A/N: Yeah, this chapter actually comes directly after the second chapter in terms of the timeline. For some reason, I didn't write it then. I'll dedicate this one to NovemberSN because I still feel kind of bad for being so confusing.

Aftermath

John cracked an eye open. He was lying on the floor staring up at the ceiling. It was a familiar ceiling, which was a relief; it could take a whole day to find his way back to his boys if he didn't know where he was when he woke up. But he did know where he was and he could hear his boys breathing. This was starting out as one of his better wakings.

Until he really opened his eyes and looked around the cabin.

It was horrific. Body parts strewn across the whole room. The flies had already started to move in, which wasn't surprising because it stank. John sat up, eliciting a groan from Dean, who was lying close, his arm across John's chest. It was how they always woke when they were together; curled up with, over and around each other.

John looked down at his sons and froze. Sammy was snuggled into Dean's side and he would have looked angelic were his face not covered in dried, flaking blood. John reached out to him, his heart pumping hard with the possibility that it could be Sam's blood and that if it wasn't, then it was someone else's. John stopped his hand just short of Sam's face and spread it out. His skin was stiff with dried blood and there was God knew what under his nails. From the feel of his face, it had the same gruesome coating.

His focus moved on from himself to Dean. Dean's face was clean, cleaner than when they went to sleep. He was frowning, though, his mouth was a thin, tight line and his whole body was tense. He was weakly clutching at his stomach with the arm that wasn't trapped under Sammy.

John carefully moved Dean's arm aside and pulled his shirt up. There was a bullet wound. Someone had shot his son. Well, that explained the gory scene that he'd woken up to. Dean moaned and batted at John ineffectually. John examined the wound, which brought Dean harshly into the waking world. John put his hand on Dean's forehead and smiled at him.

"Ssh, Dean, be careful, don't wake Sammy." Sammy couldn't see the carnage in here, John wouldn't forgive himself if he did. John didn't particularly want Dean to see the carnage either, but that decision had been taken out of his hands.

"Dad, y-your face, what happened?"

"Someone tried to hunt us, Dean." Dean's eyes widened.

"Hunt us? What... How did we...?" He struggled to get his free arm under him and push himself up, grimacing and grunting. John pushed him back down firmly and held him there, but Dean saw enough of the room to get his answer. "We killed them?" Dean looked up to him with eyes that begged to make it all better, to make it all go away. John couldn't, God, he couldn't, he'd brought this hell down on them all.

"I killed them. You... you were shot, you can't have..."

"What about Sammy?"

"Dean!" John snapped, "I killed them, you got that?" Dean gave a tight nod.

"Yes, sir." John nodded and continued his examination. The wound had stopped bleeding long before they'd woken up and the bullet had been removed. John was kind of glad none of them would be able to remember that part of the procedure. "Christ, Dad, have you seen Sam's face? Is he all right?"

"We need to get out of here, do you think you can walk?"

"Yeah," said Dean immediately, without even pausing to think. John stood up. The whole scene looked no better from his new vantage point. There were pieces of men everywhere, John could only make a vague guess at how many whole men they made up. There was a relatively unscathed body in the corner of the room by the old, broken cabinet, but it was just as dead at the others.

John offered a hand to Dean and Dean took it. John hauled him to his feet. Dean cried out and Sammy shifted in his sleep, having been dislodged from Dean's side and no doubt disturbed by the noise.

"Dean, keep it down!" John was almost paralyzed by an overwhelming fear that Sammy would wake up and see the evidence of what had happened the night before. John couldn't do that to him, couldn't bear to see his youngest lose any more innocence than he already had. Sometimes, it seemed the last of Dean's innocence had already slipped through his hands like sand. "Don't look, Dean. Keep your eyes on the floor." Dean obeyed without a word. John quickly scooped Sammy up, while still trying to keep Dean upright. Sam fidgeted from all the jostling and opened his eyes to look up at John.

"Daa...?" he said, not yet awake enough to form a whole word. John tried smiling, but doubted that it looked like anything reassuring.

"Just go back to sleep, Sammy, it's not time to get up yet." Sammy nodded sleepily and burrowed into John's arms, gripping his shirt. John ducked a little for Dean to put his arm over his shoulder. Sammy was too big to carry with just one arm now, so Dean was going to have to struggle on without John's full support.

They were well into the woods before Dean collapsed into a tree. Definitely far enough for Sammy to safely wake up. John gave Sam a little shake.

"Sam, come on, time to wake up." Sam groaned and tried to hide his face from the early morning sunlight. "Sam!" John said, completely abandoning the pretense of this being a normal waking. Dean's legs were shaking and he wouldn't be able to hold his own weight much longer. Sam's eyes opened fully. John stood Sam on the ground, giving him another little shake to make sure he had his balance before leaving him to go to Dean.

"How do you feel, Sam? You injured at all?" Sam stood looking blearily around him and didn't answer. "Sam!" John barked, "Are you all right?"

"Yes, sir!" Sam replied. John turned his attention fully to Dean. Dean was obviously in pain, he was shaking from head to foot but trying to hide it. Dean would walk himself into unconsciousness if he could.

"Okay, Dean, easy now," he put his hand on Dean's shoulder, "I'm going to carry you."

"No, Dad, I can walk."

"I'm going to carry you," John insisted and Dean seemed to sag, eyes falling to look at the floor, accepting of his fate. John hefted Dean up into his arms and despite Dean's reluctance, he looked more relaxed once he was settled there. Sam gasped behind them.

"Dad, what happened?" Sam was staring at his blood covered hands in horror, then he looked up at John and Dean. "What's going on, is Dean okay?"

"We need to get moving," said John over the top of Dean assuring Sam that he was fine. John set off towards the Impala. Luckily, the car wasn't more than a mile away; it's where they left all of their equipment and first aid kit. Guilt shot through John with Dean's every wince and hitched breath.

"Dad, what happened?" said Sam again, almost jogging to keep up. John should have expected the questions to start once Sam woke up enough to be aware of his surroundings, but that didn't stop it riling him.

"We were attacked."

"By what?"

"A monster."

"What kind?"

"I don't know!" There was a short silence after John's terse reply.

"Did it get Dean?"

"Yes."

"But I thought only silver could really hurt us."

"Sammy," Dean jumped in with and John was very grateful that he did, "Maybe the thing had silver claws. We can't remember any better than you can." Sam didn't question any further, which John appreciated on the surface, but it made Dean's involuntary moans of pain so much louder in the silence.

They reached the Impala quickly, it was untouched where they'd left it.

"Sammy, keys." Sam dug into John's pocket and pulled out the keys, hurrying to unlock the car. John lay Dean down on the back seat, as it was the most comfortable place for him. Sammy was already hauling the medical kit out of the trunk. He put it on the floor in the back of the car and then got out of the way; it was cramped enough in there with just John and Dean. Sam must have caught a glance of the wound as John was patching it up. He waited until John was mostly finished with it.

"That looks like a bullet--"

"No it doesn't!" John shouted back, wishing that Sam wasn't quite so intelligent and hoping that he wouldn't put two and two together.

"It's a stab wound," said Dean, "Just looks a little like a bullet wound, okay? They can do that sometimes." Sam nodded.

John had finished patching Dean up completely before he noticed that Sam was being far too quiet. John looked over and found him standing just outside the car, chin wobbling but trying hard not to cry. It was a fair reaction for a ten-year-old to have after waking up covered in blood with his brother injured badly. Now the danger had passed for the most part, John could allow him that.

"Come here, Sammy." Sam eyed him warily before giving up and climbing into the car, trying not to jostle Dean too much. John pulled him into and awkward one-armed hug. Sam started crying in earnest.

"Hey, Sammy," said Dean in his best soothing-big-brother voice. "It's not that bad; you'll get to sit shotgun now!" John felt Sammy nod and try to laugh. All John could think was I'm sorry.

The End.

Hope you enjoyed!