As I was hovering over John Winchester, having just sewed him up in two different places, I'd done what he and I had been racking our brains to figure out how to do. I'd let Dad know that we were together without making eye contact with the poor man. When he cleared his throat I was forced to realize that John and I, in that tense bubble that comes with emotional upheaval, weren't alone.

I swallowed hard, but held John down with pressure on his uninjured side. Sitting up wasn't a great idea right now for him, not only because he was hurt, but honestly I didn't want Dad to see that he was still in beating shape. Or shooting shape. I sighed, and met my dad's eyes as I straightened up. Dean wasn't smirking, not now, as he moved to stand at his father's head. His lips were in a tight line, and I realized by moving to John's head, he was standing as protector.

I didn't pay attention to Sam. I couldn't let my gaze flicker from Dad's, not yet. I swallowed the lump in my throat that was growing painful. I felt tears stinging my eyes, but I stood tall.

"Dad," I started, my voice sounding far more calm than I felt. "I didn't, we didn't want you to find out like this." My hand was still on John's shoulder, and I saw Dad's eyes flick to it. "The hunter. The one I mentioned I'd met at school."

His face was tighter than Dean's lips. Jesus, just let the fucking kitchen swallow me whole already. I waited. And waited. And waited. The silence being broken only by the sounds of the five of us breathing. Dad moved, rubbing a hand down his face, and then he did something that scared me more than if he'd grabbed a weapon and attacked. He turned and walked out the kitchen without a word.

The Winchester men and I stood silent in the kitchen. I wasn't entirely sure why they were silent, but I was listening for signs that Dad hadn't attacked only because he wasn't armed and was now off looking for that damn shotgun of his. I heard his feet climbing the stairs and sighed. He was pissed, most definitely, but right now I was fairly sure that more than that, he was disappointed by me. By my lying. By my keeping something this huge from him for so fucking long.

It was a tense time, for obvious reasons all around. Dean and Sam helped John sit up. When he was perched on the side of the table, he pulled me to him and held me. I let my face press against his bare chest, feeling his chest hair tickle my cheek as I turned to press my ear to his heart. The steady rhythm of it was soothing, especially after he'd been unresponsive earlier. It didn't help the raging fear and guilt I had for Dad finding out about us like that, but I knew he was trying to take some of it away.

"He was going to find out sooner or later, Pari." John's breath was fanning across the top of my head. "It wasn't how I wanted him to, but at least he knows now."

I sighed, "I know. It's just-" I pulled slightly back and looked up at him. "I lied to him, John. I've never outright, boldfaced lied to Dad. Ever." Closing my eyes, all I could see was the look he'd given me before walking out of the kitchen. Disappointment. Ugh. "He gave me the opening, before you left, to tell him. He'd asked the one question that would have allowed me to tell him, and I LIED. I was a coward."

John cupped my cheek in his hand. "You're not a coward, sweetheart." He kissed my forehead and then looked back into my eyes. "I should have told him. I should have taken him aside when I saw you come down those damn stairs that first day."

"So you're both cowards," Dean offered. I let out a mirthless chuckle. "It's over. Done." Wow, he's a compassionate guy, I thought. "Let's hit the sack, and then tomorrow, when Bobby works through the news, we'll worry. But I'm fucking tired."

John shot his eldest a look. Sam, acting as mediator chimed in. "Look, it's not the best way to have told him, sure, but-" He stopped, and I waited to hear what the gentle giant came up with. "Bobby loves you, Parisa. He's not going to lose you just because you picked-"

I gave a sad smile at John, listening as his youngest tried to wrap his head around me and his dad. "Maybe you're both right." I shrugged. "I'm going to clean up the carnage here, and then I'm heading to bed."

I pulled all the way out of John's embrace and started tossing the gloves, bandage wrappings, and other paraphernalia out. He hopped down, hissing at the pull of stitches on his side, but recovered and started to help me. We scrubbed down the table. He threw away his ruined shirts. And soon, no one could have guessed that the kitchen had been a makeshift ER.

The boys had headed upstairs, Dean jockeying for the first shower. Once the kitchen looked as pristine as it would ever look, we walked out and flipped the light switch. John headed toward the front door to lock up and I took the stairs to my room quietly and slowly. He caught up to me, but we both knew that sharing a room tonight would be a terrible idea. After a kiss, not long or sultry enough for either of us, we parted. I'd managed to stay clean throughout John's stitchings, so I tossed off my clothes and pulled on a nightshirt. It was the red one that John had accidentally dropped when Dad had come looking for him, and his scent clung to the fabric.

As I laid in bed, sleep forcing itself upon me, I let my last thought be about how happy I was that John had made it back to me. And I tried desperately not to dwell on how Dad had looked at the news.