A/N - Hi! So, i suck! I suck epically! Seriously, I'm really sorry for those who were waiting that it took so long to update this. I had a bit of a block and then I blinked and it was April. How did that happen? Dudes, seriously. Anyway, thank you for your patience and, geh, I only hope it's mostly worth the wait. I'm thinking one more chapter to wrap up this particular fic.

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John Winchester scowled as he led his boys--and one inappropriately friendly hell hound puppy--back across the clearing towards his camp site. So far this reunion was not going according to plan. Not that he had a big plan. But the boys losing all sense and adopting a fucking hell hound puppy? Definitely not part of the damn plan.

Most of the walk to John's camp was conducted in silence, everyone settling into their own thoughts and holding back, unwilling to risk breaking the truce that had settled uneasily after John had handed the puppy back to Sammy. The puppy—Christ, John was not calling it Spike—was the noisiest of them all with his snuffling and occasional interested yips. Their slow pace gave the pup plenty of time to explore and he took full advantage, zipping back and forth, stubby tail wagging furiously as he pounced on various objects of dog interest. This was in no way cute John assured himself.

It was Dean who finally broke the silence, no surprise to John since his eldest didn't really do quiet except when he was focused on hunting.

"So Dad, what's the deal about these coordinates?" his eldest shot a questioning look at John, just as they came into sight of the small and tidy campsite. "I mean, Sammy looked and there's no bad history on this place…" Dean paused as they reached the campsite and he and Sam dropped their day packs. Sam immediately swept Spike up into his arms protectively—causing John to bite back a growl—before folding his long limbs down to the ground to sit on a corner of John's bedroll.

Dean quickly followed suit, sinking onto the grass next to his brother as, groaning, he kicked his feet out in front of him in relief.

John shot him an amused grin. "Getting soft Deano?"

"No sir!" Dean snapped out, shoulders stiffening until he saw the smile on his father's face at which point he slumped again and scowled at his boots. "But the Universe sure as hell knew what it was doing when it invented the automobile."

"Y'know some people walk for fun Dean. They enjoy the great outdoors," Sam smirked across at his brother although John was willing to bet his youngest was just as sore as Dean. Sam and Dean were both in shape. You had to be when your life depended on being fast and strong and deadlier than the monsters. But his boys weren't exactly used to long treks through the wilderness, the occasional camping and 'hunting' trips outside of town boundaries aside.

John bit back a smile as Dean shot his brother the finger, Sammy's smirk widening into a broad grin his only response. A hard knot of tension loosened in John at the sight of his boys sitting side by side, getting along and comfortable together in a way they hadn't in those last months before Sammy had left.

"So why are we here Dad?" Sam took up Dean's question, genuinely curious. The few peaceful minutes had mellowed his temper so his tone was minus the accusation or suspicion that would have gotten John's back up.

"Yeah, what's the beastie we need to kill?" Dean asked, tone serious, although his posture had relaxed. John could tell that, with the pup not in immediate danger, Dean was basking in the knowledge that his family was, for once, back together again with no one yelling accusations at anyone else. Dean would have probably been surprised at how well John could read his oldest even if—John could admit to himself if not to others—it somehow rarely translated into being a better father.

"Actually there's nothing to kill here," John responded, drawing surprised looks from both his boys. "I'm guessing your research turned up good things about this place?" he nodded to Sam.

"Yeah actually," Sam responded, brows furrowing in recall. "Nothing concrete but legends exist about this being a holy place."

"It's not just a legend, it's based in fact," John nodded his approval of Sam's results.

"The willing sacrifices that have been made here have turned this meadow into true holy ground." John pointed at his rifle where he'd set it against his pack. "Guns won't find their target and neither will knives. This place is a true sanctuary."

"Really?" Dean looked at their surroundings skeptically. "You're saying if I tried to use my knife here," he drew his blade, "it wouldn't work?"

"Yep." John affirmed, smiling in wry amusement as Dean immediately made a shallow draw against his own forearm, hissing out a curse when a thin line of red appeared. "Fuck!" Dean scowled at the shallow cut. "I thought you said…"

"With the intent to harm," John clarified, with a soft laugh. "I guess curiosity doesn't fall under the rules."

Dean scowled again, feeling the sting of the cut. Bah. Stupid sanctuary rules. The puppy suddenly squirmed out of Sammy's arms and trotted up to Dean, sniffing at the cut curiously and eyeing it with what John rejected as concern. The hell hound was probably attracted by the blood.

"Yip?" the puppy barked inquiringly, head tilted, looking up into Dean's suddenly softened features.

"I'm okay little dude," Dean rubbed the pup's head reassuringly. Enjoying the attention, the puppy gave a satisfied grunt—that was not cute at all dammit—and sat at Dean's side.

"So then what are we doing here?" Sam asked again as he picked a tall blade of grass and held it up in the air in invitation, causing the puppy to give an excited "Yip!" as it rushed over and start jumping for the stem, making little puppy grunts of effort with each leap that fine—John gave up with a mental sigh of disgust—were pretty damned cute.

Scowling at the internal admission and trying to figure out how to answer Sam's question, John grabbed a tin mug from the side of the fire, making a show of pouring himself a cup of joe from the pot warming over the fire, buying himself time to articulate his response.

Because the truth was he didn't really have a good reason to give the boys on why he'd broken cover and called them all together. It had been the right call to separate. First from Dean and, once his eldest had tracked down his brother, from both of them. John knew it in his gut, especially now as he felt himself finally drawing near to that yellow eyed bastard.

But he'd missed them. Missed both of them so damned much.

When Sam had left for Stanford, John had felt the pain of separation like a poker twisting in his gut. He and Dean had been walking wounded, both fiercely pretending there wasn't a gaping Sam shaped hole in their lives; never discussing or even acknowledging what was missing. It hadn't been just the fear for his younger son's safety—although that had been a constant gnawing that had driven John to the bottom of a bottle more than once—but just plain missing him. Which was funny considering him and Sammy hadn't done anything but snap and snarl at each other like two alpha dogs that last year. But still; it had felt like a missing limb once the boy had gone.

And then when he'd left Dean behind…well, when Mary had been murdered John had thought he'd just about die from the loneliness. All that kept him going during the years that followed was revenge and his boys and, to his shame, revenge had usually come first. But he'd always had Sammy and Dean to come back to. To keep him human. Now he had nothing but the final hunt. He'd thought it would consume him and it did. But the loneliness was a constant ache. And it was that, more than anything that had brought them to this place.

He looked up from sipping his coffee and saw both boys' eyes fixed on him and felt everything unsaid stop up behind his throat until he finally shrugged. "I thought it was time to do a face to face check-in. Compare notes on what you've been seeing of Supernatural activity. There's been an upswing from what I can tell over the past few months."

He saw a tension that strangers wouldn't have noticed leave both of his sons and knew the reason. They'd come prepared for danger. Prepared for darkness. It was a rare occurrence for that preparedness to be unnecessary and the relief had its effect.

The puppy, taking advantage of Sam's momentary distraction, pounced on the lowered grass stem still held in Sam's hand with a triumphant muffled "Yip!" before flopping down, victorious, to gnaw on his captured prize, oblivious to the amused grins pointed his way.

Mouth still quirked into a half-smile at Spike's antics, Dean rubbed a hand over his head in consideration. "Hard to say if there's been an increase but we sure as hell have had some interesting cases come up, the past few months."

"Yeah?" John encouraged. "Tell me."

That was enough to get his boys going and John sat back, sipping coffee, as the evening shadows darkened, content to sit and listen to his boys tell their tales, falling into their old banter; interjecting corrections here and there and shooting good-natured insults back and forth. It felt so good to be here with them, their mere presence seeping into John, soothing the edges that were feeling rawer ever day. Things were coming to a head at last; he felt it burning in his gut and he didn't expect to survive the coming end game.

He'd been right to call his boys here to see them one last time.