Only a Year

Denial, Denial, Truth

A/N: Here begins the "good stuff" you've been warned.

xoAmanda

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February 8, 2008.

The amount of peculiar objects that are hanging on the walls of this bar is insurmountable; my gaze drifts around the room before I knock back a shot – whiskey – Dean's choice of course. The alcohol burns my throat after I swallow. The clink of my empty glass on the bar catches Dean's attention; he flags down the bartender and orders me another.

"My tolerance has gone wayyyy up since I met you, Dean Winchester." The words tumble out of my mouth only slightly slurred.

Dean cocks his head and laughs, "Yeah?" He leans close to me and whispers in my ear. "So does this mean I have to ply you with more alcohol?"

"Who says you would need to?" I whisper back, with a sly smile.

Dean pulls back with a giant grin on his face, taking a swig from his glass.

Dean has been, to my enjoyment, more vocal about his true thoughts ever since his near death experience with the coven.

"What? Where?" I hear Sam ask into the phone behind us. Dean and I both turn around to look at him as he smacks his phone shut.

"It's Bobby."

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Bobby is lying motionless in the hospital bed, no outwardly visible signs of an attack. The doctor is standing on the side of the bed opposite of the three of us.

"So, what's the diagnosis?" Sam asks.

"We've tested everything we can think to test. He seems perfectly healthy." The doctor explains.

"Except that he's comatose." Dean responds starkly.

"Mr. Snyderson, you're his emergency contact. Anything we should know? Any illnesses?"

Dean shakes his head, "No, he-he never gets sick. I mean, he doesn't even catch colds."

I reach out and touch Bobby's warm hand, "Doctor, is there anything you can do?"

The doctors' mouth falls into a tiny frown, "Look, I'm sorry, but we don't know what's causing it... so we don't know how to treat it. He just... went to sleep, and didn't wake up."

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Sam pushes the door to Bobby's motel room open and we make our way inside. "So what was Bobby doing in Pittsburgh? I mean, he must have been working a job, right?"

Being the last one in, I shut the door behind me. Looking around the room I notice it's pretty, plain and bare - not what you'd expect from a hunter, especially Bobby. "If he was working a case, you'd think there'd be something here right?"

Dean nodded while rummaged through drawers, "Research, news clippings, a frigging pizza box or a beer can! Something."

I begin to sift through the papers on the table finding nothing of use. Sam walks to the closet and turns on the light, "How bout this?" He parts the clothes to the sides revealing the wall behind covered in news clippings, maps, photos plants and mushrooms, the word 'Pittsburgh' written in big bold letters, along with post it notes with address and numbers scribbled onto them.

Dean chuckles, "Good ol' Bobby, always covering up his tracks." He reaches up, plucks one of the papers from the wall and begins to read. ""Silene capensis", which of course means absolutely nothing to me."