AN I: Hello all and Happy Easter! I own nothing except the mistakes! Please review, I love hearing from you! Happy reading…

Dean swayed, feeling his center of gravity plummet down to the floor. John , and God did Dean hope that really was his dad, reached out instinctually to steady him but held his hands still at Dean's panicked jerk.

"I know you're being cautious son, and that's the right thing to do; normally. But we gotta hump it out of here and we don't have time for games." His father's voice was the same as it always was, rough and deep. It reminded Dean of smoky bars and smooth amber whisky. He wanted to give in and let his dad take over, he hurt and he was tired; and loath as he was to admit he was terrified.

But he had to be sure. Sammy and the civilians were his responsibility.

Behind him, still scattered in small quivering groups, the survivors stood caught in perpetual flight or fight; no one knew whether this was a threat or a savior. And again they were looking to Dean for the answer. Sammy was by his side, hope battling the ingrained soldier on his exhausted features. But he didn't move and he already had the knife and holy water in his upturned palm.

"Dean," growled his father, "we're in mixed company and…"

"You know the drill, this or a bullet," warned Dean the bravado making his voice shake even as he held the gun steady in his sweaty hand.

Sam grabbed the flask and tossed it one handed to his father. John caught it deftly out of the air, resignation and pride raising one dark eyebrow and swept his gaze over the confused and fearful faces watching him, as he unscrewed the lid and tossed a generous mouthful back.

"Done, anything else, or can we get the hell out of here?"

Dean watched his dad closely, looking for any smoke or black eyes. Satisfied there were none, he then took the knife from Sammy. He needed to do this last part, no way was he letting Sammy get close if it might not be their dad. Seeing no other option for handing the knife to John and still maintaining his safe distance, Dean slowly shuffled forward. He gripped the pure silver blade by its handle, forcing John to take it blade first.

He did and swiftly and efficiently cut his palm. Red drops of honest-to-god John Winchester DNA dripped out, and with each kerplunk on the dirty floor, Dean felt the relief course through him, stealing strength from his legs and quickening his breath.

Just as Dean was about to crash to the floor John tugged him up with one twist of his jacket, and steadied him against the lockers. "You did good, son. But I'm here now. Suck it up, shove it down, whatever works, but this isn't done and we're still in hostile territory." Dean felt his face flush at the gruff reprimand and straightened his spine.

"Yes sir."

Sammy, having watched the interaction with hooded eyes hissed, "he's injured Dad." He stared at John disapprovingly.

Here we go again thought Dean. John and Sam stared each other down, a battle of will neither seemed able to back down from; and Dean, in the middle, feeling like a chick in a skirt as he fought the urge to wring his hands at the turmoil.

"Now's not the time, Sam," barked John.

"It's never the time," mumbled Sam but he obediently if not grudgingly backed down and averted his gaze.

"Ummm," interrupted Mr. Strernhull, "I don't know what is going on but we can't stand here in the middle of the hall. There are armed men and I have my class with me."

"Right," responded John all business. He turned to his eldest. "Report Dean."

"8 men, armed and dangerous, and a sniper on the roof of the gym. We took two down in the classroom and left them in the closet," he smirked. "After relieving them of their weaponry and walkie talkies."

"I took out three on my way to find you." Dean noticed his father didn't elaborate on where he stashed the bodies. "So three left in the school."

"And the sniper," pointed out Sam.

"What was your plan," asked John.

"Down by the science lab, out the exit, escape and evade in the woods." Dean fought a wave of dizziness and unconsciously swallowed his mouth dry as dust. Sammy noticed, always in tune with Dean, and moved closer offering up his body as support. John, however, wasn't even looking at the boys. Instead he was checking weapons and talking quietly to Mr. Sternhull.

The two men had moved slightly over to the side away from the gathered students. Dean wanted to know what his father was discussing, but the weakness in his depleted body kept him pressed against the lockers. John nodded once more and then walked over, his expression grim.

"The way you were headed should be mostly clear," as John addressed the group he stood tall and unyielding, every inch the commanding officer despite his scuffed work boots, faded leather jacket, and thickened stubble marring his face. "Keep going into the woods, hide, stay together. Mr. Sternhull will lead you." Several students looked as if they wanted to protest, their eyes frantically shifting over to Dean and Sam, not wanting to leave the tenuous safety the boys had represented. John's face was granite and as usual his word was law.

Dean watched as the students mobilized behind Mr. Sternhull.

"Wait," Sammy walked over to his father. "Dad we can't let them leave unprotected, that's like leading them to the slaughter." He looked back at Dean, large green eyes begging imploringly at his brother to make it all right.

"If we weren't here, they'd muddle through just fine on their own," shot back John.

"If we weren't here, none of this would be happening," returned Sam.

John ran a hand though his hair roughly, showing the first sign of agitation Dean had seen since his timely arrival. "You can't know that Sammy."

Sam narrowed his gaze. Dean could see him gearing up for another epic brawl; Winchester vs. Winchester.

"At least give them a couple weapons dad," offered Dean. This is hunting country. I'm sure some of them have fired a rifle before."

Relenting, John turned and addressed the group again. "Who knows how to fire a weapon?" Two students raised their hands, looking green but determined.

"I've gone duck hunting with my grandpa," said one of the boys as he stepped around the group. He gripped the gun John held out and then nodding to himself, stepped to the front of the line. John armed the second student and Dean and Sam watched as the fates of their self-appointed charges were suddenly taken out of their hands.

The group moved slowly and cautiously down the stairwell until they disappeared from sight. John turned to his sons.

"We've stood here long enough; in the open we're compromised." He ushered the boys into a vacated classroom and barricaded the door before he gestured to Dean to stand before him. John took down the dressing, studying the wound and its sluggish bleeding with a detached clinical eye. "I need you in full form son, I brought the quick clot."

Awww hell, thought Dean.

Although, he knew it was necessary he also knew it was going to hurt. He gritted his teeth, sat in the nearest chair, and then jerked his head at his father giving his assent. Sammy, having seen this particular brand of emergency field medicine, moved closer to Dean, trying to offer whatever form of comfort his brother would accept.

John looked Dean in the eyes briefly and then dumped the silver powder on the wound in his shoulder. Dean went ridged and white. He bit through his bottom lip trying to hold in the screams that were jack-knifing through his skull. As the painful waves began to recede Dean heard John address Sam.

"Any other wounds need tending," he asked gruffly.

"No sir," came the quiet reply. Dean could hear the tears in Sammy's voice, knowing Sam allowed himself to give voice to the pain Dean could never show.

"Okay," murmured John. He wiped his hands on his jeans and then cleared his throat. "Well, I need you boys to stay here. You've got plenty of weaponry. I'll do a sweep and clear the remaining mercs then come back for you."

"No sir."

"Excuse me, Dean," growled his father, the steel in his voice making the room feel 10 degrees colder.

"I said no sir. The best place is for Sammy and me is to stay with you. I can't protect him by myself like this."

Sam gave an indignant snort, but Dean carried on.

"Their humans Dad, we don't even know why they're here, what they want."

'We know they want to kill us," interjected Sam. Dean elbowed him in the ribs before turning to face his father again.

"I know you want to hunt these bastards down, get answers, me too. But retreat is the best tactical plan right now." Dean looked at his father, tried to see his dad, struggled to not see only the soldier. "We need to get Sam safe. Sooner or later, cops gotta show, that means CPS. We gotta book, Dad."

Dean could see the need for revenge warring with the practical nature of his words in his father's sharpened gaze.

"Nobody messes with my family, not now, not ever again," he swore darkly. Then he closed his eyes, setting aside the hunt Dean knew.

Grabbing each of the boys, John pulled them close for a moment, reassuring himself that even wounded they were alive and fighting.

"Let's go boys," John said. His lingering hand on Dean's uninjured shoulder his only acknowledgment of the truth of Dean's words. Each Winchester gripped a weapon and then moved out into the hallway.

AN II: Thank you for reading! Each and every review means so much to me. I cherish every one!