Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to the CW and Eric Kripke, not me. And Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

Kurt ran from the living room into the kitchen, his little socked feet skidding on the floor. "Mommy! They're here!" he said. "They've got a big black car! I wanna ride in it!"

"Calm down, sweet pea," Mollie laughed, smoothing his hair down. "Come on, let's go set the table."

The front door opened, accompanied by the low rumble of male voices, and Kurt froze. "Mommy, are they going to be nithe?" he asked.

"Of course they're nice," Mollie said as she pulled a tray of biscuits out of the oven. "We've told you stories about Mister Bobby, remember?" Kurt darted behind her, grabbing onto the hem of her sundress and hiding his face. "Oh, sweetheart, don't be shy."

"Hey, Mollie, is dinner ready?" Burt called.

"Just about," she said, setting aside her oven mitts and brushing down her slightly wrinkled skirt.

Burt walked into the kitchen with two men following him, one she recognized and one she didn't. "John, this is my wife, Mollie," Burt said, a hint of pride in his voice. "Mollie, this is John Winchester."

"Pleasure to meet you," she said, smiling at him. John Winchester smiled back a little, but it didn't meet his tired eyes.

"And this little guy," Burt said, reaching for the child hiding behind Mollie's legs and swooping him up onto his hip. "This is my son Kurt."

"Hey, kid," Bobby said with a grin, holding out his hand. "You've gotten real big since the last time I saw you."

Kurt shook Bobby's hand, his little fingers swallowed up in the older man's giant paw. "Hi, Mithter Bobby," he said politely.

A small boy, around eight years old, peeked out from behind John Winchester and pouted. "Aw, when you said Mr. Hummel had a kid, I thought he'd be older," he said, disappointed.

Kurt frowned. "I am three," he said, scowling at the boy. "And you're dirty."

The boy stuck out his tongue at Kurt, and Kurt giggled. He was a handsome child- or would have been under his greasy hair and the ketchup smear on his cheek. A slightly older boy leaned out from behind John, grabbed him by the arm, and gave him a tug. "Shut up, Sam, be good," he said.

John glanced down at them, as if he had just then remembered they were there. "Oh, these are my boys," he said to Mollie. "Sam and Dean."

The older one held up his hand in kind of a half wave, half salute, his mouth in a grim line, and Sam smiled, revealing a missing tooth. They were both dirty and disheveled, their clothes rumpled and their hair a mess and their eyes rimmed with dark circles. Mollie smiled at them. "Go wash up and we can start dinner," she said. "Bathroom's right down the hall."

"Yes, ma'am," Dean said automatically, then stopped and blinked, as if he wasn't sure how those words came out of his mouth. But he stopped, shook his head, and grabbed Sam's hand to drag him down the hall.

Mollie patted Kurt's knee. "Come on, honey. Get down and help me set the table, okay?" she said. Kurt nodded and slid down from Burt's hip obediently. He toddled along behind her, setting down forks and spoons in painstaking precision, and Burt chatted with Bobby as he filled glasses with ice water. John hung back a little with that hunter's expression- watchful and wary, on the lookout for something to jump out at him- and she could feel his gaze darting back towards her every so often. She almost felt compelled to tell him she wasn't some silly suburban housewife, that the locket around her neck was a complicated charm and that there was salt hidden in every room in the house. But she kept her mouth shut.

The Winchester boys filed back into the kitchen, their clothes still a mess but their hands and faces marginally cleaner. Dean was pale and freckled, dirt still smudged around his jaw line, and Sam's cheeks were scrubbed pink and clean. "Dad, Dean tried to clean my face off," he complained.

"Good. Sit down," John said.

The boys obeyed quickly, sitting down like good little soldiers at their father's command. Mollie set down glasses of water at their places, then patted Kurt's shoulder. "Go sit, baby," she said.

Kurt tugged on her skirt. "Mommy, can I thit by Tham?" he whispered loudly.

She glanced over at Sam, who shrugged. "Sure," she said. "Just go sit so we can start eating, okay?" Kurt beamed proudly and climbed up onto the chair beside Sam.

Mollie spent more time observing than participating in conversation. The men were deep in discussion about whatever monster-dog-demon-wolf thing Bobby and John had just killed, comparing notes and discussing lore. She kept her eyes on the boys instead. Kurt sat primly beside Sam, picking up small bites of chicken and biscuit and asparagus with his fingers and popping them daintily in his mouth as he prattled on and on about all the things dear to the hearts of preschoolers. But the Winchester boys didn't talk much. They shoveled food into their mouths like they hadn't seen a hot meal in a month- and maybe they hadn't.

She got up from the table, poured two glasses of milk, and set them down in front of the boys. "Thank you," Dean mumbled through a mouthful of buttered corn. Sam popped a huge bite of biscuit in his mouth and chased it down with a swig of milk.

"You can have seconds if you'd like," she said. Kurt's sippy cup had nearly fallen off the table; she reached over and set it back by his plate. "Do you like it?"

"It's really good," Sam piped up, wiping his mouth with the back of his (mostly) clean hand. "Dad wanted us to keep driving, so we only did drive-through stuff, and I'm really tired of McDonald's." He picked up another biscuit. "We eat at diners a lot usually, but Dad didn't want to stop at all. We didn't even stop for bathroom breaks."

Kurt frowned. "How did you pee?" he asked, curious.

"In an empty Coke bottle, munchkin," Dean said, still steadily forking mashed potatoes into his mouth. "When you're potty-trained, we'll teach you."

"I am tho potty-trained," Kurt fumed, highly offended. He turned to Mollie. "Mommy, Dean ith being mean."

"Sit down and eat," Mollie said. Sam was looking around at the table with a biscuit half in each hand, frowning. She picked up the tub of butter and handed it to him. "No wonder you two are so hungry. I'd be tired of McDonald's too."

"We drove for three days without stopping," Sam said proudly. "It's a record. Dad and Bobby took turns driving, and Dean and I slept in the back." He shot his older brother a dirty look. "But Dean kicks."

Dean shot back a retort that made Sam yelp in protest, but Mollie studied the boys thoughtfully. Greasy drive-through food and sodas for every meal, sitting in a cramped car for hours and hours, trying to sleep in the backseat…it was no surprise that the boys were hungry and dirty and exhausted.

She sat by quietly, listening to the men compare notes while she watched the Winchester boys and kept an eye on her child. Kurt chatted incessantly, not quite noticing that Sam was only half-listening and Dean wasn't listening at all. The older boy seemed half asleep, his cheek resting on his hand and his fork dangling limply from his fingers. He caught Sam eyeing his biscuit longingly and slid his plate towards his younger brother. Sam grabbed it up without saying a thank you.

Dean glanced up, catching Mollie's eyes on him. He frowned and she just smiled a little. He looked exhausted, his large green-gold eyes red-rimmed from lack of sleep. "Are you full?" she asked. "You can go get cleaned up and go to sleep."

"You get to thleep in my room!" Kurt chirped, clapping his hands in excitement.

"Yippee," Dean said, rolling his eyes. He got up from the table, wiping his hands on his even dirtier jeans. "C'mon, Sam. I'm tired."

Sam brushed crumbs from the corner of his mouth. "Can I get the shower first?" he asked.

"Yeah, I guess," Dean shrugged. He reached for his plate, but Mollie tapped the back of his hand.

"Don't worry about it," she said. She picked Kurt up and set him on his feet. "Come on, I'll show you where you're sleeping. And you, little man, need to get ready for sleep too." Kurt pouted, but he took her hand.

Dean grabbed a large battered duffle bag from the foyer and pushed Sam up the stairs after them. "Thith ith my room," Kurt said proudly, pushing open the door and gesturing broadly to the sky blue walls. "My lamp lookth like a rocket."

"Cool," Sam said politely.

Dean dropped the bag on the floor, surveying the room. "The couch pulls out into a bed, and there's a trundle bed too," Mollie explained. "The bathroom's right down the hall and I've got towels and everything ready for you. Let me know if you need me, all right?"

Dean pulled a pile of clean clothes out of the bag and tossed it at Sam. "Go take a shower," he said. "You're gross."

"You're grosser," Sam retorted, but he grabbed the clothes and walked down the hall. Dean pulled a comic book and sat down gingerly on the floor.

Kurt edged closer and peeped over his shoulder. "Whatcha reading?" he asked.

"Green Lantern," he said. "You can look, but don't touch, okay?"

Kurt nodded solemnly and sat down beside him, leaning his chin on Dean's elbow. Mollie started setting up the fold-out bed and the trundle, pulling extra pillows and blankets from the linen closet. Dean read to himself in the corner by the arm of the couch, his lips moving soundlessly as he gazed at the pages and his fingers picking absently at the unraveling hem of his shirt. Kurt sat close by, gazing at the well-worn comic book in admiration.

"Hith cothtume ith tho cool," Kurt breathed. Mollie suppressed a smile.

Sam walked back into the room, his wet hair plastered to his ears and his dirty clothes tucked under his arm. "Done," he said. "Your turn."

Dean carefully tucked the comic book back into the bag and pulled out his clothes. "Don't touch that," he warned. Sam pulled a face.

"I've got Legoth," Kurt offered, and Sam brightened considerably.

With both beds set up and ready, Mollie sat down on Kurt's bed and watched the boys play. Kurt dragged out his plastic bin of Legos, beaming in pleasure as Sam touched the small pieces reverently before starting to assemble them. Kurt bounced around him in excitement, building his own symmetrical little structure and trying to help Sam. Sam seemed thrilled at the prospect of playing with the toys, even if his little playmate was only a three-year-old, and Mollie wondered idly if Sam had any toys of his own. Probably not, if all of the Winchester family possessions could fit in the back of an Impala.

"You're not going to play with those all night, are you?" Dean complained as he walked back in, throwing his dirty clothes on top of the bag.

"No, it's Kurt's bedtime, and he knows better," Mollie said with a pointed look at her small son. He sighed heavily and began scooping Legos back into the box. "You two should get to sleep yourselves."

Sam looked almost insulted at the suggestion. "We go to bed whenever," he said.

"Well, I'm the mama in this house, and the mama is always the boss," she said. "And Mama says to go bed."

Dean was looking at her with a painfully odd expression, his mouth tilting down, but he exhaled sharply and it was gone. "C'mon, Sammy, let's check with Dad before we go to sleep to see what time he wants us up in the morning," he said.

Mollie frowned. "You're not going on the hunt too?" she said.

Dean shrugged. "Dad'll probably need our help," he said. " And we've helped him plenty of times before. C'mon, Sammy."

Mollie tried to imagine weapons in the hands of those two small boys and the mama-bear instinct rose up in her chest so fast it made her lungs tighten for a split second. She'd been on hunts before, before Kurt's birth, and children like the Winchester boys didn't belong there.

Then again, she'd heard plenty of stories about John Winchester and his boys and the yellow-eyed demon they hunted, and in some small way, she supposed, she didn't blame him.

"Mommy, what're they hunting?" Kurt inquired.

She looked at her little boy, leaning his elbows on the bed and gazing up at her. "Easter eggs," she said.

Kurt giggled. "Mithter Bobby and Mithter John are going hunting for Eathter eggth?" he said.

She stood up, smoothing his hair away from his forehead. "Come on, sweet pea, get your jammies on," she said.

Kurt obeyed, tugging on his polka dot pajamas and trotting off to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Mollie pulled the sheets back from his bed and turned on the nightlight.

"I'm ready for sleep, Mommy," Kurt yawned.

She patted the bed. "Pop on up," she said.

He scrambled up beside her and laid down, settling in with his baby blanket clutching in his hand as she tucked him in. "Thing thomething?" he asked sweetly.

She sighed. "Just one," she said. "One little song." She traced the line of his nose. "What song do you want to hear tonight?"

"A Beatleth one," he said.

"The one with the birdie?" she asked, smiling.

"No, Mommy," Kurt said, shaking his head. "I like the birdie one, but not tonight. I want a new one. Can I have a new one?"

"Fine," she sighed, trying to think of a Beatles song she hadn't used as a lullaby yet. She'd sung "Imagine" and "Let It Be" and "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds" and "I Wanna Hold Your Hand" plenty of times, and somehow "Yellow Submarine" didn't seem like a good choice for a lullaby.

"All right, I have one," she said. "Close your eyes, okay?" He obeyed, cuddling down under the blankets, and she started to sing softly to him.

"Hey Jude, don't make it bad, take a sad song and make it better…remember to let her into your heart, then you can start to make it better."

Kurt breathed in deeply, his fingers tightening and relaxing as he gripped his blanket. One small thumb began to move up to his lips and he finally tucked it in his mouth, sucking quietly as he started to drift off to sleep. Mollie brushed her fingertip over his fist, tapping his soft knuckles lightly to the beat.

"And any time you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain, don't carry the world upon your shoulders, for well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool by making his world a little colder…"

The door creaked behind her and she glanced back. Sam walked in and plopped down on the trundle bed, yawning heavily behind his hand. Dean still stood in the hallway, his face so pale that his freckles looked like droplets of dark paint. When he noticed Mollie looking at him he ducked his head and made a beeline for the couch bed, lying down and pulling the blankets up to his shoulders.

Mollie bent to kiss Kurt's cheek. "You two ready for bed?" she asked softly.

"Yes, ma'am," Sam said. Dean mumbled something under his breath.

She leaned over the trundle bed, patting Sam's shoulder and she smiled at him. "Are you helping your dad tomorrow?" she asked.

"Uh-huh, we're gonna get up at six," Sam said, nestling into his bed.

"Well, you get plenty of sleep tonight, okay? And I'll make breakfast in the morning," she said. She walked over to the foldout bed and smoothed the quilt over Dean. "Are you warm enough? Do you need another blanket?"

"No, 'm fine," Dean mumbled, averting his eyes.

"Let me know if you need anything, okay?" she said. "I'm right down the hall." She switched off the light. "Goodnight, boys. Sweet dreams."

"G'night, Miss Mollie," Sam said drowsily, but Dean didn't say anything.

She went downstairs to the kitchen and started working on the dishes, still humming "Hey Jude" under her breath. Burt set down a stack of empty coffee mugs beside the sink. "Is Kurt already in bed?" he asked.

"All three boys are cleaned up and fast asleep," she said. She rinsed out a measuring cup and set it on the rack. "Is John really taking them out with him?"

"Apparently," Burt said. He leaned back against the counter. "You know why they're hunting that particular demon, right?"

"It killed John's wife, right?" she said quietly.

He nodded. "Murdered her in Sam's nursery," he said. "He was six months old. Dean was four. Burned the house down on top of it too."

"Poor kids," she said. She dunked a mixing bowl in the hot soapy water. "And now they get dragged from crappy motel to crappy motel, switching schools every few weeks, eating nothing but grease day in and day out."

"John takes care of those boys as best as he can," Burt said, raising an eyebrow.

"I know," she said. "But I've lived like that, Burt, and I would never want a child to go through it. And for those two boys, it's the only life they've ever known." She rinsed off the mixing bowl and set it out to dry. "Are you going out with them tomorrow?"

Burt nodded. "I'll be safe," he promised. He leaned in and kissed her cheek. "You can take Kurt shopping if that'll help keep your mind off things."

"Oh, now you're just bribing me," she teased. Burt rolled his eyes and pinched her playfully. "Hey, you be nice or I'll make you wash dishes." He grinned at her and went back into the living room; she could hear the low rumble of men discussing plans.

She had just finished pouring out the dishwater and hanging up her rubber gloves when she heard a sleepy little voice call for her. "Kurt?" she said, catching sight of her small son in the doorway. She bent down to pick him up. "What's wrong, baby? Why're you out of bed?"

He leaned his cheek on her shoulder. "Dean'th makin' noitheth," he said, yawning into her neck. "I think he'th crying, Mommy."

She settled him on her hip. "Well, let's go check on him then," she said. "And it's back to bed for you, little mister."

Kurt snuggled into her shoulder, clearly content, as she carried him upstairs. She set him down on his bed, sidestepping Sam snoring away in the trundle, and tucked Kurt back in. "Back to sleep, precious," she whispered, kissing him on the cheek. "Close your eyes."

He obeyed and she edged a little closer to the foldout bed in the corner. Dean was hunched into the side, leaving most of the bed vacant, and had curled up tightly in a ball with his forehead pressed to his knees. He made a slow whining noise between his teeth.

"Dean," she whispered. "Are you all right?"

His face looked flushed in the faint warm glow of the nightlight and she bent to touch his forehead. He was too hot, his skin fever-warm and dry. "Poor guy," she murmured. She pulled the blankets, brushing her hand accidentally against his lower side, and he let out a strangled yelp, his small body jerking suddenly.

She drew back a little. His shirt was slightly damp in a splotch near the hem, just above his hip, and radiated heat. Carefully she pried it away from his body and sucked in her breath.

A long, jagged gash, raw around the edges from rough teeth marks, ran along the boy's side from the edge of his ribcage and down to the line of his hip. His skin was red and white from infection- he should have gotten stitches, but he hadn't even gotten it properly cleaned and bandaged. No wonder he was running a fever.

He hissed through his teeth as she pushed his shirt up higher. The wound had to hurt him, sore and stinging, the pain running clear down to his bones, but she couldn't even remember seeing him wince once. He was tough. But he was a hunter's child, and a hunter's child was always stronger than they looked.

Then again, he was only eleven years old, and this was too much for a child to bear alone.

"Come on, sweetheart," she murmured, sliding an arm under his knees and another under his shoulders. He was small and compact for his age, but he was definitely heavy- a whole lot heavier than Kurt. But she was strong enough to carry him down the stairs, his head lolling on her shoulder.

Bobby noticed first when she walked into the living room, standing up fast and taking Dean from her arms. "What's wrong?" he asked. "He okay?"

"He's hurt, and it's infected," she said as Bobby sank down on the sofa with the sleeping boy on his lap. "It's pretty bad. I don't think it was even cleaned out properly."

"How'd that happen?" John demanded, kneeling down and pushing Dean's hair off his forehead.

"Probably from that thing we fought back in Klamath," Bobby said. "Remember? Dean fell and I had to pull it off'a him. It probably got in a good bite before I got there."

Mollie lifted Dean's shirt and John swore under his breath at the sight of the infection. "He needs stitches," she said. "And it needs to be cleaned out."

"God, that's gonna burn like hell," Bobby murmured, squeezing Dean's shoulder.

"Dean? Dean, kiddo, wake up and look at me," John said. Dean jerked awake at the sound of his father's voice, bleary eyed. "When'd you get hurt?"

His large green eyes were still blurry and unfocused. "B'fore we left," he said. "It's jus'…a little bite. Not bad."

"No, no, it's bad," John said. "We've got to get you fixed up before you get sicker."

Mollie found her first aid kit pressed in her hand and looked up to Burt. "You get started, I'll get your sewing things," he said.

Dean almost sat up. "Sewing?" he said. "I gotta get stitches?"

"You should've gotten stitches before we left Oregon," John said grimly. He nudged Bobby out of the way and sank down on the sofa, taking his place. Dean settled between his legs, leaning his head on his father's strong chest and closing his eyes. "Mollie, you take care of him. I'll hold him steady."

Mollie nodded, wrestling Dean out of his tee shirt and tugging down the waistband of his pajama pants over his hip, until the whole bite was exposed. The skin was tight and shiny and red; the edges of the wound were white and wet. "Just hold still, sweetheart," she said. "This is going to sting."

She dabbed hydrogen peroxide on a sterile gauze pad and pressed it lightly over the bite. Dean yelped, jerking his knee up sharply. "Hold still, son," John said, wrapping the boy in a bear hug to keep him from moving. Mollie worked over him as quickly as she could, but there was so much infection. Dean whined through his gritted teeth, gripping John's shirt sleeves and arching his back in pain, trying to wriggle free from his captors.

"Come on, bud, you're doing fine," Bobby encouraged, resting his hand lightly on Dean's head. Dean jerked away, digging his fingers into his father's hands.

Mollie touched him as lightly as she could, trying not to hurt him more. He was beginning to bleed again, dark red seeping around the edges, and his whole body was shaking as he tried to hold himself rigid against the pain. But the edge of the soaked gauze brushed a little harshly against the cut and he let out a terrified shriek.

"Stop it, stop it, stop it," he said, squirming in John's grip and kicking Mollie in the knee. "Stop it, it hurts. It hurts!"

"I know, Dean, but you've got to sit still," John said. He wrapped his arms tightly around Dean's chest, pressing his palm to his collarbone. "Stop it."

"It hurts!" Dean barked. "Why are you doing this to me?"

Mollie leaned back. "Because either we fix you up, or you'll die from infection," she said flatly. "Which would you prefer?"

"I just don't want you to touch it anymore," Dean said, curling away from her.

"Dean? What's wrong?"

Sam padded into the living room, half asleep still with his hair badly mussed. "Go back to bed, Sammy," John said.

"What's wrong with Dean?" Sam asked, eyes wide.

Bobby got up and wrapped an arm around Sam's shoulders, guiding him back up the stairs. "Your brother's fine, just not feeling good," he said. "C'mon, back to bed…"

John waited for Bobby and Sam to disappear before leaning to whisper in Dean's ear. "You've got to be quiet," he said in a hushed voice. "You're scaring Sammy. So be quiet and let Mollie fix you up, okay?"

Dean nodded, biting down hard on his lip, and Mollie went back to cleaning the wound. The bite ran in an eight-inch-long span down his side and hip, the punctures deepest at the canines and ripped around the incisors. A little bit more pressure and the boy would have lost an entire chunk of flesh.

Burt set her sewing kit down beside her and handed her a damp washcloth. "Got the needle sterilized for you," he said.

She nodded, taking the washcloth and pressing it to Dean's side. He tried to turn away, but he didn't make a sound, pressing his face into the crook of his father's elbow. Mollie did the best she could, but the washcloth began to turn pinkish and Dean was making horrible high-pitched noises into John's arm, striving desperately to stay silent. He started to wheeze a little and John forced him to sit up.

"You've got to breathe, Dean," he said. "C'mon, kid, you're doing fine."

Mollie threaded the needle carefully and set it to Dean's tender skin. She hesitated for a moment. She'd sewn up wounds before, on herself and other hunters, but she'd never done it to a child.

"Just do it," Dean said through gritted teeth, and Mollie took the first stitch.

She closed up the gash with precise stitches, careful around the most tender patches of skin. Dean whined at the pain, his lips clamped shut tightly, and shivered every time the needle touched him.

"Are you done?" he asked.

"Almost, sweetheart, just one more," Mollie said. "You're doing so great."

"…'m so dizzy."

Mollie looked up and saw all the telltale signs of an impending blackout in his blanched skin, slack lips, and half-lidded eyes. "All right, all right, I'm done," she said, tying off the thread and snipping it. "I'm done."

John let go of Dean, squeezing his shoulder. "See, bud, that wasn't so bad," he said. "You're-"

Dean's eyes rolled back and he fell forward, sliding off the couch and slumping into Mollie's shoulder. He was only out for a second, but when he opened his eyes he was dazed and disoriented, and he began to cry.

"Oh, honey, honey, sh," Mollie soothed, settling down cross-legged on the floor and pulling him onto her lap. Dean clutched the shoulders of her dress with shaking fingers, pressing his face in the crook of her neck and sobbing. "It's all right. It's all right, my brave boy."

That only made him cry harder and he howled into her shoulder like a banshee, sounding hurt and terrified and lost all at once. She pressed her hand to the small of his back, rocking him slowly back and forth like he was no older than Kurt.

"You hold him still, I'll finish this up," John muttered, reaching for more gauze and a roll of medical tape. Mollie stroked Dean's hair as she held him tightly, pressing her cheek to his fever-hot forehead.

"He's burning up," she said, touching the back of her hand to his cheek. "John, you'd better not take him out with you tomorrow."

"No, he's not going anywhere for a while," John said grimly as he spread an antibiotic cream over his son's injury. "We might have to stay here a little longer than we originally planned."

"Yes, please stay," Mollie said. Dean whimpered into her shoulder, wiping his eyes surreptitiously on her dress, and she brushed the last drops of tears away with her thumb.

John finished taping the bandage over the stitches and tugged the waistband of Dean's pajama pants back up over his hip. "He's good," he sighed. "Better get him back to bed."

Dean breathed out a shuddering, hiccupping sigh and pulled away from Mollie, struggling his feet. "Mmkay," he said, but before he could put his weight down on his bad hip, John picked him up. Dean froze for a second, then draped his arms around his father's neck and wrapped his legs around his waist like he was a much smaller child.

"I'll get him back to bed," John said, patting the back of Dean's neck absently. "Do you have something that can help with the fever?" Mollie nodded, and John carried Dean upstairs without saying another word.

Burt sighed. "That kid is messed up," he said. "How did John not see that?"

"There's no telling," Mollie said. "Probably Dean was too stubborn to say anything, and John was so focused that he didn't see anything out of the ordinary."

Burt rubbed the back of his neck. "They're staying here till he's better though," he said. "I don't want to think about that kid out on the road."

Mollie nodded. Burt kissed her on the cheek and headed upstairs, and she went into the kitchen to search for the medicine cabinet. There was an unopened pack of children's Tylenol- the orange flavor, the only kind Kurt would tolerate- and she popped a couple of pills out of the blister packs.

She went into Kurt's bedroom to find John sitting on the edge of Dean's bed, pressing a wet washcloth clumsily against his forehead. "You're tired out," she whispered, touching John's shoulder lightly. "Let me take care of him?"

"You're sure?" John said. She nodded, and he got up slowly, pressing at his knees like he'd aged at least thirty years. "Call me if he gets worse or anything."

"I will," she said. She took his place at the edge of the bed and touched Dean's hot cheek. "How're you feeling?"

"What d'you think?" he mumbled. "Everything hurts. And m'cold."

He was shivering, his teeth chattering, and she pressed the chalky orange pills into his hand. "Chew these," she said. "It'll help with the fever and maybe take a little bit of the edge off the pain."

He obeyed, making a face at the flavor, and she lifted up his ratty tee shirt to press the damp washcloth to his chest. She smoothed it gently over his hot skin. "Too cold," he whimpered, moving away from her. "Stop it."

She folded it and draped it over his forehead, ignoring his little grunt of annoyance. "I need to bring your fever down," she explained patiently.

A small hand tugged on her skirt. "Mommy?" Kurt quavered. "I had a bad dream."

She picked him up and set him on her lap. "It's okay, sweetheart," she said, kissing his soft hair as he snuggled sleepily into her collarbone. "Mommy's here. You're safe." She stood up carefully, holding him to her chest. "Let's go back to bed, all right?"

Kurt's eyes were already sliding shut, his thumb tucked in his mouth. She carefully sidestepped Sam, fast asleep and snoring in the trundle bed, and laid Kurt down on his bed. "Goodnight, sweet boy," she said, tucking him in securely and kissing him on the forehead.

She pressed her cheek against his for a moment, breathing in the sweet small of his hair and the softness of his skin, and kissed him gently. He smiled a little but he was already dozing off, sucking thumb lazily.

She edged back over to check on Dean and found him still, his eyes immense and dark in the faint glow of the nightlight. "Do you…do you always do that with your kid?" he asked.

"Do what?" she asked. "Tuck him in?"

Dean gazed down at the floor, staring at nothing with the blankest expression she'd ever seen on a child that young. "And sing to him and stuff," he said dully.

"Mm-hm, I sing to him and stuff," she said, sitting down beside him. She tangled her fingers in his hair to brush it away from his forehead. "Do you need me to get anything for you before you go to sleep?"

Dean swallowed hard, biting down on his dry lips. "Could…could you sing to me, like you did with your kid?" he asked, still not daring to look at her. "It'd just…if you could sing that song…the one that…that earlier…"

"Sure," she whispered. "But you lie still and go to sleep, okay? Sleep will help you feel better."

He nodded, lying down on his back and clutching the blanket between his fingers. Mollie smoothed out the covers over him, taking the mostly-dry washcloth and setting is aside. She started singing "Hey Jude" as softly as she could, Just one quick run-through and she let him go to sleep.

"…to let her into your heart, then you can start to make it-"

She paused. Dean was crying, big fat tears rolling silently down his cheeks with his eyes shut tightly. His fingers clutched the edges of the quilt that covered him, as if he was trying desperately to hold on tight and keep from falling apart. Mollie touched his hand lightly and he latched onto her fingers, as if he didn't dare try to actually hold her hand, but he choked on a shuddering, painful sounding gasp.

She laid down beside him, draping a blanket over both of them and tugging at the boy until his head rested beside him on the pillow. His sobs were barely audible, but his body shook in frenetic little tremors as he tried to calm down.

She kept singing and she could feel the child losing his grip. He began to cry harder, muffling his sobs by pressing his face into the crook of her neck. Gently she patted his back, trying to send him the message that it's okay, just let go.

Dean wrapped his arms around her neck and howled, high keening sobs that made her heart ache. He was so young, and a child his age didn't deserve to get stitches in someone's living room, didn't deserve to live out of a car, didn't deserve to carry the weight of the world and the safety of his family on his narrow shoulders. Mollie held him tight, smoothing his hair and rubbing his back and trying to comfort him as best as she could, but deep down she knew it would never reach the root of the pain- she wasn't his mother. His mother was never coming back.

She sang and sang and sang until her throat felt raw, repeating the lyrics over and over again. Slowly Dean's sobs tapering off to a strangled little rhythmic whine, and then finally just the occasional shuddering hiccup. She felt him sag against her slowly as he finally drifted off into exhausted, feverish sleep.

She waited until his breathing had slowed, deep and even and warm against her cheek. Carefully she tried to slip out of the bed without waking him, but his arms were around her neck and he latched on tightly when she shifted, whimpering something unintelligible into her shoulder.

"Sh, sh, sh," she soothed, lying back down and adjusting his small body against hers. Dean clung to her, fingers tight on the shoulders of her dress, and she pulled the blankets up around them both to tuck him in snugly. He rested his cheek on her collarbone, shifting against her side to get comfortable, and Mollie stroked his hair in a gentle soothing rhythm until she drifted off to sleep herself.

Author's Notes:

My first Supernatural thing!

But because I write Glee, the Hummels are here too. I just can't help it. My friend Margaret and I were talking about how Burt and Bobby would totally be friends, and this came together.

Plus, I can't resist writing crazy schmoopy whumpy Dean stuff. I just really can't.

And little Kurt toddling around after the Winchester boys is just too stinkin' cute.

I might have to write some more in this verse!