, looking at the Colt like it was pointed at him. Like he wanted nothing more than to walk away. Let someone else take this. He reached out and Death put the gun into his hand.

"It feels right, doesn't it? Well, I'll let you in on a little secret: it's yours. Always has been. Which is odd, because every time it finds it's way back into your hands, you give it away. I understand. It comes with a job you don't want, and I have no interest in being the one to straighten you out on that point. But just this once, I'm going to ask. Until it's been used, you hold onto it, understand me? ...Sam? I need to hear you say it."

Sam blinked like he was trying to wake himself up. "I won't drop it."

"You won't give it to Dean. Or any of your friends. Promise me."

"I promise."

"Good lad. I always did like you best."

BOBBY'S PLACE - NIGHT

Sam's eyes snapped open. Gasp! He was lying on the couch in the dark living room, Jimmy Rogers was hillbilly yodeling on the radio, all of it was as he left it. But then he breathed heavy and as his chest heaved, he felt something slide off. It was the Colt, he still had it. It wasn't just a dream.

The lights came on and Bobby walked in with his shotgun, still as pissed as he was an hour ago. Sam wasn't sure why, but he hid the Colt between the couch cushions as he sat up. "Any news?" he asked.

Bobby was too preoccupied to notice the stink of suspicious hanging around Sam.

"Cas texted me they're 'out shopping'," Bobby said as if it were the most unbelievable lie.

Sam reacted in kind. "What, like for stuff?"

"Either somebody's got their phones or I'm gonna kill 'em both."

It was then that Sam noticed Bobby break the action on his shotgun.

"Whoa, Bobby, maybe just yell?" And then he noticed Bobby was unloading it.

Mad as he was, Bobby knew having a loaded gun in this state was a bad idea. "They're gonna wish I shot their asses," he muttered. "...Stand out in the driveway so the first thing they see when they pull up is my head exploding..."

"They haven't been gone that long, maybe they just went out for a drink after work."

"You think I'm overreacting?" Bobby said darkly. Like what he meant was, Don't you dare say I'm overreacting.

Sam put his hands up defensively. "I'm Switzerland, really, just... maybe throw the ammo out the window till you're feeling better? Cas might not be an angel anymore, but he's not a kid."

"No," Bobby said sarcastically, "he's just playin' hooky, sneakin' around and lying about where he's been because he's so damn mature."

Sam sighed. Death had just invaded his dreams to give him the Colt to kill the King of Hell and a renegade angel and this was the fight he was in the middle of. Well, it beat the hell out of being the one who's in trouble.