The rain continued its steady rhythm against the windshield, the wipers swiping across in slow, lazy arcs. The Impala's headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating the slick road ahead.
Sam hadn't spoken in a while, simply sipping on a flask of something every minute or so, but the weight of his silence was suffocating. Dean could feel it pressing against him, but he kept his eyes on the road, pretending it wasn't there. Pretending everything wasn't suffocating.
The hunt had been rough, but it wasn't the blood or the bodies that stuck with him. It was Ruby. It was the way she showed up, too damn eager to help. It was the way Sam still wanted to trust her. Dean didn't believe a damn word out of that demon's mouth, and he hated that Sam did.
And then there was Tyler.
Dean had thrown his name out, just to see if Ruby would flinch, if she'd give anything away. But she hadn't. She claimed not to know anything, but that didn't mean jack. Dean figured demons knew a hell of a lot more than they ever let on.
But the worst part? He wasn't sure which was worse—the idea of Tyler being back as something else, or the idea of him being back at all.
Ali had stayed behind with Bobby, and that was probably for the best. Bobby wasn't exactly Dean's favourite person at the moment, not after what he'd said. Not after he'd thrown Dean's deal in his face like he'd done it just to be reckless, like he hadn't made the only choice he could.
Dean clenched his jaw, fingers tightening around the wheel.
And then Sam exhaled sharply.
"I tried, Dean," he said, his voice low. Dean frowned, glancing at him.
"To do what?"
"To save you," Sam replied, defeated. Dean let out a short, humourless laugh.
"Oh, here we go…" But when he looked at Sam again, his brother wasn't joking. His face was tight, eyes dark with something heavy.
Dean sighed, long and slow. All right. This is gonna take a while.
He pulled the Impala into the parking lot of a roadside bar, tires crunching over gravel as he put the car in park. Without a word, he climbed out, heading straight for the entrance. Sam followed.
The place was nearly empty, just a few tired truckers nursing beers in the back. The dim light cast shadows against the wooden walls, and the scent of stale whiskey lingered in the air.
Dean slid onto a stool at the bar, motioning for the bartender.
"Can I get a whiskey?" he asked. "Double, neat." Sam sat down beside him, rubbing a hand over his face.
"I'm serious, Dean."
Dean didn't even look at him, just muttered, "No, you're drunk." Sam scoffed.
"I wish." Dean took his whiskey as the bartender slid it over, downing half of it in one go.
"Where you're going…" Sam continued, his mind far away. "What you're gonna become…" His voice was raw, barely more than a breath. He shook his head, scoffing at himself. "I can't stop it."
Dean said nothing, just traced the rim of his glass with his thumb.
"And I'm starting to think maybe even Ruby can't stop it," Sam continued.
Dean let out another dry laugh, shaking his head. "You finally catching on?"
"But really, the thing is, no one can save you."
Dean exhaled slowly through his nose. "What I've been telling you."
Sam clenched his jaw, then turned in his seat to face Dean fully. "No. That's not what I mean." Dean finally looked at him. "No one can save you because you don't want to be saved." Dean's face didn't change, but his grip on the glass tightened. "How can you care so little about yourself?"
Dean scoffed, shaking his head. A small, tired smirk tugged at his lips, but there was no real humour behind it.
"What's wrong with you?"
Dean opened his mouth, like maybe—maybe—he was going to answer. But before he could—
BZZZ. BZZZ.
His phone vibrated against the bar. Dean glanced at the screen frowning at the familiar number.
He picked up.
"Ali?"
Sam watched him, waiting, his shoulders still tense.
Dean's fingers clenched around his phone as he pressed it to his ear.
"Ali?"
For a moment, there was nothing but frantic breathing, the sharp, uneven gasps of someone barely holding it together. Then, her voice broke through—high, panicked, raw.
"Dean—oh my God—he's—he's in the hospital—"
Dean was already digging into his pocket for cash, tossing a few bills onto the bar before pushing away from the counter. His chair scraped loudly against the floor.
"Slow down," he said, voice tight. "Who?"
Sam had been watching him carefully from his stool, but now he was standing too, the tension in his body shifting from frustration to concern.
"Bobby!" Ali choked out. "It's Bobby!"
Dean froze mid-step. For a second, everything seemed to stall—the bar noise, the distant hum of the rain outside, even the sound of his own breathing.
Then he was moving.
He shoved the door open and stepped out into the cold night air, gripping the phone tighter.
"What happened?"
"I—I don't know," Ali stammered, her voice shaking so bad it was barely understandable. "He just—he was on a hunt, said he wanted to go alone. I don't know what happened, I just got a call telling me he's in the hospital."
Dean swore under his breath, already making his way toward the Impala.
"Is he awake?"
"No—" Her voice cracked, and he could hear the terror beneath it. "They-they said he was unconscious when they got him in the ambulance. I just saw him before they took him to the ICU. Dean, he wasn't moving—"
Sam was right behind him now, eyes narrowed. "What's going on?"
Dean ignored him for the moment, shoving a hand through his hair as he yanked the car door open.
"Where are you?"
"University of Pittsburgh Medical Center."
Dean nodded, more to himself than anything, sliding behind the wheel and jamming the key into the ignition. The engine roared to life as Sam barely managed to climb into the passenger seat before Dean was throwing the car into reverse.
"Alright, we're coming. Stay put, you hear me?"
Ali sniffled on the other end of the line. "Dean… what if—what if he—"
"Don't," Dean cut in sharply, his jaw clenching. "Just hold on. We're on our way."
She didn't answer right away, just let out a shaky breath, and it was enough.
Dean swallowed hard, voice softening just a fraction. "I got you, kid."
The line went dead.
Dean tossed the phone onto the dash, gripping the wheel so tight his knuckles went white. His pulse thundered in his ears, but he forced himself to focus. Drive. Get there. Fix this.
"Dean?" Sam pressed.
Dean exhaled through his nose, eyes locked on the road. "It's Bobby."
Sam didn't ask anything else.
Dean pressed harder on the gas.
The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed faintly, casting a pale glow over the stark white walls. The smell of antiseptic and stale coffee lingered in the air, the kind of sterile, suffocating scent that never quite faded no matter how many times Dean had been in places like this.
The hallway was quiet as they made their way toward Bobby's room. Dean's boots scuffed against the linoleum, Sam just a step behind him. Neither of them spoke. They didn't need to.
When they stepped inside, the sight that greeted them made Dean's stomach twist.
Ali sat in a chair beside Bobby's hospital bed, her fingers wrapped tightly around his hand. She was hunched forward, her blonde hair falling over her face, shoulders drawn in like she was trying to make herself as small as possible.
She didn't look up when they entered, but Dean could see the way her fingers trembled slightly as she held onto Bobby. The red around her eyes told him everything—she had been crying. A lot.
Dean swallowed hard. Damn it, Bobby.
Sam hesitated by the door, his face tight, while Dean stepped closer.
"Ali," he said softly.
She finally lifted her head, her eyes glassy and exhausted. She looked like she was barely holding herself together.
"They don't know what's wrong," she murmured, her voice hoarse from crying. "They don't—" Her breath hitched, and she shook her head. "He just collapsed, and now he won't wake up."
Dean didn't know what to say to that. Bobby looked—hell, he looked like he was just sleeping. But there was something wrong, something off about the whole damn thing, and it set every nerve in Dean's body on edge.
Before he could say anything, the door swung open, and a doctor stepped inside, glancing between them with cautious professionalism.
"You're family?" the doctor asked.
"Yeah," Dean said, not hesitating. "What's going on?"
The doctor sighed, rubbing a hand over his forehead. "We've run tests. Heart, brain activity, bloodwork. Everything comes back normal. As far as we can tell, he's perfectly healthy."
Dean's eyebrows shot up. "Except that he's comatose."
The doctor exhaled, nodding. "I know. And I'm sorry, but… we don't know what's causing it. Which means we don't know how to treat it." He glanced at Bobby, his expression carefully neutral. "He just… went to sleep and didn't wake up."
The words sent a chill down Dean's spine. That wasn't natural. That wasn't just bad luck or some random medical mystery.
This was something else.
Beside him, Ali gripped Bobby's hand tighter, her knuckles going white. "So what are you saying?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
The doctor hesitated. "I'm saying that, right now, we have no idea when—or if—he'll wake up."
Ali's breath hitched, her whole body tensing like she had just been physically struck. She blinked rapidly, shaking her head. "No," she said, her voice cracking. "No, that's not—"
She sucked in a sharp breath, her shoulders trembling. She wasn't crying, not yet, but Dean could see it—she was close. Holding onto control by a damn thread.
Dean turned back to the doctor. "What do we do?"
The doctor sighed, glancing at Bobby again before looking back at them. "All we can do is wait."
Dean hated that answer.
Ali let out a shaky breath, her eyes locked on Bobby's face like she was willing him to wake up. Like if she just held on tight enough, he wouldn't slip away.
Dean ran a hand over his face, his mind already turning, already trying to piece together what the hell could have caused this. Because this wasn't natural. This wasn't just some medical mystery.
Something had done this.
And he was going to figure out what.
But first—he looked at Ali, at the way she was barely holding herself together, at the silent devastation in her eyes.
They needed to get her through this.
Because if they lost Bobby—
Dean wasn't sure any of them would come out of it whole.
The motel room was cramped, the kind of place they always ended up when they were on the road too long. The familiar scent of stale coffee and a mix of low-budget cleaning supplies filled the air. Ali sat on one of the beds, her legs drawn up to her chest, hugging her knees as she stared at the open laptop in front of her. Her eyes were bloodshot, dark bags beneath them, and her face was pale from exhaustion.
Dean and Sam sat across from her, Bobby's papers scattered all over the small table, the room thick with the smell of cheap takeout and frustration. Sam had been on the laptop for the last hour, digging through reports, while Dean paced back and forth, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife.
Ali hadn't said much since they left the hospital. She seemed distant—blank, almost—as if her mind was somewhere far away. Dean was used to the quiet between them, but this felt different.
"Come on, Sam," Dean said, rubbing his hand over his face, his voice low. "What are we missing here?"
Sam didn't look up from the screen, tapping away on the keys. "I'm trying, Dean. This isn't exactly a clear-cut case. But I'm narrowing it down."
Ali's gaze shifted toward the window, where the streetlights flickered weakly in the distance. She wasn't really looking at anything, just staring out into the dark.
Dean paused, his eyes flicking to her. "Ali," he said softly. "You good?"
She didn't answer at first, but after a long pause, she finally muttered, "I'm fine." Her voice was quiet, detached, and it didn't sound convincing, even to her.
Sam glanced at her for a moment before returning his focus to the screen. Dean could see his brother's concern, but Sam wasn't the type to push.
"Alright, I've got something," Sam said after a moment, his fingers still moving rapidly over the keyboard. "There was a doctor at the university —Dr. Walter Gregg. He was working with sleep-related experiments." He clicked on a report and spun the laptop around for Dean to see. "A few months ago, he was found dead in his sleep. No cause of death, just like Bobby."
Dean leaned in closer, his eyes scanning the article. "Sleep experiments, huh?" He glanced at Sam. "What kind of experiments?"
"Looks like he was trying to get people to experience lucid dreams, but not just lucid dreams. He was using something called African Dream Root." Sam paused, tapping the screen as he read the next section. "It's a rare herb, known for its ability to induce dreamlike states. People have used it for centuries, but apparently, Dr Gregg was trying to figure out a way to enter people's dreams while they were asleep."
Ali's eyes flickered over to the laptop, her brow furrowing slightly. "So you think this is what happened to Bobby... somehow caused him to fall into some kind of... dream coma?"
Dean's expression darkened as he processed the information. "I don't know," he muttered, his mind spinning. "But it would explain the whole thing. Whatever Gregg was messing with, it sounds like it could've gone sideways. Now Bobby's caught up in it."
Ali bit her lip, but said nothing.
Dean glanced at her again, his gut twisting. "You haven't slept at all, have you?"
Her eyes snapped to his, and she immediately shook her head. "I'm fine," she repeated, though there was nothing in her voice to suggest it. "I'm just… trying to focus."
Dean softened slightly, his jaw tightening. "Ali," he said gently, "you've been up all night. You need to rest."
"I don't need to rest." She didn't even look at him, her voice flat and lifeless. "I can't rest when Bobby—" She stopped herself, then shook her head again. "I just need to focus."
Dean opened his mouth to argue but stopped, seeing the way she was curled in on herself, the way her shoulders were hunched, like she was trying to physically hold herself together. He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair.
"Look," he said, his tone quieter, more worn. "We'll figure this out, okay? But you can't help Bobby if you're running on empty. You need rest. Just… give it a couple hours. We're not going anywhere."
Ali didn't respond right away, her gaze back on the laptop screen. Finally, she nodded, but it was almost imperceptible, and Dean didn't miss the way she still seemed like she wasn't really there.
Sam broke the silence with a soft voice. "Bobby's been looking into this for a while, right? Maybe the same thing happened to Gregg —he got caught up in something he couldn't control."
"Maybe," Dean muttered, rubbing his hand over his face again. "But what the hell do we do about it?"
Ali finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "We find out what he was looking for. If he was trying to enter people's dreams…" She trailed off, as if the thought was too much to say aloud.
Dean exchanged a quick glance with Sam. The thought didn't sit well with him either.
"We should try and speak to one of his test subjects," Dean suggested, his voice low.
Sam nodded. "We need more information."
Dean nodded back, eyes still on Ali. She looked even more distant now, her shoulders slumping as the weight of the situation seemed to press down on her more and more.
"You're not gonna find anything if you don't sleep," Dean said one last time, but this time his voice was softer.
She didn't respond, and after a beat, Dean walked over to the bed, sitting down next to her. "Ali, listen to me. Just for a few hours. Let me and Sam work this out, and you can go crash. You're no good to Bobby like this."
She finally looked at him, her eyes flickering with something close to emotion—anger or frustration, maybe both—but she didn't argue this time.
She stood up with a huff, wiping her hands down her face. "Fine," she muttered. "But I'm not sleeping long."
Dean didn't say anything as she walked toward the bathroom, but he was more worried than he let on. Sam, meanwhile, turned his attention back to the computer. "We need to figure out exactly how Dr Gregg was using this Dream Root."
Dean leaned back in his chair, his eyes still on the door where Ali had disappeared behind, the concern gnawing at him. Whatever was going on with Bobby… it wasn't just a medical mystery. There was something bigger at play, and they were running out of time.
Ali awoke to the soft sound of the door clicking open. She rubbed her eyes, groggily pulling herself up from the bed, her body heavy with the kind of exhaustion that sleep had failed to soothe. Dean stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable, his silhouette dark against the hallway light.
"You're up," Dean said softly, closing the door behind him. He stepped into the room, the faint scent of rain still clinging to his jacket.
Ali stretched and yawned, trying to shake the fog from her brain. "How's Bobby?" she asked, her voice hoarse.
Dean's jaw tightened. "No change." Ali released a breath. "I spoke to one of the doctor's test subjects."
Ali's brow furrowed. "And?"
He glanced over at Sam, who was sitting at the small table, reading through some notes on the laptop. "Sam's been doing more digging."
Sam looked up as Dean spoke, and with a slight frown, he added, "This Dream Root is some serious mojo." He shifted the laptop, pulling up some more information. "You take enough of it, with practice, you can become a regular Freddy Krueger. You can control anything. Turn bad dreams good, or good dreams bad. But the worst part?" Sam met Ali's eyes, and his voice dropped. "You can kill people in their sleep."
Ali's stomach churned at the thought. She couldn't help but picture Bobby in a coma, trapped somewhere between the dream world and the waking one.
Dean exhaled sharply, leaning back against the wall. "So, if the doc was testing this stuff on his patients, someone gets pissed at him, decides to give him a little dream visit, and he goes nighty-night?"
Sam nodded.
Dean sighed heavily, rubbing a hand over his face.
Ali spoke next. "We need to get our hands on some of this Dream Root to try and go into Bobby's mind," she suggested "Figure out what's going on."
Sam and Dean exchanged a glance.
"It's funny you should say that," Dean began, his voice apprehensive. But before he could say more, there was a knock at the door.
Dean's pushed himself off the wall, crossing the room in two strides. He opened the door with a sharp motion.
Standing in the doorway, with a smirk plastered across her face, was Bela Talbot.
Ali's eyes narrowed instantly. The woman had an unsettling way of showing up at the most inconvenient times, but something told Ali that Sam and Dean weren't as surprised to see her as she was.
Bela strode into the room, her heels clicking against the tile floor. She held a small jar in one hand, her fingers curling around it possessively. "Well, well," she said, her voice dripping with amusement. "Looks like I'm not too late to the party."
Ali felt her pulse quicken, suspicion creeping over her like a cold sweat. "What are you doing here?" she asked, her tone cautious.
Bela smiled, her eyes flashing with a strange gleam. "You called, I came," she replied. "I brought the Dream Root," she continue, holding it out to them. "Just what you need to save your friend."
Dean raised an eyebrow, suspicion clear in his gaze. "I can't believe you actually came to help us," he said in disbelief.
Bela's smile only widened. "Oh, I'm not doing this for free," she purred.
Dean's jaw tightened. "I knew it was too good to be true. There's always a catch."
She nodded, the playful glint in her eyes turning calculating. "You catch on quick, Dean. I'll give you the root," she said, letting the jar dangle in front of her, just out of reach, "in exchange for one vial of blood."
Dean froze. "Why the hell would you want my blood?"
Bela smirked, her gaze flicking over to blonde girl. "Not yours," she said coolly. "Hers." She pointed at Ali.
Ali's stomach dropped. The words from the man echoed in her mind: Venator blood doesn't exactly grow on trees these days.
Ali's heart pounded in her chest as she tried to process what this meant. She didn't trust Bela—not for a second—but she also knew they were running out of options. Bobby was slipping away, and time was not on their side.
"No way," Dean said, stepping forward. "You're not getting her blood."
Bela's eyes narrowed. "Then you can say goodbye to Bobby." She raised an eyebrow, waiting for them to react.
Ali stood motionless for a moment, her mind racing. She knew what this meant. If Bela got her hands on her blood, there was no telling what the woman would do with it. But at the same time, Bobby needed them—needed her.
Sam stood up, moving toward Ali. "You don't have to do this, Ali," he said quietly, his voice filled with concern. "But it's your choice."
Dean opened his mouth to protest, but Ali beat him to it. "I'll do it," she said, her voice resolute.
Dean turned to her, disbelief flashing in his eyes. "Ali, no."
But she wasn't looking at him anymore. She was staring straight ahead, her jaw clenched. "I don't care what it takes," she whispered, the weight of it pressing down on her. "I'll do whatever it takes to save Bobby."
Dean stepped toward her, shaking his head. "Don't—"
Ali interrupted him, her voice sharper this time. "Stop. We don't have time to argue about this." She pulled a knife from her jacket, ready to slice across her palm.
Bela scoffed. "You people really are savages." She pulled out a sleek black case from her bag, opening it to reveal sterile phlebotomy equipment.
"Hold out your arm," Bela said, her tone suddenly all business.
Ali hesitated, the knife still in her hand, but she slowly lowered it. Bela was already moving, unrolling a tourniquet and expertly tying it around Ali's upper arm.
Ali couldn't help but wince as the needle went in, the cold steel biting into her skin. She turned her head away, focusing on the wall, trying not to think about the fact that she was giving this woman exactly what she wanted.
Bela worked quickly, pulling the needle out once the vial was full, and then, with a smirk, she placed it into a small container and sealed it shut.
"There we go," she said, grinning as she handed over the jar of Dream Root. "Pleasure doing business with you."
Ali rubbed her sore arm, feeling the weight of everything that had just happened settle on her.
Dean was standing there, jaw clenched tight, his frustration evident. "What the hell, Ali?"
But Ali didn't respond. She just grabbed the jar from Bela's outstretched hand, her eyes still locked on the vial of blood Bela had taken. She didn't trust her for a second, but she wasn't about to let Bobby die because of it.
Bela gave them all one last, satisfied smile before turning and walking out the door.
Dean slammed it shut behind her, standing still for a long moment, before he turned back to Ali.
"Let's hope this works," he muttered, though the fear in his voice was clear.
Sam stepped forward, glancing at Ali. "We'll figure this out. We will."
Ali didn't respond right away. She only nodded once, quietly.
The dream root concoction wasn't an easy recipe. The dim light of the room cast long shadows across the walls as Sam worked at the small table, mixing ingredients with focused precision. Ali sat on the bed, her gaze fixed on him, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts. The jar of Dream Root sat on the nightstand next to her, a reminder of the price they had paid to get it—Ali's blood. It still made her skin crawl, the memory of Bela's smirk as she walked out, but Bobby was in there, trapped somewhere in a dream. They had to try.
Sam carefully measured out the Dream Root powder, mixing it with water and a few other ingredients Ali couldn't recognize. The process took time—gruelling, methodical work that Sam seemed to approach with a quiet intensity, as if he were performing a delicate surgery on a life, or a death.
Ali leaned forward on the bed, her hand instinctively reaching for the glass that Sam had set aside. She needed to feel like she was doing something, anything, even if it was just the smallest part of the plan. Her fingers brushed the edge of the glass, ready to grasp it and join the ritual, but before she could lift it, a hand shot out to stop her.
"Woah, slow down," Dean's voice came, low but firm.
Ali shot him a glare, the fire in her eyes undeniable. "I'm doing this, Dean."
Dean shook his head, a hard edge to his expression. "No way. Me and Sam are doing this. You're not coming."
The words hit her like a slap to the face, and her temper flared, her jaw tightening in response. "What the hell, Dean? You can't just make decisions like that for me!"
"You're not going in there," Dean repeated, voice final. His face was set, determined.
Ali opened her mouth to argue again, but Sam interjected, his voice steady and calm as always. "It would be stupid for all three of us to go in. We need someone outside in case something goes wrong."
Ali hesitated, the weight of his words sinking in. She knew Sam was right, but that didn't stop the frustration from boiling in her gut. She needed to be there—she had to be. But she could feel the unspoken truth: this wasn't her fight alone. It never had been.
Reluctantly, she pulled her hand back, the glass still sitting untouched on the table between them. "Fine," she muttered, her voice colder now.
Dean's face softened slightly. "Go to the hospital, be with Bobby." Ali nodded silently
Sam stood up, two glasses now in hand. One glass held a small portion of the Dream Root potion. He dropped Bobby's hair into both, his fingers delicate as he worked. Sam met Ali's eyes for a moment, the silent understanding passing between them.
"Alright," Sam said, taking a deep breath. "Here goes nothing."
Dean picked up the first glass, grimacing slightly at the thick, viscous liquid that sloshed inside. The smell alone was enough to make the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end—sickly-sweet with a bitter aftertaste. He shot a glance at Ali, who was still sitting on the bed, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her expression unreadable.
"Here goes nothing," Dean echoed, before downing the entire glass in one go. He gagged, his face contorting in disgust. "That… that was awful."
Sam followed suit, a little slower but no less grimacing as the bitter liquid went down.
Ali couldn't tear her eyes away from them as they both visibly struggled to keep from coughing. The room grew heavier with each passing second.
After a moment, Sam took a step back, his eyes fluttering as if fighting to stay awake. "Well… that's the fun part," he said, his voice already thick, distant.
Dean was swaying slightly, his eyes drifting closed. "I feel like… like I've just taken a nap, but… everything's too… too loud."
Ali watched as both of them seemed to be sinking into the bed, their faces relaxed, their breathing slow. It was clear now—they were starting to drift, like waves pulling them under. Sam's hand was still clenched around the glass, his fingers twitching as the effects of the Dream Root took hold.
Dean let out a soft breath, his head tipping back against the pillow. His body was still, save for the slight rise and fall of his chest, but the look on his face was... something else. Almost serene.
Ali's heart thundered in her chest. She wasn't sure what to do with herself. She felt like an outsider in her own body, stuck between wanting to help and knowing there was nothing left for her to do but wait.
The two men were now both fast asleep, but it wasn't peaceful. It was as though their minds had been sent into a swirling storm. Their features were taut with tension, their hands twitching occasionally as they sank deeper into unconsciousness
Ali sat in the quiet room, the soft beeping of the heart monitor the only sound filling the air. Bobby's comatose form lay in the bed, his face pale and still. Ali's hands were clasped tightly together in her lap as she stared at him, her mind spinning with every possibility, every what if. She hadn't slept much, but exhaustion wasn't something she allowed herself to acknowledge. Not with Bobby like this.
Her eyes traced the familiar lines of his face—the furrowed brow, the stiff jaw, the way he'd always looked at her like a father would at his daughter. She couldn't lose him. Not like this.
Suddenly, a soft noise broke the silence—a low, strangled gasp. Ali's breath hitched as she jerked forward, her heart leaping into her throat.
"Bobby?" She leaned in closer, her voice trembling. "Bobby?"
His body jolted again, his eyes snapping open, wide and terrified. He was gasping for air, struggling like he couldn't breathe.
"Bobby, it's okay," Ali said, her voice breaking as she quickly reached for his hand. "It's okay. You're safe. You're back."
Bobby's hand clenched around hers, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he looked around, disoriented. Ali gently pulled him into her arms, holding him tightly, her cheek pressed against the side of his head. She could feel his pulse racing beneath his skin.
"I… I'm here, Bobby. You're safe now. Just breathe. Just breathe."
For a long moment, Bobby just clung to her, as if making sure he was real. The room seemed to hold its breath, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Ali allowed herself to exhale.
The soft trill of her phone broke the moment, and she reluctantly pulled away from Bobby to answer.
"Ali?" Sam's voice came through the receiver, tentative but relieved.
"He's awake," she said, her voice still shaky with relief. "Bobby's fine. He woke up just now."
"I'm glad to hear that," Sam replied, his voice softening. "We're just waking up now too. We'll be there in a few minutes."
"I'll be here," Ali said, a smile breaking through the tension. "See you soon."
As she hung up the phone, she looked at Bobby, still sitting up in the bed but looking more alert now, his eyes scanning the room. He didn't look as terrified as he had moments ago, but the confusion was still there.
"Hey," she said gently. "How're you feeling?"
Bobby rubbed his forehead with a hand, still groggy but clearly improving. "Like I got hit by a freight train. What the hell happened?"
"You just…" Ali hesitated, then settled on the easiest way to explain. "You were stuck in a dream state. But you're awake now. That's all that matters."
He nodded slowly, trying to sit up straighter, his eyes still a little unfocused. "Hell of a nap, huh?"
Ali couldn't help but laugh a little, the tension breaking. "Yeah. A hell of a nap."
Sam and Dean arrived at the hospital a short time later. Ali was already on her feet when they entered, Bobby following slowly behind her. Sam and Dean exchanged a quick glance, both of them looking relieved to see Bobby up and moving.
"Guess that Dream Root worked, huh?" Dean said, his eyes shifting between Bobby and Ali.
Ali nodded, still smiling, but there was a hint of exhaustion in her eyes. She was just glad they weren't facing another loss. "Yeah. He's fine."
The four of them gathered into the impala. The tension from earlier had faded, replaced by the comfortable yet serious atmosphere that always seemed to follow when they worked together.
"So, what's the plan?" Bobby asked, his voice gruff but steady as he looked at Sam and Dean. "We going after Tyler now, or what?"
"Right." Sam sat forward, flipping through his research notes. "We're still trying to piece together his movements."
Dean cut in, his voice low and focused. "Yeah, and Ruby still hasn't been any help. We don't even know if Tyler really is Tyler at all." He looked to the blonde girl who hadn't said a word yet.
"Your call Ali," he said quietly. "What's our next move?"
Ali looked thoughtful for a moment, considering her next words. "We need to get back to Sioux Falls and regroup. Figure out what to do next." She glanced her eyes over the other hunters, her gaze landing on Bobby. He gave a long sigh.
"Sounds like a plan," he said, but he wasn't sure he liked where the plan would lead them.
AN: Hope you enjoyed that chapter! Would love it if you left a review to let me know what you think!
Up next, the hunt for Tyler is on...