Title: Complications
Fandom: Supernatural

Author: DJ Sparkles
Rating: FRAO (language, mostly, so far)

Disclaimer: I no own, you no sue. I'll put them back when I'm done.
Spoiler Warning: Um, possible spoilers for all seasons so far… don't want spoiled, don't read. BIG spoilers for In My Time of Dying, Heart, All Hell Breaks Loose, Parts 1&2, and season 3.
Timeline: Diverges from Canon after episode 3x03, Bad Day at Black Rock. This means it's AU, folks. Alternate Universe. Some facts, features, and faces might be different than in canon. Don't like? Don't read. You've been warned.

Beta: Ithil-valon, River, and StMatt. You ladies just ROCK, you know that?
Pairings: None so far.

Part Eight

Bobby regarded his friend steadily. Okay, so they'd decided it WAS John Winchester. That meant that he came with all the total jackassery John'd always had, unfortunately. He was trying to choose his words carefully, but he just wasn't the tactful type. "Seems the boys got into a bit of trouble on the last job," he said slowly. "They're okay, just a little shook up." Yeah, if you considered being a werewolf okay. "Probably why Dean's outside. Needs to walk it off."

John put down the beer and growled. "Torn up pretty bad, huh?" Couldn't be too bad, or Dean would be in a bed. If he was walking it off, there wasn't too much it could be. Bumps, bruises, cuts and scrapes, those could be walked off. Concussions, bullet wounds, serious shit couldn't.

"Nah. You oughta be proud of em, John. Right good hunters, both of em. Nobody's perfect." Bobby realized the mistake the second the word was out of his mouth, but it was already too late. John was on his feet and headed for the door, his jaw set in that stubborn pissed-off fashion that Bobby knew all too well.

John slammed out of the house, looking for Sam. He knew it was possible Dean had screwed up, but not likely. No, the culprit was most likely his youngest son, who had never set much store by his old man's training. The first rule of which had been, never go in unprepared. He was willing to bet that Sam had forgotten to check their weapons or that they had the right ones for the job. Sam was a great kid… but he hated hunting, always had. It had almost surprised him to find the boys still together after Azazel was gone.

Dean would always put Sam before himself, so that was most likely what had happened. Sam had screwed the pooch and Dean had taken the damage. He saw Sam with the dog and called out angrily. "Sam! Tell me exactly what happened out there, right now." He wasn't going to take any arguments, either. "Right now, Sammy."

The dog -- which looked more like a wolf to John's way of thinking before he passed it off as irrelevant -- took up a subdued stance at Sam's knee and John tuned it out. It couldn't understand what he was saying anyway, and Bobby kept his mutts trained within an inch of their lives. It wouldn't attack without a command from Singer.

Sam turned to face his father, that all-too-familiar "fuck you, Dad" look on his face. "It went south, that's all. Dean got torn up a little. It's no big deal." No, he couldn't say it. He couldn't. What he could do was hope things had changed, as unlikely as it seemed, and he'd be able to deflect Dad by admitting fault. "I didn't check the shotgun before we went in. Had the wrong loads in it. I screwed up, okay?"

"You screwed up." John's voice was harsh. "You didn't check your equipment. If I've told you once I've told you a hundred times, Sam! You can't go in without making sure you're prepared! You could have gotten Dean killed!"

"You think I don't know that?" Sam raged back, right up in John's face. "You think I don't feel guilty enough already? That thing was slick, Dad, it was fast and it was strong. I could have gotten BOTH of us killed! So don't you EVEN start in on me! I got enough guilt going on without you piling MORE on!"

John took a step forward but was stopped when the dog snarled and grabbed his jeans leg. He tried to shake it off but the mutt wasn't having it and he realized Bobby was on the porch. "Singer! Call off your fucking dog!"

"Not my dog, John," Bobby replied evenly. But he was a little disturbed to see Dean so aggressive, especially with his father, even though it was in defense of his brother. He took hold of the shotgun a little more firmly, though he didn't yet raise it. "Talk to Sam about that one." No, he couldn't say it, either.

Dean dragged his dad several paces to the side and then let go. He moved back and very deliberately sat down between John and Sam, watching his dad intently. He wasn't going to bite, of course. He didn't want to put anyone else through this, especially Dad. But he sure as hell wasn't going to sit still and let Dad wale on Sammy, either.

John staggered a little and then righted himself when it let go, glaring at the animal like he'd just as soon turn it into a throw rug. Damn thing was too damned intelligent for a dog. It seemed to understand him, understand the glare he threw toward it, even returning it just as nasty. Later, he'd figure that out later, when he'd sorted Sam's issues out. Then he returned his attention to his youngest son. "Dammit, Sam, I told you, pets are a luxury you can't afford as a hunter! It could get you killed watching out for it instead of your own ass!"

"Oh, it's not a pet, Dad," Sam said firmly. Truth time, and he just hoped he and Dean both lived through it. "Trust me, it's not a pet."

John took a step forward and the mutt countered it. He frowned and stepped to one side, and it did the same. It seemed determined to remain between him and Sam, and he was getting really pissed at it. And where the hell was Dean? A fight between John and Sam was sure to bring him running. Another step, another counter from the dog. "Sam, if you don't call this thing off, I'm gonna end up knocking it into next week. And just where in the hell is your brother?" Dean had never waited this long to get between them when John and Sam fought. The boy was always the peacemaker, so where the hell was he?

He could tell the second he glanced back at Sam. The boy looked totally guilt-ridden, and the dog – wolf – whatever the hell it was still stood squarely between them. Protecting Sam.

John sat down hard on the ground, all his strength gone and his head whirling. That was the last piece he needed, he thought as he caught the thing's eyes. The thing's GREEN eyes. Dean's eyes. Oh, this was a full commode slopping over now. He couldn't get any volume out of his voice. "Dean?"

TBC…