I am so sorry with how late this was posted. I am really struggling with this story, my muse deciding to run and hide. Lol Not to mention the new job is very time consuming and exhausting, so I rarely have the time or the motivation to write something with as much commitment as a chapter fic. I totally understand if many of you have dropped this (I know how annoying it is to start a fic and have the author just stop updating). For those who have stuck around so far, thank you! I will do my very best to keep this one going, but I won't lie. There may be some gaps between updates. If you decide to drop it, again, I totally understand. No hard feelings. For those willing to stick around, thank you again, and I hope that you continue to enjoy and inspire me to keep writing. Thank you again! And as always, I don't own the boys, just borrowing them.

Six

"You stupid sonofabitch."

Bobby Singer's eyes blazed as he stared at the man sitting across from him, the man who looked far older than his fifty-odd years. On the other side of the hunter's desk, John stared back, a look of resolve in his eyes, as stone faced as ever. Many a man would flinch at the acid in Bobby Singer's stern advice. Hell, many hunters, as much as they respected the grizzled old widower, backed away whenever he was pissed. But John was not your ordinary hunter; he'd seen more shit than some of the guys working the job longer. And though he'd been far from looking forward to the rendez-vous with Bobby, he was also one who could stand his own.

"Figured you'd say that," was John's response.

"I figured you was up to no good when that boy recovered. Like nothin's wrong with him." John said nothing at this, and Bobby sighed. At the mention of Dean, John's eyes had softened, and he could see the hint of pain lingering, months after his son's near death experience. He knew John was a hard ass, and had protested the man's methods of raising his boys ("damn it, John, they're just boys. I don't have no kids but I know damn well that they should be out doin' kid stuff."); but there was never any doubt that the man loved his boys. The two sat in silence for a moment as Bobby got up, pulled a bottle of Jim Beam from his liquor cabinet, and poured the whiskey into glasses. Wordlessly they sipped their drinks for a minute before John finally spoke up.

"What do you expect, Bobby? He's my son. I couldn't just let him die."

"Do they know?"

For the first time, John's eyes betrayed him as he glanced briefly at the glass still in his hand. The gesture was only brief, and most would not have even recognized it. But Bobby Singer was no fool; could pinpoint almost all of John's subtle tells, despite the many years since their last meeting. "Jesus."

"You seriously think telling the boys is a good idea? Christ, Bobby, they'd try to come up with some plan to get me out of it."

"And how is that a problem?"

John downed the last of his drink, reached for the bottle on the other side of the desk. Bobby said nothing, but raised an eyebrow as his companion refilled his glass, downed half in one swallow, and refilled it again. After yet another generous swig, John finally spoke up.

"If they somehow get me out of the deal, Dean dies. Cancer comes back. And not just the early stages, either. Full blown stage four. So yeah, I'm not going to tell my sons I sold my fucking soul to the devil…"

"…Cause they'd find a way to get you out of it anyways." This time Bobby reached for the now half empty bottle of whiskey. "Jesus," he repeated. He knew those boys, had practically raised them. Hell, sometimes he thought of himself to be more of a daddy to Sam and Dean than the man sitting across from him. He knew of the guilt Dean would carry should he know the truth. Truth be told, he'd probably figure it out on his own regardless. Sure, Sam was the one who excelled academically, while his older brother had thought of himself to be the grunt of the family. On many times Bobby had witnessed the red cheeks of embarrassment as Dean accepted help from his kid brother on homework assignments. But the boy was far from stupid. He could take apart and rebuild an engine as effortlessly as one would build Lego towers; had made his own sawed-off by the time he was twelve; hell, as primitive as it looked, that EMF reader he'd built was actually quite remarkable. And he'd certainly figure out in a year's time that his father had made a deal. And once he figured that out, he'd move hell and back to try to reverse it.

"So," John continued, and Bobby blinked. He'd been lost in his thoughts and had almost forgotten the man sitting directly across from him. "I can't do anything directly to go after the demon, either. I think the boys are after it, and I can't risk doing any more myself. Part of my deal was that I'd back off" (Bobby snorted at that) "and I've been pushing my luck on that part." No surprise there, Bobby thought, but wisely said nothing. "So I was hoping you'd know someone, maybe Rufus, who'd want to take over."

At this, Bobby Singer was finally speechless. He stared, incredulous, at his long time "friend," for at least a minute before finally speaking. "Are you out of your fucking mind? Do you honestly think I would send someone out to get their ass kicked by that thing? Jesus Christ, John! It's goddamned suicide!"

"That thing killed Mary," John growled, and Bobby could see the hatred once more flare into the man's eyes. "It's killing other families, too. It has to be stopped. You know that, Bobby."

"And how much of this is protecting other families? Or is it just revenge? I know you like a book, Winchester. Admit it. Most of this is about Mary. And fine. I get it. Losing Karen damn near killed me. But for god's sake, you can't just send some green hunter after it because you have a vendetta, ya idgit!"

"Don't you dare try to pull that shit, Singer. Yes, I want to see the sonofabitch that killed my wife dead. And I don't want to see my boy die too. But don't you ever accuse me of not caring about the victims." John's voice was soft, yet vicious. It was the voice a young Dean had immediately recognized to mean business. A yelling John Winchester meant a flared temper, an eruption which would soon settle and all would be relatively fine in a few minutes. But a quiet John was different. It was one whose rage could not easily be quieted with a bottle of beer and a Royals game, or a quick ride in the Impala. And it was sincere; Bobby felt a twinge of guilt as he saw a look of sadness in his eyes, a look which vanished almost as soon as it had appeared. Sighing, Bobby leaned back in his chair, massaging his temple in hopes of relieving the massive stress headache that was rapidly coming on. "Ok, I'll see what I can do," he finally replied, just as the phone on his desk began to ring.

"Yeah?"

"Bobby?"

The older man immediately recognized the stress in the voice at the other end of the line, the voice of Dean Winchester, obviously cracking, as if he were trying to hold back tears. "Dean? What's wrong, son?" At this, John leaned forward, heart pounding in his chest. Was it Sam? Had something happened? Was he hurt? Bobby noticed the change of demeanor and raised a finger in silence, signalling the man to hold on a moment. "Ok, calm down, son. Tell me what happened."

"It's the demon. I think it's the thing that killed Mom. It went after us, somehow tracked us down."

"Balls. Are you ok, Dean? Sam?"

"Yeah, we're fine, Bobby, but…" Dean's voice choked slightly, and he immediately cleared his throat, determined not to break down over the phone. "Bobby, it killed her. The sonofabitch killed Jess."

Jess. For a moment, Bobby felt an enormous relief over the fact that both of his boys had managed to survive a run in with Yellow Eyes. But then, he remembered who Jess was. Sam's girlfriend or something like that. As if sensing that the man couldn't remember, Dean continued. "Sam was gonna marry her, Bobby. They were freaking engaged." At that, Bobby's face grew sorrowful, and John suddenly didn't care anymore about a low profile. "Damnit, Bobby, are they ok? Are my boys safe?!"

"Bobby, is that Dad?"

Bobby finally remembered John, saw the pallor in his face, and nodded. "Cat's out of the bag, John. You wanna talk to yer boy?" John nodded, and the other hunter handed the phone over.

"Dean?"

"Dad? Where have you been? Are you ok?"

"You tell me first. Are you hurt? Is Sam?"

"We're fine, Dad." At this, John immediately sighed in relief, an immense weight off his shoulders. "Thank God," he muttered. And immediately remembered the look of sadness on Bobby's face before handing over the receiver. "But something's wrong, isn't it?"

On the other end, Dean sighed, fighting back the lump forming from beneath his throat. "Dad, Sammy… the demon killed his fiancée." John didn't even flinch at the mention of his youngest actually being engaged. "Jesus, Dean. What happened?"

"The demon found us. Have no fucking clue how. Didn't even seem to try to go after us. Usual low pay grade stuff, flinging against walls, that kinda thing. But it seemed to, well, target Jessica. Tried to do what it did…" Dean couldn't finish, and John shuddered. He knew all too well what the demon had been trying to do. Had probably been interrupted. "Dean, I…"

"Yeah, I know."

"Is Sammy with you?"

On the other end, Dean looked shocked. "Yeah, Dad, he's right here."

"Put him on."

There was a shuffling and a faint "Is that Dad", and moment later, his youngest was on the line. John immediately recognized the exhaustion and grief in his voice, and his heart ached for the boy. There was a pain in it he would never forget for the rest of his (well, shortened) life.

"Sammy?"

"Yeah," Sam said softly, and John suddenly realized just how young his boy sounded at that moment.

"Dean told me about your fiancée. I'm so sorry."

"Yeah, thanks." There was a moment of awkward silence, and John was about to ask him to hand the phone back to Dean, when Sam suddenly spoke up. "Dad? How do you…you know…"

"I do, son. And you don't. Not really. You just have to keep fighting. Do whatever it takes. Make sure it doesn't happen to someone else's family."

"Dad, I…" Sam hesitated. He wanted to tell his father that he understood now, that he forgave him for the shitty childhood and being forced into the life. Because he finally knew what John Winchester was going through. But somehow no words would come; and if John had suspected anything, the hunter quickly misdirected him. "Just hang in there, kid, ok? You're tough. And you've got your brother. He'll mother hen you like crazy."

"Yeah, I know." With the hint of a smile in his voice. Both knew that there would be no fear of Dean not doing whatever it took to help his brother.

After a few moments of rather awkward conversation, Dean was once again on the line with his dad. It was the part of the conversation he knew damn well either of his boys were going to like; where he was going to tell his boys to not try to look for him. Because there was no damn way not that his sons were going to just let the sonofabitch go free after what he had done to Jess. And he especially knew that, despite their rare moment of almost bonding he had shared with Sam minutes earlier, all that would be thrown out the window the moment he told his youngest to not bother looking for him. At least Dean would understand.

"Hey, Dean, I know I left suddenly at the hospital…"

And, as expected, Dean understood. "It's ok, Dad. I get it. And we won't try to look for you." John could practically see the look of surprise and frustration on Sam's face at that comment. "But I think we'd work better as a team."

"We can't, Dean."

"Why not?" John could hear Sam's heated reply from the other end and he sighed in slight frustration. "Because it's not safe. I need you to tell Sam that, Dean." As expected, his oldest replied with the standard "yessir" and John smiled. "Good," he said. "I'll keep in touch. I promise."

And John Winchester hung up before his son could even respond.