DISCLAIMER: I do not own Supernatural and make no profit from this story. Just to clear up that little misconception.

A/N: This is my first time writing wee!chesters. I enjoyed it and I hope you will too. I do a little bit of head-hopping; I apologize if that bugs anyone.

Bobby Singer never had kids for a reason. He'd been babysitting John Winchester's boys for two weeks and had had to stop himself from stringing them up by their toes at least ten times a day, every day. It wasn't a joke — he'd gone out to the garage to get the rope and everything. But then one of the kids would do something really awful, like smile at him, or ask about their daddy, and Bobby would calm himself.

But it always started again, and there they were, Dean sitting in front of the TV watching Scooby-Doo, and Sam, standing about as tall as Dean was while sitting, kicking him and hitting him and yelling in some language Bobby was sure couldn't be English.

Dean ignored it for a while, so Bobby did too, until the kid finally cracked, pushing little Sam to the ground, pulling his hair, and screaming, "Shut up, Sam! Or I'm gonna rip your E.T. doll in half and lock you outside in the doghouse with Rumsfeld and he's gonna eat you so shut up!"

Sam promptly started cry-screaming in that language that only they seemed fluent in.

Bobby went to them, pulled Dean off of Sam. He tried to think of some parent-ism to say. "Don't say 'shut up.' Say … say 'be quiet.'"

Dean raised a perplexed eyebrow at Bobby, who shrugged. When they looked back at Sam, who had been flailing on the floor, Sam suddenly stopped, stood, and smacked his brother across the face.

Bobby watched Dean's lips twitch, his jaw tighten, trying to keep from wailing on Sam. He pushed Sam down again anyway, but instead of crying, Sam jumped onto Dean, clawing at him with toddler motor skills. The yelling continued, but all Bobby could make out from it was, "You're a liar, Dean! Liar! Liar!"

Dean looked up at Bobby for help. Bobby took a deep breath and pushed his sleeves up some more before pulling Sam off his brother, his limbs thrashing in all different directions like a bug stuck on its back. He continued to scream, "Liar! Liar! You're a liar!"

"I'm not a liar, you're just a baby!"

"Hey!" Bobby said forcefully, maybe a little too close to Sam's ear. "You two shut up or I'll lock you both outside with Rumsfeld!"

Sam gasped and his eyes went wide. He stopped wriggling and put an arm behind Bobby's neck to support himself and look into Bobby's eyes. "Would you really? Would he really eat me? I thought he was nice?"

"I—I…." Bobby looked from Sam to Dean and back again, confusion painting his face. Finally, he set Sam back on the ground so he could look at both boys at once. "You two mind tellin' me what the problem is here?"

"Sam's just being a little baby," Dean said with a shrug.

"I am not! Uncle Bobby, tell him I'm four years old. Tell him. He keeps saying I'm not, but he's … a … liar."

Dean rolled his eyes and looked a Bobby with an expression that said, "This kid, am I right?"

Bobby wiped his mouth to keep himself from laughing at the ridiculousness of their fight. "Dean says you're not four years old, Sam?"

"Yeah, he says I'm three."

"'Cause you are," Dean said, shaking his head.

"I am not!"

"Okay, okay, both of you, stop it. Sam, what day is your birthday?"

"May 2nd."

"I hate to break it to ya, kiddo, but today is April 27th."

Dean smiled. Sam's expression didn't change.

"See," Bobby continued, "April comes before May. And since you turn four in May of this year, you're still three."

Dean elbowed Sam. "Told you."

"But…." Sam's eyebrows furrowed so tightly even his hair lurched forward. "But … I'm not four?"

Bobby was ready to tell him no and leave it at that, but he saw tears welling in Sam's eyes again. He hiked his pant legs up a bit so he could kneel down closer to Sam's height. "You're not four yet. You're close. You just have to wait five more days."

The lines on Sam's face smoothed out suddenly and his eyes brightened. "Really? Five days and I'll be four?"

"Yep." Bobby stood up straight.

"How will I know when it's five days?"

"I'll tell you."

Sam's smile softened the edges of Bobby's jagged old heart, if only slightly. "See, Dean? I'm gonna be four in five days! I'm gonna go to tell E.T.!" Sam turned and trotted down the hall — only tripping over his feet once — to go find his favorite stuffed alien, which Dean proudly said he won for Sam at the State Fair in Oklahoma.

When Sam was out of sight, Bobby looked back down at Dean. "You know, you coulda told him his birthday was comin' up instead of just telling him he wasn't four yet."

Dean raised his eyebrows and smiled in a sardonic way he was too young for. "I didn't lie to him."

"Well, let's keep the peace from now on, huh?"

Bobby turned to go outside and begin work on the Ford F-250 Ranger that needed new break pads, but Dean followed close behind him. "Hey, Uncle Bobby?"

Bobby stopped and looked at him.

"Just, uh, between you and me," he looked to make sure Sam was still out of the room, "do you think Dad will be back for Sammy's birthday? Like, with a present and stuff?" Dean had a habit of talking to Bobby, as well as other adults, like they were equals and only Sam was the little one.

Bobby opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again.

"Just between you and me," Dean reminded him.

"Well … I don't think so, kid. He just, he's real busy at that, uh, at the, uh …"

"The convention."

A frown crossed Bobby's face. He knew Dean already barely believed that lie. He knew Dean was aware that the average traveling salesman was not so deftly skilled at handling a shotgun. He knew Dean was on the brink of the truth. "Right, the convention, taking care of some business, you know. So he probably won't be able to make it back in time."

Dean nodded as if this was a confirmation of what he already knew. "That's okay. You and me can do it. We'll tell Dad about it later." He gave Bobby a couple pats on the arm as if to comfort him and walked away toward the bedroom he shared with Sam.

Bobby's cap felt too tight. He adjusted it. He always thought he'd eventually die taking down a demon, or maybe something even more rare, like a werewolf or even a vampire, but he was beginning to think he'd soon go down in quite a different way. Those damn kids were going to be the death of him.

XXX

Looking into a sea of greeting cards, some with animals, some with cartoons, even some that sang, Bobby was utterly lost. He wasn't sure if cards even mattered to four-year-olds. And he couldn't, for the life of him, remember if it was the Smurfs Sam liked or maybe the Care Bears. Fraggle something? Alf? He sighed and settled on a card that featured something called a "Pac-Man."

Then Bobby realized there weren't only cards, but a whole aisle of the store dedicated to party supplies: gift bags and colorful paper plates and candles and enough streamers to send him running out of the joint. He hadn't gone shopping for things like this since Karen's last birthday — and she never cared too much about celebrating it anyway. She didn't like that she kept getting older. He found himself wishing she were here to put this kid's birthday together. She would've been great at that if given the chance. Bobby shook the thought away and grabbed some Batman plates, a generic gift bag, and a balloon that for some reason looked like a soccer ball and read, "Birthday Boy." He picked out a cheap Transformer action figure for a present and headed for the bakery.

"Can I buy one of these cakes and come pick it up in a few days?"

"Absolutely, sir. What kind of cake are you looking for?"

"Uh…." Bobby looked at all the model cakes in the window. He pointed at a medium-sized, plain chocolate cake. "That one's fine."

"Okay," the girl behind the counter said, pulling a notebook out and taking a pen from behind her ear. "Would you like to have a message written on the cake?"

"Uh, sure. Just put, 'Happy Birthday Sam.'"

XXX

When Bobby returned with the supplies, it was nearing dark and the boys would be wondering what had taken Bobby so long to pick up some McDonald's. He went out to the garage where Sam and Dean were forbidden, where he kept a handsome supply of guns, knives, salt, and anything else a hunter might need. He dropped everything off out there for safekeeping.

"Took you long enough!" Dean said happily when Bobby entered the house with the Happy Meals.

"You give me any lip and I'll be eating your burger and mine."

Dean's eyes widened. "Sorry," he said, and quickly grabbed his burger from the bag. Once that was safe, he unwrapped Sam's, tore it in half, and set the halves in front of him at the kitchen table.

"Hey, Uncle Bobby, am I four yet?"

"Sam, you just asked me that this morning."

"Well, am I?"

"Not yet. You'll be four in four days."

"Four in four days," he repeated. He smiled and took a bite of his food.

XXX

The next morning, Bobby woke to the feeling that something was staring at him intensely. Startled, Bobby nearly pulled out the pistol under his pillow before he realized who it was. He had opened his eyes to see Sam's face just inches in front of his. "The hell are you doing, Sam?" he mumbled more to himself than the kid.

"Am I four today?" Sam whispered.

"No, Sam, not today. Three more days."

Sam let out an overwrought sigh. "This is going to take forever."

"Kid, go back to bed."

XXX

On Thursday, Sam managed to wait until the afternoon to ask. When Bobby came inside for lunch, Sam almost moon-leaped off the couch and wrapped himself around Bobby's leg. "Am I four yet?"

Bobby walked into the kitchen with Sam sitting on his foot, holding on tightly. "Not yet, Sam, but almost. You just gotta wait two more days."

Sam dramatically let go of Bobby's leg and rolled into the middle of the kitchen floor. "I might be dead before then!"

"Don't say stuff like that. By the time your Saturday morning cartoons start, you'll be four."

Sam stood up and looked at the sandwich Bobby was making. "Can I have one?"

XXX

When Bobby caught Dean rummaging through his office drawer, he was afraid he was looking for clues about what he and John really did for a living.

"I was just looking for a permanent marker. A black one."

Bobby let out an internal sigh of relief. "Just ask for one, ya idjit. There's one in the kitchen. Outta here, come on." He made a motion with his hand that indicated Dean to move along. When he did, Bobby peered into the drawer Dean had been digging through. Nothing but papers, some notes and receipts, luckily. If he'd looked through the next drawer down, he'd have found a box that contained a cursed object, something he was waiting to hand off to Rufus next time they met up, and some hex bags, filled with all their strange ingredients. He was starting to think he might need to put locks on some of the things around his house.

"Uncle Bobby, I can't find the marker," Dean said from the office doorway.

Bobby walked out of the office, closed the door, and went toward the kitchen. "What do you need it for, anyway?"

"Just something to do with," he lowered his voice, "Sammy's present."

Bobby nodded knowingly and opened the kitchen drawer where he kept his house tools. He found the marker and gave it to Dean.

"Speaking of Sam, he actually hasn't bugged me about his birthday all day today."

On cue, Sam walked into the kitchen, wearing only a t-shirt and underwear, and Dean quickly hid the marker from Sam's view.

"Uncle Bobby! Am I four today?"

Bobby sighed in a laughing kind of way. "One more day, boy. Tomorrow."

XXX

Saturday morning, Bobby woke up early enough to beat even Sam, so that he could get down to the store and pick up the birthday cake.

He didn't open the box until he got it home and on the dining table. "Balls," Bobby said.

In blue icing was written, "Happy Birthday Sal."

He then went out to the garage to get the rest of Sam's birthday surprises. But when he opened the door, he was surprised to see Sam's balloon drooping limply on the ground. "Balls."

Bobby brought the supplies in, set the plates out, and put the toy into the gift bag. The bag was deceptively big for such a small gift. He realized he'd be getting the kid's hopes up, but had nothing else to put it in. He crumpled up some old newspapers to fill up the negative space in the bag.

The sound of two boys, one tired and one full of excited energy, vibrated throughout the house.

Bobby looked through his bags for the candles he'd bought — and then remembered he hadn't bought any. "Balls." He looked high and low for any candles he might have left over from Karen and eventually found one long dining table candle. It looked ridiculous, but he stuck it into the cake anyway, hoping to perhaps camouflage the fact that the cake was for "Sal."

The sounds of Sam and Dean grew louder then, and Bobby waited for Sam to burst through the threshold. "Uncle Bobby!" he heard from the hallway.

Bobby tried to prop the sad balloon against a picture frame on the table, but it still looked pathetic. He grabbed a stapler and stapled it to the wall, then tied the string to a chair. It looked like it was floating. Kind of.

"Uncle Bobby, am I—." Sam stopped in his tracks when he entered the kitchen. His eyes were shiny and his cheeks were all dimples. "I'm four? I'm four! Dean, I'm four!"

Bobby spread his arms wide at the array he'd made. "Congratulations, kiddo, you're four."

"A cake! Can I eat the cake?" Sam climbed into a chair and stuck a finger into the cake's icing. He licked it and was about to go for more before Bobby stopped him.

"First you gotta blow out your candle, make a wish, you know. Then your present. Then you can bon appétit." He struck a match and lit the candle. It was so tall he wasn't sure Sam would be able to blow it out.

Sam stretched his arms as tall as he could to hold himself up and leaned forward. "Okay, I'm making a wish, hold on. I'm thinking. Hold on. Okay." He took in the deepest breath he could muster and blew as hard as he could. He spit a little, but got the flame out.

"Good job, Sam," Dean said.

Bobby stopped for a moment. Were they supposed to sing a song before or after the wish? He figured they could skip that part all together and just give Sam his gift.

"Wow," Sam said at the colorful bag and pulled all the newspaper out quickly, tossing it to the floor. He took out the action figure. "Cool," he drawled. "Look it Dean. Can you open it?"

"What do you say, Sam?"

"Thanks, Uncle Bobby," Sam said automatically, his gaze stuck to the toy. "I'm gonna call him 'Jones.'"

Dean looked at the toy from over Sam's shoulder. "That's Megatron."

"I'm gonna call him 'Jones.' Can you open it?"

"Here," Bobby said, and took it. He took his knife out of his pocket and cut into the toy's plastic wrapping as Dean revealed his gift for Sam.

"Check this out, Sammy," he said, and presented his brother with a baseball covered in a child's attempt at cursive. "Look, see, it's got Babe Ruth's autograph."

"Whoa, hi, Babe Ruth." Sam took the ball and waved at it. "Where did you get it?"

Dean shrugged. "I just, uh, made a deal with someone at school. Do you like it?"

The admiring look pouring out of Sam toward Dean said he did.

Bobby freed the action figure and gave it to Sam to distract him while he asked, for Dean's sake, "You make a deal with the devil to get a gift like that for Sam?"

Dean glanced to make sure Sam was still fascinated by his toy — E.T. and Jones were engaged in battle at the moment — and motioned for Bobby to come closer. Bobby leaned down so that Dean could whisper in his ear. "Between you and me … it's not real. I signed the ball. But Sam won't know. Don't tell him."

Bobby nodded and winked. Dean tried to wink back, but he accidentally closed both eyes. He determined to keep practicing.

"Can we eat the cake now?" Sam asked in a sweet little voice.

"It's your birthday. Dig in. Both of you."

The boys wasted no time. Dean practically cut the cake in half their pieces were so big.

"Hey, use the plates, would ya, I bought 'em for a reason."

Dean smiled at Bobby, his face already covered in chocolate, and moved the cake slices onto their plates. Neither boy bothered with forks.

"I think I wanna be four forever," Sam said.

Dean nodded. "That'd be good. Maybe now that you're four you won't be such a baby."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "Be quiet." He revealed a small smile. "Hey, Uncle Bobby, do you wanna see what Jones can do?"

Bobby sat down across from Sam. "Show me."

Sam began making a series of explosion noises with his mouth while moving the toy's arms and legs back and forth. It wasn't such a great show, but Bobby liked it.

In fact, watching Sam be enamored with his toy, and watching Dean be enamored with watching Sam, Bobby thought maybe he'd go the whole day without threatening to pack the boys up and ship them off to Timbuktu. Maybe.