(I only meant this to be a one-shot, but I had a few more ideas, so here you go. There is no continuous plot here, just a few more one-shot interactions between Bobby and Sam during the Stanford years. After all, if he knew Sam was away from home, would Bobby let him spend Christmas alone in the dorms?)

Achoo!

Bobby sniffed and wiped his nose with a handkerchief. Dust danced through the air, and Bobby waved a hand in front of his face to dispel the cloud he had kicked up.

"Been too long since I've been up here."

Bobby stepped carefully through the boxes that littered the attic floor along with dead mice and bat droppings. He flashed his light over the crowded space, muttering, "I need to get this place wired with an overhead light."

He'd found the time to pour a salted iron wall into his basement and paint a Key of Solomon onto his ceiling, but he couldn't manage to find time to string a wire to a light in this old attic.

Maybe the memories here just preferred the dark. There were stacks of them, piled on top of each other in cardboard boxes. Some had no meaning anymore, the memory carried away with the death of past generations. Some were still fresh, like a bleeding wound that should be kept covered.

Bobby's grandfather had built this home, and his old toolbox still sat in the corner. There was a box full of his father's old clothes, placed here tenderly by his mother, despite the bruises covering her face which had been made by his hands. Bobby passed over all of it. So much here, looming over his head every day, haunting his thoughts until he set out on a hunt to clear his mind and kill the spirits.

There, in the corner, Bobby could see a hint of color reflected through the hand-hold in the side of a box. He lifted the lid. Christmas lights and tinsel glittered in the flashlight's beam. They were old, nearly twenty years old, and he had no idea if they would even work anymore. Underneath the lights were glass balls wrapped in soft tissue, snowflakes cut from paper by hand, and a star full of cheap glitter.

Bobby wiped his eyes again. He remembered when Karen had brought her things to his home and unwrapped her Christmas box for the first time. She had made that star as a child, for her mother who was dying of cancer. They'd both met long after their parents were gone, so Christmas had only ever been just the two of them.

Bobby hadn't been in this attic or touched this box since that last Christmas together. A small shape caught his eye, a blotch of white among the red and greed decorations. Two small baby booties, still attached to their knitting needles. Karen had been working on them while Bobby took down the tree that last year together. Always hopeful, she had been.

He'd gotten a vasectomy before their marriage, but hadn't told her. She only found out after a bad cut sent him to the doctor for stitches and antibiotics, and the nurses and let Karen read his chart. She hadn't spoken to him for a week. Then she had died.

Bobby reached down to touch the baby booties, and wondered if anything would be different if he hadn't denied her children? Would she still be with him? Or would there just have been one more dead body that night?

Bobby pulled the booties out of the box and set them aside. They would just bring up awkward questions, and he had a guest to get ready for. Bobby hoisted the box, but his elbow knocked the lid off of another box as he was lifting and turning.

"Balls!" Bobby set the Christmas decorations back down and bent to snatch the lid off the floor. He paused, staring at the contents of the open box. Karen's face stared up at him, smiling from a gilded frame nestled between the folds of her favorite dress.

"Well, look at you." Bobby let his fingers travel across the smooth surface of the picture, remembering how warm her skin had been, the sound of her humming, the way the light caught in her fair hair. "You were right, you know. I should have given us a chance. You would have been a great mom."

Bobby shifted the dress and the picture until he found a string of pearls, still white and untouched by twenty years in storage. They had been a wedding gift left behind by Karen's father. She had always talked about the day she would pass them on to her own daughter, or daughter in law.

Bobby cradled the pearls in his hands, and saw a sliver money clip nestled near it. Karen had intended it for their son, or son in law. It had belonged to her father, Simon Willis. S. W.

"Well, Fate, you couldn't hint much harder if you used a brick." Bobby pulled the money clip out of the box, replaced the lid, and shuffled downstairs with his decorations.

Sam tilted his head sideways, squinting his eyes as he examined the tree. "A little to the right, no-no! Back left!" He sighed and shook his head. "I think it's just crooked."

"It looked straight before I cut it." Bobby carefully disentangled himself from the branches, and then handed Sam a string of lights. "Well, go on, I'm not tall enough to reach up there."

Sam grinned and started twining lights around the Christmas tree, Bobby providing 'constructive criticism' as he sipped on his eggnog. Frost coated the windows and the clouds were low and thick. Sam and Bobby both knew better than to hope for snow. White Christmases were nice on TV, but they made the roads a sloppy mess which meant wrecks, and cars in need of towing, which meant more work for Bobby on a day when he would rather be home.

Bobby paused, cup halfway to his lips, as he let the thought sink in.

I'd rather be home.

How long since that had last been true? He glanced over at the row of phones on his wall. Could he just unplug them all for a day?

It was a tempting thought.

Sam turned from his work to see Bobby staring. "Aw, come on, what now?" His arms were tangled in lights, and he pouted just he had when he was ten. It didn't matter how tall Sam got, sometimes, Bobby wondered if the boy would ever grow up.

Bobby pointed to one of the top branches. "I think you missed a spot there."

Sam rolled his eyes, but reached up to adjust the string.

An hour later, the tree resembled an explosion of tinsel and glitter, but over half of the lights were working, nothing had caught fire, and the tree hadn't tipped over. Bobby and Sam sat back to toast their victory.

"Dean would have a thing or two to say about your handiwork there, Sam." Bobby never knew what colorful expression was going to come out of the older Winchester's mouth.

Sam grinned. "Yeah." His expression fell, and he stared into his drink. "I never wanted to leave them, Bobby. I just-Dad twists everything into this-mess." He blinked and rubbed his eyes. "I miss my brother."

"Christmas is a time for missing folks," Bobby agreed. He could remember Karen, adjusting the lights on the tree and then insisting on taking a picture before serving up Christmas dinner. "Maybe we shouldn't have done this."

"No, Bobby, this is good. It's nice. I mean, junk food, sappy music, and even stockings over the mantle. I've never had this before, you know?"

Bobby snorted. It never ceased to amaze him the things John Winchester didn't bother with, despite having two kids to provide for. Being a dad was about far more than keeping kids safe and fed. Bobby knew more than most what it shouldn't be, and in some ways, so did Sam. Maybe that was why he had always had a soft spot for the boys.

"Well, I've got us reservations at Denny's." Bobby had been determined not to feed Sam a Christmas dinner that came out of a can, but he couldn't make much sense of Karen's old cookbooks.

Sam grinned. "What would Christmas be without dinner at Denny's? I think we eat there just about every year. Nobody else is open. On year, Dad forgot Christmas was coming and we ran out of groceries the day before. We had breakfast, lunch and dinner and Denny's, because even the gas station wasn't open."

Two hours later, stuffed with turkey and potatoes, they settled by the tree again. The eggnog was just about gone and Bobby's vision was getting slightly blurry around the edges. He wasn't in danger of passing out, or forgetting the evening, but he was pleasantly mellow.

Bobby sank into his chair and gestured to the stocking on the mantle. "Well, go on then."

It never ceased to amaze Bobby how Sam's sorrowful face could brighten when he decided to smile, as he did now. "Aw, Bobby, you didn't have to get me anything," he said, but he scrambled toward the stocking as fast as any five-year old would.

Bobby shrugged. "Just a little something I had tucked away."

Sam examined the money clip, and his mouth made a round O. "Bobby, this is real silver."

"Yep. So keep it somewhere safe."

"Sure. Thanks, Bobby." Sam pulled a package, wrapped in newspaper, from under the tree where he had tucked it when Bobby wasn't looking. "Here."

Bobby stared, completely surprised. He hadn't expected anything, hadn't gotten a Christmas present since… "Thanks."

He peeled away the colorful comic strips to reveal a new hat, exactly the same size and shape as the one he wore now, only clean and without the grease smell. Bobby tossed off his old stained cap and placed the new hat on his head. "I don't know about this. Next thing you know, you'll want me to wash my hair."

Sam laughed. "Oh, I'm sure you'll break it in soon enough." He dipped his fingers in the soot near the fireplace and rubbed it into the hat. "There, better?"

"Much." Bobby nodded with satisfaction and held up his glass of eggnog. "Merry Christmas, son."

"Merry Christmas, Bobby."

The cell was just as Bobby remembered it. One cot in the corner, sink and toilet attached to the opposite wall, and a too-bright light glaring at him from the ceiling. Of course, he was always in here when he was hung-over, so the light might not be as viciously bright as he perceived.

Bobby lay on his back, pillow over his eyes, and let the combination of whiskey and beer send his thoughts into pleasant oblivion.

The jangle of keys was like the rattle of trash cans clattering against his skull. Bobby groaned and pressed the pillow to his ears, but he would not be allowed to lie in peace. The door opened with a creak, and booted feet planted themselves in the doorway. Lightweight, a woman. What was that new female deputy's name? Fabric rustled, she was probably crossing her arms.

"Bobby Singer. It's been a few years since I had you in here on Christmas."

Bobby lifted the pillow just enough to allow his words to escape un-muffled. "I was celebrating."

"Celebrating. Sure." There was a gentle tone in her voice now. Jody, that was her name.

Bobby rolled onto his side, putting his back to her.

"Come on. Nobody wants to stay here to babysit you over the holiday. I'm taking you to the truck stop for a burger, and then you're going home."

But I got drunk and disorderly in public on purpose, Bobby grumbled, but he wasn't sure that the words actually made it out of his mouth.

"Come on, up!" Jody's hand was firm on his shoulder. Bobby groaned and staggered to his feet. Jody kept her hand on his elbow as he shuffled to the door, making sure he didn't run into anything.

Twenty minutes later she deposited him and his dinner in the kitchen. She stared at the tree in the living room, the decorations waiting in their box, unused, and the stocking on the mantle.

"Expecting company?"

"No." Bobby felt himself wobble and settled in a chair at the kitchen table. "Now if you don't mind, I'd like to continue my nap."

Jody set a paper cup down beside him. "Have some coffee, eat your dinner. And Merry Christmas."

The door shut with a bang, and Bobby was alone with his tree and his single stocking, still full. Bobby turned his back on the tree and ate his burger. This view was hardly any better; dirty kitchen sink, refrigerator, and out of the corner of his eye, the red message light on his phone blinked incessantly.

Bobby played the message again, even though he'd already listened to it ten times over the past week. Sam's voice, made slightly blurry by the recording, sounded happier than Bobby had ever heard it.

"Hey, Bobby, I know we had plans but…well, I told you about this girl I met. She's invited me to meet her parents for Christmas. I'll see you later. Thanks."

Bobby stared at the coffee in front of him, then at the beer he'd left sitting out before going to the bar. He hit the delete button and picked up the beer.

I really hate this ending, but I thought it was very realistic. Don't hate me! I am not leaving it there. At least one more chapter to come!