A/N: So I've found a lot of stories for this x-over on this site, but none with the plot that I have in mind. No one really covers the boys going to Hogwarts on a mission, and they certainly don't cover the issues that I plan on addressing.

If there's a certain character that you want to make an appearence or a certain head canon that you're a fan of, just let me know!

The phone rings, and it's loud and shrill. A different tone from most of them, and it takes Bobby a moment to find it, half hidden underneath an old stack of newspapers. The type that he always means to get rid of but never does, because that last eulogy could come into use one day, or that missing dog from three years ago.

Eventually, he plans on getting them all organized and put into a box somewhere. For the moment though, he figures that the floor is as good of a place as any, and shoves them aside to get to the anciant looking phone.

It rings again. Bobby has to stop and think about who he is as he picks it up, then has to wonder if it's normal for him to be surprised at the fact that he can answer the phone as himself. "What d'you need?"

"Is that any way to answer your old friend?" asks the voice on the otherside, amused.

Bobby's eyes glance at his clock, at the way the second hand is still moving

ever

so

slowly towards that big, black twelve. "Sorry. What d'you need, old friend? That better for you, Albus?"

A low chuckle. "Much. I would say that it's nice to speak to you Robert, but I'm afraid that this call is far from being pleasent. I have a very important favor to ask of you."

Bobby draws in a deep breath and lets it out in a huff, because when is hearing from a wizard ever good news? Their favors are always full of lies and always dangerous and if the pay off wasn't so great, the free use of magick such a nice idea, then Bobby would be tempted to tell the older man 'no'.

Regrets his words even as he asks Dumbledore what it is that he needs.

"You're best, Robert," answers Dumbledore, all humor gone from his words. "I need you to send me your best."

-x-x-x-

"The answer's still no, Bobby," says John, backing towards the front door as he does.

Smart move for such a stubborn man, such a dumb man, and Bobby already has his shotgun in his hands. "You owe me, John. You owe me ten times over, and you know that."

John reaches behind him, doesn't speak until he already has the door open. Bobby can see the Impala over his shoulder, can see two sets of wide eyes peering out the back window of it. "I know that I do, but I can't do this. Not right now. There's a case down in Illinois, and I think it may have some leads on -"

"I don't give a damn what it has leads on," interupts Bobby, finger tightning on his gun. It clicks and a little more, a little harder, and it will go off.

The thoughts is tempting. Bobby fights to resist it.

He takes a step forward, then another. Keeps the gun trained on the other hunter as he walks, backing John out of his house and into the front yard. "If you aren't gonna help me now, then you'd best just hope you never need my help again."

"Bobby," sighs John, holding his hands up. There's a lot that can be said, but Bobby doesn't give it a chance.

Not now

not later

not ever again.

"Next time I see you, you'll be lucky if I don't fill you up with buckshot," warns Bobby, because why risk his life if John won't do the same?

There isn't much reason, as far as Bobby can see, and he's trying hard not to look at the two boys behind John.

-x-x-x-

It's late, and the phone is ringing again. A land-line this time, and Bobby almost doesn't answer it. Only does because maybe John has come to his senses, realized that risk isn't a one way straight and neither is family.

"You change your mind?" he asks.

A moment of silence, and then a loud exhale. The voice that answers isn't John's. "We'll help you."

"Dean? What in Hell's name are you doin' up right now?" demans Bobby, and he tries to sound surprised and disappointed, even though he knows that late nights aren't foreign to the fifteen year old.

If anything, an early night is unusual, is a rarity.

Another pause before the answer, this time filled with a shush from the background. "I know Dad says that he won't help you, but that isn't fair. You help us all the time. So me and Sam, we'll help you."

"Boy, you don't even know what I need help with," he scoffs, leaning back in his chari. One hand rubs at his eyes, tired and aching.

"It doesn't matter. You're family, uncle Bobby." Another shush, this time more impatient. A small yelp follows. "If you need help, we can help you."

-x-x-x-

They're good boys, even if John says other wise. Smart, brave, a wicked sense of right and wrong, all but beaten into them at a very young age. Ready and willing to do anything for their family and, even as Bobby picks up that phone and places a call, he wonders if accepting their help is the right thing to do or not.