Author's Note: To answer another question, yes, I'll combine the prompt of Jack-o-Lantern with my promise to include some drunken Sam. Please look forward to that! Today's prompt comes from judyann, who asked for "one Christmas Sam gets very sick and no John around and maybe Dean panics a bit not being able to reach him. Then maybe Bobby could come in and save the day." I really liked this prompt! Plus, who doesn't love a heroic Bobby? Sam is eight here and Dean is 12. Please enjoy!

"I'll be home for Christmas

If only in my dreams."

—Bing Crosby, "I'll be Home for Christmas"

"We're sorry. The number you are trying to reach is currently out of service. Please try again—" Dean slammed the phone down, panic and anger rushing through him. It was Christmas Eve and though their father had promised to be home in time for Christmas morning, it appeared that the hunt was taking much longer than John had anticipated. Normally, that would be fine. After all, it hadn't been the first time that they had been left alone for a long period of time. Hunts—even the straightforward ones—could take weeks. Their dad had to do research and then track whatever the thing was before finally killing it and returning home. Dean knew the drill by heart—Look after Sam, stay inside, and don't do anything stupid—and he was good at taking care of Sam.

But, Sam was sick tonight.

Not just-a-cold sick, but face-ashen-skin-clammy-almost-dead-looking sick and it was scaring the hell out of Dean. His little brother stared up at him with unfocused, fever glazed eyes.

"Daddy coming?" Sam voice was hoarse and Dean had to strain to hear it even though he was only standing a few feet away.

"No." Dean replied, not having the heart to lie to the kid, not on Christmas Eve.

"Dean." With that one word, Sam conveyed his feelings of fear and worry. Plastering a fake smile on his face, the older brother returned to his little brother's side. Gently taking the damp washcloth off of Sam's forehead and dipping it back in the water, Dean silently freaked out. Their father wasn't coming back tonight and Dean had no one else to turn to. Sam had never gotten this sick before and the worried older brother was seriously entertaining the idea of calling an ambulance. A fever of 103.9 couldn't be a sign of anything good to come, especially when said fever refused to go down even after copious amounts of medicine.

"We'll be okay, Sammy." Dean assured him, dabbing the beads of sweat off his brother's forehead before placing the washcloth back. Sam's too hot hand slipped into Dean's and the little brother squeezed it, looking for strength and for something to anchor him through this scary time.

"Promise?" Sam wheezed.

"Promise."

And Dean never broke his promises—not when it came to Sam.

The call had come at 2:35 in the morning, startling Bobby awake. Growling a curse, he groped blindly in the darkness before finally grabbing the phone and placing it to his ear.

"Singer."

"Uncle Bobby?" The child's voice instantly snapped Bobby awake. He sat up and flicked the lights on.

"Dean?" Bobby questioned, instantly worried because the only reason Dean would be talking to him at 2:35 in the morning was if something was hurt. The poor boy had the weight of the world on his shoulders and was practically 12 going on 45 with the way he raised his little brother. John's grief had clouded him when it came to raising his sons, something that Dean tried to remedy.

"Uncle Bobby," Dean's frightened voice continued. "It's Sam."

Dread filled the pit of the gruff hunter's stomach. There was only one other person Dean cared about more than his father and that was little brother. In Dean's eyes, Sam could do no wrong. Sam was the center of Dean's universe and if something had happened to him—

"What about Sam, Dean?" Bobby asked, darting out of the bed and grabbing his duffel and car keys off the bedside table.

"He won't wake up." The elder Winchester whispered, utterly terrified. The dread in Bobby's stomach escalated to sheer panic. Still, he had to remain calm. Panicking would only worry Dean more and last was the last thing Dean needed.

"Is he breathing, Dean?"

"Yeah, his pulse is weird, but it's still there." Bobby breathed a sigh of relief.

"Good, now where are you boys? Somewhere safe?" Dean prattled off their location and told Bobby how John went off the grid. He explained how the illness had come on suddenly yesterday and how the fever continued to climb despite Dean's best efforts to quell it. By the end of the conversation, Dean's voice was shaking and Bobby wished he were there in order to comfort the scared child. That's what Dean was in reality—though he tried to act otherwise. He was just a 12-year-old kid who was in over his head dealing with a job that he should've never been assigned to begin with. Still, such was life.

"I don't know what to do." Dean confessed.

"Alright, listen to me, Dean," Bobby began. "I'm on my way. You stay put and keep an eye on Sam's heart rate. If it stops, you call 9-1-1, you hear?"

"Yes, sir." Came the obedient reply.

"Good. I'll be there in an hour."

With that he hung up, got in his truck and then drove like a bat out of Hell. Those two boys were counting on him right now.

"S'okay, Sammy," Dean soothed as Bobby entered the motel room. The elder Winchester spun around, gun in hand. Seeing who it was, he breathed and lowered it. "Uncle Bobby." There was such tenderness in the young boy's tone that Bobby smiled softly. He had forgotten what it felt like—to be needed by someone. Sure, he helped hunters across the country, but that was always impersonal. The Winchester boys . . . well, Bobby viewed them practically as his own kin. He had watched them both grow up and had seem them begin to come into their own as people. Sam was the quiet, studious one who occasionally was mischievous and Dean was the one who put on an act of bravado to those around him and dropped the façade only for Sam. They had a bond beyond normal siblings and Bobby often wondered how their bond would affect them as they grew up. Would it hinder them or would it only make them stronger?

"Dean," Bobby greeted. "How is he?" Dean stepped away from the bed and the gruff hunter nearly flinched. Sam looked simply awful to put it mildly. He was deathly still, his face was ashen and the rise and fall of his chest was barely noticeable. No wonder Dean had panicked and called Bobby. The boy was way in over his head.

"He still won't wake up." The older hunter nodded before palming the youngest Winchester's forehead. It was too damn hot and Bobby cursed.

"C'mon," Bobby said with a sigh. "We've got a date with the E.R."

"And then, Sammy, you almost fell into the river!" Dean exclaimed as he laid with his sibling on the hospital bed and recounted the story of how toddler Sam had wandered off into a forest once long ago. "You were lucky I was there because Dad would've killed you if he had found out."

"S'not true, D'n," Sam mumbled tiredly, appearing much better. "Made that up." Dean faked an expression of mock hurt.

"Dude, would I lie to you?"

"Yeah." Sam retorted. "You lied to me last week about what happened to my sandwich—"

"Told you I was hungry, Sammy."

Bobby chuckled to himself. Turned out that Sam had come down with a particularly nasty case of the flu and the boy had become severely dehydrated as the fever ran its course. The doctor had hooked him up to an IV and gotten the fever to break.

"He should be released by tonight," The doctor had explained with a smile. "Your nephew is pretty strong to have beaten such a difficult illness so quickly."

"Yeah, that's my boy." Bobby had replied, feeling pride and happiness fill him. It had been years since he had belonged to a family, but these Winchester boys . . . well, they were starting to get under his skin. The Bobby after Karen's death would've never rushed to a kid's bedside. These boys were thawing his heart and honestly, he didn't mind. He had been in his grief for so many years. It felt good to realize that there were other things to life besides anger and the desire for revenge. If only John could figure that out before it was too late . . .

"Uncle Bobby?" Sam's eyes had met his gaze and Bobby leaned in to listen to the boy's raspy voice. "Merry Christmas."

"Not exactly the way he pictured spending it." Dean mumbled, but Bobby shook his head.

"That's true," Bobby replied. "But there's no place I'd rather be." Sam grinned—a pure unabashed smile—and Bobby found himself beaming back. Dean chuckled and launched into the next story while Sam occasionally interjected, telling Dean what had really happened in the story. Bobby leaned back and watched the two brothers contentedly.

One thing was sure, John didn't know what the hell he was missing out on and as soon as he returned from his hunt, Bobby intended to let him know.

The gruff hunter smirked.

Who could ask for a better Christmas present?

Author's Note: I love Bobby's relationship with the boys. I hope you enjoyed this piece! Please review/request if you have a moment!