It had been about a week and a half since Bumblebee made his way into the Singer household, but his tiny presence was certainly felt. Sam and Dean still ran around, still played, still asked Bobby tons of questions, still caused their share of mischief; but more often than not they were both in the living room, over in the corner, sitting by the box that held the precious bundle of fur.
It was amazing to Bobby how quickly both boys took to caring for the kitten. Even though he was just little fellow himself, Sam was very gentle, and even helped Bobby to feed Bumblebee sometimes. He'd hold the kitten and croon to him, singing little made-up songs about how much he loved Bumblebee and how the tiny creature was getting stronger every day.
Dean, it went without saying, was an excellent watcher. If the kitten so much as sneezed he was right there, observing and letting Bobby know that things were okay. Hadn't he been doing the same thing when it came to Sam?
When John returned for a brief visit, the boys each grabbed one of his hands and dragged him over to the box where the kitten was peacefully sleeping.
"That's Bumblebee, dad," said Dean, his voice full of pride, "We're helping Uncle Bobby take care of him."
"But he's sleepin' right now, Daddy, so you gots to be quiet," Sam said very seriously.
John gazed down at the kitten in the box. Wrapped in a hand towel and curled up next to a softly ticking alarm clock, the baby, John admitted even to himself, was cute. Reaching down to ruffle his youngest son's head, John said, "Have you guys been good, helping Bobby out?"
"Uh, huh," Sam nodded. "When we're not taking care of Bee, we help with chores."
John sent a verifying look at Bobby, and getting a short nod of agreement, John smiled and transferred his gaze to Dean. "You helpin' out with Sammy, son?"
Dean nodded. "Yes, sir." The boy wasn't as voluble as his brother, but that didn't surprise John. Dean was too mature for his age, and John knew that was his fault, but he needed to depend on Dean way more often than he should. He knew how fortunate he was to have a son like Dean who was always ready and able to step up to the plate, even before being asked.
Bobby put a hand on Dean's thin shoulder and chuckled. "This one's been a real help to me fixing cars an' such." He playfully ruffled Dean's hair, saying, "We'll make a grease monkey outta him yet!"
Dean laughed, but only after he saw John smile at that remark as well.
In his heart of hearts, John knew he had to kill the thing that had taken away his beloved Mary, leaving his sons without their mother.
Because if he didn't, then Dean and Sam would have to. And he couldn't bear that thought.
John only stayed overnight, long enough to restock his ammo supply and catch a night of sleep. The next morning he was gone again, promising to check in and/or stop back by as soon as he could, maybe bringing Pastor Jim with him next time, as the cleric was the one he was hunting with this time around.
Dean stood on the front porch and watched his dad drive away. When he felt a hand on his shoulder, he jumped slightly, startled.
"You ok, there, kid?" Bobby asked, his voice soft and, for him, concerned.
"Yes, sir. Just thinkin'."
"What about?"
Dean took several moments to form his thoughts before replying. "Why does dad have to be gone so much?" Before Bobby could reply, Dean continued, with a shrug. "I know he's looking for what took Mom from us. I get that. But-"
"But you miss 'im," Bobby acknowledged.
Dean nodded. "Yeah. Sammy does too. He needs Dad as much as I miss Mom. It's not fair."
"Life's not often fair, kiddo," Bobby said. "You're too young to have to learn that, but that's just how things are. I know you don't like having to travel around, living out of podunk motels, or the car, but this is how things are, Dean. You have your responsibilities, just as your dad does. You just gotta deal and move on."
Dean sighed, and it was a sound that broke Bobby's heart. It was too old, too world-weary a sound to come from a nine-year old boy. "I know. But sometimes it sucks."
The sound of little boy giggles floated in from the open screen door, and Dean turned his head and smiled slightly. "'Least this time when Dad left, Sammy didn't cry. He's too busy taking care of Bumblebee to be sad."
"That he is, son," Bobby agreed. "Your brother's really taken to that little feller, an' he's not even got his eyes open yet."
"When will his eyes open up, Uncle Bobby?" Dean asked as they went back inside.
Bobby shrugged. "Oh, sometimes this week, next week at the most. Then the fun'll really start. I think that Bumblebee is a born mischief-maker, just like two other little sprouts I know!"
Bobby was right. Within a week, the kitten's eyes and ears began opening. The boys found it fascinating to watch, day by day, as the feline continued to thrive and grow.
Bobby, on the other hand, was exhausted. It had taken nearly round-the-clock care to keep the kitten alive, fed and mothered. He had most of it to do himself; even though both boys wanted to help, they were too young and inexperienced to do too much.
As soon as Bee was old enough to not need as many frequent feedings through the night, Bobby was able to get a little more sleep. What became the challenge was getting Sam to take afternoon naps so Bobby could get some himself, not that he was an old man or anything. Pulling Dean aside one afternoon while Sam was hovering over the kitten's box, Bobby confided to the boy.
"Listen, sport, I need your help with somethin'."
"What's that?" Dean looked up at his uncle, and it was clear the man was tired.
"I'm tuckered. I need to catch a siesta. Think you can take your brother outside and play with him and wear him out so he'll take a nap when you come in?"
"Sure, Uncle Bobby," Dean replied. He went and found Sam, as usual, laying on his stomach in front of Bumblebee's cardboard home. Sam was watching the kitten as he kneaded the toweling around himself, the baby's little eyes wide yet still a little cloudy.
"C'mon, squirt," Dean, said, standing over his brother. "Let's go outside and play catch for a while."
"But I wanna play with Bee," Sam said, pouting.
"Well, Bee doesn't want to play right now, so leave him alone." Dean helped his little brother to his feet and herded him to the door, grabbing a worn baseball and an even more worn mitt on his way out.
Bobby planned to sit at his desk and get some research done while the boys were otherwise engaged, but by the time Dean urged a tired and cranky Sam back into the house an hour later, they found Bobby asleep at his desk, his head resting on his crossed arms, his hat askew.
"See, punk? Even Uncle Bobby takes naps. C'mon, head upstairs. I'll come with you." Dean pushed his brother ahead up him up the treads, his hand on the kid's shoulder, even as Sam grumbled every step of the way.
"I don' wanna nap, Dean. I'm not tired."
Dean didn't have to see Sammy's face to know he was pouting. "Tough toenails. Go."
Sam went, but he continued to make it clear how unhappy he was.
That is, until the moment his head hit his pillow. He was out like a light.
Dean grinned. Now that Sammy was sleeping like a rock, and Uncle Bobby clearly was as well, Dean snuck back downstairs, and curling up on the floor in front of the box, gingerly lifted Bee and cuddled the kitten close. "It's just you an' me, Bee."
Bee mewled happily as Dean picked him up and held him gently. Dean lay down on the floor and placed the kitten on his stomach. He tried to stifle his laughter as the kitten walked around in a circle on his stomach – his little claws making it a little tickly.
Then Bee walked up Dean's chest and made himself comfortable, sitting right over Dean's heart. The kitten snuggled down and began to purr, the gentle vibrations seemed to fill Dean's body with the contentment the small feline was feeling.
Dean yawned, and Bee did the same. In a moment Dean's eyes began to close, and soon he followed his uncle and brother off to Dreamland.
Bee cocked his little head. Must be sleep time. He curled up into a ball on Dean's chest, and released a contented sigh.
He was well and truly home.
John made it back for another short visit almost three weeks later, this time staying for a long weekend. The boys were happy to see him, just as happy as John was to see them, even though he slept through the first day of their visit. When he finally woke up early evening, he found Sammy standing next to the bed, watching him, Bee snuggled in the boy's arms.
His voice rough from disuse, John asked, "What'cha got there, son?" He turned to his side to face Sam and patted the side of the bed, inviting his son to join him.
Sam crawled up and settled himself next to his dad's hip. He held the kitten out. "See how big Bee is now, Daddy?" The kitten squirmed to be let down, so Sam settled him on the bed next to his dad's belly.
John stroked the kitten's dark head. "He's a fine-looking animal, Sammy. You've done good helping raise him. Your Uncle Bobby told me how you and Dean have been a huge help."
Sam gave his father a pleased grin, nodding happily. "Uh, huh. Uncle Bobby's teachin' Dean how to work on cars, and I helps him cook, and do other chores, and help take care of Bee and George. I'm a big boy."
A hit of guilt slashed through John, that it took another man's efforts to teach his boys things he should be teaching them himself. Bobby was a good friend, and John knew he owed the man an incredible debt of gratitude for everything he'd done – and continued to do – while he searched for the sonofabitch who took his Mary away.
"Yeah, you are, Sammy," John agreed, ruffling his boy's dark curls. "You are, and I'm proud of you."
Sam grinned at his dad, then turned his little body around, shifting Bee along with him, so they could snuggle alongside John, resting his head on his dad's shoulder.
An hour later, Bobby stepped to the doorway, the light of the hallway behind him filtering inside the room. He stood for several minutes and smiled softly at the image of his friend, the little boy and small kitten curled up together, fast asleep.
John stayed for a few days, and then was gone again. Just like before, Dean put on a brave face, but he still missed his Dad, was still worried about him and what he was hunting. He and Sam stood on the porch, Bobby behind them, watching Dad pull out in the Mustang. Sam held Bumblebee gently in his arms, and had the kitten 'waving' good-bye as well.
Dean prepared for the tears and sulking after Dad left but, just like the last time, Sam was too pre-occupied with the kitten to be very upset.
"C'mon, Bee," Sam cooed to the puffball snuggled in his arms, "let's go play!"
Sam's happy mood and preoccupation with the kitten lasted through much of the day until evening approached. Sam started to get grumpy and argumentative, not wanting to listen to Bobby, and even gave Dean attitude when Bobby asked the boys to clean up their room.
Sam didn't want to do it. He wanted to play with Bee. He didn't want to leave the kitten alone when it was bath time before bed. He didn't want to get out of the tub once he'd agreed to take his bath. He didn't want to sleep in his own bed, but rather to sleep next to Dean.
Bobby marveled at the patience the elder boy held as Sammy's increasingly nasty attitude only grew. He watched as Dean handled Sam's outbursts with his own soft-spoken insistences. The one thing Dean chose to give into Sam with was the sharing a bed issue.
Once his brother curled up next to him in the twin bed, Dean watched as Sam finally relaxed into sleep, and it was only then that Dean heaved a silent sigh of relief. Minutes later, he drifted off into sleep himself.
Bobby stood in the doorway and sighed. Sometimes Dean really and truly amazed him. The amount of maturity that child showed dealing with his brother when he was clearly in an "I'm going to fight you every step of the way" mode was just incredible. Maybe a good night's sleep would wring out whatever had gotten Sam in such a contrary mood.
He went downstairs and sat on the couch, and was joined a moment later by a little black ball of fuzz who'd decided he hadn't gotten his fill of attention. Bumblebee reached out and batted the laces of Bobby's boots, mewling softly to be picked up.
Bobby reached down and gently captured the feline into his battle-scarred hands, and lifting the kitten up, stared the cat eye to eye. "You're well on your way to bein' spoiled, you know that, don't you?" Bee mewled again, making Bobby grin softly. He buried his nose into the scruff of the kitten's neck.
A few hours later, after getting the kitten settled into his box for the night, Bobby headed for his own bed. He'd no more than begun falling asleep than he felt a small hand on his shoulder.
"Uncle Bobby?"
Opening his eyes, Bobby saw Dean standing beside the bed. He rose up on an elbow and scrubbed a hand over his face. "Dean? What's up, kiddo?"
"I think Sammy's sick."
Bobby pulled himself up and sat on the edge of the bed. "How do you know, son?"
"'Cause he's hot. I woke up and he was lying next to me, and he's burning up. I'm scared, Uncle Bobby."
Bobby flicked the light on and hauled himself into a sitting position. He placed a hand on Dean's shoulder, and he could feel the young boy trembling at the idea that his little brother was ill. "It's going to be alright, Dean," he said, just as much to calm himself as the boy. "Let's go take us a look."
When Dean and Bobby went back into the room the boys were sharing, and Bobby turned the light on, he could see that something was very much amiss. Sammy usually sprawled over whichever bed he was in, little arms and legs splayed out every which way. Not now. Now, the child was curled in a fetal position right in the center of the bed. He was trembling and moaning softly, a fine sheen of sweat making his hair stick to his forehead.
Bobby moved to the bed and reached down to press his palm against Sam's forehead, and almost instantly jerked his hand back in surprise. The boy was on fire.
Without looking behind him at the boy watching over his shoulder, Bobby said as calmly as he could, "Dean, go into the bathroom and look inside the medicine cabinet. Bring me the thermometer." When there was no sound of movement, he looked back. "Now, Dean."
Minutes later, Dean returned with the item in hand then watched as Bobby slipped the bulb inside Sam's armpit. "Why are you sticking it there, Uncle Bobby? Dad puts it in our mouths."
"That's a good question, Dean. I'm doing it this way because Sam is shivering. I don't want him to bite down on it. That wouldn't be good, now would it?" Bobby glanced back at Dean and gave him a reassuring smile, then turned back to Sam and, pulling the thermometer out, turned into the lamp light to read it. Knowing the armpit wasn't the most accurate of places to get a reading; Bobby was still alarmed to see the 103.6° reading the thermometer showed.
"What's it say?" Dean asked. He knew it wasn't good by the way Uncle Bobby frowned.
Bobby didn't reply; instead, he began throwing Sam's blankets off and gently lifted the boy from the bed and began to carry him into the bathroom, Sam's head leaning against his shoulder. "Deano, go get the water started in the bathtub, buddy. We're gonna try to get Sammy's temperature lowered. Make it cool water, ok?"
Dean dashed ahead and, by the time Bobby stepped into the small bathroom, water was running into the tub.
"Not too cold," Bobby warned. "Mostly cold with some hot too. Comfortably cool. Got it, Dean?"
Dean nodded. "Kinda like the cool when you first jump into a swimming pool?" He looked up at Bobby for confirmation.
"Just like that, kiddo." Bobby began taking Sammy's pajama top off, then his bottoms, leaving the boy in his undies. "Ok, Dean, that's enough water." The level of water in the tub was about six inches deep, and just at the right temperature when Bobby settled Sam in it, keeping the boy propped with his arm.
Dean shut the water off, and watched as Bobby began pouring the cool water over his brother's body. He knew his uncle was doing what he could, but it still bothered him to hear Sammy moan and mutter in his discomfort.
Almost immediately, Sam began to whimper and thrash around, tears spilling from under closed eyes to run down his flushed little cheeks.
"S'hot... Deaaaaan... 'm hot all over... Unc'e B'bby... I scawed..." Sam's speech was slurred from the fever and pain, and he was starting to slip back into a more babyish speech because of it.
"I know you're hot, Sammy, I know," Bobby said, his soft as soft and as gentle as Dean had ever heard it. Bobby picked up a washcloth and after dipping it in the water, patted it on Sam's face. "You've got a little bug, son, but you're gonna be okay. Dean's right here and so am I. We'll see you through this, right, Dean?"
When Dean didn't reply, Bobby looked back at him over his shoulder. "Right, Dean?"
Dean was silent, watching as his baby brother shivered and cried. "Will he be ok, Uncle Bobby?" His green eyes were huge in his face, fear radiating from them.
As much as he wanted to comfort the boy, Bobby knew he couldn't just yet. He only managed a nod as he continued to wipe cold water over Sam's fevered body.
Dean sat down on the toilet and watched as Bobby ministered to his sick little brother, his insides churning with fear and regret. Fear because, despite what until Bobby said, he knew this was more than a "little bug." Sammy was sick, very sick.
And regret, simply because he'd been annoyed with his little brother's contrary behavior earlier in the evening. Now he knew why Sammy's been acting so oddly, and the guilt was almost making him physically ill.
"Sammy..." Dean whispered, "I'm so sorry I was mad at you. Please, you-you've gotta get better..."
Bobby bathed Sam with the cool water for several minutes, then dried off the boy and carried him back to the bedroom, Dean close on his heels. Without being told, Dean gathered fresh pajamas for his brother, this time with Sam's favorite Transformers on them rather than the previous older pair, with faded Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles emblazoned on the front. He handed them to Bobby, one piece at a time, then gathered a clean pair of socks and proceeded to put them on Sammy himself.
Once the boy was dressed and covered to his chin with the blankets, Bobby reached out and pressed a hand over Sam's forehead. He was still very hot.
Bobby looked over at Dean, and then sighed. "Buddy, I'm going downstairs to call a doctor friend of mine. You stay here with Sammy and keep an eye on him, ok, sport?" He reached out and ruffled Dean's hair soothingly.
Dean spared Bobby a nod, then turned back and looked at his brother. Sammy seemed to very tiny, like the bed was going to swallow him whole. There were bright red patches of fevered skin on both his cheeks, but his face looked so very pale other than those splotches of color.
Dean sat down on the bed, and gently took his little brother's hand. "You're going to be okay, Sammy," he said, trying to keep his voice from breaking. "I promise."
Sam began to move softly beneath the covers, in the midst of a fevered dream. "No, no... st-stay 'way... Dean... don' l-let Megatwon get me..."
Dean gently gave Sam's hand a squeeze. "Don't worry, Sammy, Megatron won't get you. I won't let him get you. I'm here with Optimus Prime and Ironhide and Rachet and..."
"an' 'Bee?" Sam whimpered.
Dean smiled weakly. "The Autobot and the kitty. Both Bumblebees, and all the other Autobots and... and..."
"B'tman, too?" Sam questioned, his voice growing fainter with sleep and exhaustion.
Dean nodded, even though Sam couldn't see him. "Sure thing, Sam. Batman's here, Leonardo, all the other Ninja Turtles, and everyone else you want. They're all here and they all want you to rest and have nice dreams so that you'll wake up and be all better."
As Bobby made his way back upstairs to the boys, he considered what his hunter/doctor friend had told him...that if Sammy's fever hadn't come down and stayed down to normal levels within three days, or if it got higher, to take him immediately to the hospital.
Bobby ran his hand through his hair and sighed loudly. "What the hell were ya thinkin', Winchester, leavin' your boys with me? I don't know what I'm doin' here." When he got to the open doorway, he stood and watched Dean as the boy held his brother's hand, and whispered to him. After a long moment, he stepped inside and joined Dean on the edge of the bed.
"He's going to be ok, Dean. I promise you. We'll do everything we can to take care of him, right? You and me both. Partners?" He held out a hand and offered it to the boy.
Dean sniffed, and blinked his eyes (because there was no way he was going to cop to crying) and took Bobby's hand in a firm shake. "Partners," he agreed.
Bobby was impressed by the steel in the child's voice. No doubt about it - Dean was John Winchester's son through and through.
Dean tried to hide the yawn that snuck up on him, and failed rather badly.
Bobby chuckled, "You ain't going to do your brother much good asleep on your feet though, Dean."
"'M alright..." Dean mumbled, only to yawn so deeply Bobby swore he could see his tonsils.
"Uh-huh, you're just peachy," Bobby growled. He took Dean by the boy's thin shoulders and led him into his own bedroom. "There. Now you get under the covers and get some shut-eye. I'll stay with your brother and keep an eye on Sammy's fever."
Dean sat down on the bed, and with a sigh, climbed beneath the blankets. He looked up at the celling and sighed again.
The boy was radiating misery, and there was no way Bobby wanted him to fall asleep like that... when a dash of inspiration struck. He made his way downstairs, and was back in his bedroom in a matter of minutes, carrying a box with an awake and curious passenger.
In spite of his worries, Dean gave the kitten a smile. "Hey, 'Bee," he said softly, smiling even more when the kitten mewled back.
"Figured he could keep you company tonight," Bobby said, placing the tiny bundle of black fluff on the pillow next to Dean's head.
As much as he wanted to argue with Bobby to be able to stay in the room with Sammy, Dean was too tired. Besides, now that Bee was curled up beside him on the pillow, Dean gave in.
Minutes later, he'd also given in to sleep, and was breathing heavily when Bobby checked on him and the kitten.
Bobby returned to Sam and, sighing loudly, found a comfortable position on the other twin bed. His voice soft, he commented, "I'm not cut out for this, Sam. Get well soon, kiddo."
The next morning when Dean woke up, Bee was gone. He dashed around the room, looking for the kitten, only to realize the box was gone as well. Uncle Bobby must have come to get him earlier.
Padding down the hallway in his socked feet, he stood in the doorway to his and Sammy's room. Bobby was sitting on the edge of Sam's bed, taking his temperature. "How high is it?"
Bobby looked over at the boy, and shook his head. "Still high, Dean. Would you go get the tub ready again?"
Dean nodded and walked to the bathroom, getting the water temperature just where it needed to be when Bobby appeared in the doorway, cradling Sam in his arms. Dean's heart clenched; his little brother looked so small, so frail in Bobby's arms.
"Help me undress him, Dean, and we'll get him in the water again." Bobby's voice was soft, and as gentle as Dean had ever heard it. He was trying to keep Sam calm, since the child was in that place between dreams and waking.
Repeating the previous night's efforts, between the two of them they bathed Sam's fevered body, working to give the boy some relief.
Only this time, Sammy didn't cry, squirm, or complain. Rather, he was quiet, and to Bobby's concern, was almost non-responsive. He didn't want to admit it to Dean, but he was afraid for Sammy. Putting the washcloth he'd been using to swab the cool water over Sam's body aside, Bobby made a decision.
"Go get dressed, Dean. No time to fritter around. I'm gonna take Sammy to the ER."
At the mention of those two little letters, Dean would've sworn his heart slammed right into his stomach. ER - the hospital was somewhere you only went if things were really, really wrong. He'd seen Dad stitch up his own leg rather than go to the ER.
But this wasn't Dad. This was different. This was Sammy.
Dean ran to his room, threw on a t-shirt, slipped into some jeans, and tossed on his sneakers. He grabbed a t-shirt for Sam and a pair of sweatpants and laid them on the bed, just as Bobby walked back in, carrying the dried-off little boy.
Bobby knew Dean was scared - the boy's green eyes were wide and fear-filled - but he handled it well for a child his age. Another thing Bobby guessed he could lay at John's feet.
Dean didn't need any further instructions from Bobby. By the time Bobby carried Sammy downstairs, Dean already had a blanket and a pillow in the truck parked outside, as well as Sam's shoes and light jacket. He stood in the open doorway, holding it open for Bobby and his brother. "What about Bee?"
Without pausing his strides, Bobby called back as he heard Dean close the door behind them. "Already fed. He'll be fine for now, buddy. Hop in the truck. We gotta go."
Bobby wasn't the slightest bit surprised when Dean scrambled into the back seat. He knew that the youngster would want to keep as close to his sibling as he could, as though he could will Sammy to get better.
Bobby sighed. If only it were that easy.
Dean opened the back door, and Bobby gently slid the quiet child onto the truck's bench seat. In a flash Dean had positioned himself so that Sam's head was resting on his lap. As Bobby got the truck started and they headed to the ER, he could hear a soft sound coming from the backseat.
It was Dean, softly singing to his little brother. Bobby strained his ears over the hum of the motor to hear the words, and when he did, they surprised him.
"remember to let her into your heart
then you can start
to make it better..."
"Hey Jude?" Bobby wondered aloud then cursed himself when the singing stopped.
"Dad... Dad told me once that Mom used to sing that song to me. That I liked it when I was crying," Dean explained.
Bobby nodded, and gave the young boy a smile in the rearview mirror. "Well, I think it's a great song, and I'm sure Sammy will tell you so himself when he's better."
