Author's Note: Oh my god look, I wrote happy SPN fic. I don't even know! What happened! I hope it works, and my Bobby voice is okay, considering I've never tackled his POV before. That is all.

Bobby was in trouble.

Two boys. Two of them. What was he supposed to do with them? Let alone the fact that they were John Winchester's boys, which meant he could probably expect the worst and then some, if their old man was anything to go by.

"We can go with you," the older boy was saying, rapidly and not all that quietly, eyes staring suspiciously sideways at his house. "We could just stay in the car. Sammy could just stay in the car, I'd be-"

"No," said John Winchester, much better at keeping his voice down, his stare solid and unwavering. "Dean. I said you weren't coming, and you aren't coming. It's just for a weekend."

The older boy – Dean – ducked his head in a hurry and muttered something that might have been a 'yes, sir' or might have been something else entirely. Bobby crossed his arms. "A weekend, eh? You said for the night."

"It'll take a little longer than I thought." John met Bobby's eyes evenly. "They won't cause you any trouble."

"Yeah," Bobby said with a snort, watching Dean closely. "I bet they won't." He looked for the younger one, who was just now appearing out of the back of the car, an Impala, probably the least practical hunter's car he'd ever seen. The younger boy – Sammy – was hauling a bag nearly as big as he was. John glanced over and looked like he wanted to roll his eyes.

"Sure you've got enough there, son?" Bobby said, faintly amused, and Dean's head snapped up in a moment to glower at Bobby.

"He's not your son." Bobby looked at John who didn't seem perturbed in the least.

Sammy, meanwhile, looked up and grinned, complete with freaking dimples. "It's just my books," he said, "Homework and stuff."

Bobby blinked, and mouthed 'homework?' at John, who shrugged. "All right," he said, hurriedly, crouching down to be at Dean's level. "Sammy, look here. I've got to go, and the two of you are staying here – don't look at me like that, Dean – for the weekend, with…" he glanced up, then looked back down. "Uncle Bobby."

Bobby choked. Then Sammy looked up at him and grinned again, and he grimaced and settled for a 'harrumph' sort of noise that he hoped was audible to Mr. John Winchester.

"And I want you to be good for him, all right? Listen to him like you'd listen to me. And Dean…look after your brother."

To Bobby's surprise, Dean didn't groan in exasperation as he would have expected, but straightened out of his slouch and reached out to grab Sammy's hand and pull him close to his side. "Always do," he said, lifting his chin proudly. John chuckled, and reached out and ruffled both boys' hair.

"Good boys," he said, and then looked up at Bobby, standing up. "They'll be fine. They can take care of themselves, mostly. Just…" He hesitated, and glanced down at the pair of boys, then back to Bobby. "Take care of them," he said, with a slight air of 'or else,' and in another minute he was driving off with his eldest staring forlornly after him and the younger already trying to tug away.

And that was how Robert Singer ended up with two boys – two young boys, one of them glaring suspiciously up at Bobby and the younger one looking around the yard with the biggest eyes this side of an owl.

"You're not our Uncle," said Dean, seeming to be more determined to keep Sammy next to him the more the younger boy tried to tug away. Which was probably wise, really, given how many sharp edges and potential hazards there were for a tiny boy of – what, five? No, he had to be older than that. What did he know about kids?

"No," he said, finally. "But I guess I'm sort of family. In a sense. I…uh. Work with your daddy."

Dean seemed marginally satisfied by that, though he still seemed to be trying to keep his younger brother a little behind him, like Bobby was going to try something, or sprout teeth and claws and snatch the kid. A body shield at twelve. Bobby almost snorted.

"Dee-eean," said Sammy, finally objecting out loud, "Leggo of my hand. You're hurting my fingers."

"You could come inside," Bobby said, almost cautiously. The way Dean was regarding him – he'd gotten friendlier stares from vengeful spirits. "Got some peach cobbler. I think."

Sammy lit up like a bulb. "Peach cobbler!" He exclaimed, and looked up – at Dean, Bobby noted. "Hey, Dean, can we go get some peach cobbler? Please?"

Dean looked from Bobby to Sammy and back again, and finally seemed to relent, loosening his deathly protective grip on his younger brother's hand. "Yeah," he said. "All right, I guess. We can go get some peach cobbler."

Sammy darted up the stairs in a hurry, dragging his bag full of…homework, and only paused to look up at Bobby. "Dean loves cobbler," he said, "And pie, so you should give him an extra big slice. I'll go wash my hands!"

Bobby stared after the boy and then looked to Dean, who had his hands shoved in his pockets and was even trying to walk like his daddy – and accomplishing it a little too well. "How old is that kid?" he asked, jabbing his thumb back down the hall.

Dean looked suddenly defensive, for no reason Bobby could tell. "Eight," he said, after a few moments of probably trying to decide if that information was somehow dangerous. "He's eight."

Bobby cleared his throat. "Lots of energy," he offered, and Dean actually glanced at him and smiled. Just a little, but it was still a smile.

"Yeah." Dean looked forward, then, frowning slightly, and Bobby realized that the water was running down the hall. "Remember to use soap, Sammy!" Dean called, and Bobby tried not to chuckle. Dean's shoulders squared. "What," he said, with more than a little bit of an air of challenge.

"Nothing," Bobby said, perhaps a little too quickly given that the kid was only half his size. "You…look after your brother most of the time?"

Dean glanced up, briefly, his mouth set in a line that was just perfectly Winchester. "Yeah, I guess. He's my little brother." He said it as though it were just self-evident; well, obviously. Bobby blew out a puff of air, and pointed awkwardly toward the kitchen. "Table's in there. Go ahead and siddown, I'll get you both a piece."

Dean glanced over his shoulder like he was worried about letting Sammy any further out of his sight, but finally the offer of cobbler apparently won him over, and he trooped into the kitchen. Bobby stayed where he was, just to make sure the other kid didn't fall in the toilet or something.

He emerged beaming that dimpled grin, though, and glanced briefly, and questioningly, at Bobby. He pointed wordlessly toward the kitchen, and the kid darted past him and into the kitchen. He paused, and listened.

"Did you wash your hands?"

"Yes!"

"With soap?"

"Dean."

"Lemme see."

Bobby felt his mouth twitch and tried not to laugh. So maybe this wouldn't be such a problem after all, even if they were John Winchester's sons.

He cut the cobbler without event, and passed out the slices, Sammy's a little smaller than Dean's, and his own considerably larger than both. He didn't want any accusations that he was spoiling anyone. Or going soft. Dean dug in at once. Sammy watched Dean for a couple seconds before starting on his own. Bobby sat down at the end of the solid oak table.

"So," he said, a bit awkwardly, to the younger boy. "You brought your homework?" Now Dean looked like he was going to roll his eyes. Chip off the old block, apparently.

Sammy actually chewed and swallowed before answering. "Yeah," he said, almost enthusiastically. "I thought we'd probably have some time and I could get some of it done. Is that okay?"

"We're not even in school right now," said Dean, who had finished his cobbler and was starting to eye his little brother's.

"Yeah, but if I don't do anything then I'll get rusty and fall behind," Sammy said impatiently, and Bobby could tell that they'd had this discussion, probably too many times. "And I don't want to fall behind."

"Sure," Dean said, "Whatever. Geekboy." It sounded affectionate, but Sammy didn't stick out his tongue or look exasperated. He just stared at Bobby, seeming…concerned.

"Is that okay?" he asked again, and Bobby blinked at him, and then shrugged.

"Don't see why not," he said, and wouldn't you know it, the kid's face lit up like Christmas had come early. Because he was getting to do his homework?

"See, I told you," Dean snorted, but he might have sounded a little bit proud. "Geekboy."

~.~

Dean was restless and antsy before the first day was out. And because Dean was restless he bothered Sammy. Sammy would've been happy, Bobby got the sense, to curl up in a chair and read a book the size of his body for the whole day, but Dean had to be entertained.

Dean's first form of entertainment consisted of sitting next to his little brother and poking him until Sam slammed his book closed and said with all the indignity that his tiny frame could muster, "Stop it, Deeeeean!"

That sounded pretty much normal, so Bobby ignored it and tried to focus on the phone call he was trying to take.

"Sir? Sorry for the inconvenience, but we've got a fellow out here saying he's one of your guys and-"

Bobby lost the rest of the sentence in the exclamation from the next room of, "Ow! Sam, that was my toes!"

"Yeah, serves you right!"

Bobby put his hand over the receiver and said, "Keep it down over there, I'm taking a call," as mildly as he could. Then picked up the phone again and said, with resignation, "Sorry, I missed that. Who's out there?"

"One of your guys," said the voice on the other end. "An – Agent Speers? This is the –" This time there weren't any words. Just a yelp and a sharp thud followed by the sound of rather violent scuffling. The speaker cut off and said, "What the hell's going on over there?"

"Sorry," Bobby grunted, "Some…uh, nephews. Yeah, it's one of mine – I'd better go see what they're doing."

He hung up the phone just as someone started screaming bloody murder, and he scrambled into the next room with an exclamation of "What the-"

The two boys were tussling violently on the floor, Sammy's book abandoned half behind the couch. Dean had his little brother in a headlock and Sammy was screaming at the top of his lungs and thrashing like an eel as Dean's other hand tickled diligently at neck and armpits and stomach.

Bobby gave up on 'gentle' and bellowed, "All right, get off each other now!" as loud as he could manage.

They didn't quite obey. It was more a collapse in a heap on the floor, Sammy whimpering and clutching his ribs and Dean laughing so hard he wasn't making any sound. Bobby stared at both of them and his living room, with the stacks of rare books and old radio and furniture that suddenly looked very fragile.

He threw them both outside. Not quite literally, but it was a near thing.

"Uncle Bobby!" Sammy said, from the porch, still trying to control his giggles. "I have to finish my reading!"

"Tough!" Bobby said, and closed the door.

He opened the door again, two hours later, after he realized that the yard was entirely too quiet and he couldn't see them anywhere. Either boy. "Shit," he swore, under his breath, and stumped out onto the porch, cupped his hands over his mouth, and yelled, "Boys!"

No answer. Almost eerie silence, in fact. Bobby stepped up the mental swearing. If those boys had gotten in trouble on his watch – he didn't want to think about what John was going to do. Hanging his skin out to dry would probably be the least of it. "Dean! Sammy!"

He looked out at the mass of cars on the lot, and the woods beyond that, and muttered some extremely unfavorable thoughts about himself, little boys, and Winchesters in particular. Plenty of places for two boys to hide out there. If they hadn't just wandered off, gone looking for their daddy-

Bobby ground his teeth and stepped off the porch, heading for the cars first. Little boys liked cars, didn't they? And some of these were practically playgrounds. Metal, heavy, very dangerous playgrounds. He groaned again, and then heard furtive sounds over to his right.

He held very still, and listened closely. More furtive rustling, and then Dean burst out of a narrow gap that he wouldn't have expected to fit a squirrel through, mussed, dirty, and in completely one piece.

Dean grinned. It wasn't his little brother's pinch-his-cheeks-and-give-him-a-cookie grin, more the kind of one that was going to make Dean very popular with the ladies in a few years. "Hey," he said, making a very deliberate and unsuccessful effort to look innocent. "You have some really cool cars out here."

Bobby crossed his arms and glowered. Dean seemed nonplussed. He looked back and forth. "I wonder where Sammy went…"

"You lost your brother?"

Dean looked indignant. "No! We're playing hide and go seek. He's really good at it cause he's such a pipsqueak." He looked around, smile vanishing and eyes narrowing, and fell on a patch of ground. Bobby couldn't see anything, but Dean pounced on it. "Aha!" He said, and looked up. Way up. "Gotcha, Sammy!"

Bobby was swearing five ways to Sunday as he peered at the stack of cars that didn't look nearly as stable as it should have, and saw Sam poke his head out of the window of a car and wave down at both of them.

"Took you ages," Sam said, brightly, and then seemed to brighten even more. "You found Uncle Bobby!" The kid was like a freaking sunbeam. If he kept grinning like that Bobby though his face might stick.

It was kind of adorable, though. Dammit.

"Yeah," said Dean, "Well, he found me. Okay, you can come down now."

"Okay," called Sam, and then squeezed out of the car window and proceeded to half tumble, half climb down the stack of cars in a way that made Bobby want to close his eyes and wince until he heard the thump of two feet hitting solid ground. He exhaled in relief, and then realized that there was blood dripping off Sammy's hand.

"What did you do?" He growled, and Sammy glanced at his hand, blinked as though he was surprised, and held it out for inspection. A bright red gash crossed his palm, dirt and something like car oil around the edges.

"Oh," he said, with faint surprise. "I think I cut it."

"Sammy," said Dean, sounding more exasperated than worried, as he reached for his brother's hand to examine it, which was not a feeling that Bobby shared

"F," Bobby started to say, and when Dean looked up with curiosity, completed, "Fudge," emphatically. "Get yourself inside, you – shouldn't be climbing on car stacks, what did you think you were doing-"

The kid wilted. His smile vanished and his eyes got all big like a puppy and he looked up at Bobby with the most plaintive stare he'd ever seen. And then Dean noticed it and looked like he wanted to wilt too.

And Bobby just felt all his resolve melt. Robert Singer, hunter for almost thirty years, and one look at that pair of stares and he just couldn't help it. "Aw," he said, swore in his head a few times for good measure, and just said, "Forget it. Should've said something. You've got your tetanus, right?"

Dean snapped to attention. "Yes," he said, at once, brightening a little as he apparently remembered his purpose. "I'll take Sammy inside and wash it out and get it bandaged."

Sammy looked up at Bobby, not letting himself be tugged away just yet, and said in a very small voice, "You're not mad, are you?"

Bobby grimaced. Rubbed his face. Squirmed. "No," he said, finally, gruffly. "I'm not mad, squirt. Now go with your brother. Get cleaned up."

Sammy gave him a tentative, no-dimples smile, and followed Dean back toward the house, who was already leaning down and whispering something to the kid that made him giggle. Bobby noted that Dean had pulled his sleeves down and had one pressed over the cut, stopping the bleeding.

It took him a good deal longer to notice that he was just standing there smiling like an idiot. He grumped, to no one but himself, and glowered at the stacks of cars before wandering back.

~.~

Apparently Bobby's collection of cars had turned Dean around on his opinion of their newly adopted Uncle. He stuck close to Bobby the next morning while Sammy retreated back to his reading and – he still couldn't get over this, homework, and followed him when he went to work on a car, perched on a bucket and just watching closely.

"You want to be a mechanic or something?" Bobby asked him, finally. Dean grinned.

"Yeah, maybe. I mean, when I'm not hunting, like Dad."

"You're going to be a hunter, then?" Figured. Dean gave him a look that just about communicated how stupid of a question that was.

"Yeah, 'course."

"Your brother, too?" Dean, he could see. Sammy, dimples and all, he had a little harder time picturing.

Dean's face fell, slightly. "Yeah, maybe. Right now he doesn't even know about any of it. Dad and I decided he's too young." Dean scuffed his shoe in the dirt. "I dunno if I ever really want him to."

"He'll figure it out. Kid's smart," Bobby said, and Dean shot him a look that was almost suspicious, and then grinned again, like a proud parent.

"Yeah. One of his teachers said if we weren't moving around so much he could skip a grade." Dean looked incredibly pleased at this fact. "A whole grade!"

Bobby tinkered with something on the car, swore, stuck the wrench between his teeth, and tried again. Abruptly, another hand joined his and held the little piece still, shifting out of the way so Bobby could work it loose. He glanced sideways and spat out the wrench into his hand. "Thanks," he said gruffly, and Dean didn't even look up, just nodded.

Then Sammy stuck his head out the front door. "Hey, Dean!" he said, in his high, reedy voice. "Can I have some help with math?"

"Still knows when to ask his big brother for help, though," Bobby said, though he didn't quite know why, and Dean snaked his hand out and looked just a little bit pleased with himself.

"Yeah," he said, and then looked up toward the porch. "Math? Sammy, you serious?"

"Deeeean," said Sammy, and this time, Bobby could tell the puppy eyes were deliberate. Dean rolled his eyes and heaved a sigh, but Bobby could have sworn he saw the kid smile.

"Okay, fine. Just a couple problems, though, okay? I don't want to turn into a geek like you."

Bobby tried not to snort. Dean glanced at him with a look like ice anyway before he started up toward the house. Bobby followed a moment after, watched a still grousing Dean plop down next to Sammy and pull up a chair at the table, leaning over with his elbows on the table. The way he straightened up a little, and the way Sammy leaned into him a little.

They were a funny pair of boys, that was for sure.

It ended up (Bobby timed) that Dean helped Sam through twenty problems over the course of an hour. Bobby could have sworn that Dean enjoyed it, too.

~.~

A half a day, several scrapes, one bandaged knee and several pages of homework later, Bobby heard the roar of double engines and watched two heads shoot up from where they were apparently resting, for once, on one of the couches.

Dean stumbled up first, but Sam only followed him by a moment, and they rushed out to the porch, staring expectantly up the driveway like a pair of loyal dogs awaiting their master.

Bobby rolled his eyes and shook his head and stuck his nose further in his book, even as he felt a little pang. He listened to the engine shut off and the door open, and the cry of "Daddy!" from one throat, and a more sober, "Hey, Dad," from the other one.

He stood up, finally, and watched John Winchester, limping just a little, sweep both boys into a hug, ruffling Dean's hair.

Bobby could hear them both trying to talk at once, all over each other. John looked tired. Bobby took mercy on him and stepped to the front door.

"Want to come in for a beer while they get their things together?" Bobby said, but he knew the answer before John straightened, his expression serious.

"No," he said, "Think I'd better just wait in the car. We've got to be quick. I've got another-" He glanced at Sammy, who seemed to be trying to cling to Dean and John at the same time. "—another job I want to get moving on."

Bobby nodded, just a little, and stepped aside as John cleared his throat, separated the boys, and shooed them back inside with an admonishment to be quick. Then he looked up at Bobby. Bobby cleared his throat.

"They weren't bad," he said, gruffly.

John's eyebrows quirked, very slightly. Bobby cleared his throat.

"Didn't get into any trouble."

"Really? That's surprising." He shook his head, slightly. "Sorry for dropping them here like this. Know you're busy, we're just a little low on cash and – well, you were close. Thought you might do all right with them. Took care of themselves?"

Bobby paused a moment.

"So do we add the sugar now, or the eggs?" Sammy was elbow deep in the white mix, his eyes wide on Bobby, who was trying to read the recipe quickly.

"Well-"

"Eggs," said Dean, authoritatively, and dumped them in without further ceremony.

It had turned out not to be too bad of a pie. A little weird, maybe. Sort of undercooked.

"Yep," he said, hastily, realizing that John was starting to narrow his eyes. "Yep, took care of themselves. No trouble at all."

John breathed out, looking relieved. "Thanks," he said, again, and Bobby glanced over his shoulder at the two boys, emerging with their things. Two duffel bags, and most of Sammy's was books. You traveled light when you were a hunter, though. Even when you didn't know it. "Won't happen again."

Bobby paused, and glanced at the pair of boys, and scratched his chin.

"If you were in the area," he said, slowly. "I could probably handle taking them again, if you needed. Really needed."

John's eyebrows quirked again. "…that so?"

"Yeah," Bobby said, not quite defiantly. He had nothing to be defiant about. "That so."

Sammy seemed to be chewing his lip, and then made up his mind and flung himself at Bobby's legs, giving them a mighty hug. "Bye," he said, and looked up, expression very nearly morose. "We'll see you again, right?"

Bobby harrumphed.

"Get in the car, Sam," John said, firmly, and Sammy looked up at Bobby, flashed a tentative smile, and then hitched his heavy bag up and headed for the back seat of the Impala. Dean stepped forward, looked up at Bobby, and suddenly set down his bag and stuck out an awkward hand.

Bobby took it and shook it, solemnly. "Thanks, Dean," he said. Dean seemed to glow, just momentarily.

"Thanks, -Uncle Bobby," he said, and then grinned like he was embarrassed and dashed for the car. John shook his head a little and rolled his eyes.

"Boys," he said, and Bobby just nodded, watching the boys in the car. Dean turned around and poked Sammy from the front seat, who swatted his older brothers' hand. John turned and started back toward the car.

Bobby opened his mouth to remind John that if he really needed some help, he'd be around, and he could probably take the boys, maybe for a little while, and shut it again.

He watched them head back down the road and felt a curious twang of a feeling he could only peg as 'forlorn.'

He stepped back into his house. It seemed curiously quiet.

The phone rang. Bobby squared his shoulders, checked the living room one more time for Winchester boys, and waded back into normal life.

He listened through the whole call for the sounds of tussling in the other room.