AN: See? One day, two chapters. I told you so.

I hope the previous chapter wasn't too traumatizing! I thought that knowing our boys had survived would mitigate some of the stress.

More explanation of what happened while Dean was out of it. And not quite so much angst as the last chapter! I hope you're not sick of the flashbacks. That's just the way this story chose to be told for some reason. There's a cameo in this chapter specifically for Stormysea-breaks.

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"Bobby? You okay?" Dean's voice broke into Bobby's troubled memories.

"Yeah. Yeah. Uh, Philomena must have reversed the spell in time. Though you came too damn close to bleeding out on me." Bobby glared Dean as if that were his fault, partly to cover up the fact that he'd almost said us instead of me. "Hey, she used pretty much the last of her power to bring that Sarah Dwyer back. Lady's in the hospital, but they're hopeful she's gonna be okay. Philomena said she never let go cuz she wanted to stay with her ma, so she was able to bring her back. The rest of 'em moved on."

Dean digested that, his eyes back on his slumbering brother. Almost absently, he laid a hand on Sam's brow to check his temperature. "And Philly? Did she move on too?"

"Maybe, but I doubt it. I'll have to go back and – "

"We. When Sammy's up to it, we'll all go," Dean dictated. But he still looked like shit, and besides, the boys deserved the closure, so Bobby let it go.

"Alright." Bobby looked at the way Dean had his body angled toward Sam, whose face was tilted toward his brother. Over the top of their real, adult bodies, Bobby pictured skinny little Dean curled around infant Sam, trying to form a protective barrier between him and the world, and Sam clutching onto his big brother in perfect trust. A great, heavy thing settled into Bobby's throat and he gulped at the beer he'd set down to tend Dean, hoping it would wash away down the memory of the…bodies.

Luckily, Dean was still distracted with his brother, checking Sam's pulse, then inspecting the ace bandage holding his broken wrist immobile.

"He'll be fine, Dean," said Bobby when he'd regained the ability to speak. "He just had more growin' to do than you did. And, no, that's not a short joke. He was basically a newborn. I expect he'll sleep for a while yet."

Dean hummed and grumbled a little in response, typically unwilling to take anyone's word for anything when it came to Sam.

"Why don't you get some more rest, Dean? With Sam right there, you'll hear it when he wakes up."

Dean, who still looked wrecked, capitulated after a quick trip to the restroom. His stubborn ass almost ate it on the way back, but Bobby was close enough to help him back to bed, having suspected that Dean might have overestimated his own strength. "Idjit," muttered Bobby, but let it go at that. He was being a pansy-ass softy after what he'd seen at the cursed house. He snorted a laugh as he helped Dean back to bed, but Dean couldn't know that Bobby was primarily laughing at himself.

Soon, Dean was settled back down, closer to Sam than he'd ever admit to, and grumbling about Bobby being a dictator. Just as Bobby thought he'd get to finish his beer in peace, Dean called out in a quiet, sleepy voice, "Bobby?"

His exhaustion made him sound impossibly young, and Bobby's heart did another funny little flip. Bobby cursed himself out silently, wondering if he should just take up knitting and admit that he was turning into a sappy old woman. Out loud, he only said, "Yeah, Dean?"

"Did, uh, is my dad here?"

Dammit. Obviously, Dean remembered at least something from the time he'd spent in and out of consciousness, calling for his brother and staring right through Bobby. And John.

Bobby was halfway to town to find some place to stay and take care of the boys when his phone rang. He had Sam cradled in one arm (and wasn't that a strange thought?) and Dean resting across his lap and could hardly drive, much less answer the phone. But despite his hurry to get the boys somewhere he could better triage them, instinct made Bobby pull over and answer.

"This better be good," he snapped.

"Singer? You heard from my boys?" came John's voice, no more concerned with courtesy than Bobby was. "Dean apparently called Jim for some rite to bust a supernatural lockdown and now he can't get ahold of them and neither can I."

Bobby sighed, but he wasn't going to lie to their father. "I went to back 'em up. They're with me now."

"Let me talk to Dean," commanded John, but Bobby knew the harsh tone was born of worry.

"Listen, John, where are you? How far from Hampton?"

It turned out that John was less than an hour out, having just finished a hunt only a little ways to the north. After Bobby's brief and rather pointed explanation of the boys' situation, John met him at the first place to stay that Bobby could find. It turned out to be a decent hotel, but Bobby wasn't thinking about money when he demanded the biggest room they had, getting one with both a king and queen bed.

John had showed up when Bobby was just done stitching Dean's wound and praying that the boys would wake up soon.

John picked up his baby boy with a look of wonder on his face. "I can hardly even remember him this age," he said, sounding very unlike himself. He fingered one of many bruises on the child. "You're sure they're going to be okay?"

"I'm not sure of anything," Bobby snapped, his exhaustion and worry making him short. "Half an hour ago, he was even smaller. Newborn, I figure. And Dean looked like he was maybe 10." John didn't answer, and Bobby glanced up to see naked love on the man's normally stoic face as he looked down at his older son and cradled his younger like the most precious thing in the world. He could have easily held Sam in one arm, with his head resting on John's big hand and his feet curled up by John's elbow. But instead, he'd wrapped both arms around him, practically forming a cradle around him. Expertly juggling his hold on the baby, he laid a hand on Dean's head with a gentleness most people wouldn't have expected from him.

Bobby, you're an ass, the older man told himself. Philomena's words about being a father who wasn't a father had really gotten to him, and he was very angry with John for essentially hiding from his heroic sons. But any hunter knew that things were rarely as simple as they seemed. More gently, Bobby said, "You wanna help me clean up and look over Sam or Dean?" Worried that they'd be strangled by their own clothes as they grew and needing to find all their injuries, Bobby had stripped both boys and wrapped them loosely in blankets. He hadn't had time yet for a full triage, needing to take care of Dean's most significant wound before he did anything else.

In the end, they laid Sam on one bed and Dean on the other and worked in concert to find and treat all the injuries the sleeping children had. Then they sat side by side in uncommon accord just watching the two sleep and grow and silently urging them to be okay and wake up soon.

Bobby was grateful for John's presence as the day passed and gradually turned to night again and they fell into an exhausting routine of cleaning up the boys and trying to encourage them to swallow at least a little water or juice. And again when Dean began to thrash and struggle against invisible enemies, especially when he was nearly adult size again. Luckily, the kid settled once they thought to put his brother at his side.

Finally, Dean was stirring and it looked like he'd awaken for real soon. Bobby was sitting on the edge of the other bed with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, half dozing, when he noticed John standing at the foot of the boys' bed. John was staring at his sons, his eyes turbulent.

Bobby straightened. Even worn to the bone, he was exceptional at reading people. "Winchester?"

"Singer, I…" John took a long breath in. "Bobby, I can't stay. That thing I've been looking for, I think it's trying to track me. I can't draw it to Sam and Dean." He sounded calm, if serious, but Bobby noticed his fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles were white.

Bobby understood the paralyzing nature of fear. He understood the need for vengeance. He understood what it was to love the two kids sleeping on the king size bed a few feet away. And understanding that all three things were inextricably combined and driving John's actions gave Bobby sympathy where he wanted to be angry. "John, they're damn fine fighters."

"I know." John's voice was a growl. "But I can't. I can't risk it taking them too. I can't. Bobby…"

"I'll take care of them, John." Bobby sighed. "You know I will." While he and John often clashed, and Bobby disagreed with many of John's methods, they were in perfect alignment with how they felt about Sam and Dean.

"I know." John didn't say thank you, but Bobby could read it in his eyes. But he could also see that there was something else the man wanted to say. "You can't tell them that I was here."

Bobby ground his teeth together.

"If they know was here, they'll track me. You know them. They won't give up until they catch up with me, and they'll be vulnerable with a narrow focus like that." John's expression offered no room for compromise.

Still. Bobby didn't back down to anyone. "I ain't gonna lie to 'em, Winchester."

"You'll find a way to get around the truth."

Bobby turned away, giving in, and swearing just loudly enough that the other man couldn't help but overhear. John ignored the profanity and stepped close enough to the bed that his knees were against it. He leaned forward and set one big hand on Dean's left ankle and the other on Sam's right. He said something that Bobby didn't catch.

Then he was gone.

Bobby smiled thinly at Dean, thinking about John's clenched fists and quiet words of goodbye to his boys. Hating himself a little, Bobby made a decision. "Sorry, Dean. You're stuck with me."

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sfaulkenberry: More, as promised! Sam's still out and there is oh so much schmoop on the way. (The next chapter is already written.) Sorry for the angst...even writing this story keeps making me tear up.

Scealai: Sorry for being so mean! Stick with me; I promise a heavy dose of nice schmoop to treat your sadness!

Shazza19: Aw, I'm so glad you like the story. I'm very jealous of your weather as we're smack in the middle of what they're calling an arctic blast. Enjoy that sunshine!