Another chapter...I know you're all excited. This is a John centric chapter for all you Daddy junkies. Enjoy and leave me reviews...they make me so happy!! Again, sorry this took so long coming!!

Every hunter has their specialty, their niche, their forte. It could be used to their benefit or in the wrong circumstance it could contribute to their downfall. A hunter guards his gift, plays his cards close to the vest, doesn't show his hand. But here in this space, among these men, all bets were off and every truth was known.

John was vengeful. Nothing more, nothing less. It was his reason to get up in the morning and his reason to kill every paranormal entity that made the mistake of crossing his path. It fueled his fire and drove him harder everyday. It defined who he was and told the tale of where he had been for the last twenty –two years. He used Mary's death and his sons' scrape to force him out of whatever bed he found himself in. He angered others but didn't care. He was on a Winchester on a mission.

Bobby was a demonic expert. Sure, he knew about other supernatural beings, but demons were his meat and potatoes. He could bind them, trap them, exorcise them. Whatever needed doing. He'd seen more demons in his lifetime than good people. And yeah, he played mechanic and junkyard man, too. His house was full of books that told you how to get rid of a demon or replace a bad water pump on a Chevy. He kept to himself. He never married, dressed like a man who didn't hold the knowledge he did, drank cheap beer, drove too slow, and was fiercely protective of those he counted as family.

Hoodoo and Voodoo were Jefferson's specialty, but like Bobby he never limited himself. He met the sprit of Marie Laveau early one morning in the Café Du Monde…told her where she could find good gris-gris then told her to get out of town. His home was a testament to his work. He had a room on the second floor that he kept locked…no one had ever been inside. It was full of potions and charms and yeah, Voodoo dolls. He could set a curse, lift a binding, or just fuck with your head. But he never plied his trade in New Orleans. Too many tourists willing to do something stupid…the locals were smarter than that.

Dwight Gregg left the priesthood nineteen years ago. He and the Catholic Church just didn't see eye to eye on things. He wanted to rid the world of evil and they wanted him to speak three times on Sunday and arrange the occasional Parish picnic. So he took off the roman collar and bought an old truck. He reinvented himself and became one of the best hunters around. Quiet was his thing. He kept to himself, never spoke unless he was spoken to, and hid his secrets very well. He hated firearms, therefore didn't carry any. His weapons of choice were Latin, salt, and time.

And then there was Joshua. He was the Radar O'Reiley of the group. He was your go to man. He had every type, brand, and style of ammunition or weapon you needed. He'd never tell, but he had an old grenade launcher in his woodshed. He had a sixth sense and could tell you something or someone was coming before they got there. He wasn't clairvoyant, but he had a hand on the phone before it rang, and beers on the table before company came to the door.

It was almost one o'clock and the phones were still down. Dwight had appeared on Jefferson's doorstep only twenty minutes ago and was already getting impatient, wanting to know what the story was and how he could be of service. Time was of the essence in Dwight's mind. Too much time spent sitting on your ass was like putting the gun to your head yourself, he thought.

"Well, if he doesn't get here soon it's his problem". Jefferson put a heavy pot on the table in front of the men. Bowls had been placed in front of them and beers were cold and waiting.

John peered over the top of the pot and stared at the contents. "What is that, and do you really expect us to eat it?"

"I don't expect you to do anything but cause trouble and be a pain in the ass Winchester", his words bit. "It's chicken picayune. So shut up and eat it or drive the two hours to find a hamburger".

John just started heaping it into his bowl and ignoring Jefferson's mumblings as he walked away, "My momma's recipe. You'd think he'd appreciate good food. Te ponce crazy. See if I feed that bastard again".

John was shaking his head at Jefferson and mumbling "coonass" when he smelled it. Hi-Karate wafted into the house, riding the rain. It was Joshua.

John stood and walked to the front door just in time to find the man running up the front porch, drenched in the cold February rain.

"Damn. I gotta tell ya Josh. You may be able to tell when something's coming, but everyone knows when you're coming. What, do you bathe in the Hi-Karate these days or did you just fall in the bottle?" John slapped him on the back and ushered him into the house. He pointed through the house but Joshua cut him off.

"Kitchen…I know".

The rain continued to pelt the south side of the house as the men sat at the hunter's roundtable. After returning to the table with Joshua in tow, John couldn't eat. Something was pulling his strings and he had no idea what it was. The tiny hairs on the back of his neck had stood up and his knee was bobbing, keeping time. He sipped his beer, but he just couldn't eat. This wasn't nerves. He had never been so ready to do anything in his entire life. No, this was something he didn't know.

"Okay", Jefferson slapped a map down on the table and threw a pile of papers on top of it. "Winchester has been tracking this thing for years and now we know where it is". He laid a finger over the red circle on the map.

"We talking about the big bad I think we're talking about?" Joshua asked hesitantly.

"Yeah". John rubbed the rough stubble on his chin.

"And how do we know it's going to be there? I mean, I trust your tracking skills John, but that's a hell of a trip to make on an assumption". Dwight was not sure of any of this.

"This demon goes after children on their six month birthday, always following signs. Three times it's come for someone that I have been able to track. Every time it came it was preceded by electrical storms, temperature fluctuations, and cattle deaths". John leaned over the table and laid a hand on map. "And all of these things are happening here".

The men exchanged looks. Either John was crazy or they were. He was a loose canon, everyone knew that, and they were all willing to follow him into the bowels of hell at this point.

"So what about this kid you think it's coming for?" Jefferson pressed.

"One kid was born in the right time frame. It's a small town, no local hospital. So I checked the birth announcements and I found the name…Matthew Oakston. He'll be six months old in five days". John laid it all out for the men in front of him, hoping against all hope that they would comply and help him, despite the transgressions each could hold against him.

"Alright", Jefferson looked around the table, meeting each man's eyes, "I'm in. You boys want to help or you gonna turn tail?"

One by one the hunters nodded in agreement and assumed the task of saving a boy in Sommerset, Texas.

Holy water, rosaries, amulets, crucifixes, shotguns, salt, the colt. John jammed them all into a bag and picked up his cellphone again. He stood on the back porch and held the phone up in the air, hoping it would catch a signal so he could try Bobby or the boys. But he got nothing. Only the pit grinding in his gut telling him that something was wrong.

"Saddle up boys", Jefferson bellowed from the kitchen.

Then they were all on the front porch, exchanging route plans and who did what first. Then four hunters piled into three trucks and an old car and headed west. Headed for John's redemption.

Sommerset, Texas was a small town outside of San Antonio. It had exactly twelve streets, all marked by a number. Matthew Oakston lived on Eighth Street with his mother Aileen and his father Tate. Aileen was a school teacher and Tate drove a cab in San Antonio. He was the first child born to the young couple. Aileen was twenty-one and Tate was pushing twenty-three. It was a quiet life the Oakston's led…church on Sunday's, pizza on Friday's, and quiet afternoons filled with ice tea and playing in the yard.

"Whew! I think you want to go hang out with momma, Mattie". Tate made a face and held his son away from his body and toward his wife who was breezing through the kitchen.

"What?" Aileen asked.

"He has a present for you", Tate urged her to take their son.

"No, no, no, no", she waved her hands in protest, "Finder's keepers".

Tate gave her pleading eyes, but just couldn't win. He pulled his son to his chest and rose slowly from his chair, rubbing the babies back and yawning.

"You still not sleeping?" Aileen asked.

"No", Tate remarked. "I keep having those bizarre dreams. Same guy talking to me about power and plans. It's creepy." He kissed his son's head, "almost as creepy as the idea of being responsible for another human life".

Aileen took the baby from her husband's hands and conceded. "You go on, lay down and take a nap. I'll change Mattie here and we'll leave so you can have some peace. I need you driving tonite…military pays this week and I know those soldiers will be out there looking to spend money and catch a ride."

Tate kissed her softly on the lips, "Yeah, and you could use that money, huh?"

"Only if you want to feed our son".

"Okay. You leave, I nap…I guess it works". He smiled and turned from his family, headed for his bed. Just a quick nap. But it wasn't.

Tate woke up in a cold sweat, breathing hard. The dream had come back to him. Same weird guy in the jacket with the popped collar. Same mumblings of power and plans and submission. But this time was different. This time the guy told him it was almost time, that he was coming.

Tate knew it was just a dream, but he couldn't shake the chill that ran up and down his spine. It was just so…ominous.

John pushed the gas pedal down and his truck picked up speed. 87 mph. Jefferson was in front of him and Joshua and Dwight were bringing up the rear. He looked down at his watch and saw the hours passed by quickly. 5:00pm. He felt the knots in his stomach slowly recoil and he was sure he would be able to reach his family soon. Next stop…he wouldn't risk driving and talking…Jefferson drove like a mad man and Joshua was on his ass…too dangerous.

So when the men pulled into the diner on the outskirts of town, John flipped open his phone and speed dialed Sam's line. He got a busy signal. It was nearly nine o'clock and he still had no idea what his family was going through without him. He hung up and tried again. Busy signal.

Somewhere far away, in a cold hospital room, Sam Winchester sat next to his brother and dialed his father over and over again. Always blocking his fathers call, never allowing himself to reach him.

Okay...what did we think? I hope everyone liked it...and don't worry Dean is all the next chapter is about, so if you didn't get your fix here...mosey on over to chapter eleven!!

And leave me reviews please...they fuel my ego and my muse!! You guys rock!!!

BTW...i hope none of the readers or writers were directly affected by what happened at Virginia Tech. I know we are all shocked and I hope that they can count on all of your thoughts and prayers as well as my own!