Chapter 35: My Friend of Misery

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This chapter follows (loosely) "... And Then There Were None," and "Frontierland." 

Let me know what you think!!!!! ILY
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The drive back to Sioux Falls is tense, the atmosphere thick with unspoken worries and simmering tension. You sit in the passenger seat, arms crossed tightly over your chest, trying to keep your emotions in check. But it's getting harder to bite your tongue, especially when Dean keeps pushing.

He's relentless, pressing you to tell Bobby what's been going on, and it's starting to wear you down. You've tried so hard to go along with everything Dean says without putting up a fight. You've been patient, compliant even, because you know how much he's been through. But this? This is different.

"My dad has gone through enough, Dean," you argue, breaking the silence as the Impala speeds down the empty road. Your voice is firmer than you intended, but the thought of dragging Bobby into this mess makes your stomach churn.

Dean sighs heavily, his grip tightening on the steering wheel as he navigates the winding road. "I know," he replies, his tone softer now, as if he's trying to coax you into seeing his side. "But, Y/N, he knows more about... well, everything. Definitely more than I do. He's probably the only person who can figure this out."

The logic is sound, and you know Dean's right. But it doesn't make it any easier to accept. "You figured out how to get Sam's soul back," you counter, desperation creeping into your voice. "You said you would handle this. I'm not saying that I won't help you, but bringing my dad into this will break his heart."

Dean glances at you, his expression softening as he sees the turmoil in your eyes. He knows how much Bobby means to you—how much you mean to him. But this isn't something he can fix on his own, and he's terrified of what might happen if they don't get ahead of it.

"Dean's right, Y/N," Sam interjects from the back seat, his voice gentle but firm. You glance back at him, and the sight of his earnest expression tugs at your heart. His soulful eyes, now truly alive again, make you feel glad that his soul is intact. You've missed that look—the one that reminds you of the Sam you've always known and loved. "Bobby is always the person we go to when shit like this happens. I don't see why now should be any different."

You shake your head, frustration bubbling up inside you. "I'm his daughter, Sam," you grumble, the words heavy with emotion. "That's why it's different. He's never had to pull me out of the fire before."

Dean clenches his jaw, his eyes focused on the road ahead. He's trying to be patient, but he knows he's running out of time—and options. "We are telling him," Dean says in a resolute tone, his voice leaving no room for argument. His gaze flickers toward you, sharp and unyielding. "Don't give me that look either. I said I would handle it, and this is how I'm doing it."

You open your mouth to protest, but the words die on your lips. There's a finality in Dean's tone that you can't argue with, and you know he's not going to back down. The thought of Bobby's reaction, the worry and pain it will bring him, makes your chest tighten. But Dean's right—Bobby has always been the one to pull them out of the fire, patch them up, and set them on the right path. If anyone can help with this, it's him.

You slump back in your seat, a sigh of defeat escaping you. "Fine," you mutter, staring out the window at the blur of trees passing by. You want to believe him, to trust that everything will be okay once Bobby knows. But the fear of what's to come lingers in the back of your mind, a dark cloud that refuses to dissipate. As the miles stretch on, you can't help but wonder if this time, the fire might be too much for any of you to handle.

--

As soon as the Impala pulls into the driveway, you make a beeline for your room, hoping to escape the conversation you know is inevitable. But before you can reach the first step, Dean moves with surprising speed, cutting you off with a stern look that stops you in your tracks. His green eyes bore into yours, a mixture of concern and determination swirling within them. You consider, for just a split second, whether you should knock him out and make a run for it. But the tension in the air, coupled with the unspoken weight of everything that's happened, makes you decide otherwise.

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