A/N: A random fic about what I'm sure was the first of many occurances. And besides, who doesn't love little Jack? ;) Again, fluffiness all around.

"Bobby?"

The plaintive voice would have wrenched even the hardest heart and Bobby's heart was far from stone. Still, he rolled over and pulled the covers over his head in an effort to block the voice and the mental image that accompanied it. He knew what he would see if he opened his eyes: a little boy, eleven, thin face, pleading blue eyes, and a shock of brown hair that stuck up wildly.

"Bobby?"

Bobby felt a small push on his shoulder but ignored it. He tried snoring a little louder to convince the kid he was really asleep. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes Jack knew he was really awake but wanted to be left alone.

Another shove came—harder.

And sometimes Jack ignored his ignoring and silently demanded attention.

"What do you want, kid?" Bobby croaked, vaguely wondering why his voice only ever broke at 4 a.m. He cleared his throat and craned his head around so his blurry vision could see Jack. Or what should be Jack. Not just a fuzzy blob with strange spikes around its head. Bobby dragged a hand across his eyes roughly and the image sharpened to the face of his little brother.

Could those eyes get any bigger?

"I had a bad dream."

"No kidding." Bobby rolled over, presenting his back to Jack, and shut his eyes. What had he been dreaming about?

"Bobby." Jack shook him again. "Bobby."

"Look, Jack, if the boogeyman's not right there in my closet waiting to eat me, I don't want a warning. Go back to bed."

"It's not that."

"Then there's nothing to worry about. Go." Without turning his body, Bobby waved his arm in the general direction of the door. Jack wrinkled his nose in frustration and tried to peer over Bobby's lumpy blankets. Bobby's arm brushed the top of his head and then patted his cheek, giving him a little shove in the door's direction.

Jack wrestled Bobby's arm back, pinning it at Bobby's side, and put a knee on the bed. "No, Bobby, I'm still scared."

"Jack."

"Bobby—"

"Jack!" Now Bobby was angry. Or getting there. He rose up on his elbows and squinted at Jack. "Get your rear moving or I'll kick it to China. Move."

"Bobby, it's not the boogeyman."

"Then what else is there to be afraid of?" Bobby growled, yanking the blankets off and swinging his feet to the floor. He ran his hands through his hair and held his head for a minute, wondering why Jack didn't take his nightmares to someone else.

"Him."

Bobby moved one hand so he saw Jack's face with an eye. Jack was facing him but his eyes kept skittering away to the door.

"Him," Bobby echoed with a weary sigh. "Who is—"

"I don't want to talk about it," Jack said sharply, glaring at Bobby. Bobby was surprised. One minute the kid wants to curl up in a ball, and the next he's shooting daggers with his eyes. He decided to actually listen.

"Alright. We don't have to talk about it. I was just curious is all. I think I've got a right to know why you're waking me up at this unholy hour to complain about someone you're not even going to tell me about." Jack set his jaw resolutely and Bobby gently took him by the shoulders, pressing his forehead against Jack's. "Jackie," he said slowly, his eyes closing, "I'm tired. Why won't you go back to your room?"

"I told you, Bobby. I'm—" Jack stopped and curled his fingers in Bobby's shirt. "Please just come with me?"

Bobby sighed dramatically. "Fine." He wobbled to his feet and staggered down the hall, steering Jack in front of him until they stood in Jack's room. The window was open and the curtains fluttered with a slight breeze. Jack suddenly stopped and shrank back against Bobby's stomach, his head just reaching Bobby's chest.

"What's up, Jack? What, you don't like the window open?" Bobby's brow crinkled. Jack had never disliked having his window open before but now he was obviously spooked by something. His breath was catching in his throat and he reached his right hand up to take a fistful of Bobby's shirt.

"Bobby," Jack whispered. "Close the window."

Bobby obediently trudged over and slammed the window shut after sticking his head out to make sure there wasn't anything or anybody out there. Nothing but the breeze. When he turned he was arrested by the sight of Jack sitting on his bed, his feet tucked up under him and his hands folded together. He was biting his lip and rocking back and forth slightly. He looked as though he was trying to contain himself, or as though he was in trouble. Bobby sighed and dragged his hand over his face and through his hair, ruffling it up for good measure.

"Alright, you good here, Jack?"

Jack didn't say anything but his eyes seemed to get rounder and they sparkled with what looked like tears.

"No, no, don't even start crying on me."

"I'm not crying," Jack whispered quietly, his voice hoarse with tears. "I'm not crying."

Bobby critically looked at Jack and figured that his insistence was to convince himself, not Bobby. He sat down on Jack's bed and sighed. "Jackie-O, nobody's going to get you. Ever. I promise. Just lay down here," he fluffed up Jack's pillow, "and get some sleep. I'm going to be in my room, sleeping, snoring probably, and with some luck you're going to be able to hear it all the way over here." He lifted the blankets and raised an eyebrow at Jack. "Come on. In."

Jack scooted between the covers but kept his eyes fixed on Bobby. He wouldn't ask. He wouldn't. Bobby knew what he wanted. But he wouldn't ask. Asking had never helped him before. Besides, Bobby looked tired. He yawned widely and patted Jack's chest, mumbling, "'Night, Jack," before getting up. Jack wouldn't say anything. He wouldn't ask.

Bobby stopped at the door and reached to turn out the light. Something made him pause. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that Jack was sitting up again, his hand clenching the blankets like he was going to drown if he let go. The tears were gone but there was something else there, a resigned acceptance of fear. It hit him that Jack hadn't asked to sleep with him. Jack had come with his problem and expected Bobby to fix it. He would trust whatever Bobby did to make it better, even if he knew it wasn't going to help. In Jack's mind, Bobby had put him in his room because, to Bobby, that would make it alright, even though Jack knew the nightmares wouldn't leave just because of that. But he was going to trust Bobby.

Bobby turned and leaned against the doorjamb, his hand resting on his hip. "You want me to sleep with you?"

The relief was so apparent in Jack's eyes that Bobby felt his heart clench. What was he to this fluffy-haired kid that just his presence was enough to drive away a nightmare, one that he'd had for as long as he could remember? He cleared his throat and climbed into the bed with Jack, at first laying on his back and then rolling over on his side like he was used to. Jack stayed where he was until he fell asleep but gradually wormed his way closer to Bobby until Bobby woke because Jack's hair was tickling his face. He cracked one eye open and softly smoothed down Jack's hair, then wrapped his arm around Jack to tuck him in closer. It was strangely comfortable to hear the kid's heartbeat against his chest, to feel his soft breaths against his neck, and hear his soft whimpers and murmurings as he slept. He closed his eyes again and softly rubbed Jack's back.

When he woke up the next morning he didn't think he had ever had a better night of sleep. From the grateful way Jack smiled at him the next morning, hair more wild than ever, it looked as though he hadn't either.