A/N: part of my 'Fight the Good Fight' 'verse. It can be read stand alone, though.

Bobby Singer ran a hand over his face as he listened to the conversation taking place in his kitchen. It wasn't uncommon for the Winchester trio to show up randomly while they were injured, sometimes they called other times they didn't. What was unusual, though, was to find Dean and John carrying a blood soaked Sam out of the Impala and up his front porch steps.

After getting the seventeen year old patched up and set up in the room he shared with Dean, John and Dean enlightened Bobby about their latest hunt.

John had gotten wind of a spirit only an hour away from Sioux City. The father had been planning on finishing up the hunt before requesting permission to stay at the Singer residence for a couple days since he was pretty low on cash and the Impala needed some work done on her. Sam being the independent teen that he was did not want to move schools again. So, the youngest son had put up quite the fight with his father and had even exchanged a few words with Dean. John had then told Sam that he was expected to help on this hunt since John had let his son 'slack off' on the previous hunt.

Despite his protests, Sam had accompanied his father and brother on the hunt for the spirit. But, the Winchester luck reared its ugly head. Instead of a spirit that would claw its victims up a bit before killing them, they wound up dealing with a werewolf, something Sam had suggested a few hours before they'd left to go salt and burn a body.

Things got even worse when the only weapons they had were guns full of rock salt, not silver bullets. To make things even better, Dean and Sam had been goofing off at the cemetery. John had gone to one side of the graveyard to search for the grave of their alleged ghost while he'd sent his sons to the other side.

While the brothers weren't paying attention, the werewolf had gotten the drop on them. It attacked Dean, slicing his arm, before Sam got off a shot that only angered the creature. When the werewolf went after Sam, the teen had no real defense except some shots that wouldn't kill the thing. The creature swung at Sam several times, ripping open the youngest Winchester's torso and his shoulders. Eventually Dean and John, who'd heard his sons' shouts, were able to draw the werewolf's attention away from Sam and John led it to the Impala while Dean helped Sam. Once John had a gun full of pre-loaded silver bullets out of the Impala's trunk, he killed the werewolf and returned to his sons.

"Yes sir." Dean's voice pulled Bobby from his thoughts. The young man sounded so ashamed of himself.

"You know how to act while we're hunting, Dean." John continued angrily, loudly. Bobby stepped around the corner into the kitchen. Dean was standing stiffly, his arms crossed over his chest. A white bandage covered one of his arms from the werewolf attack. John stood in front of his son, fists clenched at his sides. "This is dangerous work! You could've been killed! Sammy could've been killed! I expected—"

Bobby sighed. John expected too much from his sons, that was one of the many problems Bobby had noticed throughout the years. Dean was expected at four years old to watch a baby Sammy. Both boys were expected to be hunters and stick with their family the rest of their lives, living out of cheap motel rooms and eating crappy diner food. Sam and Dean were expected to follow every order their father gave them to the letter.

"Something wrong, Singer?" John demanded, turning around to face the older hunter.

"Do I even need to dignify that with a response, Winchester?" Bobby returned, readjusting his ball cap.

"If you've got something to say, say it."

"Fine. Maybe if you'd done more research you'd have realized it was a werewolf, not a spirit. You went in too early, John. Hell, if you'd listened to Sam's suggestion instead of being your regular stubborn ass self maybe your two sons wouldn't be so banged up!"

Dean shifted awkwardly behind his father. The oldest hunter had a point, Sam had suggested it was a werewolf due to the lunar pattern…but John Winchester being John Winchester was too stubborn to acknowledge the fact the teen might've been right.

"Yeah, well, I trusted Rodgers' research! Who recommended Rodgers? Oh, right, you did!" John shouted, "You're the one who said Rodgers was great at finding hunts—"

"And that means you can run in after one man's research? Far back as I can remember you've always dived in head first after researching. Key word: after. The smallest detail can change everything!"

"I know that—"

"Then why the hell did you go into a hunt half-cocked?"

Dean slipped out of the room unnoticed. He had a pounding headache and the two men's shouting was just making it worse. He climbed quietly up the staircase and walked into his and Sam's room. Sam was asleep on the twin bed furthest from the door, covers pulled up to his waist. Dean crossed the room and used his good arm to cover up his brother's bandaged torso. He swallowed and returned to his own bed close to the door.

Crawling under the covers, he shut his eyes. He listened to Sam's breathing. It wasn't labored like it had been in the graveyard, it was deep and even. Dean peeled his eyes open, not liking what he saw when he shut them. The image of Sam bleeding on the ground in pain was stuck on the back of his eyelids. That along with Sam bleeding in the Impala while Dean held his little brother's torso on his lap as he whispered reassurances to him.

How could he have been so stupid? Dean had been screwing around, trying to lighten the mood between his brother and himself. Lately the two had been getting on each others' nerves, the littlest things caused arguments. It was nothing like the arguments between Sam and John, but still. Dean and Sam rarely argued until recently.

Eventually exhaustion caught up with him and Dean fell into a dreamless sleep.

The next morning, Sam woke to harsh, stabbing pains in his chest, stomach, and shoulder areas. He opened his eyes to find himself in a familiar room. Sam pulled the comfortable covers off of himself gently so not to hurt his shoulder anymore. Bright, white bandages caused him to remember what'd happened the last time he'd been conscious. He winced as he noticed red barely tingeing a spot on his stomach. The youngest Winchester couldn't tell if it was new blood or blood from when he'd first been fixed up.

"Hey,"

Sam looked over to see his older brother looking at him sleepily from the other bed.

"Hey Dean," Sam replied softly, attempting to pull himself up.

"Whoa, hold it there Princess." Dean was by Sam's bed in a heartbeat, helping the younger brother up without hurting himself. "How's the war wound?"

The seventeen year old shot him a glance, "What do you think?"

Nodding in sympathy, Dean said, "I smell pancakes, I think Bobby Crocker is in the kitchen." Sam smiled and rolled his eyes. With Dean's much needed assistance, Sam went downstairs to the kitchen where two plates with three pancakes each awaited them. Bobby was washing a few dishes already and greeted them when they entered,

"Mornin' boys,"

"Morning Bobby," the brothers said in unison as they sat down.

Dean asked around a mouthful of food, "Where'd Dad go?"

"Chicago." Came Bobby's unhappy reply. Dean choked a little as Sam tightened his grip on his fork.

"He left without us?" But the way the youngest Winchester said it, it came out more as a statement than a question. When Bobby didn't answer, the siblings had their answer. "Bastard." Sam muttered too quietly for the others to hear.

"Did he say anything before he left?" Dean asked, putting his fork down and looking at the man washing dishes.

Bobby snorted angrily, "He said when Sam could travel to get your asses on the road and to call him."

The rest of breakfast was spent in silence besides the occasional small talk.

A few days later and Sam was good enough to hit the road with Dean. John had taken the Impala but Bobby was letting the brothers borrow a truck he'd just bought off someone for parts. Luckily for them, he hadn't taken anything out of the vehicle and it was well enough to run.

"Thanks, Bobby." Sam said as he and Dean stepped off of the porch. "We'll see ya' around,"

"See ya'," Dean called out as he climbed into the truck, watching his brother as he did the same. Sam didn't have much trouble pulling himself up, but Dean and Bobby both saw the flash of pain that crossed his face for a split second.

Bobby waved after them as the truck pulled away from the old house. He sighed, already regretting the decision he'd made just before John left. "Get the hell off my property! Next time I see you, I'll fill your ass full of buckshot!" He'd had the gun in his hands and everything.

It'd taken him a few minutes after John had left to realize that cutting John out was cutting Sam and Dean, too. The next morning after the fight when Sam and Dean had come into the kitchen Bobby came to the conclusion that the Winchesters were still family, even if they weren't blood. Sure, he was royally pissed off at John Winchester—the man just made it too easy, to be honest—but he was still like a brother to him.

But, being the stubborn ass that he was, John wouldn't answer his cell phone no matter how many times Bobby tried to call. After a week of it, the gruff hunter stopped calling.

This is just how I imagined the fight mentioned in season 1 between John and Bobby. I didn't write in all the words, but I think you can pick up the gist of it. I'm craving some reviews right now….