Thanks to everyone that read, reviewed and altered this story. Everyone is appreciated.

Disclaimer: Still don't own.

Dean opened his mouth and began to speak, Sam wasn't surprised by the first words that came out of his mouth. "Are you sure you want to hear about this?"

"Yes," Sam insisted. "All of it."

Dean gave a deep sigh and shifted uncomfortably. "I don't remember that much..."

"Dean!" Sam cut him off in an exasperated tone.

"Let me finish, okay?" Dean fired back. "I don't remember that much from just after it happened. I was pretty out of it for the first couple of days." He stopped and looked up toward the house.

Sam knew that his brother was hoping someone, or even something, would happen that would prevent him from talking. "Sorry," Sam said softly.

"Maybe we should go back to the house," Dean stalled. "Bobby may need..."

"Dean, why don't you want to tell me about this?" Sam asked, a touch of confusion in his tone. He was surprised by the honest answer that his brother gave him.

"I don't want you getting mad at dad. I mean it, Sammy, I... we… don't need this right now."

"I won't judge, Dean," Sam said, hoping he sounded sincere. He didn't want to promise until he knew the whole story. He knew how obsessed his father could get. Dean had said it was his idea for his father to leave, but Sam had a feeling there was much more to the story.

Dean looked toward the house once more. Sam could tell that Dean was looking for Bobby. The elder hunter had always had a soft spot for his brother, acting as Dean's protector, much the way Dean did for him. Sam would be forever grateful to the mechanic for that. He had a feeling that the fact that Dean was walking today had a lot to do with the other man. He could feel his anger building towards their dad. That should have been his job.

Stop it, Sam. He warned himself. John was dead, he couldn't defend himself, and this was the reason Dean didn't want to talk in the first place.

"Let's go back up to the house," Sam said taking pity on his brother. Sam had no intentions of letting Dean off the hook completely, but he knew that Dean would relax considerably knowing that Bobby was nearby. "I could use a cold one."

"Thanks Sam," Dean said gratefully. He stood and extended his hand to help his brother up, and the two silently made their way back to the house.


Bobby had been keeping one eye on his surrogate nephews through the kitchen window. It was killing him to stand back and wait. He knew that he'd hurt Dean by telling Sam his secret, but he truly felt that Sam needed to know.

They had sat there for a long time and Bobby wondered if Sam had been successful in getting Dean to talk. Then they stood up and started walking back toward the house. Bobby hurriedly ran to the other room and grabbed a book to make it look like he hadn't been spying on them.

He saw them disappear into the kitchen and heard the fridge open. He got up and joined them and gratefully accepted the beer Sam handed him.

"Dean, I'm sorry…" Bobby started and stopped when Dean raised his hand to cut him off.

"Don't. You must have had a good reason," he said absolving Bobby of his guilt. "Me and Sammy have an agreement. We just decided that it would go better with alcohol."

"Okay, I'll leave you two alone," Bobby said curious as to what the agreement was.

"Bobby, don't go," Dean said immediately, confirming Sam's suspicions. "Um, I mean. I was out of it for the first couple of days. Maybe you could fill Sam in," he suggested.

"Okay, then you can take over," Bobby said firmly. "Actually, I think we're gonna need something stronger. Dean, I have some Jack in the basement, next to the holy water, can you get it, and then you can come back and take over." There was a conversation that he and John had had right after the doctor's prognosis that he would prefer Dean knew nothing about.

"Fine," Dean huffed, took a long swig from his beer bottle, and left the kitchen.



"I want to see him," John said sounding tired.

"He's being settled in the ICU. It should be about a half hour before he'll be ready and I'll come and get you," the doctor explained.

"Thanks, doc," Bobby said. "John, are you okay?" Bobby was suddenly worried for his friend. John looked like he was about to faint. "Maybe you should sit down."

It worried Bobby even more when John did just that. John Winchester usually came across as larger than life, and it was really disconcerting to see him looking so vulnerable.

"This is my fault," John said as he lowered his head into his hands. "How am I going to tell him? This is going to kill him."

"It won't, Johnny," Bobby replied. "We don't know if it's permanent."

"You and I both know damn well that the only thing Dean's going to hear is that he's paralyzed," John said truthfully.

"Then we make him hear it," Bobby said firmly. "We say it over and over until it sinks in. The doctor seems confident that this isn't permanent."

"Doctors tell you what you want to hear," John said bitterly.

Anger quickly overtook every emotion Bobby had. "Don't you dare, John Winchester. Are you listening to me? Don't you dare say that you're giving up hope. If you believe right from the start that Dean's not going to walk again, then he won't."

"Don't yell at me, Singer. You heard that son of a bitch. He wants me to suffer like he did. He put Dean through everything his son went through. He left Dean outside, exposed to the elements. His injuries were almost identical to the ones Danny suffered. Danny never walked again."

"Danny was a kid with a lot of problems, John. If you hadn't done what you did that night in the forest, he would have died then and there. Remember John, Danny would be alive today if Paul hadn't killed him. That's the difference. Paul gave up any hope that Danny could recover, and I'm not just talking about getting out of his wheelchair. There are a lot of paraplegics that lead productive lives. Danny could have been one of them. That's the difference. Dean has us in his corner and we're going to fight with him every step of the way."

"But, how do we make Dean want to fight," John argued. "He's going to give up as soon as he realizes that his legs don't move. I'm not disagreeing, but name me one paraplegic hunter."

Bobby couldn't disagree with John on that one. "That's why we gotta be the strong ones here. We can't let him give up, no matter how much he wants to, and no matter how much he tries. You know he's gonna try, Johnny."

"Maybe we should call Sammy," John suggested. "Dean may..."

"That's probably the worst thing you can do right now..."



"Dad wanted to call me and you wouldn't let him?" Sam cut Bobby off in disbelief.

"Sam, it wasn't about you," Bobby said. "Dean's whole life was about protecting you. Look at this from Dean's perspective. His number one priority was to make sure you were safe. How do you think he would have reacted if you showed up?"

"I wouldn't have cared, Bobby," Sam said honestly. "Dean's my brother, you should have let me be there for him."

"I know you wouldn't have cared, Sammy." The term of endearment had just slipped out, but Bobby was pleased when Sam didn't correct him. It meant a lot to him, especially in light of what he had just revealed. "But Dean would have. You may not agree with me, but all Dean would have seen was the fact that in that state he couldn't protect you. You were away at school, you were happy. Your dad and Dean were checking up on you, so they knew you were safe."

To anyone who didn't know Dean, Bobby words wouldn't have made much sense, but when you were dealing with Dean's psyche, it made perfect sense.

"Bobby, I can't find it," Dean said coming back in the kitchen.

"Sorry, man, forgot it's under the sink," Bobby said and got out the bottle of JD and poured them each a shot.

Sam was a little shocked that Dean didn't react to Bobby's sending him out of the room. He would have been curious and demanded to know what they were talking about. Dean didn't seem to want to know though. Was he doing the right thing by making Dean talk about this? He suddenly wasn't so sure. He shot a look at Bobby and the senior hunter nodded, saying that he felt that Dean needed to tell his story, as it would help him come to terms with it.

"Your turn," Bobby said.

Dean downed his shot. "The first thing I remember is dad sitting next to my bed when I woke up."



It was that annoying sound Dean first heard when he started to come to. He wanted to tell them to turn it off as it was really irritating him, as was the thing poking him in the side of his chest. That really hurt. He blinked a couple of times to clear the cobwebs. He could see his father sitting next to his bed and wanted to call out to him, but something was stuck in his throat. It stopped him from talking, from breathing, and he began to gag.

John reacted just in time. He saw Dean blink a couple of times, and then his hands shot up towards the tube in his throat. John grabbed them just in time. "I gotcha," he said soothingly. "Easy, Dean, just focus on my voice. Breathe with me, son," he coached as he pushed the button for the doctor. "The doctor's coming, buddy. He'll get it out." He pushed the button again.

Dean tried to listen to his father but it was tough. It seemed like forever before he finally heard an unfamiliar voice.

"Dean," Dr, Steiger said. "I'm going to take the tube out." He would have preferred to leave it in for a few more hours, but Dean's oxygen stats had remained stable for the last few hours and the way he was fighting it was probably doing more harm than good. "When I tell you, I want you to take a deep breath and then blow hard, like you were blowing out the candles on your birthday cake."

Yeah, yeah, this isn't the first time, doc. I know the drill. Just get it out.

He felt the familiar burn as the tube was slid out his throat. He coughed hard. He felt his stomach roll and he tried to sit up so he could hurl. Pain flared in his side and lower back.

"Dean, you have to lie still," he heard his father order firmly.

He tried to comply. He took some deep breaths and felt the coughing and nausea begin to ease. He was grateful when the doctor handed him some ice chips and issued another familiar order, to just swish them around in his mouth and spit. He also felt the cool breeze of oxygen flow into his nostrils, as the doctor fitted a cannula under on his upper lip.

"Dad," he rasped.

"I'm right here," John said as he made sure he was in Dean's eyesight. "Close your eyes okay, son. I'll be here when you wake."

"Promise?" Dean asked hesitantly.

John reached out and took Dean's hand, being careful of the IV, and he squeezed it tightly. "Promise."


It was much calmer when Dean awoke the second time. His eyes immediately searched out for the familiar sight of his dad. He visibly relaxed when he saw John sitting beside his bed.

"Can I get out of here?"

The first inclination Dean had that something was wrong was when his words failed to get a rise out of his father. Anytime he woke up in a hospital, he immediately asked to go home. His father usually just rolled his eyes indulgently and listed off his injuries, explaining why he couldn't go home just yet. His father just looked at him sadly. What the hell was wrong with him?

"Dad," Dean prompted.

"Yeah," John said trying to snap himself out of his daze. He had to keep up appearances. "Um, no, you have to stay. You lung was para... um, punctured. Tubes gotta stay."

"You mean this," Dean indicated the tube coming out of his side. The damn thing hurt like a son of a bitch. "It hurts," he pouted.

"Yeah, well, leave it," John insisted. "What do you remember about what happened?" He was trying to draw Dean's attention away from his injuries.

"Not much. It's kind of fuzzy. I was at the bar waiting for you. I got a coke, and the next thing I knew, I woke up tied a chair, and then that man was standing over me, telling me to talk to you. Then I felt a sharp pain in the back of my head, and I woke up next at the construction site, where the dick shot me. I felt him kick me a bit later and then I woke up here. Dad, something's not right," Dean said. He'd felt off since he'd awoke and he knew his father was hiding something.

John looked to the door, hoping that someone would come in and rescue him. How the hell did he find the words? "I need you to listen, Dean," he said. He wasn't surprised when Dean's heart monitor started to speed up.


It just about broke John's heart at how young Dean sounded. He had to be figuring it out. He knew something major was going on. Before John could speak, Dean's eyes broke from his father and landed on his legs, finally pin pointing what felt wrong, or more accurately what he couldn't feel wrong. "My legs, dad. I can't feel them." The panic in his tone was evident.

"Dean, listen to me. The bullet, it… well, it..."

"Am I..." He couldn't say the word. One look at his father's face was enough to tell him. "I… I, dad, tell me it's not true," he begged.

"I wish I could," John said quietly and his guilt almost overwhelmed him when Dean broke apart in front of him. "Listen to me," he said firmly, trying to keep Dean's attention. He had to keep him focused and grounded. After Mary's death, Dean had disappeared inside himself for months and he couldn't let that happen again. "Dean, listen. The bullet might have grazed your spinal cord. Might have," John said again with emphasis. "You have a lot of swelling and there are some bone chips putting pressure on your nerves. The doctors are optimistic this isn't permanent, Dean."

He was paralyzed. How could he hunt? How could he protect Sammy? This couldn't be happening. He stared hard at his legs and tried to make them move. When he couldn't, he turned his gaze toward his father.

The defeat that he could clearly see in son's eyes just about killed John. True to prediction, Dean was resigning himself to a life of disability.

Dean suddenly couldn't stand the way his father was looking at him, couldn't stand to see his eyes full of pity. "Just go," he quietly but firmly instructed his father.

That was when John Winchester made his first mistake, when he listened to his son's words and walked out the door.

Right into a very irate Bobby Singer.

Dean got his wish of being alone for about 5 minutes before the door to his room opened and Bobby marched in, pulling John behind him.

"You're not wallowing in self-pity, either of you," Bobby lectured. "It happened, and no matter what the outcome, neither one of you idjits are gonna stop fighting."


The next week was tough for all three of them. Dean's mood swung violently from depression to anger, often in the space of one conversation.

What was making Bobby's job twice as hard was that he wasn't fighting one Winchester, he was fighting two. To his credit, John showed up at the hospital every day. The problem was that he was letting Dean give into his emotions. If Dean didn't want to work with his therapist, he sent the man away. The hospital tried to send in a psychiatrist, but one word from Dean and John sent her away as well.

Bobby truly felt for his friend, no parent should have to watch their child go through this, so he allowed himself to be the bad guy. When Dean told his physical therapist off one day, Bobby made him apologize. If Dean tried to beat himself up, or talk about how useless he was, Bobby yelled at the young hunter for being an idjit.


It was about 8 days after Dean woke up before the doctors finally removed his chest tube. Evan, his physical therapist, decided it would do Dean some good to get out of his room. Predictably the stubborn young hunter refused.

"Tough," Bobby ground out forcibly.

"Maybe he's not ready for..." John started, but stopped when Bobby shot him a glare that would have killed a lesser man.

"Don't I get an opinion?" Dean spoke up from the bed.

"If I wanted it, I'd give it too ya," Bobby informed the young man. "You can't lie in this bed forever, son..."

"I'm not your son," Dean sniped rudely. "I am yours," he shot at his father in an accusatory tone.

"Dean," John said tentatively. He was used to being in charge, When he spoke, people listened. He was a marine. Yet this entire situation scared him more than anything. Dean was so fragile right now. He was so afraid that if he said the wrong thing, it would break his son permanently. "It would be good to get out of here. I know how you hate being cooped up."

"How's it any different if I'm stuck in bed or in some stupid chair?" Dean shot back.

John had no answer for him. He looked helplessly to his friend.

"Because Dean," Bobby said patiently. "The chair is going to give you more freedom. You will have control over it."

Before anyone could say anything else, Dean's therapist showed up pushing a wheelchair. "Good morning, everyone. Dean, you ready?" he asked.

"No, go away," Dean said, wishing for once that someone would listen to him. Of course, they didn't. Before Dean knew what was happening, they had the blankets pushed back, he felt hands grabbing him and lifting him, and then settling him in his wheelchair.

"There," Evan replied. "I'll give you a minute to get used to it."

Dean didn't want to get used to it. It certainly wasn't the first time he'd sat in one, he'd been in the hospital many times. It was par for the course, if you were a hunter. Anytime he'd been transported for tests, it had been in a wheelchair, and when he'd left he had to ride in one. The problem was that when he got to the door, he got out and walked to his car. He wouldn't be getting out of this.

Suddenly he felt trapped. Like when Paul had him tied to the chair. It wasn't that he wanted out of the chair, he needed to get out of it. "I don't..." he said. How did he voice his thoughts?

"Dean," Bobby said, in that lecturing tone that Dean hated. "It takes a while to get used to sitting in it when you can't feel your legs."

"You give it a minute. Get me out." Dean hated himself for pleading.

"Bobby, maybe we should..." John started to say. Then he looked toward his son. "Damn it, Dean, don't."

Dean couldn't take it anymore. Since no one was listening to him, he had decided to take matters into his own hands. He gripped the arm rests and tried to push himself into a standing position. The only thing he succeeded in doing was falling on the floor.

"I told you he wasn't ready for this," John insisted as he knelt next to his son. "Dean, are you alright?" he asked as he helped Dean to sit up. He'd had to hold him up, and his heart broke again when he felt Dean cling to him.

"I'm fine," he insisted. "Don't put me back in it, dad, please."

John pulled him tight against his chest, wrapping his arms around his son. Dean had sounded all of five years old. He wanted to make it all better, but he couldn't.

Bobby knelt next to his friend and the young man he considered a son. This was killing him as much as it was killing John.

"I can come back," Evan replied.

"No," Bobby said. He felt like a heartless SOB for what he was about to do, but it had to be done. "Give me a hand to get him up," Bobby asked the therapist.

Evan walked over and stood beside Bobby, and then instructed him on how to safely lift Dean, and before the young hunter knew what was happening, he was sitting back in the wheelchair. He glared at Bobby and the look of betrayal in Dean's eyes just about killed him.

"It's for you own good," Bobby insisted. He kept a firm hand on Dean's shoulder, which prevented Dean from trying to launch himself out of it again.

"Dad," Dean said to his father, pleading his case.

It was here John made his second mistake. "Stay, it's an order," John thundered, angry at the situation, but it left Dean with the impression that his father was mad at him.


A short time later, Dean was transferred to a rehab center. It was after that when Dean became oddly compliant. He was his father's soldier after all. He had let his father down enough before, he didn't want to do it again. He did what they told him to do, but that spark had left his eyes and they were now dull and lifeless.

Now he wasn't fighting his therapists, Dean quickly made progress in learning daily care activities, such as getting in and out of his wheelchair, dressing himself and bathing.

Bobby insisted that both Winchesters come back to his place when it was decided that Dean could be released.


Bobby had spent considerable time and effort to make sure his house was equipped for Dean's needs. There had been clutter everywhere, so he tidied up the house, had ramps installed and converted the den into a bedroom.

It had been 6 weeks since the shooting. Bobby was left wondering who was having more trouble adjusting to the situation, John or Dean.

It seemed that John was afraid of Dean, like if he touched him wrong, or said that wrong thing, Dean would break. He couldn't understand that. Dean was on the edge right now, but mollycoddling Dean wouldn't work. If you allowed Dean to give into his pity and despair, he would be lost to them forever. Instead, making him angry at his situation, or at someone, gave him something to focus on. Bobby and John had had many heated arguments over just how to handle the boy.

Fortunately, there were no major incidents as they all tried to settle in at Bobby's. Until about 1 month later, when John got a tip on a woman who had been killed just like Mary.


Dean sat out on the porch one evening. He'd could hear Bobby and his dad yelling at each other in the back room, and he wanted to get away from it. He had no doubt that he was the subject of the argument.

"Dean," he heard his father call him.

"Yeah dad," he answered back reluctantly.

"Mind if I sit down?" John gestured to the porch chair.

Dean shrugged. "It's a free country. What's up?"

"I got a tip from Caleb. There was a woman killed in upstate Ohio. She died in a fire, pinned to the ceiling."

"You want to go check it out," Dean said. It wasn't a question.

"I won't leave if you don't want me to, son. I promised I wouldn't leave and I won't."

"But I know you want to. I don't want to hold you back. I'm useless like this," he said gesturing to his unfeeling legs.

"You are not useless, Dean," John fired back. "Stop it."

"I can't hunt like this. It's for mom, dad. I think you should go."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," Dean replied, hoping he sounded like he was. He really didn't want his father to leave. He felt safe when his dad was nearby, no matter what the circumstances.

"I can call Sam, he'd want to see you..."

"No," Dean cut him off sharply. "Sammy can't know about this. He can't ever know. He's happy, dad. I don't want to interrupt his life. Go. Go and hunt mom's killer. Get the son of a bitch, okay?"

"You're sure?" John asked once more.

"Yes," Dean snapped back as he wheeled himself back into the house.

John Winchester made his third mistake by leaving.


After John left was the hardest time for Dean. Bobby had a huge fight with him every morning about just getting out of bed. Dean had resigned himself to the fact that he was really was no good to anyone.

Bobby had tried to give him something to focus on. Dean had been working in his office, organizing his books, but Bobby knew how much Dean hated it, so he decided to have him come with him to the garage. Dean was always very good around cars.

It had almost backfired on him. From his seated position, Dean often had trouble reaching the engines. He got rattled and frustrated easily. It was when Dean had thrown a socket wrench through his window that Bobby finally had enough.

"Damn it, Dean," he admonished the young hunter.

"What?" Dean fired back.

"That's coming out of your salary."

"I don't care. Why bother? I can't do this. I can't reach anything."

"So? If you don't want to work in my office or here in the garage, then go get a job. You're not just sitting in the house drinking and feeling sorry for yourself."

"Go! To! Hell!" Dean suddenly fired back, losing his temper. "What in the hell am I gonna do? There're two things I'm good at. Hunting and fixing cars. I can't do either one. I might as well just go roll myself off the nearest bridge for all I'm worth."

Dean suddenly felt his chair being spun around and he found himself facing a very angry Bobby Singer.

"If I ever hear you talk like that again, I swear to God, Dean Winchester, you'll find yourself in the nearest psych hospital so fast your head will spin. How do you think your brother or your father would feel if something happened to you?"

"Well dad's not here, is he?" Dean yelled back. "Neither is Sam."

"You know damn well that Sam would be here if he knew," Bobby said. John was a whole other can of worms.

"Well he doesn't and he's never going to."

"What happened to you sucks, Dean. You can't change the fact that it happened, but you can keep on fighting. If you just roll over, that bastard that did this to you wins. Don't let him win, son."

"But Bobby," Dean protested. "What do I do? I can't help you here. I hate working on your books," he said honestly. "I can't hunt. What am I qualified to do? I don't even have a high school diploma."

"Then get one," Bobby said as if it was the easiest thing in the world.

"Excuse me?" Dean asked. Had Bobby just said what he thought he did?

"Go back to school and get one."

"I can't go back to high school. I'm 23."

"There's an adult education center about a half hour from here. I know the guy that runs it. They have a GED program."


"But what? The place is fully wheelchair accessible. You can't hide out here forever."

"But…" Dean tried again.

"I'll call Will tomorrow. See what we can arrange," Bobby said not giving Dean a chance to say no.


He felt like he was going to puke. His stomach was roiling that badly.

"Dean, you awake?" he heard Bobby call to him. "Don't want to be late on your first day."

Dean couldn't believe that he was actually headed back to school. He knew that if he tried to refuse, Bobby would just physically haul him out of bed. He'd done it before. Dean reluctantly transferred himself into his chair, got showered and dressed, joined Bobby for breakfast and then got in the car for his first day.

Dean sat out in front of the Watertown County Adult Education Center, trying to find the courage to go in. He hated being out in public, hated the stares and looks of pity that everyone gave him. The only problem was that Bobby wasn't coming back for him for hours and Dean didn't want to sit outside until then, so he took a deep breath and wheeled himself inside.

It didn't take him long to find room eight. He tried to ignore the stares when he entered the classroom. He was glad to see that there were just regular tables and chairs, and not desks like there had been when he was in school. He just had to move the seat that was there and his wheelchair would fit under it easily.

"Need a hand?" a voice called to him as he tried to move one of chairs at the table.

He was all set to refuse when he looked up and saw a beautiful brunette standing behind him. "Sure," he agreed.

He took a seat next to her. He learned that she had just recently been divorced from her husband, and wanted to go back to school to help support herself and her two kids. He volunteered that he had been a private detective and had been injured in the line of duty.

Before they could speak any more, the teacher showed up. "Good morning, class. I'm Lucas Tyler and I'll be your teacher this year. Let's all get started shall we?"

Dean decided that he had to pay attention. He soon realized that he didn't have to hide the fact that he knew the answers to a lot of the questions, and by the end of the day, he'd had several requests from his classmates to help them study.


Being in school had brought about a big change in Dean. It seemed to give him his confidence back, and he now threw himself wholeheartedly into his therapy sessions. Then a couple of months later, the doctors determined that Dean was healed enough to have the surgery to remove the bone chips that were pressing on his spinal column. It was exactly one month after the surgery when Dean bumped his leg into a table and it had hurt.

A few weeks after that, he was up and hobbling around in full length leg braces and crutches. His entire class had congratulated him when he'd show up without his wheelchair.

It was slow going, but Dean fought harder than he ever had in his life. His graduation was rapidly approaching. It wasn't a large ceremony, but they were going to walk up and get their diplomas, and he was determined that he was getting his without the crutches or the braces.

When Dean Winchester set his mind to something, he usually succeeded. Bobby cheered loud and long, totally embarrassing his surrogate son, when Dean walked proudly to the front of the room to get his diploma, graduating at the top of his class. Dean just wished his father and brother were there.

Dean called his father and told him he was ready to meet up with him. Dean hadn't seen his father since his surgery. He knew he should be grateful that his father had shown up then. His father said he was finishing up a job and would be there in about a week to pick him up. Dean had decided to use that time to go to Stanford. He really wanted to see his brother.



"I went hunting with dad until I came to get you a couple of years later," Dean finished.

"I wish you had told me," Sam said honestly. Dean had been on his own for most of the time he was paralyzed. He felt his anger toward their father grow. Dean had needed him. "I hate the fact that you went through that by yourself. Dad should never..."

"Sam," Bobby cut him off. "Dean and John made their peace with it. Let it go."

"That's why I didn't want to tell you, Sammy," Dean replied. "Dad had to deal with it his own way, just like I did. Besides, I wasn't alone."

"Thanks for being there for him, Bobby," Sam said honestly.

"Anytime, boys. My doors always open."

"Now can we get some pizza?" Dean asked. "Before we grow lady parts?" He was so totally done talking about this.


One week later Bobby stood on his porch and watched the fully restored Impala drive away. The boys had a case in Red Lodge. He knew that they still had a long way to go before they came to terms with John's death, but he had no doubt that they'd get through it. They were together after all.

The End.

I hope you enjoyed. If you did and could let my muse know she would appreciate it. I live for reviews.