The Stars | Aaron Hotchner

Chapter 34: The Big Dipper

It was less than a month later that you received the call.

Bobby was dead.

Shot by none other than Dick Roman. Well, him as a Leviathan.

As soon as the words left Sam's mouth, you demanded to know where they were going to be in the next few hours. Come Hell or high water, or whoever tried to stand in your way— even if it was the damn President— you were going to be there for the Winchesters.

After spending two hours on the phone— while you were already driving, of course—.you found out that your job and everyone else's in the task force were going to be on pause, as the leaders had to look over all of the intel that was gathered so far. It was infuriating that you had to go through so many channels to find out you didn't even need to ask for time off, but there were enough emotions within you to disregard the extra bit of anger and frustration.

After driving non stop for hours, you pulled up to the motel Sam and Dean were staying at and knocked "Shave and a haircut."

You heard Dean stomp "Two bits" as Sam opened the door, letting it drift open to let you in as he returned to his laptop. Dean was cleaning his gun as his brother continued doing research, but you could tell there was steel in both of their gazes.

"Stop that," you closed the door, "This isn't one of those things you can just lock up and go on as if nothing happened." You stood an equal distance from each Winchester, resisting the urge to cross your arms like a stern parent. You were a little less than a week older than Dean, but you still felt responsible for them ever since you met when you were children.

Dean kept cleaning his gun, disassembling it to get to the insides. "Watch me."

You gave in to the urge, raising a brow to complete the look, "Really? Go take a five minute walk. And I do mean a walk, not a drive."

"Y/N..."

You knew Dean meant to be threatening, but your name came more as a tired attempt to get you to back off. You wouldn't give in, not even folding against the puppy eyes he turned on you. "You know I just want what's best for you," you lowered your voice, "Please Dean, for me?"

He grumbled and reassembled his gun, grabbing his leather jacket and leaving the room. You watched him leave and waited until the door closed before turning to Sam. It was only a moment later that he was folding into your arms, tucking his head into the crook of your neck as he held onto you.

"I'm so sorry, Sammy," you stroked his back comfortingly, anchoring him with a firm arm around his waist, "I'm here now..." Something struck a chord in your heart when he grabbed fistfuls of your shirt, and despite his stature, he was still young. He shook as tears burned against your neck, and you struggled to keep your own tears at bay as you tried to be strong for him. He needed time to mourn, and with the whole Dick business, he probably wouldn't get the chance to any time soon. Especially if Dean was going to try and bury his emotions as deep as possible and make Sam do the same.

You stayed with the youngest Winchester like that for a few minutes, letting him babble about Bobby and his feelings while you comforted him. This wasn't the time to reassure him that nothing else would go wrong, not when so many things could go wrong.

As if Dean had an internal timer on how long it took his brother to cry, he returned after the five promised minutes, knocking before using his own key to get into the room. His glare was downcast, and you knew it was because if he saw Sammy breaking down, he would either shove his feelings down further, or join in crying.

You canted your head at the younger brother after he got himself cleaned up with a Kleenex, and he nodded with resolve, and again as he remembered he was supposed to step out. You could tell by the ways his eyes widened and he hurriedly grabbed his own key before leaving.