A/N: I'd have gotten this up sooner in the day but two things continue to conspire against me - work and the public transportation system where I live. It's their fault. Uh huh. That is totally it. Thanks to everyone who's stuck through (and those waiting in the wings...), and to LdyAnne for poking me along on this story.

Don't Judge a Book
Chapter Twelve

John felt the tether he had on control fraying. His head was killing him, his stomach's contents were barely staying in place, he was exhausted, he needed a drink, these two yahoos were asking too many damned questions and above and beyond all that he could not stop thinking about Dean and Sam and getting them the hell away from San Diego. That was the only thing that mattered in the end. His boys had been without protection hours now. Hours. He was about to tell Rick to shove it up his ass – he did not owe them or anyone an explanation – when he noticed where they were and that Rick was parking the car.

"I said you were taking me to my boys," John said. "What the hell are we doing back here?"

"Triage," Rick drawled. He turned off the car and pulled the keys out of the ignition. The seat squeaked a little as he shifted to look back at John and AJ. "If we decide to take you to your boys – yes, I meant if – do you think they should see you in your condition? AJ and I have first aid supplies in our office, and a change of clothes."

He wanted to argue that. He wanted to lash out. All it would take was a squeeze of his trigger finger and AJ would spend the rest of his life with a limp and a surgically constructed knee. The one thing John couldn't do was clue them in to the fact he was not as inclined to kill them as he wanted them to believe. And he knew they did believe it, despite them not fucking doing what he asked even at gunpoint. He was a lot of things, most of them not admirable, but he was no murderer. Yet. He just wanted his boys safe, and the longer these two stonewalled him the more his moral compass swung toward homicidal. At the very least, he should disable them and then search out every single contact he had uncovered in their office earlier.

But Rick wasn't wrong. John knew it was bad enough for him to expose the boys to such a nomadic life, to have them so near danger (but so safe from it at the same time); the one thing he didn't want them to see yet was him hurt. Especially Dean. Sammy was probably too young to remember much of what was going on around him yet, but Dean … sometimes John caught glimpses of that night in his son's eyes. The ghost of Mary's death haunted Dean. No, he couldn't be weak or hurt in front of his oldest boy. Not yet. There'd come a time when it would be inevitable. That time was not now. Dean needed him to be strong, not give any appearance that he might disappear on him too.

"All right, fine," John said. He pulled himself together. "We'll do a little patching up first, but we're workin' fast and I don't want any more stalling."

He caught AJ trying to pull an innocent expression and nipped it in the bud with a jab of the handgun. John hadn't always been wary. It didn't used to come natural to him. In the past year and a half, though, he had learned to never underestimate anyone and never let his guard down. AJ might have been tonight's fall guy so far, but he'd done his research on the idiots who'd first screwed with his hunt and then made off with his boys. There was more to AJ than a pretty face. Both Simons were good at their jobs, had reputations easy to learn about.

"Scout's honor, no stalling," AJ said, with all the false sincerity of a lawyer. "But I think what we all could use is a visit to the emergency room."

"No doctors. I want …"

"Your boys. Yes, we know. You've told us that about forty times now," Rick said. His tone conveyed that he still thought John might be crazy or worse. "Look, the sun's not even all the way up. You said you've got no reason to trust us, and I suppose that's true. But they're safe where they are. Let them sleep for a little bit."

Rick could have no idea that Dean and Sam weren't safe, out in the open without the salt lines and wards John always had in place no matter what crappy motel they were in, no matter what city. But it was the Simons's goddamn reasonableness that was throwing him off. John had assaulted, kidnapped, dragged them into a full-on poltergeist attack and kidnapped them again, and yet they were being irrationally calm about it all. He didn't hold any illusions that it meant they were on his side, or Dean and Sam's side. All the same, it left him more confused than it should have, because he found himself actually kind of admiring these assholes for holding it together so well.

"You guys are a serious pain in my ass," John growled.

"We aim to please." Rick opened the car door, kicked at it with his boot heel until it jarred slightly on the hinges. "You're the one with the gun. You're not exactly a walk in the park yourself."

John knew what they were doing. They were using delay tactics in order to watch for an opening. He'd do the same in their situation. The thing they didn't seem to get yet was that this wasn't a game John was going to lose. He couldn't lose the only thing he had left that mattered, not ever and not because a couple of private detectives thought they were doing the right thing. Refueled by anger and the need to see his sons whole and okay, he grabbed AJ by the left arm and yanked. He wasn't going to tolerate any more bullshit excuses, and if the pained yelp Country Club let out was a good indication he had gained enough control back with that one move.

"Ah," AJ hissed.

"I got a med kit in the trunk, by the spare tire," John said, ignoring the discomfort his iron grip was having on AJ. He nodded at Rick and in one slightly uneven motion had his handgun at AJ's spine. "You get it out, and the duffel. Your brother and I will wait by the door."

"Watch it with him."

It seemed to John that Rick was ready to tear him apart with his bare hands. Good. That type of reaction he could deal with better than the smooth, rolling-with-the-punches shtick they were both employing. If nothing else, it made him feel more in control and he needed that.

Rick was quick about it. He scowled as he pulled out the duffel and first aid supplies, scowled more deeply as he joined John and AJ and kept on scowling all the way to the office. He actually bared his teeth when John gestured for him to start with his scalp laceration instead of his brother's scratch. He kept the gun on AJ, but managed to pull a flask from his duffel bag, along with a reasonably clean shirt.

"You've got a regular hospital in your trunk," Rick said. He muttered something that included the words weapons stockpile, but didn't enunciate further. He poked at the back of John's head. "You might need stitches."

John grunted. He didn't need stitches. Even if he did, he didn't give a damn about his aching head. He also didn't give a damn about explaining his weapons of choice. He clumsily twisted off the cap of the flask.

"The job isn't without its dangers," John said stiffly. These weren't his buddies. He didn't want the small talk to start again. He took a drink. Just one. "Tonight was easy."

"Easy?" AJ said, his voice nearly squeaking. "Boy, I'd hate to see what difficult is like."

John monitored silently while AJ stripped off his shirt and Rick did a quick inspection and clean of his shoulder. Then they reversed roles, and Rick rummaged through one of the desks and pulled out a change of shirts. AJ had been right before, he noted. He might not need stitches himself, but these two should find professional medical help; both of their gashes were deep enough that some antiseptic and a couple of gauze pads probably wouldn't cut it. But he sure as hell wasn't going to stitch the child-stealing bastards himself.

"When you get me my boys back, I'd advise you to go to a doctor," John said, purposely sounding like their pain amused him.

"And you were going to explain to us why we should let you have your little boys," Rick said, like he was maybe purposely sounding amused himself. Or not terrified, anyway. "It seems to me this kind of life just ain't right for a couple of kids to be growing up in."

Just like that, John was back to that night. The blood dripping on his hand, the fire, the awful heat he almost let consume him after he knew Dean had raced Sammy out of the house to relative safety. The heat he couldn't let consume him because Dean had raced Sammy out and they needed him. But it was then John had suddenly known, looking at his wife pinned to the ceiling – the goddamn ceiling – what true evil was capable of. It wasn't a tight-fisted boss or the tyrannical English teacher he'd had as a kid, and it had been in the baby's room. The baby wasn't safe. Dean wasn't safe. None of them were safe.

"You're right," John heard himself saying. It was like it wasn't really him. "But I have no other choice. I can't leave them with strangers."

"Why don't you stop doing what you do?" AJ asked as he one-handedly caught a fresh polo shirt his brother tossed him and struggled to put it on. "Why keep doing something so dangerous if you don't have to?"

John hesitated. He wasn't the soul baring type. His life was none of their business. But these guys were like terriers going after rats. He had started to believe they would rather take a bullet than turn Dean and Sam over to him, a dose of reality he didn't like thinking about. He wasn't the perfect father. By many rights, he was a piss poor one. The one thing he had plenty of was love. Everything he did was because he loved his boys so much, and he did have to do it. For vengeance, yes, but also because if he didn't, he was afraid … he was afraid. All the time.

That wasn't something he was going to confess to two strangers, but he had to tell them something.

"I don't owe you my life story. Hell, I don't owe you any explanation at all," John said. "I will tell you this much: about a year and a half ago, something evil killed my wife, something far worse than that poltergeist tonight."

Rick and AJ exchanged glances, both of them nodded like they'd already suspected as much. John wondered if Dean had said something, but the thought vanished immediately. Dean wouldn't. Dean never talked about his mother. Dean was only just now starting to come out of his silence, a trauma-induced silence John had feared was permanent.

"I'm sorry. That sounds awful, but it doesn't tell us why you can't let it go for your kids," Rick said.

"Dean didn't talk for the better part of a year, you know. That's how horrible it was." John didn't know why he was still talking, or why his voice sounded far away. It was like some damned floodgate was let open and he couldn't stop. "My wife is dead, and that thing is still out there. Whatever it is that killed her, it could come back."

"Whu … why do you think it might?" AJ whispered.

"Because." John paused. He didn't want to say it. He never had, not out loud and not to anyone. Saying it might make it true. It also might make them understand. "My wife died in Sammy's nursery. He's never gonna know his mother, but he's gonna know that his whole life. And I think it … I think he's …"

When it came down to it, John couldn't. It was too much.

"Oh God," Rick said, horrified.

"You see?" John ran a hand through his hair. "Even when I leave them alone, they are never unprotected. I know things most people don't. I keep them safe. They can't be away from me."

The room was silent for a long moment. John realized he'd stopped holding the gun on AJ. It didn't seem like the Simons had noticed, or like they harbored any plans to overpower him. He straightened and re-aimed anyway. His little lapse didn't mean they were friends now. If what he'd revealed was enough to get them to understand, then maybe he was closer to getting his boys back.

"Okay," Rick said.

For the first time all night, Rick's expression didn't promise John pain. It was worse; it was pity.

"Yes, I think we get the picture," AJ said.

But they couldn't. Even with what John had just told them, he could see in their eyes that they didn't fully get it. He didn't need them to. He didn't even want them to. He just wanted his boys. He had no real idea if something was after Sammy, but he had learned enough to know that things seemed drawn to them as much as John was drawn to the hunt. Jim Murphy had once told him that children in general were susceptible to the supernatural in ways adults weren't, and it was his own gut telling him that Sam was like the flame a moth threw itself at. He had no proof and no foundation for that feeling. He knew it was right.

"I'm not sure you do," John said. "But I don't just want them, I need my boys. Until I figure things out, the only place either one of 'em is safe is with me. Please. Please."

Rick and AJ looked at each other again, as if having some sort of wordless conversation. Hell, they could be telepathic on their own time. Of course, if they were telepathic, then John would be fully justified in killing them. But the rage was mostly gone, depleted by having to unveil so much of his inner workings. The longer they sat around, though, the more John itched. The sun was coming up. There were no excuses left. They'd either cooperate, or he'd have to take steps he'd rather not.

"We can't take you to Dean and Sam," AJ said, raising his uninjured arm to allay protest. "John, it's nothing personal, but if all of this is even a tiny bit true, we can't risk exposing … well, frankly, I'm not sure we can even handle knowing what's out there. We need to limit our contact, for our own sanity."

Jesus, Country Club talked too much. John looked at Rick, who gave a long-suffering sigh.

"What my brother is trying to say is, if you'll trust us enough we can bring the boys here. They're not in social services yet. Against better judgment, we didn't make it that far. They're just not somewhere you ever need to know about, especially not because of what we know now."

John's shoulders slumped with relief. He eyed both Simons carefully, searching for any hint of duplicity. He didn't see any, but that didn't mean it wasn't there. His head still throbbed.

"One of you. One of you can bring the boys here. The other stays with me, as insurance," he said. John scrubbed a hand down his face. Which one? His ears still rang from Country Club's little speech. "Rick, you stay. AJ, you have thirty minutes or I'm going to have to do something none of us want."

"I'm not sure I can make it in thirty minutes."

"Too bad. Time starts now." John glanced at his wristwatch. "Go."

AJ had the good grace to widen his eyes and gulp, before he nodded and grabbed a set of keys from Rick's desk.

So John and Rick sat and waited, not speaking. Rick had materialized a cowboy hat from somewhere and perched it low on his forehead, his feet on his desk. By all appearances ready to take a nap, except for the furtive glances at the disarmed guns left there hours ago. John watched him, and Rick watched him watch. There wasn't much left either of them could say as far as John was concerned. He wanted out of their lives probably as much as they wanted him out, which was pretty much how all of his interactions with civilians went. Time seemed to be going slow.

"You're doing the right thing," he said at last, because all the empty air was making him uncomfortable.

"Like we had any other choice, really," Rick returned, understanding and bitter at the same time. "You know I could probably take you right now."

No, Rick couldn't, not with the beating he'd taken at the Sanchez house. Not even on a normal day. John knew that. He didn't announce it.

"But you're not going to."

"But I'm not going to. The bottom line is, I'd rather we'd never met, John. I'm not convinced what we're doing is right; I'm just not convinced any other choice is better."

"Welcome to my…"

The phone rang. Déjà vu all over again. Rick jerked his feet off the desk, sat up and reached for the receiver.

John gave him a specific nonverbal clue that it was not advisable. He didn't know who might be calling, but he did know the Simons had friends in the police department and last night's activities at the Sanchez house might prompt some inquiries even if the family hadn't said anything. That was their headache, and they could handle it when he and the boys were long gone. The machine kicked in, AJ's voice filled the office.

"Rick, it's me," AJ's voice continued when his recording ended. "Rick, pick up."

John waggled a finger, and picked up before Rick could. He held the receiver to his ear.

"Yeah," he said.

"They're gone. All of them. Mom's not here, and neither are the boys. The car's in the garage, so Mom didn't take them anywhere. They're just gone." AJ sounded panicked. "What are we going to do?"

John's stomach sank. It was too late. He'd spent too long fucking around and now his boys were gone.