SUMMARY: Ever wonder how the heck Bobby escaped that fire in "Hello Cruel World" or what happened during the three weeks the boys were recuperating at Rufus's place in "Girl Next Door"? Well, this is my take on how it all went down.

Lots of hurt/comfort, angst, Wee!Chester Flashbacks and a heavy dose of Awesome!Bobby!

WARNINGS: Some cuss words, violence and nekkid boys in later chapters! (Woo hoo!)

DISCLAIMER: I don't own and didn't create these characters. I just made 'em all angsty… (and nekkid!)


"I'm falling back. Meet me at the house. We can regroup!"

Bobby didn't bother signing off as he flipped his phone shut. He was too focused on making a mental inventory of all the weapons, potions and occult artifacts in stock at his house. There had to be something, anything that could stop these big mouthed, innards eating freaks! If silver didn't work then maybe iron or some kind of holy wood or even…

"Fire!... Oh, Good Lord… No…!"

It took several seconds for his brain to register what his eyes were seeing, but the giant orange flames dancing in the night sky were coming from his house! The shock of witnessing his home being turned to rubble distracted him to the point that he almost didn't see the five humanoid figures standing sentinel around the perimeter of his yard until he was nearly upon them. In the illumination of his headlights and the back glow of the fire they simultaneously tossed their heads back to reveal faces full of jagged teeth and serpentine tongues.


The old hunter's first instinct was to mow them down with his truck and find out if Leviathan were immune to a brand new set of Claw Radials. Instead he cut sharply to the left, covering the toothy bastards in a spray of dirt and gravel as he pulled a 180 in his driveway and sped back towards the street.

Glancing in his rearview mirror he saw that the creatures had given chase on foot. He wasn't sure how fast these things could move in their present form, but figured he'd find out soon enough if they were able to catch up to him. He seemed to be pulling a good distance ahead of his pursuers when all at once he was blinded by a blue white light shining directly in his eyes.

Immediately he thought Castiel had somehow returned to save the day- or else smite him on the spot. It turned out to just be some jackass in a Camaro with a set of those fancy Halogen headlights. Mr. Blue-Light Special was speeding straight towards him on the narrow road, and as the drag-racing douchebag refused to dim his high-beams or yield an inch, Bobby had no choice but to swerve to the right to avoid a head-on collision.

"Son of a bitch!" he swore as the front end of his truck was forced into a shallow ditch by the side of the road.

He'd barely had a chance to catch his breath from the near miss when with the screeching of tires and blaring of horn, the moron in the Camaro slammed straight into the charging Leviathans. Bobby whipped his head around and watched as one Big Mouth was hurled a good 20 feet into the air while another was crushed under wheel. Completely undaunted, the remaining three swarmed down upon the sports car, easily breaking through the windshield and hauling its hapless owner out onto the hood.

Bobby knew there was nothing he could do to save the Fast and Furious Idgit, so he backed out of the ditch and quickly fled the scene while the Leviathans were still eating high on the road hog.

Speeding away from his original destination, a wave of despair swept over him and the realization of all that he had lost began to sink in. The house that had been his home for over 40 years; the place where he and his beloved Karen had started their new life together, and where that life had ended; all his photographs; his books, his weapons, the Panic Room he'd built with his bare hands; every protective spell he'd ever cast, every Devil's Trap he'd ever painted- all had gone up in smoke before his very eyes.

He felt exposed, vulnerable, a ship adrift in the ocean with no land in sight. For the first time in his life, he was homeless. Just another roving hunter without a steady place to hang his hat when the gig was done. He imagined this is how it must have felt for the Winchester boys in the years when their father was dragging them all over the country from one hunt to the next.

"Hell's Bells! The boys!" he gasped aloud.

Now was not the time to be getting all misty eyed and sentimental when Sam and Dean were at that very moment driving straight into an ambush. He flipped open his cell phone preparing to warn them to change course immediately. They could figure out where to rendezvous later when everyone was safe and accounted for. But before his thumb could hit redial, his attention was diverted by an all too familiar blue white light appearing behind him.

The glare beaming off his rearview mirror was much too bright for him to make out its source, but he knew exactly what he was dealing with. Those damned Leviathans might not be able to catch up to him on foot, but they sure as Hell could reach him in a carjacked Camaro with fancy Halogen headlights!

"All right you ass-clowns," he grumbled, "Just try and keep up with this!"

Putting the peddle to the floor he raced towards a dirt road that only wilderness junkies or seasoned hunters like himself were familiar with. He had no doubt that beings smart enough to figure out how to drive a car would also be able to follow his tracks, but the rough terrain would at least slow them down. Camaros weren't built for off-road travel after all.

When the road ended at the edge of a wooded area, he killed the engine and quickly grabbed his cell phone, weapons bag and as many I.D.s as he could pull from the glove compartment. Exiting the vehicle, he purposefully left the driver's side door open to a well-worn path that cut through the dense forest. This was a five mile hiking trail that would lead him straight into town where he could easily flag down a passing car or hide out at the local watering hole.

And since heading into town was the safest, most logical course of action- naturally he didn't take it.

Instead he climbed up a steep embankment beyond the trail, scrambling over damp leaves, fallen limbs and jagged rocks with only the light of the moon to guide him through the trees and tangled brush. At last he reached a thicket at the top of the slope and burrowed his way through the prickly leaves and thorny branches. Once inside he nearly collapsed, struggling to catch his breath. Damn it all, but he was getting too old for this!

Back when all he had a notion to hunt was deer, elk and the occasional mountain lion, this thicket was his favorite outlook to camouflage himself from his quarry. Now that he was the one being hunted, he could only pray it would still prove to be as good of a hideout.

He'd barely had a chance to get himself comfortable and unpack his guns when those damned blue white headlights caught up to his abandoned truck. He held his breath, watching as four figures stepped out of the Camaro and took a quick assessment of the empty vehicle as well as the surrounding area.

Just as he had hoped three of the butt-ugly varmints took off down the trail, never suspecting his true location. Unfortunately, butt-ugly #4 chose to remain behind, thus blocking his escape route and increasing his chances of being spotted.

As for the fifth butt-ugly, Bobby knew better than to assume it had actually met its end at the hand of that recently departed reckless driver. No, most likely it was still at the Salvage Yard, lying in wait for the boys to show up.

Oh, God! The boys... his boys! He felt so damned helpless stuck here and unable to reach them. But he didn't dare make a sound or even move enough to send a text message. Not with Mr. Yuck Mouth standing guard right below him.

He wasn't about to give himself up or wave the white flag and say 'uncle' now. Those boys needed him to stick around and watch out for their asses. That was the mantra that had always kept him focused, kept him fighting- even against the worst of odds.

And although he'd never admit it out loud, not even after several beers, he'd considered looking out for the Winchester brothers to be his most important mission in life for over 25 years…

Bobby Singer couldn't believe the mess he'd stepped right into. Here he was, 35 years old, a widower, veteran demon hunter, walking encyclopedia of the occult- and now babysitter to John Winchester's snot nosed brats.

When Jim Murphy had first introduced him to Winchester about a year or so ago, he'd quickly sized the man up as one cocky, stubborn son of a bitch. And yet as it turned out, he had a lot in common with the brash new hunter. They'd both lost their wives to something unexplainable, both had a drive to hunt and kill as many evil things as they could find, and both shared a certain reckless abandon that pushed them farther than many hunters dared to go. One thing they didn't have in common though was that John Winchester a father raising two young sons on his own.

Pastor Jim had mentioned once that John was already training his oldest son in the ways of the hunt, and Bobby had taken that to mean the kid must have been about 16 or 17 at the least. So when Winchester asked him to keep an eye on his boys for a weekend while he and Murphy looked into a possible demon nest, Bobby had agreed. He could use a couple strong young bodies to help out in the auto yard.

He was not at all prepared to open his door to a small child a decade younger than he'd been expecting - with an even smaller rug rat glued to his hip.

The kid staring up at him was a skinny little thing, all freckles and big green eyes. Eyes that were warily sizing him up, looking for any sign of weakness or potential threat. Eyes that had already witnessed more than the average person would see in a lifetime. A hunter's eyes. Eyes that absolutely did not belong on a face so young. In that moment, Bobby's assessment of John Winchester was downgraded from son of a bitch to outright bastard.

As for the younger boy… well, Bobby wasn't sure that he had eyes. The top half of his face was completely covered by an unruly mop of chestnut curls while the bottom half was hidden behind a chubby balled up fist, the thumb of which was plunged deep into the kid's mouth. The tot's other hand was clasped firmly against his brother's, holding on so tight that there had to be some pain involved.

Bobby frowned. He didn't know anything about kids, especially not kids as young as this. He didn't know what to do with 'em, how to talk to 'em, what to feed 'em or when put 'em to bed. And he hoped to high Heaven that there weren't going to be any toilet issues with the little one, 'cause he didn't know a thing about that either!

Completely at a loss, he figured he had to break the ice somehow.

"I'm Bobby Singer," he told the boys, "A friend of your Pa's. I'm gonna be looking after y'all for a couple days so… uhh… I guess if you want… you can call me 'Uncle Bobby'."

"You're our mom's brother?" the older one asked, brow furrowed with suspicion.

"No... " Bobby groused, "It's just a figure of speech."

Damn, tough crowd. It dawned on him suddenly that he didn't have any toys or games or anything that would interest small children. Hell, he didn't even have Cable TV! What he did have at least was three pounds of ground beef, a sack of potatoes and some salad fixin's in the kitchen.

"You kids like burgers n' fries?" he asked hopefully.

The bigger kid's eyes grew huge with longing while the wee one took his thumb out of his mouth long enough to shout "Yay! Boogers!"

"Not boogers, Sammy!" the older brother snorted into his hand, smiling for the first time since he'd arrived. "Burgers!"

"Dat what I said!" the boy genius insisted.

Bobby chuckled as he led the pair into his home. He reckoned he could handle watching over these young'uns for the time being. It would only be one weekend after all…

A sudden buzzing beside his hip startled the hunter out of his reminiscence and caused him to kick out against the surrounding underbrush.

"Damn it!" he hissed under his breath.

He'd had the forethought to switch his cell phone to vibrate- but now it was lit up like a Christmas Tree and dancing around on the forest floor.

Bobby quickly shut the thing off and turned it face down against the ground. He wasn't sure if the creature below him had heard the faint buzzing noise, but it had definitely sensed all the commotion he'd made rustling against the bushes. He watched with horror as the thing turned his way, an inhuman smile curling up his host's lips, stretching them to a grotesque length until the whole face was split open and the creature's slimy tongue shot upwards, lapping up the night air in triumph.

The hunter instinctively readied his weapon, knowing full well it was useless against this foe. Before he could even take aim he heard the thunderous crashing of something or some-things charging through the forest in his direction. The other three Purgatory Pals must have heard his sudden movement as well and doubled back from the trail.

As the predators closed in around him, the old man made a mental calculation of how many rounds he could get off before he was overtaken. No way was he going down without a fight!

He only prayed that someone would come along to take his place in watching after his boys- 'Cause it sure as Hell looked like his shift was up!


Author's Note: Oh noes! Bobby! How will our favorite Uncle get out of this one? Stay tuned! Please let me know what you think of the story so far. Reviews and comments are always appreciated.