Title: Reader's Special: Second Edition - One Shot Reward Fic Collection

Author: Disasteriffic Kaz

Info: A collection of 1 Shot Reward Fics for Prompters of my Reader's Special: Third Edition. Features many seasons, hurt/limp/awesome/caring!Sam/Dean/John/Bobby See each chapter for specific info for each 1 shot reward fic.

Author's Note: The Reader's Special: Third Edition was a smashing success! Prompters of the story were offered a One Shot Reward story of their choice. These are they. None of the chapters contained in this collection are connected. Each one is a stand-alone one shot per the Prompters request. Thank you to all of you who prompted the Reader's Special! You were fantastic as always!

Chapter Info: For AlxM – Knowing Dean will never say yes, the Angels resurrect a Winchester they think will, Dad. John forgives Dean his part in the apocalypse but is less than charitable to Sam. John gets drunk, loses control and takes it out on Sam. Few days later, drunk John begins to remember after a hunt gone wrong and Sam injured in hospital. Some apologies, awesome Dean defending his brother, happy ending. (This prompt reduced to high points for excessive length Lol I'll post the complete prompt at the end of the chapter)

A/N: So, some AU fun in season 5 which will include some abusive!John as requested in the prompt. :D

Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678 :D– Friend and Muse's co-conspirator.

**Follow me on Facebook as "Disasteriffic Kaz" for frequent fic updates or just to chat!
~Reviews are Love~

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Dean stared out the window of Bobby's truck and sighed. He should be happy, he knew that, and yet he couldn't make himself not feel as if something was very wrong with the world. Their father was back in the land of the living. According to Castiel, once the angels had decided Dean was never going to say 'yes' to Michael, they'd resurrected a Winchester they thought would - John. Dean snorted softly; Morons.

"You alright over there, son?" Bobby gave Dean a side-long glance. He'd been more quiet than normal since their dad had been brought back to the land of the living which told Bobby he was worried about something.

"Fine," Dean replied and kept his eyes out the window. He got enough of that question from Sam the last week. The only person who didn't seem to feel the need to poke at him was Dad. He scowled. Dad had easily forgiven Dean for his part in sparking the apocalypse, but Sam…He'd seen the looks his dad had given him and they made him grind his teeth. It was clear that John thought Dean had failed him, that he should have kept his word and actually killed his little brother before the apocalypse had been allowed to start.

"You break my door, you're puttin' a new one in," Bobby said suddenly, startling Dean as he heard the plastic on the door begin to squeal under the pressure of Dean's grip.

"Sorry." Dean let go of the handle and took a deep breath. "Just thinking."

"Yeah, well, think a little softer." Bobby rolled his eyes. It had taken both him and Sam to convince Dean to go on a supply run with him. Sam had been insistent that he and their father needed time to…readjust to each other. Dean had put up a hell of a fight and finally only conceded to shut them both up. "They'll be fine."

Dean said nothing. How could he possibly tell Bobby that before he'd died, John had ordered him to kill his brother to prevent this whole mess if he couldn't stop him? Worse yet, how could he possibly tell Bobby that he wasn't so certain that, now that John was back, he wouldn't try to take it upon himself to do what Dean never would be able to bring himself to do in some crazy attempt to keep things from going from bad to worse. Bobby wouldn't just wave the shotgun at his Dad this time; he'd flat out shoot him with it. "How long we gonna be gone?"

"We'll be back by morning." Bobby sighed and looked over at him. "You can always call him."

"Yeah. I will." Dean went back to staring out the window and trying not to think the bad thoughts that kept popping into his head. Sam could take care of himself.

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Sam set his book aside with a sigh and stretched on his bed. His dad had been pretty clear earlier that he wanted to be alone, and Sam had escaped to his room to read instead. He thumped his head back against the wall, frustrated. There was something between them, and he feared he knew what it was, even though his father hadn't said it. Sam had jump started the apocalypse, the thing Dad had warned Dean about right before his death. Not for the first time, part of him wished Dean had listened. So many lives would have been saved if Dean had only been able to do what Dad had asked of him.

He shook his head and threw his legs off the bed to the floor. The past was the past, and he was well aware Dean wouldn't have been able to live with himself if he had. "Dammit," Sam muttered. "This is stupid." He truly was amazed and glad to have his father back. He wanted to get past this. That was why he'd made Dean go with Bobby after all. Sam stood and went out, determined to get his father to talk to him. He jogged down the stairs and turned into the living room and then stopped.

John sat behind Bobby's desk and was pouring himself another mug of whiskey as Sam watched. Beside him was another bottle, empty, and Sam began to rethink his timing. He took a step back to go back upstairs.

"Sam." John said softly.

Sam froze and silently cursed to himself. He should have just stayed upstairs. "Hey, Dad." He said instead and hoped for the best.

John stared at his youngest son and scowled as he tossed back a shot of whiskey and then poured himself another. "Come're," He ordered and stood. He was well drunk at that point and should probably have just poured himself in bed, but Sam was here now and, dammit, they were going to have this out. He'd been swallowing the anger back since that damn angel had told him what was happening.

Sam took a few steps into the room and found he was nervous. Dad drunk had never been a good thing when he was a kid; he tended to yell and throw things. Dean had always grabbed him and made them scarce until Dad was sober again. He stopped and shook his head. "I didn't mean to interrupt. I'll…"

"Afraid of what I'll say, Sammy?" John asked angrily and advanced on his son, taking a swig from the bottle. Some small voice in the back of his mind was saying to put the bottle down and walk away, but he was too far gone to listen. "You know what you did."

"Dad, I…" Sam looked down at his feet as the familiar guilt swelled over him and made his heart ache. "I didn't know."

"Not an excuse." John glared over at him and stood in front of his much taller son. "You know what they told me, Sam? What that…that angel told me?" John fisted a hand in the front of Sam's t-shirt and shook him. "Demon blood. You drank demon blood!" He shoved Sam back a step but kept his grip, distantly surprised that Sam didn't just throw him off. "How are you even human anymore?"

Sam flinched as if struck. Dean and Bobby would never say it to him, he knew, but that was how he felt…all the time. It was this sick feeling in his gut that told him he wasn't completely human anymore…couldn't be. "I don't know," Sam whispered, but his father didn't seem to hear him, taking another long drink from his whiskey bottle.

"My son." John stared at his chest as the anger washed through him. "Mary's baby." He choked a little on her name and looked back up at his face. "Do you know what your mother would think of you? She died for you!" He pretended he couldn't see the instant pain in Sam's eyes or feel the way his chest trembled under his fist. "This is what she died for. A demon-blood-drinking freak who popped the cork on the damn apocalypse!" He didn't even realize he'd swung until he was looking down at him.

Sam pushed up so he was sitting against the wall and rubbed his fingers over the side of his mouth, coming away with blood. It didn't hurt like he thought it should, but at that moment, he was numb. He let his father grab his shirt and pull him back to his feet, going without a fight.

John had gone to hell, escaped, gone back and been rescued and then to hear the things Sam had done…it was all too much. "I warned Dean!" He hit Sam again, unable to stop himself. "I warned him that if he couldn't save you…"

"Dad, he did. He saved me. He did!" Sam wouldn't let his brother be taken down with him in their father's eyes. "He was there at the end. He tried so hard, Dad!"

"Not hard enough!" John shouted. "I never should have asked him. I should have done it myself as soon as I knew!"

Sam saw it coming and let it, wincing as the mostly empty bottle of whiskey hit the side of his head and he went down to the floor with his head spinning. "Dad…please."

"Shut up, Sam!" John shouted at him. He looked at the neck of the whiskey bottle in his hand. Sam hazily followed his gaze, dully wondering how much it would hurt to feel the jagged shards of glass slice into his throat and what it would do to Dean to come home to find him like that. John stared at the remnants of the bottle a moment longer and threw it aside with a growl. "Dammit!" He left Sam sitting there and went in search of more, forgetting in his whiskey-haze what he'd been doing.

Sam crawled out of the room into the hall and used the wall to regain his feet. He spit a mouthful of blood onto the floor and went for the stairs. Inside, he was just numb. He had nothing left. Dad's shots had all been aimed perfectly. He staggered upstairs and into the bathroom. Sam flicked the light on as he shut the door and leaned on the sink, spitting more blood into the basin. He looked up into the mirror and stared at himself. He was deathly pale except for the blood on his lips and the bruise already starting at the corner of his mouth. He ran a hand over the back of his head and flinched as he found a piece of whiskey bottle and pulled the glass free from his scalp.

He grabbed the towel off the wall and pressed it over his head. He felt hollowed out. Sam groaned and left the bathroom, going to his room instead. He stretched out on his bed with a thump and stared at Dean's empty bed wishing he'd never convinced his brother to leave for the night. And then took it back. He'd deserved it, every blow and more. Sam closed his eyes and wished for sleep to take him.

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John jerked awake on the couch and covered his eyes from the glare of early morning light coming in the living room window. "Fuck." He rolled off the couch and stood, holding his head in his hands for a moment. "Ok. No more whiskey. Damn." He looked around the room and rolled his eyes at the sight of broken glass over the floor and books shoved from the top of Bobby's desk.

"Good job, John. He leaves you alone in his house for one night and you have a damn bender." John shook his head and went to the kitchen, grabbing a broom and dustpan. If he was lucky, he could get it all cleaned up before Bobby and Dean got back. He glanced up the stairs as he passed and was grateful Sam had slept through it. He narrowed his eyes as he knelt beside the broken glass. He couldn't actually remember last night. He hoped Sam had slept through it. He snorted. If Sam had woken up, he'd have quietly cleaned the mess. He was like that. He always had been; picking up after him when he had 'bad Dad' moments.

John sighed sadly for all the times he'd failed his sons, even if he wasn't feeling particularly charitable toward Sam just then. That made him scowl as he swept the last of the glass up and went back to the kitchen, dumping it out. A flash of anger welled up at the thought of his youngest son. He quickly squashed it. Sooner or later he'd have to talk to Sam about it, but he wasn't ready yet.

"Shit!" John ran and looked out the window as he heard the sound of Bobby's truck rumbling toward the house. He ran back to the living room and quickly stacked all the books back on the desk then dashed down the hall to the bathroom and a shower. He could smell the whiskey on himself like he'd bathed in it and needed to wash off the evidence before anyone found out how he'd spent the night.

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Dean climbed out of Bobby's truck and looked up at the house. He wasn't sure why, but he had a bad feeling. "I'm gonna check on Sam." He told Bobby and jogged up the steps and went inside. He came in the front door and heard the downstairs shower running. Dean figured that would be their dad and headed for the stairs. His boot slipped in something on the floor and he looked down. The first stab of fear hit him in the chest as he realized it was a small puddle of congealed blood.

"Oh, shit," Dean breathed. He ran up the stairs, taking the corner in a slide and down the hall. He threw open the door to their room and then stopped to reign in his breathing. Sam was in his bed where he should be. He frowned. Sam was on top of the covers and still in his clothes from yesterday. That wasn't right. Dean went to the bed and sat carefully down next to his hip. "Sammy?" He wrinkled his nose. "Damn, dude. Did you tie one on last night?" The smell of stale whiskey was powerful. "Sam! Wake up already!" Dean banged his shoulder.

Sam startled awake with Dean's voice. "Dean?" He raised a hand to rub over his face and rolled to sit up. He sniffed at his shoulder and groaned, smelling the whiskey. "Yeck."

"Thought you wanted to talk to Dad, not drown your sorrows," Dean said and smirked. He stood, letting the light from the window fall on Sam and gasped. "Holy shit!" He grabbed his brother's head and turned his face so he could see it better. "What the hell happened to you?"

Sam stared like a deer in headlights for a moment as the night before came back to him. "Dean, it's nothing. I'm fine." He ducked away from his brother's hands and headed for the door only to be stopped as Dean grabbed his arm and held him still. Sam cringed as Dean's hand landed on the back of his head.

"Nothing's why your hair's matted with blood back here?" Dean spun him around and glared. "You tell me what the hell happened, Sam. Now!" He watched his brother's face and saw sorrow and pain slide into his eyes as Sam tugged his arm free and backed away. "Son of a bitch," Horror fell into Dean's gut. "Dad did this, didn't he? Don't you lie to me, Sam."

Sam shook his head. He reached behind him and closed the door, knowing he wasn't going to get out of this. "Dean, it's not what you think, alright?" He kept his place in front of the door because he could see the tightening across his brother's shoulders that said he was a moment away from running downstairs and doing something they'd all regret. "We did talk. We talked." He didn't see the need in telling Dean what their father had said. "I…I pissed him off. I mean, he was already mad and he has every right. You know that." He stopped and looked at Dean, silently begging him to understand. "I asked for this. It's not…it's not Dad's fault."

"Not his fault, my ass!" Dean barely kept his voice from a shout. "He made you bleed! I'll kill him!"

Sam grabbed his brother as he made for the door and pushed him back. "Dean, no! Please!" He held up his hands in the face of Dean's fury. "Dean, this is my second chance with Dad. I…he had to get it out of his system…what I did." Sam stopped and had to suck in a breath as his father's words from last night crushed him a little more. "If you go down there and…and stand up for me, you'll ruin any chance I have of making this right with him. Dean, please." Sam begged. It was all he had. Dean had a blind spot where he was concerned, even now, even after the demon blood, Ruby, and Lillith. It was still there. It was strained, but for him, Dean would run their own father out of the house for hurting him.

"I need this, Dean. Please just…let it go." Sam asked more softly. "It's not gonna happen again. I think…I think we'll be better now. Please. Give me this."

Dean snarled angrily, staring at the bruise on his brother's mouth and the hair sticking up on the back of his head from the blood. He knew what had done that; a whiskey bottle. That's why Sam reeked of it. He looked up at Sam's eyes and some of the anger flowed away at the pleading he found there. Sam really did want to have a chance at making things right with Dad, even if it meant taking a beating. He turned and kicked the end of Sam's bed. How many times had he taken a swing at his brother over something? But it didn't make this alright. Dad could have killed him with that bottle if he'd hit a little lower.

Dean sucked in a few breaths to calm himself and finally looked back at Sam who had remained silent to let him think. That pleading was still in his eyes along with something else Dean couldn't define but it made him hurt just to see it. "Alright, Sam," Dean said at last and saw his brother heave out a breath in relief. "I'll keep my mouth shut for now, but if he raises a hand to you again, all bets are off. You got me? You don't lie to me. Not about this."

Sam nodded. "Yeah. I promise." He managed a weak smile. "I'm gonna go clean up." He opened the door and turned back to look at Dean. "You promise. You're going to leave this alone."

"Dammit, yes, Sam. I promise." Dean rolled his eyes. "Go shower already. You smell like the floor of a bar."

"Thank you, Dean." Sam left and went to the bathroom, closing the door and leaned against it. He felt weak and empty and was glad Dean hadn't been able to see that. He heard his brother's footsteps stop outside the door and rolled his eyes. Sam went to the shower and quickly turned it on before Dean came in to check on him.

Dean listened to the shower come on and sighed. He went back downstairs and found Bobby at the bottom. "Hey."

"How's our boy?" Bobby shifted the bag he carried and scowled at the expression on Dean's face.

"He's…he's fine." Dean took the bag from him. "Rolled out of bed last night and hit his damn head."

"Hey guys." John smiled at his son as he came down the hall, toweling his hair dry. "How'd it go?"

"Good," Bobby said and made himself scarce. Something was going on; he just wasn't sure what. "I'll get the rest."

John clapped a hand to Dean's shoulder and looked up the stairs with a frown. "Sam still sleeping? You should go wake him up." He headed into the kitchen, in desperate need of coffee.

Dean stared at his father's back. "I did," He said in a tight voice. "He didn't look so hot. You guys have words last night?" He'd promised Sam he wouldn't go after their dad. He didn't promise not to try and get Dad to fess up to it on his own.

"Huh?" John looked over his shoulder with a frown. "No?"

"You don't sound sure about that." Dean watched him fiddle with the coffee maker and frowned.

"Well, I mean unless he came down after I p…fell asleep." John shrugged and poured water into the machine.

Dean shook his head slowly. The son of a bitch actually didn't remember last night; he'd gotten that drunk. He resisted the urge to shake some sense into his father. "Yeah, well, smells like whiskey in here this morning. How about you lay off the bottle for a while?" Dean turned and left, not waiting to hear what he had to say. He didn't trust himself.

"Everything alright, son?" Bobby asked as he came back in with another bag.

"Yeah. It's awesome." Dean sighed and glanced back in the kitchen. "Think maybe you could find me and Sam a job? Just, uh…get them outta each other's way for a day or two."

"Yeah. Yeah, I can do that." Bobby watched Dean head back upstairs and looked into the kitchen at John who was waiting for the coffee to brew. He went in and dropped his bag on the table. "Somethin' go on here last night?"

"No. Why's everyone keep asking that?" John rolled his eyes. "Can't a guy just sleep in once in a while?"

"Right." Bobby waved at the bags. "Put those away why don'tcha while you're waitin' for that to brew." He headed into his living room, noting the shifted piles of books on his desk and the over-clean floor. "Hmmph." He sat at his desk and opened his laptop, pulling up his email. If Dean wanted to get out of his dad's way for a bit, he could do that. There'd been nothing but tension between John and his youngest since he'd come back. Lord knew he had his own issues with the choices Sam had made, but he knew things John didn't and, unlike him, Bobby had been here for the long haul. The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea of Sam getting a break from the constant tension of being in the same house with the man.

"Somethin' simple," Bobby muttered and pulled up an alert from a fellow Hunter about a haunting in the next state over. "Salt and burn oughta do it."

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John sat on the hood of a broken down Camaro in the junkyard lot and sipped from his beer. He'd had the whiskey bottle in his hand and then set it aside when the idea seemed to turn his stomach. The boys had pretty much run out yesterday not long after Dean got back with Bobby, and he wondered if he'd said something to Sam while drunk. Hell, he hadn't even seen Sam leave; just the back of his head in the passenger seat of the Impala as they drove away.

"Dammit." John looked back at the house as he heard the door open.

"Winchester! Get over here!" Bobby yelled.

"Aw, what the hell?" John groaned and slid off the hood, walking over to meet Bobby at his truck. "What?"

"Dean just called." Bobby tossed John his jacket, took his beer and tossed that out into the yard to break. "Somethin' went wrong on that job. Sam's in the hospital."

"What?" John's world seemed to tilt around him. "How…how bad is it?"

"Bad enough. Get in." Bobby climbed behind the wheel and revved the engine while John dashed around the front and hastily got in.

"It was just a salt and burn!" John said as Bobby spun gravel out of the junkyard. "They can do that in their damn sleep. What the hell happened?"

"I don't know. Dean wasn't in any condition to give me details." Bobby looked over at him and saw the fear warring with irritation on his face. "Don't you give that boy crap when we get there," He warned darkly. "You didn't hear him. Whatever happened, he's scared to death about his brother right now."

Bobby was thankful it was only a three hour drive. John was close to climbing the walls by the time they pulled up outside the hospital. Dean hadn't been answering his cell during the drive and that hadn't helped the stress level of either man. John was out of the truck before Bobby even got the engine off and running for the emergency room.

John stormed into the ER, peering at the sea of faces in the waiting room and growling when he didn't find Dean's.

"Dammit, Winchester," Bobby ran up behind him, wishing he was younger, and grabbed the man's arm. "You don't even know what name to ask for. It's Berryhill."

"Berryhill?" John frowned, not recognizing that one, and headed for the desk.

Bobby smirked. "Dean pissed Sam off last time they needed insurance, and he gave 'em ballroom dancers' names."

John snorted softly, amused in spite of his fear. It was a very 'Dean' thing to do and just like Sam to take a page from his big brother's book.

"We're looking for Sam and Dean Berryhill." Bobby stepped in front of John, deciding he was more likely to have the needed patience. "I'm their uncle. This is their father."

The nurse at the desk smiled. "Just give me a moment to check."

John itched with the need to search the hospital on his own. Only Bobby's grip on his elbow kept him in check. "What's taking so long?"

"Sirs? If you'll just take the elevator up to the third floor, Doctor Harriman will be waiting for you."

John immediately wrenched his arm free and headed for the bank of elevators with Bobby on his heels. He caught one as the doors opened and surged inside, slapping the button.

"John, just take a damn breath already," Bobby rolled his eyes, "before you give some poor nurse a heart attack." The man had a look on his face like he was ready to kill something.

John nodded but said nothing. He remembered Dean telling him that Sam hadn't been feeling well. He should have stopped them going on the hunt. He damn well knew better than to hunt with backup that wasn't a hundred percent. Guilt overcame him and he closed his eyes. John gasped as an image of Sam flashed in his mind. His eyes flew open and he looked down at his right hand; the knuckles were bruised.

"John?" Bobby asked, seeing the odd look on his face as the elevator rose.

John looked at him and back at his hand. Another image came to him…of his hand connecting with the side of his son's head with a whiskey bottle and then Sam laying dazed on the floor looking up at him with pain and fear in his eyes, and he had the overwhelming urge to throw up. He slapped a hand over his mouth and tried to breathe through it.

"Man, if you're gonna hurl, at least wait 'til we're out of the damn elevator." Bobby silently urged the thing to go faster and sighed gratefully when the doors opened. "Come on. Move." Bobby took John's elbow again and led him out into the chest of a white-coated doctor. "He's gonna blow. Where's a good place?"

"What? Oh, my." The doctor took John's other arm and aimed him for a nearby trashcan. "Berryhill family, I presume?"

"Yeah," Bobby nodded and grimaced as John bent over the trashcan and let his breakfast go.

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Dean sat beside his brother's bed and held his hand. Sam was unconscious still with his head turned towards him. Even in sleep, Sam instinctively sought out his brother's presence in a room. Dean ran his free hand through his hair and watched Sam's face, willing him to wake the hell up already. He couldn't shake the image of Sam being thrown into the mausoleum last night, the way he'd hunched over himself leaving the cemetery, the blood he'd started coughing and throwing up or the way he'd suddenly gone still and unresponsive on the bathroom floor.

The doctor had told him it was pressure in his skull from a concussion and a punctured lung from a broken rib. Dean hated himself a little for letting Sam talk him out of going to the hospital for so many hours. He'd almost lost him.

"See if I ever let you use those puppy-dog eyes on me again, kiddo," Dean whispered and carded a hand through Sam's over-long hair, pushing it off his forehead. He shot to his feet when the door opened and his father and Bobby came into the room.

John stood in the doorway, stricken as he looked at his youngest laid out in the bed, too pale and too still. The doctor hadn't held any punches in detailing Sam's injuries from his supposed mugging. The part that had turned John's stomach a second time was being told the more serious concussion came very soon after a more minor one hours before, likely the result of the cut on the back of his head. He had done that to Sam. Everything had come back to him; every despicable thing he had said and the way he had effortlessly broken his boy apart. If he needed any confirmation how badly he'd screwed up, the look on Dean's face now was enough.

"How's he doin'?" Bobby stepped to the bed and rested a hand on Sam's shoulder.

"Hasn't woken up yet," Dean said softly and shrugged. "Doc says he can come out of it anytime now. He'll be fine."

"'Course he will. He's a Winchester." Bobby nodded and squeezed Sam's shoulder. "Too damn stubborn to give up." He glanced up and saw Dean staring at his father. "I'll, uh, just…go get some coffee." He had a feeling he didn't want to hear what was coming and made a quick exit.

Dean watched his father who had yet to move from the doorway and scowled. "'nuff of the whiskey finally filter out of your head, Dad? You remember what happened now?"

John glared at Dean defensively. "Don't, Dean." He moved into the room finally and looked back at Sam. "How'd this happen?"

"Let me think," Dean started in a voice heavy with anger and sarcasm. "Oh, yeah. See, Sam here was too busy trying to hold his splitting head together and deal with whatever CRAP you fed him to realize the damn ghost was behind him." He stopped, breathing heavily and swallowed the rage back with difficulty. "You know what the most pathetic part of this mess is, Dad? All he cares about is not screwin' shit up with you again." Dean laughed but it was harsh. "Made me promise to leave you alone about this."

"Dean…" John started but his son's snarl cut him off.

"I'm gonna say this once." Dean glared across Sam at their Dad. "Sam only did what we both tried do, what we'd been trying to figure out how to do for months, to PREVENT the last seal from being broken - kill Lillith. Who the hell would have thought that was a bad idea? I sure as hell didn't know, and that Ruby bitch had him so screwed up after I…after I died…"

Dean stopped and ran a hand through his hair, realizing he was still holding on to his brother's hand. "I broke the first seal, Dad. None of this…NONE of it would be possible if I hadn't broke first." He didn't look up at his dad; he couldn't. "I started all this. They played us right from the start. So if you wanna blame anyone for the damn apocalypse, you blame me. If I hadn't been weak…if I hadn't broken, Sam would never have been in that position in the first damn place."

"Dean, I'm sorry." John said softly.

"If you ever lay a hand on my brother again, I won't let it go next time." Dean looked up and met his father's surprised eyes. "You understand me? This…never happens again."

"Dean?" Sam's whisper-quiet voice startled both men.

"Hey, Sammy. You back with us?" Dean leaned in and rested a hand on his forehead as Sam slowly blinked up at him.

"D'we get him?" Sam asked and closed his eyes as his head pounded.

Dean snorted softly. "Yeah, we got him. How you feeling?" Dean watched Sam open his eyes again and look around the room and felt the flinch under his hand when he saw their dad. "Easy, buddy."

"Sammy." John moved to the side of the bed, and it hurt something in his chest when his youngest son flinched away from his touch and wouldn't meet his eyes. "Dean. Give us a minute."

"Dad, I don't think…" Dean started but was cut off.

"Dean. I got it." John met his angry, green eyes steadily. "We'll be fine. Just give me a minute." It angered him to feel like he had to ask permission to be alone with Sam, but he knew he'd brought this on himself and he had to fix it. He'd made sure that Dean would protect his brother against anything that threatened him all his life, and now that seemed to include him. His anger washed away on seeing the slightly panicked look on Sam's face and Dean squeezing his hand before he let him go and walked away.

"I'll be just outside," Dean assured Sam as he opened the door and stepped out.

John eased a hip onto the side of the bed and sighed. "Sam…" He stopped, swallowing when Sam's eye's remained focused on the door where Dean had just exited. "Sammy, could you look at me?" He asked gently and smiled when Sam rolled his head and eyed him warily.

"I'm sorry," Sam said softly. "Should have been…paying more attention. I missed it." Sam raised a hand to rub at his head. "Should have had Dean's back. Sorry."

"Don't, alright? Stop apologizing." John took Sam's hand and held on to it when he tried to pull away. "I screwed up, kiddo. I'm the one who should be sorry." He smiled sadly at the surprised look on Sam's face. "What happened the other night…I…God, Sammy, I'm so sorry." John leaned forward and smoothed a hand over his son's head and down the back, resting his fingers lightly over the healing cut he could feel and the newer swelling next to it. "The things I said to you…"

"I deserved them," Sam said softly and dropped his eyes from his father's.

"What? No, Sam. No!" John took his jaw and made him meet his eyes again. "I got stupid, blind drunk and said horrible things I…I didn't even remember doing it when I woke up, Sammy. You didn't deserve one word of that, least of all about…about your mother." It was John who looked away now as guilt swamped him. "Mary would be pissed as hell at me for even thinking those things, much less ever saying them to you. And she'd be right."

"But Lillith, the apocalypse…it's my fault," Sam shook his head, unable to stop the first hot tear that slid from his eyes.

"Truth is, we all had a part in it, kiddo." John looked back to him and smoothed the tear away with his thumb. "And…I think maybe we all failed you somewhere along the way." John said it softly but felt the ring of truth in it. It was Dean's voice in his ear, then Bobby's, and he thought about the whole thing, how it stretched back to when the kid trembling next to him now had been only six months old. "You never had a chance, Sam, and I was…" He sighed. "…I was too angry for too long to see it. I'm sorry."

Sam swallowed the lump of emotion in his throat. He didn't think he deserved forgiveness; he really didn't. But knowing you didn't deserve it and needing it were two different things. He needed it. "You don't…hate me?"

John shook his head. "No, Sammy." He cupped the side of his face and met his watery gaze steadily. "Oh, I'm still pissed and we need to talk about some things, but I don't hate you. And I get it; I really do. You got played, Sam. We all did." John rolled his eyes and snorted. "How in hell were any of us supposed to come out ahead with demons AND angels working against us?"

Sam shook his head. "I dunno." He sniffed and let himself turn his hand in his father's grip, taking it in his own. "What do we do?"

"What we always do, son." John squeezed the side of Sam's neck. "We fight the sons of bitches." He chuckled softly. "You know those idiot angels actually expect me to say yes?"

Sam laughed in spite of everything. "Should know better."

"Damn right, they should." John smiled and turned to look at the closed door. "You can come back in, Dean. No blood on the walls." He didn't even say it very loud, but it was enough. The door opened instantly and Dean came back into the room, going immediately to the other side of the bed and putting a hand on Sam's shoulder.

"Everything good in here?" Dean asked, watching his brother carefully and sighed in relief when Sam smiled.

"Yeah. Yeah, we're good," Sam told him and meant it. He screwed his eyes shut as pain pounded through his head. "But, uh…morphine would be nice right now…or something."

"Shouldn't use your head as a battering ram, sasquatch." Dean chuckled and nodded as Dad pressed the call button.

"Have you flyin' on the good stuff in no time, Sammy," John assured him and kept hold of his youngest's hand with a firm squeeze. He had a second chance at life with his boys; he was going to make sure he didn't blow it this time around. "We've gotcha."

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The End.

Next Up: emebalia

As promised, this is the complete prompt from AlxM:
The angels finally realize that Dean will not say yes under any circumstances or at any costs, so they resurrect the one other person that has Winchester blood in his veins, the John Winchester himself. Now he's alive and the first thing he does is go to his boys, and he knew exactly where to go to find them, Bobby Singer's house. He finds them, after a bit of skepticism from his boys and going through some tests, Sam and Dean finally believe it's their father. They tell him all about the events that occured, and John's definitely not happy. Dean, he forgives later, understanding that no one can hold out for very long in hell, and admitting that he jad broke himself a few times. But Sam? Nuh uh. John has never laid a hand on his sons before, yelled? Yes, but hit them? Never. He breaks that one night when he's drunk, and rage and drunk do not mix well, and unfortunately, Sam comes at the wrong place at the wrong time, feeling the wrath of John Winchester. The next morning, Dean finds out (We get an awesome brotherly moment) and he's pissed, he goes to confront his Dad, but Sam stops him, telling him he has a second chance with his father and he doesn't want to screw that up by making him think he's weak (or any other reason). John wakes up, doesn't remember anything he's done last night, continues to ignore his youngest son. But after a few days, he starts remembering everything, which is, after a hunt gone wrong with Sammy in the hospital. He feels guilty and he goes to apologize to him after he's woken up. Dean's still pissed and maybe, he threatens him that if he ever lays a hand on his brother, he won't let him go next time (Oh yeah! Protective Dean.) And when John and Sam are alone in the room, he hates the way his son is behaving around him (flinching, avoiding eye-contact). And we get a happy ending.