I hope this isn't a repeat chapter. I've had this written, probably for over a year. I think this might be short, don't ask, I don't know. But in light of almost 100 reviews I decided to stick this up. I can't promise there's more beyond the epilogue (the first thing I wrote for this story) but re-watching episodes from the earlier season has sparked some interest. Please, please review. I am trying desperately to figure out where to go from here. Suggestions are welcome.

Chapter 13

John looked over at Sam, grateful that he was asleep. It gave him some time to think. Pulling the car over, he left the engine running, pressing his forehead against the steering wheel, hands gripping it so tightly that more than the knuckles turned white. It wasn't like this was easy. Amos was probably alive, and hunting his son. And he couldn't just rush there without alerting Sam to something being wrong. And Jim knew hunters. God knows he'd provided a safe haven to more than enough of them. And advice, and holy water. Lots of holy water.

What was he supposed to do? He'd thought Dean was doing better, and he knew that he should have been watching closer. Dean was a master at faking things. Hiding things, he always had been. Even when he was little. Mary always had to spend hours coaxing him into telling her what was wrong, when he did things like fall and scrape his knees. Slamming his palm against the wheel, he felt it jar his head, and wondered what it had been like for Dean. Waiting for so long, wondering when he was coming. It must have been agonizing. When even death was preferable? He'd failed his son. And done everything that was possible to do wrong, wrong. Sam stirred, and John looked over, before pulling the car back into the road. He should have gotten there faster, and just spared Dean all of this. All the pain? He would take it as his own in a heartbeat, anything to make it stop for Dean, to let him heal all the way. And there was nothing he could do.

Leaving Dean in the hospital hadn't seemed like the best of ideas, especially when Dean hated them so much, and there were so many questions. Even if no one had found Amos' body, even if John hadn't really been questioned at all about how he had found Dean, it hadn't been safe. They'd had to leave. When all John had wanted to do was stay, let Dean stay with his friends, where he could have…would have been happy. Between the two of them, Lily and Pete, they would have kept him on that couch for days longer than he'd needed to really recover, monitoring him all the time, especially at school. When he'd been well enough to go back. And John had the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that Pete and Lily would have been more in tune with his son, so that they would have noticed he was hurting, and kept him from making things worse. John swore under his breath rather than wake Sam.

That was one conversation he didn't want to have. If Sam asked him about Dean one more time, John was fairly sure he was going to kill him. He never tried to lie and say that Dean was fine, at least. It wasn't like Sam would believe it. 'Better' was what he kept saying. At least he hoped that was the truth. The phone call had shaken him, he'd never heard Dean sound that scared, at least not that he could remember. Even when nightmares woke him up and he crawled into bed next to Mary, he never sounded that scared. When Sam was asleep, it was easier to floor the gas and really try to get there faster. Dean needed him, and for once, he was going to be there. He hadn't, not when it'd really counted, and now he needed to be there. Had to make up for some of his mistakes, if it was even possible.

Dean just about had a heart attack when his father burst into the room, hauling him up into his arms. His initial reaction was to fight his father, terrified it was Amos. The moment he was able to take a breath, he knew it was his dad. It was just that smell. The smell of the Impala, the gunpowder, just...Dad. John had Dean's head tucked under his chin, son against his chest.

"I won't let him near you, understand me?" John said at a length, and Dean wondered what was wrong with his voice, it sounded strained.

"Dad, you okay?"

"I'm fine, dude. Just like always."

Dean refrained from calling his father's bluff, and was content to stay pressed against John's chest. He felt safe. Half wondering if it was a dream, he decided that pinching himself wasn't going to do him any good, given if he did wake himself up he'd probably have torn some stitches. It would be just his luck. "Where's Sam?"

"With Jim. I dropped him at the church and came here. Didn't mean to scare the hell out of you like that."

"It's fine," Dean mumbled, even though he'd all but had a heart attack. "Just glad you're here," he admitted. He yawned, curling into his father's chest as much as he could. It wasn't often he could take advantage of moments like this. Almost never, actually.

"Yeah, I'm sure it's fine," John chuckled. "How're you holding up?"

"Nurse says I'm healing good," he shrugged thin shoulders against John's collarbone.

"Not what I meant."

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not." John's voice had this sighing quality to it, as he paused after saying no, the word coming out without him really opening his mouth, giving it a stunted sound. "You called me, and you were freaked. One more time, how're you holding up?"

"Better," Dean said vaguely, at least it was the truth. "Don't ditch me again, okay?"

John chuckled. "You know you like staying with Jim just fine, and I wasn't ditching you. Hell, I woulda stuck Sam with you if I was. That kid drives me nuts."

Dean chuckled weakly, finding it almost impossible to stay awake. He knew that he wasn't on the bed anymore. "We leaving?"

"No, tomorrow," John told him. "When you're supposed to. I'm not doing this wrong again this time."

Dean actually laughed, before he yawned.

"I wasn't joking," John said, sounding slightly affronted.

"I know," Dean chuckled helplessly.

"Are you high?"

"No," Dean said, pulling away slightly, so he could look at his father's face, prove it really was his dad. No one else was in the room. It was when he first noticed it was night. "You snuck in," Dean sounded awestruck.

"Yeah, well." John settled himself on the bed, propping the pillows up so he could rest his back against them, holding Dean against his chest.

"We are so screwed," Dean whispered.

"I'll be here when you wake up." When there was no response John look down at his son as best he could, trying to peer into his face, and realized from his breathing that he was out cold.

When the sun rose, Dean started to shift around. He always had a little trouble with his voice when he first woke up, not really able to talk without his voice cutting in and out like a bad phone connection. He gave up after a matter of seconds, figuring his father was asleep, and allowed himself to go back to sleep. John let out a breath, glad Dean had just fallen asleep again. It was good for him, and John knew it. He doubted Dean had slept well for a while. The boy deserved some good rest.

Juliette walked into the room, and stopped in shock, seeing a strange man holding her patient. Her first reaction was that Dillinger had him, and her hand went for the call button before the man looked up at her. He looked haggard, his beard wasn't quite full, showing he probably shaved most of the time. His hair was darker than Dean's, borderline black and swept back from his forehead. Or had been, since he'd run his fingers through it so many times it was a mess. From what little of his clothes she could see, he was a rumpled mess, and hadn't even bothered to take his jacket off. Her hand hovering over the button, she saw Dean's jaw, Dean's cheekbones, and something of his manner in that gaze, and she let her hand drop to her side.

"John Singer."

"Juliette."

"Nice to finally meet you."

"Same." He watched in concern when Dean shifted again in his arms. As soon as his son settled he relaxed again. "Figured I'd pick him up, Jim knows, but you can always call."

"You are his father."

"I know," John smiled, figuring that Dean's condition had not let the nurse to think kindly of him. But…no, this was his fault. He could have prevented this. Dean was right, if he'd just been smart enough to figure things out, then Dean would have been safe the entire time. Or he at least could have saved him sooner. Kissing the top of Dean's head before resettling it under his chin, "He looks better, thank you."

She had to admit that his voice was pleasant, a deep rumble with a soft quality to it. He seemed trustworthy. She saw so much of Dean in him, and she knew that there was something else, too, in that boy. But she knew that his mother was dead, there was no way that she was alive, and she wasn't listed as a guardian. No mother would give up a child like that. Not ever. "You're welcome, but Dr. Brant did a lot of the work."

"Then I'll thank him? Her? Too."

"Her. Your pastor friend requested that no particularly strange men deal with your son. Probably hoped we'd be able to avoid this Dillinger person that way."

John laughed. "Dean doesn't like being patronized. Last time a male doctor decided to check him over the poor guy got his ass handed to him."

She laughed, looking at the thin body in John's arms. But somehow she believed it. "Why'd he do that?"

"The guy told him he wasn't allowed to leave, and Dean didn't agree with that assessment."

Juliette smiled a little, and John could see the fondness there. "He's got a will alright," she grinned.

"When can I get the poor kid out of here?"

"Let me get Dr. Brant to check him over, then you can check him out. Pretty sure he'd crawl up the walls anyway if he didn't get out of here today." She left the room, figuring if Dean was comfortable enough to sleep in his father's arms, the man wasn't a threat. She was so wrong and so right, she would have laughed and cried to know the truth. In some ways she was relieved that she would be able to spend more time with her family, but she was worried about Dean.

Dean woke up, tolerated the necessary evils to leave the hospital, and didn't bother to protest when John insisted on carrying him out. He wasn't going to put up with that crap later, but for that one moment, it was fine. Maybe things would be okay for a while. More like things were before, back when his father loved them. The thought sent pain through Dean in tangible waves that rocked his body, their father still loved them. Mary may have taken all their hearts with her, but there was something left. Father to son, son to father. He wouldn't do the things he did if he didn't love them. Even if it was a warped, stupid version of what love should be, he still did love them.

He had to.

Otherwise none if it meant anything.

None of it was worth it.

He had to.

He did.

Dean was happy to be back at the parish, giving the cross his customary hate-filled glance before dumping his duffel in the dormitory styled room, seeing Sam's stuff already there. He heard voices in the church, and heard one he was particularly fond of. Camilla. Not a crush per say, more of a make-out buddy. He remembered easily when he'd been maybe a year or two younger, they'd been dumped at the church –surprise- and since he'd refused Sunday School and Youth Group, Jim had asked him to at least be useful in the nursery. Dean knew he was good with kids, and he'd figured since there were three in there at the time, fine. He'd had one in his lap, one snug to his side, and the third was playing fairly quietly with some cars. He'd been reading to the other two. Sam had always liked it, and Dean hated when babies cried. Especially…Sam hadn't stopped crying for Mary, not for…not for years, it felt like. But more parents had been coming, and dumping kids, and more, and soon enough Dean was overwhelmed entirely. He was trying to get one of the toddlers to the changing table, while stopping another group from fighting over a stuffed bear, and another little girl to stop crying because she'd tripped and got a rug burn, and things had just dissolved into general chaos. Camilla had come in, since she apparently usually helped in the nursery, taking the little boy from Dean, allowing him to deal with some of the other mess, picking up the crying girl and shushing her, dealing with both of them easily.

He'd been so relieved to have help, and they'd kept the kids in check, much to his surprise. And the parents, when they saw how many toddlers had been in the room versus how few helpers. After that, Camilla had kissed Dean's cheek, telling him he was cute with kids, and he'd caught her cheek to kiss her lips, to both their surprise. But no displeasure. He'd seen her off an on, generally throughout the year, and they often found corners to kiss in. It never went past that, he never felt her up, she never touched him anywhere she shouldn't. It wasn't just because they were in a church, but for some reason it didn't seem right. But if Camilla was around, maybe Meredith was, and where Meredith was, Sam was. Meredith was her aunt, and they both sang in the choir. Camilla was a soprano, and Dean didn't know much beyond that. Meredith sang first alto, but preferred second. Random information to know, but it was something he heard the two talking about more than once.

Sam was there, just like he'd guessed, and he laughed when Sam launched himself at him, lifting his brother up in a hug.

"Don't hurt yourself!" Sam half shrieked, pulling away so fast Dean almost dropped him.

"I'm okay, I'm okay," he said, trying not to laugh when Sam peered at him, considering. He looked better, and he knew it.

"What happened!?" Camilla asked, across the room in seconds, it was no secret what they got up to, touching his cheek in concern as she tilted his head so she could see better.

"Got in a fight, and I lost," he grinned lazily. "But I'm fine. Also, Dad took us hiking a while ago, and I took a bad fall. That's the only reason I lost, otherwise I woulda kicked that dude's…butt." First of all, he didn't swear in front of Sam, and second of all not in a church. He could almost feel his father's calloused hand hitting him upside the head.

"Good thing you survived then," she said, making sure to purse her lips just that slightest bit to make them fuller. She was wearing lip gloss, clear, but he could smell it. Vanilla. Not fair. He probably smelled like antiseptic, and…death. He knew that hospitals smelled like death, even if his father disagreed with him. Dean knew it was all for show. They both knew.

Dean looked over at Meredith. "How're you doing?" he asked.

"I don't think you're the one who gets to ask that question," she pointed out. Then smiled. "Figure I can't ask you for a hug if you look like that, so you're getting away scot free this time."

Grinning easily, "You bring cookies?" he asked hopefully.

"No," she watched his face fall, "I brought some apple pie, hope that makes up for it."

Dean hugged her, making her laugh. "Good 'nuff," he told her, before looking back at Camilla. "I gotta unpack, I'll see you around." His body was still basking in the benefits of the morphine that hadn't yet worn off. He knew it would, in some ways he was already starting to hurt again just a little. But Dean knew he was on a whole other kind of high: his dad was there. Taking care of him and Sam. Being their dad again…Jim was gonna chew his ass out, and Dean knew it. And it made him smile a little, because he could picture the injured indignation on his father's face.

Camilla followed after a decent enough amount of time, finding him actually unpacking his bag like he'd said. When she walked in he looked up and smiled.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Good."

--

Jim stared at John. "Can't believe you showed. You sticking around?"

"Not for long, just long enough to keep this mess contained," his voice the low rumble Dean associated with impending doom.

"You do realize these boys need you around?"

"Yeah, and they don't seem to mind stayin' with you, or I wouldn't leave 'em here."

"No, you'd leave them in some two-bit motel, alone, wondering when and if you're even going to come back!" Jim rarely allowed his anger to show, but sometimes it was the only thing John understood.

"That's not true! I always leave them with orders so they know what to do!"

"These aren't soldiers! They're children, your children, Mary's children, and you're treating them like soldiers in 'Nam! You may have hopped ranks fast, John, you may have seen some action there, doesn't change the fact you're a father! Doesn't change the fact it's over, and you have to let go sometime!"

"And there's a new war Jim! You know what's out there! What'm I supposed to do? Leave my boys alone to deal with that? Not prepare them, are you crazy? They have to know!"

"It ever occur to you that you could do the same thing without hurting them so much?" Jim managed to bring his voice down, trying to sound calmer. More rational.

"What? Draw little pictures and tell it to them starting 'once upon a time'? What kind of bullsh-…crap do you want me to pull? You trying to tell me what happened to Dean was my fault? What about your god and the whole 'everything happens for a reason' bit?"

"I've never preached that, and I never will. God gave people free will. Which means that stuff happens, and since people went ahead and decided to screw things up, well they dug their grave and they can lie in it! John," he pinched the bridge of his nose. "God's watching, He cares, and He listens. But if you're not praying, it doesn't mean that things are magically going to go your way. In fact there's no promise of that, either. There's a promise of persecution and pain, and of Heaven, John. Not some magic eight ball that always solves your problems! Don't blame what Amos did on God." He'd found himself calming while he spoke, funny how that worked.

"So is this still part of some master plan? Some good going to come out of this?"

"It could. You could extrapolate all you want, say it's to tell you not to leave your boys alone, tell you not to bring them on hunts, tell you to settle down and be a father to them! But you could also say maybe you were supposed to move on, or that it was the wrong state, wrong building. You can blame it on everything, and try to divine as much meaning as you want from the whole thing. It doesn't mean that there's much more to it than some psycho with a grudge went after your son, tortured him, and…he almost did something you could never make better. In fact you probably…there's nothing."

"You think I don't know that!?" John exploded. "You think I don't know what a mess I've made out of things!? Damnit Jim! I'm trying, I'm trying to make things right, I have to….I have to find what killed Mary, I have to know. I can't…I can't just let it go, forget what happened, she was on the ceiling Jim, she was plastered to the ceiling of Sam's nursery, and she died. Not some electrical shortage, nothing stupid like that. Faulty wiring couldn't kill her. And I'm just supposed to let that go?"

"No, you're not," Jim said softly, hearing the tremble in John's voice. Hearing the pain, and that John needed forgiveness. "Mary…you could never have prevented her death, and you know that."

"If I knew then what I knew now…"

"Then you wouldn't have been the man she loved. You wouldn't have been the father Dean wishes he still had, you know that? He misses you all the time, even when you're there, and you're too stupid to see it." Jim let a bitter smile twist his lips. "Then again, it does generally take a woman to point it out to you, even when you know that something's wrong. You should have…" he just shook his head.

"You have women in your church messing with my private affairs?"

"You dump your boys here, and they get stuck in the church whether they like it or not. You've met people here, you've been here for a few hours at a time, even if it's just the free food," Jim pointed out. "People have seen you with your sons. Just because you're so focused on revenge that you're blinded to everything else doesn't mean that everyone else lives their lives like that."

"So what? I should just focus on this hippy-Jesus-Loves-You crap? That'll make everything better? It'll take away my son's pain, it'll give him his mother back? He'll forget what almost happened to him? Sam'll finally get whatever it is he wants so bad he's acting like a real brat, and me? I'll what? My life'll make sense again? I'll be able to keep my boys safe and protected from people like Amos and things like what killed Mary? That's crap and you know it. Saying 'what would Jesus do' isn't going to fix anything for anyone. Especially since he probably would have just damned them to hell anyway."

Jim just stared at John for a few minutes, wondering what kind of response that required.

"No. Not physically. Did Mary believe? Is that why you're so against it? John, sometimes peace of mind is more important than some of those other things. So, yeah, it can take away some of Dean's pain, knowing that there's something untouchable and everloving and everlasting in his life. Is that a crime? You could find the same comfort. Religion is flawed John, we all know it. But finding peace with a God of love isn't such a bad thing. Gandhi said that he loved our Christ but not our Christians. Religion is flawed. Okay? We try, we try to follow the example of something better. What're you following John? Anger, hate? Revenge? Are those things really what you want your legacy to your sons to be?"

---

Dean pulled away from Camilla, he smiled a little at her, trying to hide how good he felt. He liked the feel of her hand on his cheek, the way her lips were soft against his. However, he wasn't too thrilled with the sticky vanilla gloss on his face, but he'd live. It was worth it to kiss her. The softness of it all, the easy comfort. And to him, knowing that even as messed up as he had to look, he'd been avoiding mirrors, someone still wanted to kiss him. And spend time with him. A girl. A pretty girl with auburn hair and brown eyes. One that actually talked to him sometimes, and still found time to talk to him more. Didn't dismiss him as stupid or weird. He wondered when he was going to lose her the way he had Lily and Pete…and leaned in to kiss her again, to hold the moment, so at least he wouldn't forget her. Wouldn't lose this moment. Her lips were easily pulled against his, her body near his, barely touching as his hand cupped her cheek, the other resting easily around her back. The comfort of her. Dean's lips smiled against hers.

"What?"

"Just thinking about how much I missed this," he said between gentle kisses, his voice a breathy whisper. He could almost forget Amos, almost forget the challenge to who he was, his father's protection…

---

"You honestly think that's what this is about?"

"It's not about vengeance?"

"No, it's about protection! I'm not letting this happen to anyone else, I'm not letting anyone, or anything ever touch my family again!"

"Because that worked so well this time around, didn't it?"

John's jaw hardened; clearly defining a slight tick in his cheek. "I know how to take care of my family!"

"Which is why you leave them here with me, or with Bobby, or whoever you can find to take them."

"If you don't want them around –"

"You know that's not the case, but if you want to make it that way, then that's your problem John, not mine."

"Seems to me like a lot of things are my problem!"

"John, everyone has a lot of problems, they just try to fix them in a lot more normal ways!"

"And how normal are these problems other people get to face?!"

"Sit down, calm down. The boys are going to hear you, along with anyone else in the church."

---

When Sam walked into room, Dean had finished unpacking his clothes; Camilla was sitting on one of the other beds, watching him while they talked. Settling his small body on the floor near the foot of his bed, Sam listened absentmindedly. School, they were talking about school. Dean actually knew the difference between the Civil and Revolutionary War. Huh. He also noticed that Dean was avoiding mentioning Lily or Pete. Whenever Camilla brought up her friends, or the things they'd done, Dean just laughed a little, or winced sympathetically, and didn't mention any friends of his own. It was obvious the girl had noticed, and was trying to hint that she'd like to hear about his own exploits, but she wasn't pushing.

Sam vaguely remembered Camilla, more from when Meredith was babysitting her, and then visited the church. Meaning that Dean had a playmate his own age, and that Sam was the third party left to tag along behind the older two. But he hadn't minded all that much, because it either meant that he got an extra cookie from Camilla's aunt, or that Dean was told to be on his best behavior. And when Dean was told that, he really did behave well.

now for the interactive portion!! Tell me what you want to see happen.

I have a vote for Amos to go thru a meatgrinder.

I have no idea if this chapter was beta'd or not, I would assume so, it's so old. So thanks to Merisha as always, potentially PA Davis, and then GoddessLaughs, as always. (The meatgrinder is her idea).

Pretty please for reviews? To see more?