The doctors stopped working on Bobby. It just looked like they quit, like they decided that it wasn't worth it anymore, like a director had just yelled cut and the actors simply stopped their motions. The doctor "called it". 5:55 PM. Another time that would be stamped indelibly into Sam's memory. The doctor turned to the bothers, a grave expression fixed on his face, and he moved towards them, he was getting ready to tell them that Bobby was dead, that there wasn't anything more they could do and that they were sorry.
Sam turned to Dean whose face was hard as stone, eyes bright and almost electric, and the doctor took two steps towards them and Dean turned, moved with lightning speed down the hall and Sam heard the doors thrown open so hard that they smacked the walls on either side of them.
The doctor looked up to Sam, that same careful sympathetic look on his face that the other doctor had had when Sam had been told that their father died, or the same expression that the doctor had had when he told Sam that Dean more than likely wasn't going to survive—both times.
This time, however, when the doctor spoke Lucifer was standing right beside the doctor, his arms folded over his chest and nodding with the doctor's words, a hint of an approving smile on the phantom devil's face.
"I like this Dick Roman guy." Lucifer said as the doctor was talking. "I mean, I thought about taking Bobby out, but didn't think you guys would be much fun to play with if Uncle Bobby was gone." Lucifer snorted. "Hell, doc here didn't even get a chance to tell Dean that the old guy was dead and he already took off. Man. Shouldn't have sent Ruby. Just should have killed the old guy. That would have separated the two of you."
The doctor left after patting Sam on the arm, and Sam realized that he had absolutely no clue what the doctor had said, he was too focused on Lucifer, too focused on the tightness in his chest, too focused on the fact that Lucifer was laughing. Sam pressed down on his palm, the palm that now was his lifeline, the palm that with just the right amount of pressure could cause just enough pain to make Lucifer go away.
Lucifer laughed. "Oh Sammy." He said in a condescending tone. "You really think that's going to help now? After the man who took care of you, treated you like a son died? You really think you will have the concentration to get rid of me?" Lucifer laughed. "Oh buddy boy, you are going to be stuck with me for quite a while."
Lucifer kept talking, kept taunting, and Sam tried to shake the words and laughs from the forefront of his mind long enough to focus and figure out what he needed to do. He turned and looked around for his brother, remembered that he had stormed off before the doctor could tell them that Bobby had passed, and he was just about to follow when someone touched his arm. Startled he whirled around to face a small woman in a pink sweater looking symptathetic and kind.
"Sir?" She asked. Sam closed his eyes for a moment, ignored the Lucifer heckling and focused on the little nurse. "Are you okay?"
"As good as I can be." Sam managed politely.
She nodded without looking convinced. "We need to know what funeral home to call."
"Yes. Where would you like Mr. Singer sent?"
"Uh.." Sam couldn't think, couldn't focus, couldn't breathe. She put her hand on his arm again, and he started again, and looked back down at the little nurse. "I don't know." He finally managed. "I don't know."
"Is there someone you can call?" She asked kindly, worriedly.
"Yeah…yeah…" he said and fumbled in his pockets for his phone trying to look as normal as possible.
"When you know where you want him, just tell the nurse's station. Okay sweetie?" Sam nodded, hair falling into his eyes and thankfully she left him.
"Uh Uh Uh…..duh…." Lucifer mocked. "Thought you were supposed to be the smart one. Dean can put together a better sentence than that. But then again his eggs aren't being scrambled by a hallucination." Lucifer threw his head back and laughed.
Dean wasn't answering his cell phone, which didn't entirely surprise Sam, Dean was going to deal with this the same way he dealt with everything, he was going to climb into a bottle and stay there. He would be sullen and quiet, he would be snappy and more snarky than usual and he would be violent. Sam knew that in the days and weeks to come that his nose was eventually going to bleed, and what scared Sam, just a little bit, was that he was hoping that Dean would hit him sooner rather than later. Sam thought that the physical pain might help send Lucifer packing that much sooner.
Sam touched his cell phone to his forehead and tried desperately to come up with someone to call, someone who could help him focus and help him figure out what to do with Bobby's body, he knew that Bobby would want to be back in South Dakota, knew that he would want to be salted and burned, and he knew that they should just simply steal his body like they did with their dad's body, knew that they should just take things into their own hands and take care of him, but for some reason that seemed like it would disrespect the man that had kept some sort of normal in their lives growing up when normal was a rare and seemingly impossible to obtain.
Sam put his face in his hands and tried to get a hold of himself when he heard heavy boots coming up behind him, Sam turned, and found his brother, breathing heavy, eyes steely and a vivid green, walking towards him like a man with a mission.
"Dean?" Sam asked.
"Let's get our crap together." Dean's eyes were clear, his breath didn't have detectible odor, Dean hadn't been drinking. Dean looked pissed, and for the first time in years he looked like a man who knew where he was going, what his purpose in life was, and was ready and willing to carry out his mission.
"I called Sherriff Mills. The funeral home is going to send a meat wagon for him."
"Are we going to burry him?"
"Burial?" Lucifer asked. He was standing just off to the side of Dean, and Sam did what he could to keep his eyes from shifting in that direction. "That doesn't seem like Dean's style. What were his words to you after he came back from hell? Wasn't it..'What were you thinking burring me instead of salting and burning?', are we sure that this is your brother?"
Sam hadn't realized he hadn't been listening to Dean, and focused on Lucifer until Dean grabbed his little brother's chin forcefully and forced Sam to look at him. "Sam!" Dean growled.
Sam's eyes shifted back to Dean's hard green eyes. "Don't lose it on me Sammy. Lucifer isn't here. I'm here. I am. Not that son of a bitch."
"We're going to burry Bobby. Same reasons that you gave me for burying me. Bobby will need his body when we get him back."
"I don't know yet. But we're going to do it. Bobby won't stay dead."
Lucifer, from just above his brother's head, made a motion that suggested that Dean may have been drinking. "You been drinking?"
"No." Dean said and let go of Sam's jaw. "No. I need a clear head so I can catch this son of a bitch and take him out." Dean's voice had been low all of Sam's life, but when Dean spoke now, it had a darkness to its low pitch, and vengeance laced his words.
Watch out Dick Roman, Dean Winchester was pissed and he was sober—a deadly combination.