Wayward •𝚂𝚞𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚊𝚕•

one

Saying goodbye to a loved one is never easy. Never. But saying goodbye to the person that raised you, and made you the person you are? That's an entirely different type of hurt.

The internal thermometer of Melody Rose Singer's Mustang read 75°, but she'd never felt more cold. Hallow. Lost, even.

"Melody, it's Sam..." his voice seemed distant, and full of regret and urgency. "Bobby is in the hospital. He's...he's not looking good."

Melody had just finished a hunt with her best friend, Blair. "I-," she had pulled the phone away from her ear and looked at the screen to make sure it was actually Sam. "I don't understand. I just spoke to him two days ago. What the hell happened?"

She was now half an hour out from the hospital, running on an hour of sleep. She didn't feel the exhaustion that was creeping over her shoulder. She couldn't feel anything.

"Mel..." Blair looked over to her from the passenger seat. "Let me drive. You look completely fried."

At the mention of potentially needing rest, Melody could just barely feel the sting of sleep deprivation in her eyes. "We're almost there." Her voice was monotonous. She was feeling every possible emotion, heightened. She was angry that Bobby turned her offer down to help hand the Leviathans. Probably because he knew just how dangerous what he was facing, was. More than anything she was anxious at the possibility that she might not make it to the hospital to say goodbye—this made her hit the gas harder.

She rushed into the room Bobby was in, with Blair on her heals. He was still alive. Barely, but he was alive. He grabbed Melody's hands as she rushed to him. They were prepping him for surgery. That had to be a good sign, right? "Everything is going to be fine," she assured him, nodding. She was painfully aware of the tears that were streaming from her red rimmed blue eyes.

Bobby gave her hands a squeeze, and a meaningful took that tells her all she needs to know. He loved her, but he couldn't fight anymore. He turned his head to Sam and Dean with knowing gazes. "You...you know what you...gotta do," he croaked out. "Idjits." He took a final breath and the heart monitor sang a steady tune that would surely haunt Melody for the rest of her life.

"No!" Melody squealed. Nurses tried to pull her back, but she wouldn't budge. She was screaming, begging for him to come back. It wasn't until a strong grip tightened around her waist, that she finally moved. Only because the figure was a bit stronger than her. At least at that moment. She could just barely tell was Dean by the sound of his voice whispering words that were laced with grief as well. If asked to repeat what he said, though, it would be impossible. She was in a trance. "Dad, please," she shrieked, shrinking to the ground. Dean didn't release his grip, only tightened. He was feeling all of the anguish, too. Bobby was more of a father than his own ever was, through most of his life.

"Time of death..."

Another sob escaped her lips as soon as the words filled the air. They covered his head with the sheets, offering their condolences to a devastated Melody.

None of the three trusted Melody to drive from the hospital. Hell, she didn't even trust herself. All Dean knew, was they had to get the hell out of Dodge.

Somebody had carried her out of the hospital—not without a fight, though—and put her in the backseat of the black Impala in the parking lot. "I'll, uh, ride with with Blair. Her backseat just isn't big enough to be comfortable," Sam's voice came from outside the car. They'd all been acquainted, then. "Where are we even going?"

There was a silence for a moment, as Dean contemplated his question. He wanted to hunt down Dick Roman right then, but Melody was in no shape to. Not yet. "To Bobby's," he nodded, looking inside of the car at Melody's frail looking body. "Give her some time to grieve. Give us all some time to. But Dick Roman will pay for what he's done."