Introductions

Sitting at his desk watching TV, Bobby glanced at the clock on the wall. The boys were on their way from Indiana and by his calculations, they should be getting there any time now. He needed the details on that vamp hunt in Baltimore and then the notes from whatever they found over in Fort Wayne.

That had been an unexpected stop. When Dean had called telling him they were headed his way, he'd been surprised to hear they'd stopped and spent a few days in that area. He asked for the specifics, but Dean had told him it would just be easier to get into all that when he got there.

Must have been a real doozy of a hunt.

"Yo, Bobby!" Dean called out. The screen door slammed shut and the rustle of shopping bags preceded the thudding bumps that came from dumping groceries on the kitchen table.

"In here," Bobby called back just before the screen door slammed shut again and then Dean's boots were thundering back down the porch steps. Usual arrival announcement made, he knew the kid was back at the car to unload their gear.

Bobby looked back at the TV and only paid vague attention to the slam of the screen door two more times as more bags got deposited in the kitchen. Then it slammed again, and Dean's boots thumped back down the stairs. Bobby was a little curious about why the grocery haul but figured the boys hadn't been eating much and had one of those everything-looks-good grocery stops or maybe they were planning on staying for a while.

The door sounded off again and this time Dean lumbered into the family room, loaded down with his and Sam's duffels and ammo bags.

"Hey, Dean—"

"Just a sec."

Bobby watched him dump his load on the floor by the couch and then he rushed back out.

A couple of minutes later, his boots were thumping up the back steps and the kid came in hauling what looked like some sort of bulky long-range rifle case up the stairs.

"Dean."

"Just a sec..." came the same answer as Dean reached the top of the stairs.

Looking up at the ceiling, Bobby tracked the kid's footsteps as he shuffled around in the room above him. He could hear muttering and what sounded like a frustrated curse, and then something was plopped down, and Dean came trotting back down the stairs.

"Dean—" Bobby started in a firm tone, but he only got cut off again.

"Yeah, Bobby. Hold on a sec."

And then the screen door slammed shut again. Each time he heard that he expected to see Sam come around the corner, but so far Dean's brother had been absent. Factor in the way Dean was bustling around and hauling in everything all by himself, it was enough to get Bobby up to his feet to do some finding out.

Giving the duffels a passing glance, Bobby headed straight into the kitchen. He started taking a peek out the back door, but then the groceries on the table grabbed his attention. Peering into a bag, he found little yogurts and bananas. The one next to it had eggs, mangos, and oranges, and okay, yeah, Sam liked fruit, but not usually that much. Inside another was a canister of quick-cooking oats, cheese cubes, and macaroni and cheese. He peeled back another bag, and there must have been a dozen jars of baby food inside that bag.

Face scrunching up in confusion, Bobby took a glance outside and then looked back into the bag. With the way Dean was acting and how Sam had been MIA since their arrival, Bobby was getting a sinking feeling in his gut that something had definitely happened to the kid on that last hunt.

Sick?

Busted jaw?

Gut wound?

He had no clue what the story was but picking up a jar of Chunky Apple Sweet Potato with Cinnamon, Bobby decided he sure as hell was going to find out.

Dean jogged back up the steps and came trudging in with more bags slung over his shoulders, and Bobby, not even looking to see what he's got, grabbed Dean's arm as he tried shuffling past, saying, "Hold on, Dean."

Looking a little harried, Dean said, "Just a sec—"

"Nuh uh. No more 'just a secs' for you," he looked behind Dean and then back at him, "Where's your brother?" Dean made a move for the living room again and Bobby's grip tightened on his arm.

"Bobby," Dean huffed, "Let me just—"

"Nope. Now." Bobby eyed the boy, "Where's Sam?"

"Hey, Bobby."

Sam's voice pulled his attention to the back door and Bobby watched him slip in past the screen door and catch it with his hip to keep it from slamming closed. One look at him and Bobby saw his assumptions had been right. The kid did get hurt, but aside from the sling, he was on his feet and moving good, and he looked like he was doing okay. It was what he was holding in his other arm that had Bobby's jaw dropping open.

He looked back at Dean and got a sheepish grin, and then he continued shimmying past to dump the load from his shoulders in the living room. Sam followed behind and Bobby just stood there watching him pass. Draped over his shoulder was a sleeping little tyke. The baby's face was turned into his neck, so he couldn't get a good glimpse, but if the clothes were anything to go by, he'd say it was definitely a baby girl.

Sam had her little rear nestled into the crook of his good arm. His other hand, the one with the bandage, was splayed across her back, holding her snug against himself. Bobby looked at Sam's arm and how the bandage went all the way to his elbow, and then it made sense why Dean was doing all of the heavy lifting.

Looking back at Dean, Bobby saw him rummaging through a bag Bobby had never seen before—one that in his opinion was much too cheery for either of them—and pulled out a fluffy pink and purple checkered blanket. Standing there, stupefied, he watched the boys and tried to figure out what the hell was going on.

Sam walked up beside his brother and using a hushed tone, he asked, "Portable crib setup?"

"Yeah," Dean answered with the same volume and started digging through the bag again.

Bobby took off his hat and scratched at his head as he tried to remember the last time the boys managed to have a quiet conversation. Watching this weird scene play out in his living room through hushed, whispered voices, Bobby felt the need to pinch himself.

Speaking softly, Sam asked, "Mr. Bear?"

Dean's searching halted and he looked up at Sam, "I thought you had it."

"Why would I have it?"

"Because you've got her," Dean responded, keeping his tone hushed, but the words were delivered with a clear edge.

"She didn't have it," Sam replied, dishing that edge right back.

"It was in the car."

"No, it wasn't."

Dean gave his brother a look that seemed a little panicky, and he said, "Sammy, don't do this to me."

"Dean, I'm telling you it wasn't in the car."

"Then where is it?" he hissed under his breath.

"I don't know, check the bag."

"I've been through the bag. It's not in there."

"Well, check it again."

"It's not a very big bag, Sam," Dean said in a harsh whisper. "I'd have had to work real hard to miss it if it was in there."

There was a tiny squeak from Sam's shoulder and both the boys froze like someone had pulled a gun on them. The house went silent and even Bobby didn't move as the baby in Sam's arms squirmed and rubbed her face on his shoulder. Then she breathed out a soft, mini sigh and was out again.

Bobby's eyes drifted from the baby back to the boys. Sam, stuck somewhere in mid-sway and Dean, up to his elbows in that brightly colored bag, neither of them moved, and from what Bobby could tell, weren't even breathing as they watched the target for further movement.

A few more uneventful seconds passed and then Dean looked at his brother. "That was close."

"Yeah," Sam grinned, and then said, "Look, let's just lay her down without it."

Dean shook his head, "Sam, you heard the agent. She won't go to sleep unless she has that bear."

Sam frowned and asked, "Did you look in the duffels?"

Dean stood up and sighed, "I swear she had it in the car."

"Dude." Sam rolled his eyes, "It wasn't in the car."

"I saw her with it," insisted Dean

"Well, unless she got out when we filled up last time, popped the trunk and stuck it in another bag, I don't know what to tell you. It wasn't in the car."

"Damn it." Dean cursed in frustration and obviously just a little too loudly because the head on Sam's shoulder popped up and blinked down at Dean. "Great!" Dean threw out his arms, "Now she's up."

Sam grinned at the baby when she looked at him, then he told Dean, "Hey, if we come across it real quick, maybe she'll still lay down."

"Yeah, okay; c'mon. Help me look through the bags in the trunk."

Bizzaro show over, Bobby came back to his senses and started to ask Dean about their situation, but the kid was already shoving past the screen door and jogging down the back steps again.

He looked over at Sam and got a goofy grin from him. Bobby asked, "You want to fill me in, son?"

"SAM!" Dean bellowed from outside and Sam looked between Bobby and the kitchen. He looked back at Bobby and before he knew it the kid had started unloading the baby onto him. Juggling the tiny little body in his arms, Bobby said, "Whoa, whoa—what are ya—"

"Just a sec, Bobby." Was all the response he got and then the screen door slammed after Sam. Bobby meandered after him into the kitchen and watched him trot down the stairs and head off after his brother.

Standing in his kitchen surrounded by strange groceries, the distant sounds of Winchester bickering wafted in from the open back door as Bobby tried to get a grasp on the last ten minutes and figure out what the hell was going on.

The soft bundle in his arms garbled something at him and, turning his attention on her, he found her looking right back at him. They stood there having a staring competition for a few seconds before her tiny hand reached out and touched his beard. Rubbing her hand along his cheek, she grinned at him.

Staring back at her with wide eyes, Bobby asked, "Are you going to tell me what's going on?"

Later in the kitchen, Bobby grabbed the pot of cold coffee and poured himself a cup. Taking a sip, he stood next to Sam and watched as he worked on unraveling the elastic bandage from his arm. Beneath that bandage, his arm was wrapped to the elbow with a white gauze bandage. He started working on unraveling that, and Bobby said, "Dang, boy, what did you do to yourself?"

"Sammy thought it would be fun to use his arm as a shield against a machete-wielding vampire," Dean stated as he plopped into the chair beside his brother and set a baby monitor on the table.

Bobby looked at Dean, "Since when did vampires start using machetes?"

"Being creatures of opportunity," Sam stopped to grunt past the discomfort of pulling a non-stick pad away from where it was stuck to the wound, "when Dean's machete went skidding across the floor, the vamp I was tangling with decided to pick it up and use it."

"Yeah, and Sam used his arm to block its swing."

"Didn't have a whole lot of options," Sam replied, wincing as he peeled back another pad from the wound. "Better my arm than my head."

Bobby and Dean watched as Sam worked to free another gauze pad from the long laceration. Dean said, "Man, you're damn lucky he didn't just lob your whole arm off." He looked at Bobby, adding, "Vamp sliced through part of his arm right down to the bone—actually chipped away at it a little and left Sam with a stress fracture. He's gotta stay off it for four weeks."

"No cast?"

Sam looked up at him and then shook his head, "No. It wasn't that bad; just cracked the bone a little—barely showed up on the x-ray."

"Wasn't that bad?" Rebutted Dean and then he was the one shaking his head, "I still can't believe you thought it would be a good idea to block that vamp's downswing with your frigging arm."

"Again," Sam grunted a little as he worked on the pad nearest his elbow, "better my arm than my head." He loosened it from the dried blood and ooze and exhaled as he tossed it on the table.

Bobby blew out a low whistle and leaned in to get a closer look. Starting from just under Sam's wrist, the laceration ran diagonally through the fleshy underside of his forearm, and down to the crook in his arm. He looked at Sam, "How many stitches you got there?"

"Um," Sam grimaced while dabbing at the sutures with a sterile cleansing wipe, "Somewhere around thirty."

"Thirty-four," supplied Dean as he grabbed a bottle of Advil. "Not including the seventeen internal sutures they had to give him."

Sam tossed the cleansing pad on the table and Bobby leaned in to inspect it better, "Looks like it's healing good enough, at least."

"Yeah," Sam grinned, "Still hurts like a bitch though."

"Well, sure." Bobby stood back up, "Having the length of your forearm stitched up like that, you're gonna feel every twist and pull."

"Still got some swelling," Dean said as he glanced over and then shook out three ibuprofen tablets from the bottle. He paused and looked at Sam, who gave him a nod, and Dean tapped out a fourth.

Dropping the pills in Sam's palm, Dean started working on applying a fresh coat of antibacterial cream. He'd gotten about halfway when he must have hit a particularly tender spot because Sam flinched. Grunting through a mouthful of water, he scowled down at his arm as he forced the pills down.

"Sorry, man," Dean said as he applied the last of the cream.

Setting his cup down, Sam sat forward in his seat and started shaking out the new gauze pads from their packages. He placed them along the length of the wound as Dean was tearing open a large roll of fresh gauze. Dean started wrapping the gauze around his arm, and Sam asked, "I take it she went down okay?"

Dean seemed to shoot a subconscious glance at the monitor as he nodded, "Yeah, the snack helped, I think. And, Mr. Bear."

Sam grinned at his brother, "I told you it was in the duffle."

Dean taped off the end of the gauze and grabbed the elastic bandage from the table. He wrapped it around Sam's hand and wrist and then began working it down his forearm, "Man, I must be losing my mind. I swear I saw that thing in the back seat."

Bobby started scooping up the first aid trash from the table and gave Dean a glance, "Stress will do that to ya. Between piecing Sam here back together and whatever the story is with Little Princess up there," Bobby said, throwing a nod toward the ceiling, "I'm guessing you haven't been feeling very Zen lately."

Dean scoffed at that, "Bobby, when have I ever been close to having Zen?" He secured the last bit of the elastic bandage to itself and Sam pulled his arm back into his lap. "How's that feel?" Dean asked, watching Sam flex his hand around the bandage. "Too tight?"

Bobby leaned against the counter as Sam looked at his hand and flexed it one more time, saying, "No. It's fine. Thanks." Then he leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.

"How's the pain?" Dean asked while packing up the medical supplies.

Sam made a so/so gesture with his good hand and said, "Not too bad."

"Rate it, Sam."

"A 3—maybe 4."

"You want a painkiller?"

Sam looked at his brother and said, "Absolutely not. I still feel a little dopey from the one I took last night. I hate that feeling."

Crossing his arms over his chest, Bobby asked, "You take any Tylenol lately?"

Sam looked at him, "No. Just been sticking to the Advil."

Bobby gave him a nod, "You can throw a couple Tylenol into the mix and it'll probably knock the pain down to a 1 if it doesn't knock it out completely."

Dean frowned at him, "You can take them together like that? I know you can alternate every three hours but both at the same time?"

Bobby nodded, "Yup. Had a tooth pulled a few years back, dentist said it was okay as long as you didn't make it a habit. Gotta admit, it really did the trick."

Sam faced him as he considered what he'd said, and Bobby didn't have to look very hard to pick out the lines of hurt around his eyes. Finally, the kid asked, "You got any laying around?"

"Yep," he replied, pushing himself off the counter and pulled a bottle out of the cabinet. Dumping a couple into Sam's palm, Bobby screwed the cap back on and set the bottle on the table.

Chasing the pills with the last of his water, Sam got up and put his glass in the sink. Going to the freezer, he pulled out a couple bags of frozen peas to use as makeshift ice packs and walking past the table he mumbled something about going to crash for a while.

Bobby watched him leave the room and make the turn for the stairs. He looked at Dean who was gazing out the window and about a million miles away and grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge. Popping off the tops off, he set one down right in front of the kid. Dean looked at him as he sat in the seat Sam had just occupied, and Bobby said, "Okay. Spill."

Dean slumped back in his chair with a deep exhale. He picked up his beer and stared at the bottle for a second, then he said, "She's mine," and brought the bottle to his lips.

Bobby grabbed the bottle out of Dean's hand and there was a sucking pop as the glass was pulled from his mouth. The kid's lips lunged after it as he sucked up the mouthful to keep from spitting beer all over.

"Bobby, what the hell!" Dean groused, swiping a hand across his lips and scowling at him as he was setting down both bottles on the countertop.

Bobby didn't answer. He just pulled a couple glasses out of the cupboard and set them down on the table. Sitting down across from Dean again, Bobby poured whiskey in each glass, saying, "Beer just ain't gonna do for this talk." Pushing one of the glasses in front of Dean, Bobby took a healthy swig from the other, and then, looking at Dean again, he said, "Okay. Spill."

Picking up his glass, Dean eyed the whiskey and took a drink. He swallowed with a wince and then held his glass in his lap. Dean gave him a sobering look and restated, "She's mine."

"Did you know before?"

"About Libby?"

Bobby nodded, and Dean said, "Before five days ago? No."

"What about the mother? Where's she at?"

Dean took a breath and brought the glass to his lips, he said, "She's dead," and then took a drink.

"Oh," Bobby's response was quiet, and then he said, "Dean, I'm sorry."

"Yeah," Dean blew out a breath and nodded, "Yeah, it's sad, but... and this is going to sound so bad, but it is what it is. I uh," he looked at him again, "I really didn't know her, Bobby. I mean, we fooled around for a night or two a couple years back and then Sam and I hit the road and I never saw her again."

Bobby thought and then said, "How'd she die?"

Dean shrugged, "I don't know. CPS couldn't tell me since we weren't married or anything."

He nodded and thought again. After a minute he asked, "Are you going to..." Dean looked at him as he finished his thought, "keep her?"

"Yeah, Bobby. I am."

Dean's reply was immediate and the look on his face told him his answer to that question was final. Nodding again, Bobby leaned back in his chair. He blew out a breath and took a drink. Listening to the tick in the refrigerator's compressor, he held the whiskey in his mouth until it started to burn and then swallowed it down. Looking at Dean he asked, "So, what's this mean for you and Sam? You two out? You out, he still in? What."

"Hunting?"

Bobby nodded, and Dean shrugged, "Don't really know yet. I haven't figured that part out yet."

"What part have you figured out?"

Dean looked at him and smirked, "The part about us staying here tonight."

Bobby chuckled, "Well, I guess there's time to iron out everything else. Why don't you take a few days off from thinking and just focus on getting yourselves into a routine? You can stay as long as you'd like." Dean flashed him a half-grin that seemed a little unsure, and Bobby reiterated, "I mean that, Dean."

The row of lights on the monitor started to glow and then came the sound of Libby talking to herself. Stretching his arms high above his head, Dean laughed, "You might change your tune when she starts getting into everything and maybe even wakes you up at night."

Bobby grinned, "Worse thing that's gonna happen with her getting into stuff is she'll get a bit dusty. Won't be no big deal child-proofing cabinets and moving the books to somewhere above her level. And I barely sleep at night as it is."

Libby started talking louder and Dean got to his feet. "Better go grab her before she wakes up Sam."

Bobby gave him a nod and Dean got as far as the doorway, and then stopped and turned back around, "Thanks, Bobby." That's all he said, but Bobby could see the relief and appreciation all over the kid's face.

Bobby told him, "Gotta have a home first before you can start rebuilding a life."

Dean could hear Libby's chattering from the other side of the door. Easing it open, he found her standing in the playpen. Holding on to the side facing Sam, she was bouncing up and down and blabbing at him. Lying on his back, Sam's head was turned in Libby's direction, but he was out cold and completely oblivious to the conversation she was having with him.

Walking into the room, Dean rounded the empty bed. He stepped between the portable crib and Sam's bed and, squatting down in front of her, he spoke softly, "You telling Uncle Sammy to stop being such a stubborn butthead about getting more rest?"

She looked at him and smiled. A long string of baby words flowed from her lips and Dean raised his eyebrows, nodding along. When she finished, he said, "That's right, the more you rest, the faster you heal. I know that, and you know that," he tapped her on the nose and she smiled again, "maybe you can drill it into his thick head because he just doesn't listen to me anymore."

Libby blew a raspberry at him and Dean looked over his shoulder at Sam. Looking back, he told her, "I completely agree."

Getting to his feet, Dean lifted her out of the playpen, "C'mon, munchkin, let's let Uncle Sammy sleep." Walking to the door he tacked on, "When he gets up, you can lecture him all you want."

End of the first installment. These two chapters were to introduce Libby and explain her arrival. Future installments will be standalone snippets of their lives and her age for each one will be introduced at the top of the story. Thanks for reading!