John's rebuke was gruff and unexpected after the long silence. "Dean, will you quit pacing?"

Dean spun on his heel.

"Dad! You're awake!" The relief was evident.

"Yeah," he muttered, shifting uncomfortably. "Hard to sleep with you wandering around."

"Uh… sorry. How you feelin'?"

"Bout as good as I look." John gave him a critical look. "How are you?"

"You're the one that's hurt. I need to change those dressings." Dean approached purposefully, medical kit in hand.

John groaned and waved him away. "Dean, I'm fine." He muttered. "Leave me be for a minute."

"Can I get you some painkillers? Drink?" His son moved around edgily, sure there was something he needed to do.

"I'm fine." He snapped, then seeing Dean's expression he added weakly. "So...not exactly the way I pictured camping trips with my boy, huh? There was always more fishing and less disembowelment."

"Yeah." Dean managed a grin, insecurity still showing in his eyes but curiosity winning over. "Fishing, huh?"

"Yeah." John shifted again, wincing at a sudden stab of pain. "Always liked fishing. We've never actually gone much have we?"

"No… Not unless you count the possessed guppies."

John snorted at the joke. "Mean little fuckers." Something in his eyes turned soft and sad as his voice trailed off.

Dean squinted at him, raising an eyebrow. "I'm not sure I can see you fishing, just sittin' there."

John gathered himself once more, seemed to lose the vulnerability again. "I used to once in awhile. I'm not all action, you know." He smirked, dimples showing with a flash of white teeth. "You don't believe me?"

Dean shrugged, uncomfortably aware of how much his father resembled Sam in that moment. "Not the Dad I know."

John sucked in a pained breath. "Can I have a drink? Damn stomach is killing me."

"Yeah." The tin mug exchanged hands. "I really need to check those stitches." Dean was already popping painkillers from their blister packs.

John looked disappointedly at the contents. "Meant something a little stronger than water, kid." He downed the painkillers with a grimace.

Dean huffed. "Looks like they're all out of Jack… probably not the best idea with a gut wound anyhow." He palmed his father's forehead, checking for fever. "You're kinda warm."

"Don't feel great. There's nothing to drink in this whole cabin?"

"I guess not. The hipflask is in the Impala." Dean craned his head to peer out of the narrow window. "It's getting light. You ready for me to fetch her closer?"

"I'm sure there's something in the impala. It's quite a hike, son." John closed his eyes, the dark lashes fluttering against the pallor of his skin. "Stay here. I just need some rest."

"We can't stay too long, you need a doctor. Those wounds… they're…"

Dean tucked his chin down, voicing the thought that had been crashing around his head while John was unconscious. "I nearly got you killed Dad."

John ignored it. "What's a damn doctor gonna do? You stitched me up fine." He paused and his voice caught on a hitch of pain. "Might need some antibiotics is all."

It was the expected response. Dean sat carefully on the edge of the bed, his fingers fussing a little at the pile of the blanket. He felt like he could do with downing a shot or two of whiskey himself; hell, he could do with downing a goddamn bottle.

"Blood transfusion would be nice but I think I'm okay." His father continued stoically.

Dean flinched, his face miserable. "Just let me check the dressings, then we can get you outta here."

John unfolded his arms and placed them at his side so that Dean could examine checked the wounds, cleaning and redressing them one by one, his face getting a little paler as each wound came into view. There were only two unused dressings left. Not enough for another change.

It was a whisper. "I'm really sorry, Dad."

John winced as Dean's trained hands worked on him, a sweat breaking out on his forehead. At last he cried out, body arching away instinctively.

"Whoa, sshh…" Dean wiped the sweat from John's head with his sleeve. "I'm here, Dad. Take it easy."

John slammed his eyes shut, trying to rein in the pain. The muscle in his jaw jumped as he tried to compose himself.

Dean watched him anxiously.

"I'm okay." John took a deep ragged breath.

Guilt dragged the words over Dean's lips. "My fault."

It took a moment for John to be able to speak. As usual, he bludgeoned Dean with the truth. "Well..." he opened his eyes. "Can't say it isn't."

There was a sharp intake of breath. A pause. "Yeah," Dean said, very quietly. "It usually is."

"I keep thinking you're about old enough for solo hunts and then something like this happens and I'm not so sure."

Hurt pulled at Dean's expression. "I've been old enough a while Dad." He looked away, bitterness in his tone. "Least I won't be able to get anyone else hurt."

"Yeah," John said sharply, "Well getting YOURSELF hurt isn't acceptable either."

Dean snorted; he sounded suddenly pissed. "Years, years of this crap… I have your back every time, as far back as I can remember. First taking care of Sammy, then hunting. Every time we move I'm like, yeah, okay, Dad. Every time we have to leave friggin' everything behind us. Even when Sam… I stayed. One fuck up, just ONE and suddenly I'm shelved."

John raised a dark eyebrow and listened.

Angry green eyes met John's in open challenge.

"So that's it now, is it? I'm not good enough for you now. Well, if that's the way you want it, old man…"

As suddenly as it had begun, the anger seemed to dissipate. Dean's voice faltered and he looked away, a lost expression stealing over his tired face.

Finally, John spoke. "Where is this coming from?"

"Is that all I'm worth to you? A soldier?" His son's jaw tightened. "Pull me out of the field! Are you kiddin' me! I've never not been in the field!"

"Hey," John's tone was a little sharp.

Dean glared at him. "This is how it starts, huh?"

"How what starts?" His father was baffled by the outburst. "Cause all I see starting is you acting like Sam."

Dean rubbed his head, looking frustrated. "I'm not like Sam. Sam, he knows where he's going with his life."

"You're being stubborn and throwing temper tantrums at me left and right. How is that NOT like Sam?"

The response was quiet. "Seems I'm a bit more like you than you thought, huh Dad? Just forget it. I'm tired, you're hurt. Let's just not get into this."

John took umbrage immediately "Excuse me?"

"Yeah." Dean scowled. "Like YOU, Dad!"

"Me what?!" John raised his voice, starting to lose his temper a little even through his haze of pain.

His son wasn't backing down. "You're stubborn. It's John Winchester's way or nothing!"

"I'M in charge, Dean." How his father could be commanding in the shape he was in, Dean would never know. He pointed angrily at his son. "NOT you! Not Sam. ME."

"I follow orders, y'KNOW I do!"

"Oh really?!" Johns voice had risen into a yell. "Then why am I lying here with my guts ripped open? Huh? Tell me that, you stubborn ass!"

Dean lifted his chin, looking at his father through slitted eyes. "You're just never gonna let that one go are you? Well maybe you're right. Maybe you would be better off without me, holding you back, dragging you down." The bravado was undermined by the look of fear on the youthful face.

John was still pissed. He leaned up on his elbows. "That isn't what I've said at all. If you ever LISTENED to me, you know that I want to talk to you, Dean." The lid on his father's emotion was slipping off with his anger. "I want to really talk to you and you make it impossible!" He took a moment to breathe after the shout and added. "Just like your brother did."

"So talk then, Dad. I'm here, captive audience, got nowhere better to go."

Johns voice was calmer as he got control of his temper. "What about your behavior says that I shouldn't pull you out of the field? Is that what this is about...Sam?"

"Huh." Dean looked at the floor, shaking his head a little. "It's your decision. Sir." He took a deep breath, raised his eyes again, staring at John through his lashes. "I had a bad day. Dad. I fucked up." The full bottom lip quivered. "I let you down, forgot my training. It won't happen again."

John sighed, fell back. "Dean."

"You gonna write me off?" The brave front was cracking, misery leaking into Dean's expression. "You hunting with someone else from now on? Am I gonna come in one day and find you're gone, a little note on the table?"

John looked away from him, gaze turned inward and unfocused, calling up a memory. "Singer warned me. I should've listened to the old bastard."

"Huh?"

"He told me that Sam leaving was going to twist you sideways." John gave a small snoring huff distinctly reminiscent of Sam. "I told him he was an idiot and that as long as we had each other we would be fine...But you're not fine. You're not even close to fine."

"You've still got me Dad!"

John rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Your whole life you've been my good boy. My dependable boy...The one I can count on." He looked at Dean measuringly, somehow assertive and calm even through his discomfort. "And now, now I don't know what I've got with me."

That hurt. That really hurt. "You can count on me." Dean's voice was hoarse.

"You've always been able to carry the weight and I see that you can't anymore."

"What! No! NO! Don't say that!" He was incapable of suppressing his horrified expression.

John shook his head, his deep voice not unkind. "And I'm not angry at you for it, son." He noticed his boy's look of betrayal and slowed his speech, choosing his words. "I'm not...I just...I'm sorry it took me so long to see it is all."

"See what! I'm okay!" Dean moved forward a little, tense, almost vibrating with tension.

John winced and tried to sit up on his elbows. "Son."

"Don't do this. Don't push me out."

"I'm not pushing you out." John winced and studied Dean's face again. "You can't seem to understand that right now?"

"What's to understand?" The words were ragged. "We were a family… Sam's gone… next thing I'll be booking a single room, hunting monsters alone." Dean's eyes seemed to lose focus as he stared at something John couldn't see, perhaps some vision of an empty future.

"Dean, I know I've been a hard ass on you your whole life. But you know why? I mean do you really truly understand why?"

The answer was robotic. "Gotta be ready, be prepared. Trust no-one…"

"No!" The answer was dismayed. "Because I'm trying to save your life! I wanted you and your brother's training to be so ingrained that when you were in the field- you don't even think, just react on the training. That lesson never stuck with Sam. I could never get it through his head. I thought you had potential. I thought that I did that with you, but what happened yesterday showed me that that's not true."

Dean's tone showed how deeply offended he felt. "Guess you never made any mistakes then."

"That ONE mistake could have cost one of us our lives." His face grew stormy. "And God forbid that it's YOU lying here like this Dean! You bleeding out on ME because I couldn't fucking take it!" His dark eyes filled involuntary with tears and his mouth twisted into an anguished grimace.

Stunned silence greeted John's outburst.

"I couldn't live if you died, Dean! If I took you on a hunt and you didn't come out alive!" He shouted.

"Dad?" Thrown again by the change in emotions, Dean put a careful hand on his father's arm. "Hey, Dad?"

Tears were running unchecked down his father's cheeks now, disappearing into his beard. "And how... how DARE you think that you're just a soldier to me?"

The shock of seeing his father in tears, vulnerable on his behalf, stunned Dean. His voice broke. "Dad! Be careful… your stitches. I, I… Dad, don't cry, please."

John ignored the plea, running on adrenaline, clearly angry and emotional. "Don't you dare think that there's anything that I would put in front of you! Ever! In front of your discomfort, maybe...in front of a missed little league game, yes. But in front of your safety, never!"

Dean reached out, patting at his father's shoulder, his movements jerky. "There's nothing special about me."

"Nothing special about you?!" Tears were still in his eyes and his face contorted, anger warring with sheer agony.

It was a broken whisper. "No. I'm nothin'. You're the one that keeps us together. Dad, you're gonna rip your stitches. Please don't cry Dad."

John slapped his hand across his bleeding bandaged midsection, ignoring the pain of a few pulled stitches. "You're not nothing! What is wrong with you? I..." he broke off and hissed at the pain in his stomach. "Fucking Singer knows my own kid better than I do." He mumbled in an undertone.

"Calm down, you're gonna kill yourself! What the hell has Bobby been saying!"

John lost his fight to stay upright, he dropped back onto the mattress, gritting his teeth.

"Sonofabitch!" Dean swatted John's hand away from the dressings.

"He's been telling me you and Sam are too sensitive to be hunters for years." John panted. "Told me to pull you out years ago...I didn't want to hear it."

"I'm not fucking sensitive! Sam's the touchy feely one, and he's gone. What do you want to say something like that for! I'm a good hunter. This is what I am, you can't change that now! This is what I'll always be!"

John tears hadn't stopped, they leaked out of his eyes slowly, wetting the high planes of his cheekbone. He put an arm over his face and swallowed silently.

"Shit Dad!" Dean was completely out of his depth.

"Mary would kill me if she were here..." he whispered brokenly.

"What! NO! Mom would be proud, how you kept us together, kept us safe. There's no-one else like you, you're the best Dad." Dean's voice wobbled. "Dad?"
Dean looked down and saw John's throat work as he swallowed silently. Arm still thrown over his eyes, shielding his vulnerability from his son.

He laid his hand on his father's face, the beard rough underneath his fingers. "You did your best, please don't. I hate seeing you like this, this is all my fault, if I'd have just done my fucking job!"

"Fucked up both your boys." Came the gruffly whispered response, then, " 'M sorry Mary."

"I'm not fucked up." Dean dropped to his knees by the bed; trying to keep make eye contact with his father, pull him back to the present.

He gently pulled the arm away from John's face. His father remained silent for a minute, still fighting himself for control. "Dad you're hurt. We need to get you some help."

Dean was answered with a deep sigh and the attempt at a smile. "What was in that pill you gave me? Feel drunk and sick and like I wanna cry for an hour."

"You need a hospital, I'm gonna go for the Impala."

John reached out and snagged Dean's jacket sleeve. "Stay with me."

Dean thumbed the tears off his father's face. "I'm right here."

John pulled his son's head down to his shoulder in a rough, desperate embrace.

Unsure, but grateful, Dean leaned into it a little, his voice muffled. "Just let me take care of you now Dad. I've got this."

"Think I popped a stitch...feels like its bleeding."

"Yeah, you probably did." Dean lifted the dressing carefully. "Dammit! I'm gonna have to re-stitch that one." He prepared the needle and peroxide.

John settled back and watched his son sadly.

"I've got this okay?" Dean re-stitched the wound carefully. "Come on Dad, what's wrong, this isn't you. You're the tough guy, remember?"

"Hmmm? Yeah I remember"

Dean forced a grin. "Well don't you forget that!"

"Mantle gets a little bit heavy sometimes." John whispered, the lines on his face showing.

That brought a smirk to Dean's face. "Gettin' old."

John choked with a grimace. "Not for long if I keep up at this rate."

"Hey! Knock it off! I don't want to hear that from you."

"We both know how this ends."

"And how's that?"

John didn't hesitate. "Bloody..."

Dean fliched.

"I'm real tired. You know, why don't you call your brother if you miss him so much?"

The question threw Dean; he answered before he had time to think it through. "I did. He doesn't want to talk to me. Doesn't want me… us, in his life anymore." He looked away, ashamed at the admission. "But we'll be okay, right Dad?"

John shook his head ruefully. "Fucking Sam."

Dean found it impossible to keep the bitterness out of his voice, the raw hurt from showing in his eyes. "Guess he didn't need me after all."

"He'll come around. Right now you're the bad guy because your Alliance is with me...or so he thinks."

"No. He's got out. He's gone." There was utter devastation on Dean's face. "He's got other people now."

"Dean, he is your family and you're brothers... You'll work it out sometime" The rely was confident but weary.

Dean shrugged, muttered. "I'll probably be dead by then."

John looked at him sharply. "Are you trying to get me going again?"

"Just don't see many hunters hanging around to retire."

"Precisely why I am taking you out of the field for just a few weeks."

"Where did that come from!"

"Why are you acting shocked by this? Didn't we just have a giant yelling fight about it like 10 minutes ago?" John's patience was wearing thin.

"I don't need to come OUT of the field! I need to be IN the field! I can't just sit there, thinking."

"Thinking about what, kiddo?" The voice grew kinder. "Dean, you need to get your head clear."

"No, Dad. I need to keep moving, hunting. Don't try and stop me."

John reached out blindly and snagged Dean's hand, squeezing it gently.

Dean looked shocked at the physical contact, but didn't pull away.

"Trust my judgment here? Please." John Winchester didn't negotiate with his children. Yet here he was.

"If I don't go…" Dean's voice broke, his final insecurity laid bare.

"Don't go where, kid?" He tightened his hold on Dean's hand.

"If I don't go with you, you're gonna get killed. What have I got then, huh? Nothing, that's what." Dean's breath hitched. "I hate being alone, if you're gone… what's the point of anything then? Might as well just finish it."

John raised a dark eyebrow. "Finish what?"

"Me, Dad. Finish me." Dean laughed, bitter, hard. "Wouldn't be like anyone would care."

"Dean, I hunted for about a decade before you joined me. I'll be fine and I don't want to hear you say that EVER. You hear me?" His fucking kid wasn't listening to anything he said, so unlike Dean.

"You won't be fine. Something'll get you and it'll be my fault for not being there."

"Bullshit! And I'm not going anywhere for a week or two anyway."

Realizing his hand was still held in John's calloused grip, Dean pulled away. The realization hit home with the force of a nuclear blast. No matter what he did, what he said, he wouldn't be able to change John's mind. Sooner or later he would leave. And Dean would be alone.

"Why don't you go stay with Bobby Singer? You like him... Just because we're fighting doesn't mean that it has to be that way between you boys and him."

"Yeah." Something subtle hardened in Dean's expression; it was almost as though an iron shutter dropped, closing off a part of him that had always been open to his father's eyes. "Maybe I'll do that."

Dean straightened his shoulders, his stance altering as the flex of hidden muscles harnessed the ever-present nervous energy. Suddenly the scared, lost boy was put aside, or maybe hidden away. His jaw tightened, brows drawing down.

It was the face and posture of the man he would become.

John saw it. "Don't shut me out, Dean."

Dean narrowed his eyes; he smirked, deflecting his father's emotion easily. "I'm right here Dad."

"I'm not so sure you are." John was never one to be fooled by his son's bravado.

Dean rolled his shoulders, settling himself into his jacket. He eyed John, no hesitation in his gaze.

"I'm gonna get the Impala." It was a statement, no room for argument or discussion. There was a growl in his voice that John had never heard before.

"You're the only man I trust to have my back, you know that?" John said to the retreating figure. "The only one."

Dean took the keys from John's jacket, closed his hand around them. He opened the cabin door and paused, looking back over his shoulder. He gave John a brief nod. "Won't let you down again, Dad."

The door slammed behind him.

The end.

Thanks for reading. We should be diving into another story soon. Hit follow author if you would like to be notified about our posts. Thank you so much for the reviews.