Merry Christmas, TraSan, this is my present to you! And thank you Red for being an awesome beta!

A/N - don't own'em but I sure love to play with them.

And, as an aside, I don't think that the boys had crappy Christmases. I think they had good ones and not so good ones, just like all of us, but I do think John was usually there. I just wanted to clear that up so you won't think that is going to be a Winchester Crappy Christmas story. Nope, not for my boys this year. However, they've got to make it to Christmas first!!

Bye Baby Buntin'

Chapter 1

Sixteen-year-old Sam Winchester sighed heavily as he lay on his stomach on top of the covers of a double bed and idly flipped through the pages of the Teen Beat magazine, obviously left behind by the last people who'd stayed in this cheap pay-by-the-hour motel. But after three days alone he'd become desperate for distraction and opened the glossy pages of the magazine Dean had been ribbing him about ever since they'd found it tucked away behind the toilet. Like anyone would want to admit they read this crap.

But Sam was desperate.

Outside thick snowflakes dizzied the darkness and made the teen feel even more isolated. This really was not how he'd been expecting to spend the week before Christmas. Mid-term exams, suddenly and astonishingly a priority for his father, kept Sam behind in town while his older brother, soon to be twenty-one, went along as backup on a supposedly simple hunt.

"Two days, kiddo," John had assured his younger son. "We'll be back in two days…"

That was four days ago now, but a rushed phone call late last night had assured Sam that while things were going okay, the 'sonnovabitch' (Dean's words, not John's) was being evasive and it'd be another day or so before the older men would be home.

Well, yippee, more time alone, Sam thought sarcastically as he gave up looking at the pages of smiling, perfect teenagers and rolled on his back staring up at the grey stucco ceiling above him. He figured the last time it had been white, he'd still been in diapers. A dark stain above the bed made the young hunter screw up his face in a loud 'ewww' before he rolled out from under it and moved over to the other double in the room. He didn't even want to take a guess at what the spot was.

Sitting on the edge of his father's bed, Sam's leg bounced restlessly as he thought about what he could do. At 9 PM it was still too early to go to bed, and there was nothing on TV, literally, since the cable had been out for two days now. The young hunter suspected it was a money issue interrupting the service as only one other person had stayed in the motel in the last four days, and that person had checked out yesterday.

He couldn't read as he'd already read his way through every book in the room, hence the Teen Beat descent into madness, and that included Dean's hidden copy of Busty Babes. Sam grinned, he couldn't wait to see the look on his brother's face when Dean saw that he had drawn clothes on all the female models…

So that had been his morning, but now?

Well now just plain sucked.

As was the story of Sam's life, the Winchester's had only been in town a couple of weeks now, not even long enough for their father to rent a place, so he didn't really know any of the other kids well enough to give them a call. And his father's strict, straight to school, Sam, then straight home policy, left no negotiating room for socialization, leaving him feeling a bit more smothered than usual. Things hadn't been quite so stringent when Dean was still in school but now that it was just Sam, his family seemed even more determined something was going to happen to him if he was outside the 'Winchester dome of protection' too long. That is what Sam privately called staying within yelling distance of his father or Dean at all given times. The attitude contrasted so sharply with them then being okay with leaving him completely alone while they went off on a hunt a half a day away. It made the teen snort. Sure Bobby Singer was only two hours away but still a lot could happen in two hours.

He supposed he could take a bath. That was always good for killing time. And maybe by the time he was done, it'd be late enough to turn in without feeling wrong about it.

"Oh what a joy this Christmas vacation is turning out to be." The youth muttered as he turned up the heat in the room, grabbed a pair of sweat pants to sleep in and then made his way to the bathroom. "I'll be decking the halls with something, if this keeps up, and it won't be any bells or holly!"

Sam was just leaning over to turn the water on in the tub when someone pounded on the motel room door, startling him. Jerking around, his hand reached for the sharp knife his father kept in the bathroom, his heart already racing. People didn't just knock on motel room doors at this hour of the night, in fact they rarely knocked at all.

Stealthily, the young hunter crossed the room, then pressed up close to the door, listening. He heard nothing. Swallowing hard, he silently counted in his head for two minutes then quietly turned the lock and opened the door. He blinked in shock, "Dean?"

"Hey, Sammy," his brother grinned at him, "miss me?" His gaze flickered down to the knife in Sam's hand. "Or not." Without waiting for his brother to move, Dean pushed in past him.

Sam looked out into the snowy parking lot, expecting to see his father locking up the truck. Them getting back early was a pleasant surprise, the hunt must have gone more smoothly than the older men had been anticipating after all. A snow covered Impala was the only vehicle outside though. Confused, he turned back to his brother. "Where's Dad?" Even if John had dropped Dean off to go grab something, Sam should have seen the monster black truck pulling away or heard the throbbing of its engine. A truck like that was a hard thing to miss. Although now that he thought about it, it was odd he didn't hear them pull up… but then again, he had been in the bathroom.

"Not here," Dean's voice was muffled as he pulled a heavy sweater off over his head and then shook the snow out of his hair. The room was warm enough for t-shirts. "Bobby showed up so they sent me home to baby-sit you. Dad was under some strange impression that you'd sell the Impala and run away to join the circus or something if we left you alone for any longer." He paused and cast a worried look his way, "You wouldn't, would you?"

Sam let the room door shut behind as he rolled his eyes and dropped the knife on the table near the door. "Sell the Impala or run away with the circus?" Although with the way that the teen felt about clowns, the latter was definitely out of the question. "Wait a second… Bobby showed up?" That didn't make sense, their father had been adamant about the other man not wanting a piece of this one. "Why?"

"I dunno," Dean shrugged then wiped a hand across his forehead. "Why's it so damn hot in here?"

"I was going to take a bath," Sam admitted, bothered that Bobby, his backup, hadn't called to at least let Sam know about the change of plans. That wasn't like the older man. At least not the one Sam had known since, well… since as far back as he could remember. A niggling of unease tickled his thoughts. "Hey, Dean," his brow furrowed as he chewed his lip in consideration, "you guys were after a shifter right?" Normally Sam was pretty well versed in whatever hunt his family was engrossed in, but this time his father had kept the teen out of it beyond very cursory details, such as 'it's a shifter, Sammy, don't you have an exam to study for?'.

"Yeah…" Dean drew the word out, his actions stilled as he gave Sam his complete attention. "What about it?"

"Well…" Sam turned worried eyes on him, "how do we know it was Bobby who showed up? Maybe it's the shifter pretending to be Bobby."

"Don't be so stupid," Dean brushed him off sitting down heavily on the bed they were sharing and picking up the magazine. His eyebrows rose as he looked at the cover but he didn't comment. "Of course it's Bobby."

Sam shook his head, urgency coloring his voice. "I don't think so. Bobby wouldn't just show up like that. He doesn't do that!" The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became. "He knew you and Dad were going to be gone and that I'd call him if there was any trouble so he wouldn't just take off like that. Not without letting me know! We gotta call Dad!"

"And what?" Dean snorted, "Tell him Bobby forgot to check in with you? Hate to tell you, Sammy, but you ain't his wife. Go take your bath. Bobby a shifter…" he chuckled, "that's a good one."

Not about to be deterred, Sam reached for the phone, surprised when Dean blocked him, his sibling's more muscular frame moving quickly from the bed. At sixteen, Sam had almost caught up in height but his older brother had a good deal of solid muscle mass on him. He didn't often use it for intimidation though, not on Sam anyway, so when Dean's eyes darkened and his voice growled, "Take. Your. Bath." Sam felt a something slither along his spine and knew. This wasn't Dean.

As if his 'brother' caught that thought, the older man suddenly grabbed his arm, twisted Sam around and wrapped a strong forearm around the boy's neck. Sam struggled hard, his panic surging as he butted his head back and kicked with long legs. The imposter grunted, cursed and squeezed harder, completely cutting off his air supply, and the teen knew he was in serious trouble.

His Dad and brother's hunt? It wasn't a half a day away. It was here, kicking his ass.

Sam sank to his knees, his hands pulling futilely at the restraint around his neck as he desperately tried to get loose, but nothing he'd been taught was working. The shifter went down with him, pressing him forward towards the floor with his greater weight.

"You know, Sammy," the thing hissed in his ear, its breath hot against his skin, "you should have just taken your bath… Mind you," it purred as the teen's lungs labored for air and blackness edged his vision, "this is going to be so much more fun…"

The last thing he felt before he passed out was the ghost of cold fingers sliding underneath his shirt.

No, his mind whispered. Then shut up.

------

When Sam regained consciousness an indefinable time later, he was gagged and tied, shirtless and in his boxers to a chair placed in the middle of the room, Dean's face mere inches from his own as his brother crouched in front of him. It took him a moment to remember and when he did, his eyes widened in fear. This was not Dean.

The creature leered at him, as it drew back a bit and stroked fingers in an unwanted touch across the young hunter's cheekbone. "Bye baby bunting," its voice was hauntingly melodic, making Sam's skin crawl as his body pulsed with fear, "Daddy's gone a hunting, to catch a baby rabbit skin to wrap his baby bunting in…" The look on its face turned predatory. "Too bad the skin is the one doing all the catching." A knife – the one John had left behind – was suddenly in the monster's hands and caressed its way down the teen's quivering stomach. "Time to make Sammy scream…"

------

Bobby Singer cursed the blackness of the night as he drove. He should have been home by now but a flat tire and testy distributor cap put him behind a couple of hours forcing him to drive the slick, snow covered roads in the dark. Not that the grizzled hunter minded really, but it had been a long day and he just wanted to hit the bed and call it a night, maybe even check on Winchester's kid to make sure Sam hadn't gone completely stir crazy yet. He hadn't spoken to the teen in two days and, though he'd never admit it out loud, was a bit worried. Nothing he could place his finger on, just something niggling at the back of his mind.

In hindsight he should have just gone up and picked the boy up after Sam's last exam and once John's hunt stretched past the original day or two, a bit of company would have been nice. Bobby didn't mind either of John's boys hanging around. Dean was always a great help with the cars and Sam's inquisitive mind and thoughtful questions kept him mentally on his toes. So when a shadow suddenly lurched onto the road right in front of him and he was forced to slam on his brakes as he laid on the horn and swung hard to the shoulder of the road to keep from the running it down, he was pretty pissed.

"You stupid idiot!" he was already yelling before the truck even stopped, figuring it to be a drunk; wouldn't be the first time it'd happened. "Get off the road!" Shoving open the door, Bobby stalked towards the figure swaying on their hands and knees their body lit up by the blinding light of the headlights, and froze.

"Sam?"

Instinctive reaction had Bobby moving even as he shook his head in disbelief. It couldn't be. But as he crouched down next to the teen, took in the bound hands, gagged and badly beaten body, he knew it was Sam Winchester.

"Holy shit," he whispered, half afraid to touch the kid. He quickly looked to make sure that whatever had done this wasn't still around, "what the hell happened to you, boy?"

At the sound of Bobby's voice, Sam turned his head towards him and the older man winced in sympathy – the kid's face was a bloodied mess, so badly swollen it would be amazing if Sam was seeing right – and watched him stiffen in fear.

"Hey, Sam," Bobby tried for gentle, thinking that maybe the teen couldn't see it was him, "It's Bobby." But instead of helping, the kid gave a muffled cry and tried to lurch away, his knees slipping out from under him on the icy road. The man instantly reached out to steady him, pulling away when Sam whimpered and shook his head, the words 'no, no' unmistakable beneath the gag.

Unsettled, the hunter scrubbed a hand over his mouth. The boy needed help and there was no way he was going to leave him here. Bobby wouldn't do that to a stranger much less a youngster he thought of as kin. A hard shiver from the boy had the older man shrugging out of his heavy coat and wrapping it around him as he gently pulled Sam up and slipped an arm under his legs. Time to go. The teen struggled but it was weak at best and Bobby easily subdued the flailing arms and held Sam tighter. "Easy, boy," he consoled, his voice husky and low, "Bobby's got ya."

Straightening with a grunt – the kid wasn't light and his long limbs made this awkward at best – the man worked to get him into the truck and settled on the bench seat, quickly flipping the heat switch up to 'high'. Sam's head lolled against the seat when Bobby worked the gag out of his mouth cursing under his breath at how tight the rag had been tied. It left a deep grove on either side of the teen's mouth and must have been incredibly uncomfortable.

"There you go," Bobby muttered, as he tossed the gag on the floor of the truck and then deftly cut through the bindings on Sam's wrists. The boy's eyes, mere slits between swollen and bruised lids, watched the older man dully, all the fight gone out of them and Bobby doubted Sam was aware of very much at all. He did use the tip of his tongue to try and moisten his lips once the gag was gone which had the older man reaching under the seat for a bottle of unopened water. Uncapping it, he held it to Sam's lips and let him wet them, pulling back when the kid fumbled for it and tried to gulp it down. "Whoa, easy, Sam. You'll be sick."

Too exhausted to protest, Sam sagged against the seat, closed his eyes and passed out. Bobby hoped it was because on some level the kid knew he was safe but he did a more thorough triage, just in case, anyway, his face darkening as he saw the damage. Lucky enough nothing seemed broken but the kid's body was a mess of blood and bruises and he'd be sore for a while. Even more disturbing were the numerous cuts on Sam's torso some trailing lower than the waist band on his jeans. Obviously made by something sharp, a knife Bobby guessed, the cuts, while not life threatening were meant to hurt, and anger burned fierce in his chest. Sam hadn't just been beaten up, he'd been tortured. Bobby felt sick.

Tucking the jacket more firmly around the shaking body, Bobby belted Sam in, then hurried around the front of the truck to his own seat. He'd get the kid back to his place and in a warm bed before he tried calling John Winchester, maybe by then Sam would be more lucid and the older man would have something to tell his old friend. Either way he knew the boy's family was going to be pissed. Sam had been hurt, there was going to be hell to pay.

------

When Sam opened his eyes he panicked, someone was looming over him and his corrupted vision couldn't make out the face. Scrambling backwards, his back hit the headboard before he realized who it wasn't.

"Sam, hey, kid. Hey, take it easy. You're okay-"

It wasn't pretend Dean.

"You're safe now."

"B-Bobby?" He hated the way his voice stammered as he struggled to see better, the pain in his body suddenly overrode the adrenaline rush and he slowly sagged back down on the bed with a miserable groan.

"On a good day," the older man's voice rumbled and Sam felt himself relax even more. It was Bobby. Something was held in front of him and it took the teen a moment to see it was a mug. His gaze flickered doubtfully upwards and he heard a soft sigh. "It's only tea, Sam, something to warm you up." The drink was pressed into one of his hands and Sam wrapped the other one around it as well before carefully guiding it up to his parched mouth. He took a sip and actually groaned at the welcome sweetness of the warm drink. It was milky and flavored with honey, exactly the way Sam loved it.

"Thank you," he whispered after slowly downing the mug and then letting Bobby take it from him. It had helped warm him up even if it made him drowsy again; the hunter had probably laced it with painkillers if the slowly spreading numbness was any indication but Sam really couldn't bring himself to care. After the last two days, even the slightest show of compassion was craved.

"Did you know a cat can live for hours without its skin, Sammy?" the not-Dean's hot breath ghosted against Sam's skin, "Hours…"

Bile rushed up his throat as Sam scrambled to get out of the bed, "Sick," he managed when Bobby tried to stop him and then something was shoved under his face and the teen was throwing up, heaving horribly and painfully. Only the older man's quick grip kept Sam off the floor.

"Here kitty, kitty, kitty…"

When he finally came up for air, Bobby helped him to the bathroom and then rinsed out the waste paper basket as Sam leaned his head against the side of the cold porcelain toilet and tried to shut his mind off. It must have worked because he just about jumped out of his skin when Bobby asked him if he was ready to go back to bed yet.

"Uh… sure." He wasn't but didn't want to stay pressed up against Bobby's toilet any longer either. With surprising gentleness the older man helped him up and then kept a steadying grip on Sam until the teen was carefully lowered back onto the bed.

Sam had to give Bobby his due, he waited until Sam was settled back under the blankets and comfortable before he asked the question that must have been burning at the back of his mind since finding him.

"You want to tell me what happened? Last I heard from you, you were going to catch up on your reading… change your mind or something?"

He appreciated Bobby's attempt at levity and even managed to twist his swollen face into some semblance of a smile as his heart pounded so loudly in his chest he was sure the other man could hear. "Something," he managed back, his voice barely recognizable. He gave a one shoulder shrug, wincing as muted pain streaked across the muscle. Oh yeah, that was the arm that'd almost been yanked out of the socket. How'd he forget that? "It was a shifter."

"Crap." Bobby had such a way with words. Sam squinted to get a better look at the man's face as Bobby exhaled loudly and scrubbed a hand across his mouth. "Damnit," he added.

"It, ah," this was the part that hurt the most but Bobby needed to know. He needed to be prepared because Sam hadn't escaped, he'd been let go. "It looked like Dean." The man froze. Even Sam's impaired vision picked up on how his whole body just seemed to stiffen and waited for Bobby to say something.

------

It was a shifter. That wasn't good. It looked like Dean. Bobby re-appraised the situation, silently perusing his mental catalogue on the details of finding Sam and his injuries. He frowned. John was hunting a shifter, a particularly brutal son'bitch at that, and if Bobby's gut was right, Sam being attacked by one was no coincidence. But how'd the kid get away? How'd he end up beaten and semi-conscious hours away from where his family had left him? Not that Bobby doubted the teen's capabilities, after all he was a Winchester, and could hold his own but against a skin? A skin masquerading as Dean? That would have caught the boy off guard. "Sam," he started carefully. The kid tilted his head to the side, listening. "What are you doing here?"

"It let me go," Sam dragged the words out with apparent effort. His eyes closed and he slowly relaxed in the bed. "M'tired." The older man wasn't sure if it was just natural exhaustion or if the painkillers in the tea had somehow survived the purge and were affecting him. But either way, the kid needed rest and Bobby needed to make a phone call.

"Get some sleep," he encouraged, his voice gruff as he grabbed the spare blanket from the foot of the bed and spread it over the still trembling body. "You're safe."

Sam might have nodded, or not, but he was asleep, his breathes slightly stuttered by pain before Bobby had left the room. The man didn't intend to go far but it was time to call John and he didn't want Sam overhearing, the kid was freaked out enough as was. Using the phone in the kitchen, Bobby quickly dialed then waited for John to answer knowing the man would be expecting trouble as soon as he saw Bobby's number and he wasn't disappointed, the other man's "What's wrong?" a barked greeting.

"John." Oh man, Bobby did not want to be making this call knowing that he was about to dump a whole bunch more crap on the already burdened shoulders of his friend, but this was involving one of John's sons so there was no sparing him either, "we got a problem…"

TBC