Dean struggling under his father's weight was the first thing John became aware of. He had one arm slung over his shoulders and they were heading either toward or away from the truck with drunkenly swaying steps. John couldn't tell which.

He buckled again and almost took his son down with him before Dean locked his knees and dragged him up with a groaning "Come ON, Dad, you're going to make me slip a disc here."

They made another few steps before Dean halted their progress.

Poor Dean, always trying to carry him, always trying to shoulder the weight. Always trying to keep him from crumbling, ever since he was a little boy. "It's okay, Dad."

The thought disappeared in a fever type dream. And Ellie's hands were on him, peeling off his clothes, shushing his half-lucid questions. Her hands were gentle, comforting.

He could feel one brush through the dark hair on his chest, soothing him as she placed an ice pack against his neck and jaw and one against his bruised side. It hurt, but the pain was muted, almost distant.

Sam swam through his mind briefly. Miles away and unaware. Wondered if he'd even care.

He didn't know that Sam had a photograph of him and Mary propped on his bookshelf at school.

This experience proved John's initial assumption correct. This coven was a three man job.

Dean's voice was back. "You've lost a lot of blood, Dad."

He supposed he should be concerned, but he couldn't bring himself to have the energy to care.

Someone was touching his forehead. Hovering near him. John opened his eyes lazily, all dark lashes and and heavy lids. He had no clue how much he looked like his eldest in that moment.

Ellie pressed something against his lips and tried to coax it into his mouth. "John, take this under your tongue. I need to get a temperature."

He grumbled a protest and turned his head.

She followed his movement. "Stop being a baby. You've got a fever."

" 'llie..."

She pressed it to his lips again. "Just take it before I stick it up your ass."

She would too, the bitch. He let her slide it under his tongue and lost consciousness.

"Hey Dad," Dean's tone was purposefully cheerful, his eyes studying John's own as he pulled focus on his son.

"There we go." Dean smiled, and the smile looked genuine. "That looks like you finally. Welcome back."

John groaned and sat up. "How long have I been out?" His voice sounded sandpaper rough.

"A couple days. Ellie's been playing nurse."

"That's a nice image."

"Yeah. You lucky sap. Too bad you've been out for 9/10ths of it, huh, old man?" Dean patted his Dad's leg teasingly.

"I can still kick your ass, kid." John croaked.

Dean chuckled, that mischievous light he had about him turned up to full power with relief that his Dad was back to himself.

John tried for mock sternness. "You think it's funny?"

"I think any physical threat you make at this point is funny, Dad."

John sat up against the carved wooden head board of Ellis' guest bed. The effort to do so seemed monumental. He breathed heavily for a moment with the expenditure. He fixed Dean with an appraising gaze, "You okay, son? You injured?"

"I'm fine," Dean replied. "My back's a little bruised from going through the wall... Ellis somehow hurt her shoulder from the kick back of the pistol." He smiled. "Think we need to teach her how to handle a firearm."

John allowed himself a smile in return. "Guess so, kid." He coughed and the movement sent a wave of pain through his ribs.

Dean's eyes softened with concern. "Still pretty sore, huh?"

"Just a little...just a little."

John sat heavily at the kitchen table with his kitten mug full of whatever-the-hell Ellis had prepared for him. Her an her herbal tea concoctions. He was used to them by now, didn't even ask what they were anymore.

Despite his assertions to the contrary, Dean seemed to be a little stiff himself, his usual easy stride a little guarded.

John broke the silence. "So I figured we'd leave in the morning. There's still a lot more to this coven."

Dean groaned. "Not that I ever cared for 'em before but I'm really gettin' tired of witches."

Ellis locked eyes with John from her spot across the table. "Don't you want a little more R&R before you head out, mister?" Her voice was sharp. "You can hardly sit at the table."

John saw Dean's mouth quirk into a grin that he tried to hide in his coffee mug. Clearly the mothering tone amused him.

"It's going to be a cross country drive...sitting..." John replied. "We can recover on the road."

"Always in such a damn hurry, John."

John stood up stiffly and moved to empty the rest of his tea into the kitchen sink. He turned around to face her, leaning his elbows on the counter behind him for support. "Word travels quickly enough, hopefully they don't know I'm hunting with my son since we killed the bitch, but I'm not so sure. That adds a whole 'nother worry for me." He leveled a look at Dean. "What I want to know is how you got the notion to come after me. If I wanted you along, I'd have asked." His tone was admonishing. "There was some stuff in that house I'd rather you not have seen."

He measured Dean's guilty gaze as the young man looked away, wilting under the scrutiny. So he had seen the body. Dammit. John would have spared him that.

"I didn't have a direct order to stay here, sir."

Ellis was looking at John with her ready to bicker expression. "The only words out of your mouth to that kid should be good job and thank you."

"Stay out of this, Ellis. I run a tight ship and Dean knows the protocol."

She rolled her eyes.

Thank God he'd never had daughters. It would have been Sam times ten.

John crossed the few steps between himself and his son seated at the table, looking at his Dad with his wide green eyes. His mother's eyes. He leaned over Dean and set his hand heavily on his boy's shoulder. "That said, thank you."

Dean looked surprised. "You're welcome, Dad." His voice was quiet.

John looked up at Ellis' delicate face. "And thank you, you nasty shrew."

She beamed like it was a compliment.

Ellis gave John a clinging hug, fighting some sort of weird feeling that she wouldn't see him again. It made her stomach lurch. "Be careful," she said in his ear. "And take care of your boy." She pressed a kiss to the prickly stubble on his cheek. John Winchester smiled his sad smile, full of heartbreak and whiskey and squeezed her arm. "I will."

She watched him limp to the truck and settle behind the wheel.

Dean shoved the gear into the back and approached her with his endearing slightly bowlegged gait. He bent down for her to hug him around the neck and as he drew back she felt his lips brush the crown of her head. Ellis closed her eyes against the sudden lump in her throat and tried to push the visions back. Her hand wrapped in the leather of his worn oversized jacket. "Take care, Handsome."

Dean pulled back and gave her his wink, full of false bravado. "Maybe I'll stop by sometime. We can talk about Platonic friendships..." He let his voice drop into something husky. "...on the couch." He turned without waiting for her response, but she was sure she saw him smirk.

She watched the two souls settle next to each other in the truck. One soul dim and wounded from the passing years, the other bright and radiant enough to fight the shadow cast by his father's despair.

Dean leaned back against the headrest and they pulled away from Ellis' life.

The End. Thanks for the reviews and feedback. Follow me if you are interested in more. I have no intention of stopping with Dean and John and Sam. I'm having way too much fun here. :)