This is based on the preview for "Death's Door". I can only imagine how Dean will handle Bobby's situation. I'm guessing not well. This is what went through my head.
Die Before Me
Dean slowly walked down the hospital corridor, the two cups of coffee balanced in both hands. This far away from the ER, the foot traffic was less hectic which was a good thing since he'd stopped paying attention to where he was as soon as he'd left the cafeteria. They'd stood in the ER, staring at the door Bobby had been hustled through, people rushing past them without seeming to notice them at all.
Sam had finally pulled him toward a row of bolted down plastic chairs against one of the walls in the waiting room but he hadn't been able to sit for long. His eyes had been glued to the treatment room door, his heart beating against his chest as he watched and waited for any sign that Bobby was….
He'd started pacing, back and forth, his eyes burning, his chest aching for what seemed like hours. When the doctor finally came to find them, informing them that things didn't look good, Dean found himself unable to speak. Sam had asked the right questions, but he'd stopped listening, his eyes following the gurney as they wheeled Bobby out of the treatment bay and hurried down the hallway to the surgical elevator.
The doctor had directed them to the 5th floor surgical waiting room, but Dean had volunteered to find coffee for what looked to be a long night. Leaving Sam to call… whoever the hell Sam thought he should call, Dean had wandered off, eventually finding a large lighted map of the facility in the center of an open lobby. Once locating the big red dot that claimed "You are Here", he was able to figure out a route to the cafeteria as well as the waiting room where he'd promised to meet Sam.
Leaving the cafeteria, his mind couldn't help but wander to the man who had become a surrogate father to him and their last conversation while waiting in the van.
"If you die before me, I'll kill ya."
Not that that hadn't happened like a hundred times already.
Dean hadn't known what to say then anymore than now. He always knew how Bobby felt about him and Sam – a sentiment that was whole heartedly reciprocated. But he'd rarely heard the gruff older man say the words out loud. Ever since their father had died – correction, sacrificed himself for Dean – Bobby had been there to fill the gaping hole left by John Winchester's absence.
Without Bobby… Dean didn't even want to think about what their lives would be like… what his life would be like. They'd lost so many people – everyone they'd considered family. Mom, Dad, Ellen, Jo, Cas… but Bobby… Bobby had been there, standing with them through it all. The one person they'd always known they could count on to have their backs, to give them refuge, to kick them in the ass when they needed it.
Dean smiled, tears pricking his eyes as he remembered the many times the curmudgeon had told him exactly how things were. Bobby wasn't one to mince words when he wanted to get his point across. He spoke a language Dean had always been able to understand, whether it was with words, actions or the simple silence of two men working on a car. Bobby had always seemed to know what was needed.
Dean wished to hell he had that kind of insight now.
He raised the cup to his lips, pausing in mid sip as his eyes caught the carved plaque beside the innocuous brown doors at the end of the hallway.
A sudden anger overcame him and he placed both cups down on a table against the wall, striding toward the doors. Once inside, he stopped, letting his eyes take in the quiet room. There were two rows of chairs lined up on either side of the room that was no bigger than a regular hospital room. A narrow aisle separated the rows, leading to a small podium draped in gold and white. Behind the podium, high on the wall, was a wooden cross, flanked on both sides by clear vases filled with yellow, gold and white flowers.
The scent of the flowers wafted through the small room, somewhat calming Dean's anger as he approached the cross.
He swallowed hard and cleared his throat, surprised at how loud his voice sounded in the confined space.
"Um, I don't know if you're listening," he began, then shook his head sadly. "Hell, I don't even know if you're still around. But if you are…" he paused, not sure how to proceed. After everything they'd seen, everything they'd gone through, he could never be considered a religious man. He'd seen too much.
Sure, he believed God existed – Cas had believed and if angels existed to serve a God they believed real, who was he to argue? But he couldn't believe in the picture Cas had painted of his Father. Either he was dead, a colossal dick, or he had decided a long time ago that everything he'd created was a mistake and had washed his hands of the whole mess.
Either way, Dean had no need for another absentee dad.
"Look, if anyone is still there. Please, you can't take him." His voice broke and he dropped it to a whisper. "Not him. I've spent my entire life trying to make things better, trying to save people. I can't… I can't loose anyone else. You've taken everything I have. Without Sam and Bobby I can't do it anymore. I don't want to do it anymore."
He took a deep breath and turned, slowly lowering himself to sit in the chair along the aisle. He raised his eyes to the cross, his expression hardening. "I've spent the last few years cleaning up your mess. I've done everything I could to save this world over and over. I've watched people I care about die bloody. No more. Haven't I given enough? Haven't I suffered enough? I can't let you take him. I won't let you take him."
Dean swallowed and wiped a hand down his face, erasing the tears that had fallen on his cheeks. "I swear to… you… if you try to take him I will let this world burn. I won't be your bitch anymore. I will find you and I will make sure you know what kind of pain you've caused me and my brother. I don't care what it takes. I will not lose anyone else."
He had no idea if anyone was listening. He wasn't even sure if he cared. All he knew was that he was so damned tired of it all. So sick of hurting. So sick of being afraid all the time. All he could feel was fear. Fear of failing. Fear of losing the only two people left in the world he cared about. Without Bobby, it was down to just him and Sam. They couldn't do it alone. Without Bobby at their backs there was no more fight. Let the Leviathons have the earth.
He lowered his head, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. He took a deep breath, and laughed. Who was he kidding? He may be tired and sick of it all, but despite everything he'd been saying the last few days, he knew it wasn't in him to give up. It was who he was. He could no more let the world die than…
He raised his head once again, his eyes falling on the cross. "I guess you knew all along, huh? Just… please. Please." He had nothing more to say. Nothing more to give.
The silence was broken by the buzz of his phone.
He stood, taking one last look at the cross.
"Please, don't… be a dick," he whispered.
He slowly turned and made his way to the door, pushing through, back into the rush of the world.