Bobby Singer scratched the side of his cheek and then gave a gentle tug at his beard. It was a habit he had when he was in an uncomfortable situation and he was trying to figure out exactly how to get out of it. His eyes darted back and forth, not wanting to rest on any of the three people in front of him. If he didn't make eye contact, maybe it would be easier to say no.
"Geez, Winchester, I'm not so sure..." he trailed off.
John Winchester shifted from one foot to the other, hoisting the toddler on his hip a little higher. "This could be it, Bobby," he implored, as he absentmindedly ran a hand over the head of the young boy that was clinging to his jeans. "It's a solid lead on that basta- on the yellow-eyed demon."
Bobby eyed the two boys dubiously. He had crossed paths with John Winchester less than a half a year ago on a hunt down in Memphis, Tennessee. It had been a rather small vampire nest, but the new hunter would have gotten himself killed if Bobby and Rufus hadn't showed up when they did. He had given John his phone number, telling him that if he needed anything to call.
This hadn't been what he meant.
Sure, John had called a few times and Bobby was able to pass on some wisdom from his quickly accumulating occult library. He had heard the kids in the background during those calls, the baby crying, the older boy loudly playing at some game, and he had felt lucky to not have children to drag into the mess his life had become.
He had just never expected the man to show up on his door-step unannounced and expect Bobby to baby-sit.
Bobby was trying to figure out what to say. Maybe tell him that he had his own hunt he was getting ready for? Not that wasn't true – he was pretty much on standby the next few days, staying behind to do research for Rufus' latest hunt. He wasn't sure if he could pass off the lie. No, he would just have to tell John Winchester that he couldn't. That a man like him, with a father like his had been – well, it just wasn't a good idea for him to keep the kids.
Bobby glanced up and made eye-contact with the other man. He knew what it meant to want revenge and he understood John's single-minded hunger to hunt down the demon that had taken his wife away.
He opened his mouth and heard himself saying "Sure, John."
'Balls," he cursed mentally.
The young father gave him a grateful smile and dropped the diaper bag from his shoulder and passed the younger boy off to him. Bobby nearly dropped the kid, unsure of how exactly to hold the squirming little human.
"This is Sammy," John introduced. He reached down and pried the other boy's hand from his jeans. He gave the kid a gentle push in Bobby's direction. "And this is Dean. Now I want you boys to be good for your Uncle Bobby."
"Uncle Bobby?" he thought miserably, looking down into Dean's distrustful face. He was distracted as Sam laid a chubby, and slobbery, hand against his cheek.
Bobby felt more than a little shell-shocked as without another word, John made his way out the front door. Now it was just Bobby and the two kids standing in the unsettling quiet of his living room.
xxxxx
Rufus collapsed onto the squeaky motel bed, a spring in the mattress almost instantly jabbing at a pressure point on his back. He reached out, his hand fumbling for the phone, and he punched in the now familiar number.
"You were right, it was a damned skinwalker," he groused without preamble the moment the call connected. "He got to two more victims before I got a hold of him, but problem solved and what the hell is that noise?" he nearly shouted, sitting up as his brain registered the background noise.
"Dean Winchester, I swear if you hit Sammy one more time..." growled Bobby on the other end of the line, his voice raised to be heard over the sound of two children crying in sync.
"Uh, you okay?" asked Rufus wearily as the pitch of the crying raised to a higher octave.
"Rufus, I am going to have to call you back," Bobby said quietly and then hung up.
"Don't bother," muttered the hunter, hanging up the receiver and collapsing back on the bed. He was too tired to deal with whatever mess Bobby Singer had managed to get himself in.
xxxxx
"Okay, are you done with your crying, boy?" asked Bobby, hands on hips, towering over the sniffling child. He was barely six, but the kid had been a holy terror since the moment his dad had stepped out of the house. If Dean wasn't hitting or pinching his brother, he was nosing through Bobby's stuff, knocking over stacks of books or spilling mugs of coffee on important papers.
Bobby had finally gotten the little one settled down. Sam was now passed out on a pile of cushions, pillows and blankets in the living room floor. The hunter was hoping now that the odds had evened, he would be able to handle the older one.
"I'm hungry," muttered the boy petulantly, looking up at Bobby with a sulky expression.
"Well, come on then," he answered gruffly, gesturing for the boy to follow him to the kitchen. He rifled through the cupboards, looking for some kid-friendly grub to serve up. He finally settled for a PB&J. Kids liked PB&J's. And the bread wasn't too stale...Bobby slid the plate over to Dean. The boy just stared at it.
"Mom used to cut off the crusts."
Bobby felt anger boil up inside, but the emotion was quickly squashed by the kid's use of the past tense. He thought back to what John had told him about the night the boys had lost their mother. This brat was the one who had carried his brother out of a burning house. It was hard to stay angry at the kid as he stared so despondently down at the sandwich. Grumbling to himself, Bobby reached over and slid the plate back to himself. He quickly sliced off the crusts and shoved it back. Dean looked up at him and gave him a small smile.
Bobby turned away and crossed back over the the cabinets, digging out a roll of Tums. All the stress from the kids' yelling must have given him heartburn. He chewed the antacid and watched Dean thoughtfully as the kid nibbled on the sandwich. From in the living room, Sam let out a wail that quickly escalated in pitch to a steady shriek. Bobby sighed and shoved off from the countertop, but he paused as Dean set down his food and got up from the table, heading in the direction of his brother.
"Whatcha doing?" Bobby asked gruffly. Dean turned back to him and gave him a "you must be stupid" look. Bobby only raised an eyebrow.
"Sammy's crying cuz he needs to be changed," said the boy.
"Okay, mother hen." Bobby let out a laugh but it quickly died away at the serious and somewhat affronted look on the kid's face. Apparently, Dean was accustomed to telling what Sam's cries meant and what to do to make his brother happy again. Bobby gave him a half-smile and nodded back to the kitchen table. "You finish eating; I'll take care of Sammy."
Dean gave him a doubtful look. "You ever change a diaper?," he quizzed the hunter.
"Well, I...," muttered Bobby. Dean gave him a "I didn't think so" look.
"Come on, I'll show you how," stated the kid, just a hint of arrogance in his voice.
They walked into the living room. Sam had pushed himself into sitting position and was wailing whole-heartedly in a demand for attention, snot and drool dribbling down his face. His eyes fixed on his brother and chubby hands stretched out for the other boy.
Dean grinned down at the little boy and he settled next to him as he dug through the diaper bag for the essentials. "Dude, we gotta get you potty-trained. I'm getting tired of this," he teased his little brother giving the boy a playful pinch. Sam gurgled happily back at him.
"You normally handle all this?" asked Bobby, as he watched more than a little impressed as Dean handled the delicate operation.
"Oh yeah! I can change his diapers and feed him and give him baths!" Dean looked up at Bobby, obvious pride shining in his hazel green eyes.
Bobby frowned down at him. That was an awful lot for one little kid to handle. "Dammit, John Winchester..." he thought angrily, but then quickly smiled as he saw the look of disappoint flash over Dean's face.
"Sounds like you're a good big brother," he said, reaching out and tousling the boy's hair before he had time to think. The action shocked him slightly. He never thought he would be able to be at ease around children. Dean just grinned, apparently pleased with the praise and the physical affection. Sammy, now cleaned and apparently fully awake from his nap, was also grinning while jabbering incoherently in a steady stream of baby talk.
"They're kinda cute," Bobby thought as he watched the two brothers interact, wrestling around playfully. That is until Dean knocked Sam over, the little boy's head hitting the floor with a solid thunk. Sam's face scrunched up and he opened his mouth wide to suck in a lungful of air for a wail. "Ah, hell," Bobby sighed miserably as the crying started again.
xxxxx
Bobby woke to the darkness with a suffocating feeling weighing down on his chest. There hadn't been the usual nightmares of that night he lost his wife, or any of those featuring his father. It took a moment for Bobby to realize there was something literally weighing down on his chest. A momentary panic bubbled up inside of him. He had countless wards painted on or carved into the wood across his house, but he knew there was always something that could slip in and the idea of that something sitting on his chest, ready to suck the life from him...
The panic quickly wore off as he heard Sammy let out a little whimper and felt the child's fist tighten it's grip on his shirt front. Bobby hadn't had anywhere to put the kid down for bed and he hadn't felt right just leaving him on the cushions on the floor. He had spent the most part of the evening pacing back and forth aimlessly through his house, bouncing the apparently perpetually crying child and being trailed by his older brother.
"You gotta rock him and talk to him. He likes that," Dean had instructed impatiently.
Once he had finally gotten the baby to quiet, Bobby had tried to lay him down on the bed, but the motion had awoken the boy and they had to start the process all over again. Bobby had finally collapsed onto the couch, the toddler fast asleep and cradled against his chest. He hadn't meant to fall asleep, just to rest for a few moments. Bobby sighed and shifted, feeling the second small body pressed up against him. Dean had managed to crawl across them and wedge himself between Bobby and the back of the couch, half-sprawled on top of the man and his brother. There would be no moving or finding a more comfortable position. Bobby knew his back would hurt like hell in the morning, but he couldn't find it in him to wake them up to put them to bed. He tried to tell himself it was because he didn't want them to start up their crying again. But there was something soothing in the feeling of the rise and fall of the two little chests as they slept on.
Bobby chased off wistful memories of Karen and the last argument that they had. But she had been right. This was awfully nice...
xxxxx
A few days later, Bobby watched from his porch as John Winchester ushered his boys towards the Impala. His lead had been a dead end and he had shown up early that morning with a dead, defeated look in his eyes, declining Bobby's offer of breakfast and in a hurry to take the boys back on the road with him. Bobby felt more than a little bit of aggravation. They had been just about to sit down to eat; he had just scrambled up some cheese eggs by request for Dean and was about to open one of the little jars of baby food that he had gone to the grocery store to procure the day before.
"Sure you don't want to stay and eat?" he asked, coming down from the porch and hovering a few steps away.
"No thanks, Bobby," John called, his voice slightly muffled as he bent over to strap Sam into his car seat. Dean had already dutifully climbed into the back seat next to his brother and buckled his belt. John stood up and shut the door, moving around to the driver's side, shutting the other back door as he passed. Bobby followed him, casting a disappointed glance at the two boys in the back seat.
John slid into the Impala and rolled down the window. Bobby leaned down. "Thanks, Bobby. Hope they weren't too much trouble?" He cast a glance in the rearview mirror that said there would be hell to pay if the answer wasn't a good one.
"Nah, they were good," replied Bobby, giving the boys a wink.
John nodded. "What do you say, Dean?" he called over his shoulder.
The little boy turned to Bobby, his hazel green eyes bright and happy. "Thank you, Uncle Bobby!" Sam burbled as well, waving a dimpled hand at him.
Bobby felt his heart squeeze. "I can watch them any time, John," he said hurriedly, turning back to the other hunter and hoping he didn't look too desperate or slightly creepy.
John gave him a tired smile. "Thanks." He cranked the car and put it into gear. Bobby stepped back as the Impala pulled out of his driveway. He saw through the back window as Dean sat up and twisted around, waving energetically good bye at him. He raised his hand in farewell, and then turned back and headed into his much too quiet and empty house.