By: Karen B.

Summary: Season seven spoiler warning. Just a quick little missing scene for 7.03. Hurting boys/grizzly/teddy bear Bobby.

Disclaimer: Not the owner


We'd screwed up again. Landing in a hospital infested with monsters. Thank God for Bobby. Forty-eight hours ago we were almost kibble, now we were at some dusty, old cabin of Rufus's, and thankful for it.

I'd woken up in the middle of the night again with the cold sweats. I glanced at the nightstand clock between our beds. It was two am. Across the way, in his own bed, Sammy hadn't moved, still out.

"Damn it." I slid out of bed, the blanket dropping to the floor.

In super slow Mo, I nabbed my crutches that were leaning nearby against the wall. I hated being in this cast. I hated being slow. Slow got you killed. A 91 year-old-man with no legs could move faster. I was exhausted, but couldn't sleep more than an hour at a time. My leg was killing me, every nerve ending firing off like an M-100 blasting through me. Worse, I was worried for Sam, and still worried we might have been followed.

Grimacing, I tucked the crutches under my arms and took a second to balance myself. What seemed like a lifetime later, I'd managed to wobble the four friggin' steps it took to get to the window. Slow wasn't the right word. I was damn near useless. I pulled back the curtains, staring out into the dead of night, searching, but all that lurked outside the cabin were harmless shadows and a sky full of stars.

'Relax, Dean. What do you take me for, ya idgit?' Bobby had said once we'd gotten here and settled in. 'No one followed us. Just enjoy the peace and quiet, would ya.'

"Peace and quiet, my ass," I mumbled.

Mysterious hoots filled the night, frogs crocked, crickets chirped, twigs broke, the wind whistled eerily through the logs of the cabin - and though I wasn't a believer- I swore I heard Big Foot call out to its mate.

"There's always something waiting for you in the dark," I whispered.

Damn dad's voice, after all these years, and still a constant in my ear.

This place made me jumpy, and I was hurting in spades, but needed to keep my guard up. Protect Sam, if from nothing else, from himself.

As if on cue, there came a low moan behind me. I turned around just in time to see Sam jerk upright in his bed, wide-eyed and zinging paranoid looks around the room as if he were following the flight pattern of stinging bee.

"Whoa, Sammy." In my rush to get to him, my crutches fell away and I half-fell, half-hobbled to the edge of his bed and sat. "Crap," I cried out in pain, wanting to puke but didn't. "Sam. Easy, man, easy," I said, trying to ignore the burn in my leg and grabbing hold of both his shoulders.

That stinging bee must have dive-bombed Sam's head, because he ducked to get away.

"Sam," I called to him again. "It's okay."

Sam gave a frustrated groan and desperately, but ever so weakly, tried to slither from my grasp. "Hey, hey, stay with me here," I chanted, tightening my grip to keep him steady, and noting how cold his skin was.

"No." His breath puffed in and out of his o-shaped mouth.

"Damn it, Sammy, it's me, just chill, dude." I tried to haul him closer, the action twisting my casted leg. "Son of a bitch," I yelped as puke bubbled in my throat, and I bit into my lower lip keeping the sick in check.

Every muscle in Sam went rigid and his bloodshot, watery eyes finally locked onto mine. "Dean?" He squinted, cocking his head to one side looking like a confused, scared puppy

"Sorry to say, but yeah, it's me." I winced.

"I…I don't-"He shook his head almost in disbelief and his body started to quiver.

Dazed eyes drifted downward and Sam quickly gripped his left hand with his right and moaned as he dug his nails into the creases of his, still fresh, scar.

I didn't stop him, though I wanted to, just watched my brother glance around again, the wheels in his mind obviously spinning a million times per second. Slowly but surely the confused, scared puppy face faded.

"They're gone," he muttered.

"They? They who, Sammy?" I frowned, knowing there were far too many 'theys' in hell to cherry-pick.

"Okay," he breathed, "Mmmmm….okay, Dean," he said, sweat beading above his upper lip.

I doubted that, but let it slide for now. He was breathing heavy and even though he'd been out cold for so long, I could see the exhaustion in his eyes. Kid was probably swimming in the deep end of hell ever since he got knocked for a loop.

"Wh-where are we?" Sam asked, placing his hand palm side up on his lap.

I watched his fingers twitch and slightly curl inward as he tried to hide his scar. He didn't do a very good job of it. Though the stitches were out, the wound was still pretty sore looking and puffy from all the grounding he must be doing. I wondered briefly how well the trick was actually helping.

"Backwoods cabin in Montana," I informed briefly. "How's your head doing?" I asked, drawing my eyes from his twitching fingers to stare at the ugly red mark on his forehead. "Still hurt?"

"No," Sam lied to me. "How's your leg? Still hurt?" Sam mimicked, suddenly noticing my cast.

"Nah, it's fine." I lied too.

"Both ya idgit's are full of bull-tweety," barked a loud voice.

Sam and I both startled, groaning in concert as we turned toward the open doorway.

Bobby stood stiffly in the entranceway, arms crossed tightly over his chest, a deep scowl on his face.

"Sam. Good to see you up, boy. How's the noggin?" he asked, the scowl now shooting daggers.

Sam and I gave each other a fearful look, knowing full well we better fess up or else.

Sam swallowed. "Splitting," he admitted to Bobby, his head wobbling like Jell-O.

Bobby's eyes shifted over to me. "And the leg?"

I cleared my throat, "Like someone cut it in half with a chainsaw," I gritted out clenched teeth.

"That all?" Bobby stepped into the room looking ten times bigger than I knew he was.

"Yes, sir," Sam and I chimed nervously.

Bobby came around to my side of the bed first. I cringed as he reached for me, not sure what his intentions were, and not liking at all the way he regarded me. Like a starving man about to sink his teeth into a tin can of corn beef hash.

I was shocked when his touch didn't match his stern look, it was damn near parental.

Bobby gently eased me back over to my bed, and then laid an icy hand to my forehead. "You're still feverish, son." He tucked an extra pillow behind my head, then another one under my casted leg. "Can't give you anything more for two hours," he said sympathetically.

"Peachy, thanks for the good news," I grouched.

"Shut up, ya idgit, and do as I say, got that?"

Knowing better than to argue I nodded.

"Good." Bobby slapped his hands together loudly and rubbed them together vigorously, then placed them under my shirt and started to massage my chest in slow, heated circles, instructing me on the art of breathing. "Air in. Air out. Nice and easy. Air in. Air out. Air in and out," he musically chanted as he massaged. "In. out. In. Out. That's it, Dean."

I followed along and it didn't take long for my mouth to go slack, and body to relax as I began to drift off. Call me a chick, but the whole Mr. Miyagi healing bit was working. My lips parted slightly and my eyes started to droop. Two hours to the next pain pill didn't seem like such a long time from now all of a sudden

"That's it, son. Let it go. You can let it all go. Just sleep, I got this, Dean. I'm on all-night-duty," Bobby said, covering me with the blanket that had fallen on the floor.

I fought to stay awake, sluggishly watching as Bobby stepped over to Sam who was still sitting up in bed. He slipped a hand behind Sam's wobbly head for support, at the same time reaching for a glass of water on the nightstand.

"Drink this," Bobby coaxed him.

Sam gulped clumsily at the water, drops dribbling off his chin like drool. I wanted to laugh, but was too tired and all I could do was watch.

"Come on now," Bobby whispered. Slow. Slow down, kid."

Sam took a few more small swallows, and then the glass was taken from him - obviously before Sam was ready - as his mouth sort of followed the glass along opening and closing like a damn baby bird. "Sorry, boy," Bobby said softly setting the glass back to the nightstand. "Too much, too fast and you'll barf it up. Now lay back." Still cradling Sam's head, Bobby lowered him down to nestle into the soft mound of pillows. "Close your eyes, Sam," he instructed my brother, two fingers stroking Sam's cheek.

Sam fought it only for a second, side-glancing over at me.

"It's okay, dude." I smiled.

Sam smiled back, then he breathed out slowly and his twitching hand uncurled and his eyes fluttered shut, head slipping to one side.

"That's it, Sammy," I said barely aloud.

After a few more minutes, Bobby stood and stretched his limbs and gave one last satisfied glance at the two of us, then turned away.

"You need anything, don't get up! Just say Uncle," he said gruffly and then walked out of the room.

I listened to his footsteps as he headed back down the hallway. We hadn't called Bobby 'Uncle' in years.

I kept my eyes on my sleeping brother until I couldn't keep them open any more. One day we would both sit down with Bobby and let him know just exactly where he ranked with us…right up there next to dad. Though I suspected he already knew that.

The end

AN: I loved 7.03. Especially was impressed with Bobby. Kudos to his support of both his boys… I think I could marry that man.

Rock on! Season seven!