AN: Okay, fair warning, I already said I suck at writing John. Please don't hate me!

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"You okay?"

"I won't be if you ask that inane question one more time," Dean growled.

"Huh, Mac make you read a dictionary while you were recovering, Deuce?" Caleb grinned. A small thrill ran up his back as he helped Dean into the kitchen, balancing him from one side while the cane balanced the other. Dean had been right. He'd missed their banter. Even if it wasn't quite up to pre-Sam, it was still a damnsight better than silence.

"At least I know where the dictionary is, Lucifer."

"Boys!" Mac growled, having had about enough of their antics. He was as happy as his son that Dean's recovery was going so well. It was a testament to how strong the younger hunter truly was. But he wasn't even close to one hundred percent yet, and he worried that Caleb's excitability would tire the boy. "How are-"

Dean held up a hand to stop him. "You ask me how I'm feeling or if I'm okay and I swear to god that I will walk out of here."

Remembering how much the twenty two year old hated being fussed over, Mackland quickly changed what he was going to say. "How are those Sox doing?"

Caleb snorted. "Real smooth, Dad."

Dean smiled, feeling appeased by the effort. "How are those steaks coming?"

"It's not steak, Dean, as you well know. We're having salmon tonight. Red meat is still strictly off your diet."

"Yum."

Caleb grinned. "It's not so bad. Be thankful I managed to talk him out of liver and onions."

Dean shuddered dramatically. "I owe you my life, man."

Mac shook his head. "Liver is extremely high in iron and proteins. It's a fine dish."

Caleb frowned suddenly, looking toward the door, then glared at his father. "You told him?"

"Caleb-"

But the younger hunter was already making his way into the front room. Dean glanced at the doctor, seeing the guilty expression, correctly assessing the situation. "Dad came back."

Mackland nodded. "He called last night."

Dean sighed. "You'd better get in there and referee."

"Caleb would never-"

"Caleb damn well would, and will." He knew that neither of them had told the full version of what had happened in that basement, had mentioned the confessions made. Mackland had no idea what was about to happen. "Seriously, go."

Mac moved to do as he was told, unsure but trusting, when he heard the shouting match begin. He hurried out, amazed to find his son holding John Winchester against a wall, his arm against the older man's throat.

"You sonofabitch! Do you have any idea what happened?"

"Let me go, Junior, or I'll put you on your ass so fast it'll make your head spin," John growled.

Caleb released his mentor, breathing heavily from weeks of pent up emotions suddenly breaking free. "Sure you still can? Alcohol can give you illusions of grandeur."

"A little respect, Private!"

"Respect? You want respect, Corporal?" Neither John nor Mac saw Caleb's fist move until it smashed into the marine's jaw, driving the older man to his knees with it's force. "How's that?"

"Caleb! What the hell?" Mackland demanded. "Stop!" he ordered as his son drew back for another.

"Back off, Reaves," John ordered sternly, getting to his feet. "Having your daddy here won't stop me from dropping you."

"Johnathan! That's enough! Both of you!" Mackland stepped in between the two, noticing that his son was shaking with his rage. "What is this about?"

"Ask him!" Caleb yelled, backing off before he killed the other man.

"Or better yet, ask me," Dean spoke up from where he was leaning on the wall. "It is, after all, me you're so upset about."

All three men turned to take in the appearance of the still very ill young man. Dean could barely walk without help, and the toll his little trip from the kitchen had taken was clearly visible.

"Ace-"

"I think you need to sit down, Dean," the Scholar interrupted, moving toward his patient, who looked ready to collapse at any moment. "Caleb, help me get him back to his room."

Both men moved at once, completely ignoring the man still standing at the door to the apartment. Both were worried when Dean didn't object, but instead let them lie him down on his bed, concentrating on breathing through the pain.

"Damn stupid, Deuce," Caleb sighed, wincing when he was forced to lift Dean's injured leg from the floor to the bed.

"So was taking on Dad."

Caleb moved out of the way so his father could take a look, make sure Dean hadn't stressed anything to the point of re-injury. It was yet another reminder of what had happened, that Dean wasn't fully healed. He felt his anger at the older Winchester surge again.

He turned when he sensed his mentor standing at the doorway of the room.

John shifted. "Is he okay?"

"What the fuck do you care?" Reaves snarled, shoving past the man to leave.

Winchester frowned at the blatant disrespect and followed him. It didn't take long for the volume of their argument to reach the two in the room.

Mackland was concentrating on his patient, noticing that Dean was extremely distressed over the encounter, muscles shaking from the effort to stay, to not get involved. "I'm going to give you a sedative, Dean, is that all right? Just a light one. I need your body to completely relax, just in case you pulled some still healing tissue or muscle."

Dean nodded, closing his eyes as he felt the prick of the needle, welcoming the release it would bring from the pain. "Don't let them kill each other, Mac."

Mac ran a hand through the boys hair, noting it was longer than he usually preferred to keep it. "They will both be alive when you wake up." He winked. "Though I can't promise you won't find them bound and gagged."

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The Scholar had had enough. He slammed his hand on the breakfast counted, bringing both men's attention to him. "I don't give a damn about whatever bone the two of you have, but you will lower your voices, put your damn egos aside, and not disturb my patient any more than you already have. Do I make myself clear?"

Caleb nodded, swallowing his biting words. He'd never heard Mac swear so much. It was a good clue that he wasn't just angry- he was pissed. "Yes."

"Mac-"

"Shut up, Winchester! Just what did you expect would happen? Your son almost died, and you finally show up, months later? Did you think we would all welcome you home with open arms? I don't care what you're going through, John, but to abandon that boy- I don't know how to forgive you for that."

Caleb was stunned, hadn't realized his father had been holding onto any anger toward Winchester. He had expected a royal dressing down from his father. He wasn't sure what to say anymore. His own issues with the Knight went so much deeper than that, but to hear normally diplomatic Mac bring the hunter down a few notches was a surprise. Mac might not have the greatest bedside manner, but damn if the man couldn't command a room when he wanted to.

"I was taking care of a hunt."

"Yeah right," Caleb mumbled, regretting it when his father's angry gaze turned on him.

"And just what is your problem?"

"He should have been here."

But The Scholar was taking no prisoners, allowing no secrets. "It's more than that."

"Another time-"

"No. Now."

Damn if his father wasn't making him feel all of five years old, and like any good five year old, he tattled for all he was worth, desperate to have the attention turned from him. He suddenly felt a kinship with little Sammy.

"John sent us on a bogus recon. I showed looking for a good time with Deuce and the Knight here decided our time was better spent looking into some old factory that he'd already checked out." It wasn't his place to reveal the fact that he had been sent. "When things went south, I tried to call him. He didn't answer."

"I was-"

"Shut up! Caleb, continue."

Caleb swallowed. "Deuce told me he wouldn't. That he'd been- less than on the ball lately."

Mackland studied his son, knowing him well enough to know there was still more to it, but he would deal with that later. He turned back to the Knight. "I don't even know where to begin with you. I've left you messages, kept you up to date on Dean's condition. You could have come any time. Why now?"

John bristled at the accusation. "I finished the hunt. I came as soon as I could."

"Caleb?"

Caleb didn't know who was more surprised when his father all but demanded he read the other hunter. Evidently Mac wouldn't suffer fools tonight. A quick read told him what he and Deuce both already suspected.

"He's got another hunt. He needs Dean."

"Go sit with Dean," Mac ordered.

Caleb didn't waste any time in obeying the order. Damn, his dad could be scary when he wanted to be.

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"I don't even know where to start," Mac sighed, crossing his arms to keep from hitting the man he needed to remind himself that he loved, trying to find any way to justify the man's actions in his own mind.

"You can try keeping your nose out of Winchester business, for one. Don't think for a second I didn't know Junior was a plant."

"He was there to help your son, John. You know, the one who didn't leave, would never leave, no matter how far you push him. But then, you rely on that, don't you?"

"I don't need a lecture from The Scholar!" John snapped. How he raised his boys was his business.

"This isn't the Scholar, Johnathan, this is the father of a boy you endangered. This is the pseudo uncle of another boy that almost died, and had to face a difficult recovery without the support of his family," Mac snapped back, making sure John didn't have a chance to blur the lines on the many roles he played. "This is your best friend for who the life of him can't figure out why."

"Dean understands."

"And that, my friend, is perhaps the saddest part in this tragedy. He does. Not only understands, but forgives you. We spent weeks asking him where you were. How to find you. He never answered. Told us you would be back when you were ready."

John ran a hand through his hair. "How is he?"

"He's healing. He'll walk again, but whether or not he'll ever be able to hunt again-"

"He'll hunt."

Frustrated, Mackland clenched his fists. "You living in denial is not going to help him."

John shrugged, reaching into the fridge to grab a beer. "I know my son. Hunting is all he has left. He'll hunt again."

Mackland stood, shocked to his core at the blase confidence, the cold, cruel words. "He still has his family, damnit, John. That's what he needs, what he wants."

"I screwed up, Mac, is that what you want to hear?" John demanded. "Fine. I did. I shouldn't have sent them. It's not the first time I've regretted something in my life, and it sure as hell won't be the last. But it's done. Caleb is fine, and Dean is healing."

And suddenly Mac understood why Dean forgave his father so much. Why Caleb still worshipped the man even while wanting to kill him. Why he himself would forgive him- eventually.

Because no matter what the man did, no matter the pain he seemed to cause, his heart was always in the right place. He wanted to protect the boys, make sure they were ready. The military was John's last reference point for war and order. It was what he fell back on when he was lost. He had been so lost since Mary had passed. He was raising soldiers because he didn't know anything else, because there was a bi scary world out there and it could take away anyone, at any time. He truly was doing the best he could.

If you loved the bastard, no matter how angry you were at him, you couldn't help but pity him.

"I think Jim has an assignment for you. This hunt of yours will have to wait." Jim would understand, would probably pair him up with Singer on his latest hunt.

"I'll call Jim from the car."

"Don't you think you should stay until Dean wakes up?"

John shook his head. "I don't think so. He's doing fine here. When he's ready, we can start him on some training at the farm. I'll catch up with him there. Don't coddle him for too long, Mac."

"I promise your soldier will be in fighting form when he returns to you, Corporal," Mac snapped sarcastically.

John nodded, opening the door to the apartment. "Good."

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Caleb flinched when the door slammed, not even needing his abilities to sense the Knight had left. Glancing over at his charge, any hopes of the boy being asleep were dashed as two tear tracks made their way down the otherwise relaxed face. Dean didn't move. Didn't flinch. Just a silent showing of the agony he was determined to suffer through alone.

"Ah shit, Deuce."