AN: The big confrontation! Thank you minank, SuperVikinggirl, WRATH77, BranchSuper, mb64, LilyBolt, Darth Tornado, GAARA1223, moonlightinparadise, and Spnfan for your recent reviews. :D And thanks to all who have followed, read, and/or added this to your favourites list. Your support is truly overwhelming. Thank you! And I don't own Supernatural, just playing in the sandbox a bit. Enjoy!

Ten

"Hey, Sammy."

Sam Winchester stood at the apartment door, speechless. Because standing before him was his father, looking a little older and more harried since the last time he had seen him. He looked as if he had slept little, eyes tired and rather bloodshot, and surprisingly without the usual fire. In fact, there looked to be concern, and perhaps fear, in his hazel irises. So the guy actually cares. The bitter thought seemed to sneak up on him, and Sam quickly pushed it away. The guy had actually listened, even though it had taken almost almost three weeks. The last thing he needed was to pick a fight with the guy who had just gone out of his way to see his ailing son.

And then there was Dean. Sam knew damn well that his brother was going to be pissed. After all, he had just betrayed his brother's confidence by summoning their father against his wishes; he'd hoped that Dean would be in bed, or out and about when John Winchester arrived. But, with Dean only thirty or so feet away, he knew that his not so well thought of plan had potentially backfired.

"Sam? What the hell, man?" Dean's voice called from the living room, immediately followed by silence as he switched off the TV and turned behind him. At the sight of his father standing in the doorway, the man froze. And for the first time in his life, Dean Winchester had been startled into speechlessness.

"Dad?" Sam's voice was hardly above a whisper.

"How you been, son?" The surprisingly gentle sound of his father's voice brought Sam back to reality and he quickly ushered his father inside. "I'm fine, sir." In the living room, Dean had visibly paled. He had not wanted to see his father, not like this. Several different scenarios ran through his mind of how his father had found him, but he knew damn well that his brother had been behind this. From the get go he had told Sam that he hadn't wanted his father to know, that he didn't want him to see just how weak he was. Though he had come up with a bunch of what Sam thought of to be bullshit reasons as to why he didn't want his dad to know of his cancer, the true reason was perfectly clear: I don't want him to think less of me, to see me like this. He should have known that Sam would call him anyway. As much as he clashed with John Winchester, Sam had always been more like him. Especially in regards to his stubborn streak.

"Dammit, Sammy," he muttered under his breath.

"Uh, are you thirsty? Do you want something to drink?" Sam nervously ushered his father inside, deliberately avoiding his brother's gaze. John nodded, and then suddenly froze. There, sitting on the couch and with a look of pure surprise, was Dean. The boy he had thought was dying, perhaps already dead. At first, he felt pure relief. His son was alive, and looked relatively well. The relief, however, was short lived and he felt anger boil inside him. Sam had bothered him for this? From the sound of his son's message, it seemed like Dean was on his last legs. And yet, here he was, looking reasonably healthy, and most definitely angry.

"Dad?" Despite his own anger, Dean had somehow managed to keep his voice steady and somewhat calm. "Dean, are you ok? From your brother's message, I thought you'd had a hunting accident. What the fuck are you doing staying with your brother, anyway?"

"I'm fine, dad," Dean muttered through clenched teeth. In the background, Sam listened to the conversation, shoulders slouched. This was it. The conversation he had been hoping to avoid was going on right now. He should have known that his father would take one look at Dean and assume he was alright. Unless he was bleeding, or unconscious, the man would be fine according to John Winchester standards.

"Then why the panicked phone call from your brother?" John felt his voice rising. He couldn't imagine Sam wasting his time if nothing was really wrong, but still... His attention turned to Sam, who was still standing quietly off to one side, looking rather miserable. "I had a lead on the thing that killed your mother," he hissed. "I spent hours driving here, only to find the man I thought was dying alive and well and crashing at your place. You better have a good reason to explain this, Samuel Winchester."

At this, suddenly the fire sparked back in Sam. There was no way his father was going to talk to himoin like that. No fucking way. And he could be just as stubborn, too.

"There it is. I should have known. You care more about the hunt than your own son. Typical."

"I didn't care enough that I dropped the one lead on the thing that killed your mother and hauled ass to California? Jesus Christ, Sam, from the sound of your message, I thought your brother was dying! What the hell did you expect when I see him on the couch eating popcorn and watching TV?!"

"Take one good look at him, Dad, and then tell me just how healthy you think he is."

Throughout the argument, Dean had watched, eyes darting from father to brother. He hated being the centre of the argument; another reason why he had wanted to avoid this very scenario. He had never know a time since after Sam's fifteenth birthday when the two hadn't gone a day without fighting. The last thing he needed right now was his father and brother at each other's throats. "Please, stop," he groaned, but to no avail. The shouting match continued, Sam trying desperately to hold back for Dean's sake, but obviously losing.

"He looks fine to me, Sam."

"Then you're fucking blind!"

"Excuse me?" Voice eerily soft. Dean remembered how he had always used to prefer the screams and yells over that. It meant that John Winchester was at his breaking point. As pissed as he was at Sam for going against his wishes, he couldn't help but feel sorry for the guy. He'd been through this before, and it was definitely no picnic.

"Look, Dad." Sam had began to calm, drawing a few steady breaths. "Don't you see the ball cap? Since when does Dean wear stuff like that? Yeah, he's feeling a bit better than earlier, the chemo is kicking in, but..."

"Wait, son, did you just say...?"

This was it. The moment of truth. Sam looked at his brother, as if asking for permission to continue. Dean closed his eyes, nodding his reluctant approval. The cat was out of the bag now, may as well go all the way. ":Let me tell him," he said softly, and Sam nodded, suddenly choking up. This was really Dean's fight, after all. If he had listened to his brother in the first place, this whole conversation wouldn't be happening, no matter how much he truly believed Dean to be in the wrong about keeping their father in the dark. Sure, it may have prevented this very scenario, but still...

"Dad, I have cancer."

It didn't get any easier admitting it, especially to his father. For a moment, he kept his eyes closed, too frightened to look John Winchester in the eye. How would he react? The silence in the room was unbearable. Just say something, please. Dean finally opened his eyes, and was surprised to see his father speechless. The eldest Winchester looked carefully at his son, finally noticed just how ill he really seemed, and then turned to Sam, a look of shame and guilt on his face. "How bad, son?" he finally asked, voice unsteady.

"Known for a bit, now. Just told Sammy a month or so back. Wanted to keep it quiet. Kind of pathetic to see a hunter down for the count over stupid fucking cancer, right?" Dean was rambling, just as he had weeks ago when he had first told his younger brother he might be dying. John, however, wouldn't have any of it. He had always been one to cut to the chase. Just the facts, ma'am. The thought of John Winchester as Joe Friday was a ridiculous concept that would have made Dean snicker at any other moment. But not now.

"Answer the question, Dean. How bad?"

Dean once again looked downward, ashamed to admit just how serious his condition was to his father. But it was too late now. No way he could lie about it. Fuck, knowing Sam, he'd spill the beans in an hour or so anyway. "Doc says I'm in stage 3 B or something like that. It's pretty bad. Four B or C or something like that is the worst, so I'm pretty far along. Guess if I gotta get cancer, may as well go all the way, huh?"

"Not funny, Dean." Sam interrupted, and the man sighed. "Such a buzzkill, Sammy," he joked weakly.

"Sam, is this true?"

"Yeah," Sam said softly, and once more he felt the telltale lump forming from beneath his throat. "The doctor thinks that chemo and radiation might help shrink the tumours. But he needs to have a liver transplant, Dean's on the waiting list now, and the treatments are supposed to kind of hold him afloat until he gets it. He's done chemo for the time being, but still needs a few radiation treatments. We have an appointment Monday."

Once again, John Winchester had been stunned into silence. He ran his hands through his thick mass of dark hair, a nervous habit Dean had picked up himself as a boy. "So, he's doing a bit better, right? The treatments are helping?"

"Yeah, they're helping, but he isn't out of the woods, Dad. Stuff like this takes time."

John nodded, looking once more at the young man who had been relatively quiet throughout the entire discussion. Damn if the kid didn't look guilty. Suddenly, Dean looked not like the tough hunter he had raised, but the little boy who had looked up at him in the days shortly after the fire; the boy who was trying so hard to be tough, but really was desperately searching for comfort and security. And once again he wished his Mary were here. Dean needed the love, guidance, promise of safety that only his mother could truly provide. He, John Winchester, could not. He swallowed the lump forming beneath his throat, blinking back the tears that were rapidly trying to form.

"Dad, are you going to stay?" Sam, suddenly sounding very small, like the little boy Dean had taken care of years ago. John wiped his eyes, turned to his youngest. "I can stay a few days, but no later. I really am close to finding what killed your mother... but," seeing his son open his mouth to protest, "the minute Dean begins to get sick, or when he gets his surgery, you call me, ok?" He gestured for a pen and paper, and scribbled several numbers down. "I got a few new phones. If you can't reach me on the main line, try me on these." Sam accepted the numbers gratefully. "Yessir."

Several minutes later, the apartment was once again quiet. For a moment, Sam just stood there, rather dumbfouded. His father had showed up. Had actually given a damn. Sure, he was going back to the hunt in a day or so, but he had also shown genuine concern for his son. Nearby, Dean looked miserable... and was that a hint of shame on his face? Sam sighed, suddenly feeling incredibly guilty. He had done this to his brother. Just as he was finally starting to feel normal, he had taken away that normalcy. It didn't matter that Sam believed he was right, that John had had the right to know the truth. He had hurt his brother. And at the moment, that was all that mattered.

"Look man, I'm sorry..."

"Just save it Sam, ok?"

"He had the right to know..."

"No, it's fine." Sounding tired. And in a voice that definitely screamed that it most certainly wasn't fine.

"Dean..."

"I said it's fine. I'm tired, Sam. Think I'm just gonna go to bed." And without another word, Dean Winchester headed to his bedroom and closed the door.

XXX

John closed the door to the dingy motel room behind him, dropping his duffel on the floor in exhaustion. But despite how tired he was, the hunter knew that there would be little, if any, sleep that night. His son was sick. Possibly even dying. And he had not even noticed. Wearily, John tossed the keys to his truck on a nearby table and sat on the bed, pulling off his boots mechanically. As he went through the motions of his nighttime routine, his mind raced back to that small apartment, the look of total shock on his youngest's face. Sam had honestly been surprised that he had shown up. The thought disturbed John greatly. Did he honestly think that he cared that little for his son? His own flesh and blood? For a moment, anger once again surged through him. He had done everything he could for his boys in their childhood. Sure, he had not been one to take his boys to ballgames, or family cookouts in the woods. Not once had his boys had the luxury of staying at the same school for an entire year. But he had done his best in a very unnatural situation. How could Sam not see that? But after a while, the anger began to fade. Sam was different. He had never been one to embrace the life, not like his brother. Dean had always been an eager study, more than ready to pick up a sawed-off and head out on his first hunt. And while it worried John immensely, it also made him rather proud. The kid obviously knew what he wanted, and was determined to do all it took to achieve that goal. And while it saddened him that the pair didn't share the same vision of what that goal was, he was just like his old man with that never give up mentality.

And then there was his brother. Sam would do anything for Dean, and vice versa. He had raised both his sons to have each other's backs, should something go wrong during the hunt. He had not intended for the bond to be to the point of being co-dependent; and if he were to admit it, he was rather jealous of the fact that Sam would turn to Dean before his own father. But it pleased John to know that he would not have to worry about one letting down the other.

John sighed, pulled his flask out of his jacket pocket. He hated to leave; wanted to be there every moment of Dean's illness. But Dean seemed to be doing ok for the moment, and if his calculations were correct, the demon was on the verge of ruining the lives of yet another innocent family. He couldn't let them suffer the same fate as his. He swallowed a generous mouthful of whiskey, downing half the flask before finally capping it and slipping it back into his pocket.

That night, he dreamed of young women burning on ceilings. As one young brunette stared down at him, her mouth wide in a silent scream, the room burst into flames. Seconds later, the bedroom vanished, suddenly transformed into a hospital bed, Dean lying still and cold as John looked down, holding his hand. Suddenly, his eyes snap open, revealing a hideous yellow...

John had awakened with a start, heart pounding.

And didn't sleep the remainder of the night.

Secondary AN: Lighter stuff coming up, I promise. I know the first bit of this story has been very angst filled! Thanks for reading! And reviews are love!