This is the sequel to my other story 'Never Going to be Okay'. You don't have to read that one first, but it would make more sense if you did. Anyways… Enjoy!


"Time of death, 10:41am." The walls that stood precariously around Sam's fragile mind crumbled at those few words. John Winchester. His dad…was dead.

Sam felt his brother slightly shaking. He'd just woken up not that long ago from a coma that kept Dean trapped in limbo, fighting for his life against a reaper. He knew how much Dean idolized their father and knew how hard this was going to be on him especially. Sam could feel the loss beginning to cripple him. The familiar tug in his chest pulled him from his daze.

"Sammy?" Dean was watching him closely. "Sam, help me back to my room… I-I can't be here." His breathing was ragged and coming out in short pants. Sam started to nod, keeping his eyes on his father's lifeless form. "Sam."

Sam shook his head as if to banish the image from his mind. "Y-yeah. Yeah, come on." He whipped his head harshly from the scene before him and assisted his limping older brother back to his room.

Dean was just lying back when he spoke again. "Call Bobby. We need to take care of…" He sighed deeply. "Sam, we need to get his body out of here. Also, our insurance won't hold out for much longer so…" Sam saw him clench his jaw and stare down at his hands. "Just, call Bobby." His voice was barely audible, but it held as much pain as Sam felt. Sam bit his lip and backed out of the doorway.

Quickly dialing the familiar number, he waited for Bobby to pick up the phone. After two rings, the gruff voice he knew so well answered. "Sam? Did your daddy try to summon that damn demon? I got the Impala back here so…" He trailed off as Sam's breath hitched. "Are you alright son? Is Dean okay?" His voice transformed from irritated to worried in an instant.

Sam clenched his eyes shut and slid down to the cool tile floor outside Dean's room. He took a couple of deep breaths before answering. "Dad's dead." The words didn't seem right coming out. He knew the truth behind them, but it didn't make the statement seem any more real.

There was silence coming from the other line and then a loud jingling of keys as a door slammed shut. "Is Dean-?"

"Dean recovered… miraculously."

"Damn it. You don't think he…?"

"Yeah, Bobby. I think he made a deal." That was the only explanation he could come up with for his father's sudden death. Apparently Bobby had the same notion so he knew he couldn't be so far off. He just hoped Dean didn't make the same assumption. It was bad enough that their dad was gone; he didn't need to live with that guilt. "We need to get his… body" Sam still had trouble thinking that, "out of here so we can give him a hunter's funeral."

The sound of tires screeching made Sam pull the cell phone away from his ear. "Alright. You sit tight, I'm on my way there right now." The line cut off. He kept the phone to his ear so that no one would bother him. Sam stared at his boots through the chocolate fringe of his bangs, pulling in shaky breaths. His palm was slick with sweat causing the phone to slip from his grasp clattering loudly to the bleached floors. He placed his head in his hands with his fingertips touching, waiting for Bobby to show. What he needed at that moment was something he hasn't felt the need for in a long time. Sam longed to feel the cool blade pulling across his skin. He needed to feel the sharp twinge of pain to cut through this emotional turmoil he was wrapped in

Every muscle in his body screamed at him to snatch his pocketknife. It took more self-control than he thought he possessed to be able to stay where he was on the too clean hospital floor. The fumes from the cleaning solution mopped onto the floor made his eyes burn. It combined with the latent tears that had begun pooling against his lashes in the past few minutes since Bobby hung up the phone. He saved me… Why couldn't I save him?

Before he could register where his feet were taking him, Sam found himself standing in the doorway to his father's room. His eyes danced around the room, searching for his father. Expecting to see him standing and smiling back at him. Longing to hear his voice telling him that everything would be fine. The tears that he'd managed to keep at bay spilled over and rushed down his hot cheeks.

A nurse was fitting the bed with new sheets when she suddenly glanced up. She held such pity in her eyes that it made Sam sick. This wasn't supposed to be happening. It was supposed to be the three of them against the world. Somehow, Sam had come to think of his dad as immortal. He knew it was irrational to think so considering their line of work. Every time his father ever went out on a job and left him and Dean alone in some motel, he used to be scared that he'd never see him again. After a while, Sam just knew that his father would always come back. And now… Now his dad was not going to be able to come back.

The emptiness of the room echoed the hollowness Sam felt. He spun around and made his way through the crowded halls, his blurry eyes making the process much more difficult. Finally he made it to Dean's room. Sam knocked on the door. He wasn't sure why he did it, but everything was fucked up that day.

"Come on in, Sam." Dean's husky voice sounded from the opposite side of the room than where Sam was expecting. He opened the door just enough for him to fit his frame through and then shut it silently. Dean was buckling his jeans and slowly walking to his duffle to grab a shirt. "You call Bobby?" His voice was hard and emotionless. Sam knew that Dean would be swallowing his feelings down, so he didn't push anything. He'd let Dean deal with it his way for once.

"He's on his way." Sam's voice felt so small. So light compared to the business like tone of his brother.

"I'm already here." Bobby vocalized his presence. Dean didn't seem to be shocked so he assumed he saw Bobby enter. "Everything's taken care of… I'm about to head back. I called you boys a cab so it should be here any minute." He walked over and placed a hand on each brother's shoulder. "I gave 'em my address. Said you'd need to be dropped off there… I'm sorry about your dad. He was a hell of a man…" He half smiled and pulled them into an awkward three-person hug then made his way out.

Sam stood with his arms hanging listless by his sides, eyes still in the doorway. He finally forced his body to move and he turned to see Dean trying to pick up his duffle. Sam silently walked over and shouldered his bag and picked up his own and began to make his way to the hall. Dean followed quietly by his side, neither brother knowing what to say.

Neither of them spoke until they reached Bobby's house. The only word Sam heard out of Dean was when he said, "Here." When they arrived at Bobby's and he handed the cab driver a twenty. Though he knew Dean was still hurt from the car accident that landed them in the hospital in the first place, he was the first to enter Bobby's house with no assistance from Sam. He went straight to their shared room and slammed the door. Sam trudged inside holding both their duffle bags and laid them heavily on the floor outside their door. He didn't join his brother in their room. Instead, he lingered outside their room, not sure of what he was going to do next. Sam knew that he needed to keep his mind busy. To think of anything else to keep his mind from wandering to what he knew would help and hurt him at the same time.

Before his dad and Dean found out about what Sam had been doing, when he'd feel like this he would go to his favorite blade. Sam would carve his emotions into his skin, releasing them through his blood. He found himself visualizing the motions and his fingers began tracing the scars that marred his wrist. His eyelids sprung open and he sprinted down the stairs, searching for a distraction. Bobby. "Bobby?" He called.

"Get your brother." Bobby spoke as he rounded the corner from the kitchen. "It's nearly dark and we need to… I have everything set up outside." He plastered on a sad smile and made his way back into the kitchen.


Bobby watched out the window at the two boys he'd come to think of as sons watching the pyre of their father. John had been a good friend of his for years. He'd always watch after his boys if he needed to go on a hunt. Now that he's gone, it was his responsibility to watch them again. "Don't worry, Johnny… I'll take care of them." He vowed to the empty room. The fire died down after a while. He noticed the two young men walking back to the house, their heads hung low. At the sound of the door creaking open, Bobby called out to them. "I know you probably don't feel much like eating… But I made some dinner." He sat at his normal spot at the table, throwing a chip into his mouth.

Sam was the first to join him. He sat in front of his plate and glumly picked at the crust on his sandwich. Dean hovered in the archway, seeming to decide whether or not he was going to stay. He sighed and walked in, pulling out his chair and plopping down. He dug into the sandwich like it was his first meal in a long time. Bobby figured that he never ate at the hospital and since he'd been out for a day or so… Bobby rolled his eyes at the older boy trying to take a swig of his soda with a mouth full of sandwich.

Usually, Sam would make some sort of snarky comment to Dean about his eating habits… Sam did not lift his eyes from his plate. His food was being slowly pulverized by his pale fingers. "You need to eat something, Sammy." Dean finally spoke after he was able to swallow. Sam peered up at his brother; his thoughts seemed to be far away at the moment. Bobby just stood and picked up Sam's plate replacing it with his own. "Here, eat mine." Bobby threw the crumbled up sandwich into the trash and grabbed himself a beer. Dean stood and tossed his plate in the sink before trudging up the steps to their room. This time, he didn't hear the walls reverberating from the slamming of the door. He didn't even hear the door close at all.

He leaned against the counter and peered over at Sam who was now nibbling on the corners of the ham and cheese sandwich. Bobby rubbed a hand through his beard and then took a gulp of his beer. He knew that it'd take time for the boys to be alright, but he wouldn't give up on them. He loved them like they were his own and it pained him to see them this way. Sam scooted away from the table and mumbled a quick thanks before quietly heading up the stairs to his and Dean's room.


I hope you liked it! Sorry it's been a long time coming. I've just been on a slight writing hiatus. Again, if you haven't read my other story 'Never Going to be Okay', you should read that one first. It's not necessary, but it'll help. Please rate!