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.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I am so sorry for the delay... Real Life decided to throw some real whammies at me, but here's the next part... Please read and review, I need to be fed and watered! Flames, as always, will be used to give Dogzilla your scent so he can find you...

Part Ten

Dawn broke unnoticed. Each of the men had retired to a bed (or in John's case, the couch), but their sleep was not peaceful. Murmurs, mutters, and the occasional soft exclamation could be heard, if there'd been anyone to hear.

Bobby woke first, suddenly, as was his habit, and glanced at the clock. He let out a groan of revulsion when he saw the time. Seven A.M. He'd had less than four hours sleep, and he was getting old enough to feel it when he didn't get enough. Too damned bad, though. He still had work to do.

He dressed quickly and headed to the kitchen, putting on coffee. The other three were like him, he knew; black, hot, and strong would be what they wanted first thing. Sam could do any other sissy type thing he wanted to with it after the first cup.

He took his cup onto the porch, looking out over the yard. Something was bothering him, but he couldn't put his finger on it. And that pissed him off worse than anything.

John couldn't be alive. At least, to the normal, daylight world, it wasn't possible. The problem was, Bobby knew about the things in the dark that might MAKE it possible. And those things were, as a rule, nasty as hell. Evil. And if they'd brought John back, it wasn't for a good reason.

A soft step behind him let him know he was no longer alone, but he didn't turn. He was as familiar with the sounds in this place as he was with his own heartbeat, he'd lived here long enough. "Mornin, John," he growled before taking another pull at his coffee.

"Mornin," the other man replied as he regarded his own mug. "Guess you aren't going to point that shotgun at me again, at least not yet," he said affably without turning toward Bobby. The last time they'd been in the same vicinity Bobby had threatened to fill him full of buckshot.

"Yeah, well, you bring out the asshole in everyone," was Bobby's smooth reply. "You got somethin to say, now'd be the time, pal." Unspoken in the air between them was the idea that maybe John knew how he'd come to be here and Bobby really wanted to be let in on the secret.

John hesitated. He knew what Bobby was asking him, but he didn't have any answers. "I can't tell you what I don't know," he said finally. "I woke up in the woods a couple miles from here. I saw Dean, but I didn't know it was him then. I was up a tree, trying to get my bearings."

Bobby snorted. "Yeah, like you'd have recognized him anyway. How the hell would you know the kid was a werewolf? Sure rocked your socks off when you realized it, anyway." That was another thing they needed to talk about. Something would have to be done to protect Dean, even if he COULD control his change. Sooner or later, someone would figure him out, and then they'd have every hunter in the country after his ass. It was bad enough that Gordon Walker was still looking for Sam. Even from prison, the man was convinced that Sam was the Anti-Christ and was trying to rally other hunters to his way of thinking. Doing it, too. And if word got out Dean was a werewolf? More ammunition for Gordon and his pals. But that wasn't for him to tell, either.

John gave a disgusted snort and turned back inside. "I need a shower. Hate to do it, but we need to get the boys up, too. We need to get things straight and figure out what's coming. Something has to be. I don't think I'd be here if it wasn't."

Bobby nodded. "I'll get some food going. Those two garbage guts will be hungry." He wasn't going to comment that John was more than ripe; they'd been friends for too long and besides, sometimes on a hunt you didn't have time to clean up. They were fairly used to it.

Sam was already at the table when they passed through the kitchen, a bowl of cereal in front of him and one of Bobby's many references already open in front of him. "Mornin, Bobby," he said without looking up. "Hey, Dad." His voice became strained.

John gave him a pat on the shoulder as he went past. He knew he stunk, and he wanted to get clean while he could. "Bobby, you got an extra change of clothes somewhere?"

"Some of yours left in the hall closet," was the calm reply as Bobby started another pot of coffee and started scrambling eggs. "Haven't had the time to get rid of em."

John nodded and moved into the hall and Sam pushed his cereal away to put his head in his hands. "He's never going to let me forget I screwed up," he said miserably. For a moment he felt like the child he had been, rebellious and angry.

Bobby slid a plate of bacon and eggs in front of Sam and shrugged as he went back to the stove. "Think about something else, Sam, lord knows we've got enough to worry about now without you two ending up in another pissing contest," he said gruffly but not unkindly. "We're gonna have to all sit down and work some of this crap out before too much longer. Dean's learning, but he'll need some protection anyway. Anyone finds out he's a werewolf, his life won't be worth a plugged nickel and you know it." He sat another plate down just as Dean shuffled in, looking exhausted but freshly showered.

Dean poured a cup of coffee and slid into a chair, grabbing the plate and fork and digging in. "I can take care of myself, Bobby," he grumbled between bites. "We need to worry more about what's coming. Dad being back, well, that can't be good." He cleaned his plate quickly and was about to get up when another slid in front of him. He shrugged and dug in. Seemed like Bobby knew he was starving.

Bobby growled back at him. "Shut up and eat, idjit. Keep up your strength, you might need it." He managed to get a big plate of eggs and another platter of bacon onto the table before John made an appearance, looking and smelling much improved. And he tried to ignore the way Dean's nose twitched, as though scenting the air. Just one more thing to worry about right now.

He let John eat and finally sat down with his own, putting the coffee pot in the middle of the table as well, full to the brim with fresh. "Time to start sussin' things out," he began. "Think we ought to start with how John's sittin' here stuffing his face when he should be dead." It was one of the worst worries. If anything had brought John back, it would have to have had a reason. They needed to know what that reason was, and fast. If something was coming at them, they needed to be ready.

John swallowed his coffee and regarded them steadily. "I woke up a couple miles from here, in the woods," he repeated. "First thing I did was head up high to try and find my bearings. Once I knew where I was, I came here." He shook his head. "I have no idea how I got there, or how I got out of... wherever I was... before that. I know I wasn't in Hell. I know I bought you a little time to finish off Azazel. I know that. But after that... nothing."

Dean managed to maneuver his food to one side of his mouth. "Heard you mumbling a lot, last night," he mentioned idly. "Couldn't hear all the words, but you did say something about us." He shrugged as he forked more eggs in. "Couldn't make it out."

John cradled his mug in both hands and leaned forward, considering. He was giving the matter a great deal of thought, because it was important. He had no idea how important, though, and that bothered him. He hated not having all the pieces to a puzzle. "I don't remember much of the dreams," he said slowly. "But there was --- there was this voice. I've never heard anything like it."

Sam put his fork down and watched John warily. He knew the discussion of his mistake wasn't over, it was just being tabled for the time being. "This voice, was it like haunting you, or what? Good or bad? Could you tell?"

"Like... like listening to light, or something." Dean's voice broke across the tableau and John whipped his head around to stare at his oldest son. "I heard it, too. Last night. In the one dream I do remember."

The silence was deafening.

TBC...