John Winchester was the world's biggest jackass.

Bobby had known the other man for the better part of twenty years. He knew full well the depth of the man's obsession with destroying the demon that had killed his wife. But, old fool that he was, Bobby'd thought that after the events of the last year - hell, the last week - that the man would finally realize that his sons were more important than his damned hunt!

He knew John was ticked about the boys sleeping together. Hell, it was something any father would have trouble dealing with. But this father needed to get past that, get his head out of his ass and let his sons know that he was still their father.

The demon was gone. It was time for the Winchesters to be a family again.

The old man growled and poured another few inches of whiskey into his glass, sipping it morosely, as he thought over John's behavior of the last few days. The obsessed bastard hadn't spent more than a minute or two with Sam since they'd moved the boy upstairs. He was ducking Dean on the rare occasions the older boy came downstairs, and doing a damned fine job of avoiding Bobby as well. He seemed to be on his cell phone every time Bobby managed to catch a glimpse of him and that made him just a little bit uneasy.

He upended the bottle and let the last inch dribble into his glass. After he drained it, he rummaged around in the bottom drawer of the desk and found it empty of the "just in case" bottle he normally kept there.

"Hell fire," he muttered balefully.

"What's wrong?"

Startled, Bobby's hand moved reflexively toward the shotgun propped against the side of the desk.

"Whoa, it's just me." Hands raised, John stood at the door, an odd mixture of guilt and defensiveness on his normally assertive features.

Bobby hesitated, stared at John for a long hard moment. The man looked exhausted, his face showing every second of his forty-odd years. Bobby almost felt bad for him - the man had been through almost literal hell over the last few months. But beneath the exhaustion and pain, he stank of hidden agenda.

Bobby set his glass down on the desk with a decisive click.

"John, why the hell are you still here?"

"What?" John frowned, confused.

"Why - are - you - still - here?" Bobby said again, an edge to his tone.

John gestured toward the ceiling. "Sam . . ."

"You've hardly set foot in that room the last three days. If you're so damned worried, why aren't you in there now?"

"Dean . . . "

"Don't try to tell me Dean don't want you in there," Bobby said acerbically. "That boy's worn down to the nub worrying about his brother. He needs you, whether he says so or not. But he's afraid to say anything, 'cause you've made it pretty damned clear you aren't happy him and Sam are paired up."

"Bobby, they're - " John flushed a dull red, unable to think of a word that would describe his sons' relationship without the older man knocking him on his ass.

"They're your sons. That's the only thing should matter to you."

"It's wrong." John said stubbornly. "Sick."

"It is what it is. You'd best make your peace with it, or you'll lose them."

"That won't happen. Dean wouldn't have left me if I hadn't tried to hurt Sam," John said with certainty. "Now that demon's out of me, he'll come back. And he'll bring Sam with him."

"And then what?"

John glared at him, saying nothing, but when Bobby made an impatient gesture at him, he said reluctantly, "Dean will see sense, even if Sam doesn't. It's partly my fault, keeping them away from other people. I won't make that mistake again. I'll let loose on the reins a little. Once they start hanging out with kids their own ages, with girls – "

Bobby burst out laughing. Shaking his head, he got up from his desk and went to the sideboard, dug around and found a bottle of Jack Daniels.

Pouring a stiff shot into his glass, he then filled another and shoved it unceremoniously into John's hand. "You are seriously fucked in the head if you think that's gonna work. You're never gonna pry those two apart."

John said nothing, just sent the shot back with a shudder.

A hostile look in his eyes, Bobby nudged John hard in the shoulder, ignoring the angry growl sent back at him.

"I don't know what else you got goin' on, John, but I know goddamn well you're up to something. I'm watching you."

With a snort of contempt, John grabbed the bottle of Jack and made for the door.

"John!"

John spun to face him. "They're my sons!" he said angrily. "Not yours! Mine!"

"Well, then," Bobby said, "Start acting like it. Jackass."

SUPNSUPNSUPNSUPN

Sam's head hurt, there was a sharp pressure just this side of pain in his forearm, and he needed the bathroom, bad.

None of that mattered, because when Sam pried open his woozy eyes, Dean was looking right back at him, a wide, relieved smile on his face.

"Hey, Sammy!" Dean squeezed his brother's hand tight. "About time you woke up, you little bitch! You scared the crap out of me!"

"Dean, what – " Confused and a little frightened, Sam said, "What happened?" His voice was hoarse.

"It's okay, man." Forcing back his relieved tears, Dean said, "You got shot, baby. Some prick shot you for the reward the demon put out on you.

"Shot?" Stunned, Sam's hazel eyes left his brother and wandered around the room, seeing evidence of a siege all around him. Dirty dishes on the bedside table. An armchair shoved up against the bed, with a blanket trailing over it. A makeshift I.V. stand and a bag of saline hanging from it, with a thin tube trailing to a needle in his own arm.

Damn, his head ached. He raised a tentative hand and touched the bandage on his head. "I don't remember a thing."

"Yeah, well, head wound ." Dean eased the needle out of Sam's arm, giving an apologetic grimace when Sam winced. "It's not bad; asshole just creased you. For a minute, though" – his laugh was shaky – "Jesus, Sam, I thought you were dead."

Overwhelmed, Sam lay quiet, blinking up at the water-stained ceiling. Then he grimaced and started to lever himself up onto his elbows.

Quick as a wink, Dean was pressing him back down onto the bed. "Hey, where do you think you're going?"

"I'm thirsty and my head hurts." Sam shifted uncomfortably. "But if I don't get to the can now, I'm gonna pee all over you."

Dean gave a surprised bark of laughter. Little snorts of relieved amusement kept trickling out as he escorted Sam to the bathroom. Over Sam's objections, he hovered outside the open door while his brother relieved himself and, when Sam stumbled on the way back to his room, Dean put an arm around his waist, taking most of his weight. "You okay?"

"Just got a little dizzy. Leggo, I can walk."

"Forget it. Shot and unconscious for three days, remember?"

"Dean, I'm fine."

Dean brushed Sam's dark hair back from his face. "Shaddup, princess, or I'll carry you."

"Dean – " Sam broke off. Behind Dean's teasing grin, he could see evidence of the strain of those three days. "Fine," he said grumpily, giving in.

Back in bed, Sam lay back against the pillows, feeling drained. "Water?"

Dean picked up a bottle from the bedside table and handed it to his brother. "Take it slow." He watched Sam take a couple of careful swallows. "How's your head?"

"It's fine."

Dean gave him a skeptical look.

"It just aches a little," Sam said. "And I'm tired."

"You need some more sleep?"

Sam's smile was small, but real. "Rather hang out with you. You can tell me what's going on."

Dean grinned back at him. "Not much to tell. You've been asleep three days and I been climbing the walls. That's pretty much it."

"Is, uh, Dad still here?"

"As far as I know."

Sam tried to glean something from the non-expression on Dean's face, but there was nothing to be had. "What does that mean?"

"It means I haven't seen him for a couple of days," Dean answered. "But Bobby hasn't told me he's gone, so he's probably still here."

Sam wanted to be upset about John's less-than-stellar paternal behavior, on Dean's behalf if nothing else, but he couldn't find the energy for it.

Luckily, Dean didn't seem to want to spend any more time on the subject either. "Sammy, you hungry?"

"Uh uh."

Dean's face fell and he rubbed his stomach involuntarily. "Okay, maybe later."

Belatedly remembering the mostly uneaten food on the dishes beside the bed, Sam said, "What about you?"

"I'm okay."

"Dean . . . "

"All right, all right, I'm freakin' starving. I feel like my belly's got one of those aliens trying to eat its way out." Dean hesitated. "Will you be okay if I go grab something to eat from downstairs?"

"I'm fine."

"You sure you don't want something? You haven't had anything to eat for a few days."

When Sam shook his head, Dean eyed Sam uncertainly and sat down on the bed next to him. "I'm gonna wait a while. I'm not that hungry."

"Dean, I'm fine." Sam rolled his eyes. "Go, before you start chewing on me."

Dean made it as far as the door, then stopped, his hand on the doorknob.

When he didn't move, Sam said, "Dean? You okay?"

Dean nodded, not turning around. A little choking sound escaped him.

Alarmed, Sam started to get out of bed.

"Shit." Dean came back to the bed, scrubbing a hand across his face. "Sorry."

Sam snagged his hand, looking anxiously into his face. "Dean, are you okay?"

Dean's shoulders slumped. "It's been a long three days," he said softly. "You – " His voice broke and he sat back down heavily on the bed.

"Dean, I'm here. I'm good." Eyes intent, Sam rubbed his thumb caressingly over the back of Dean's hand and was rewarded by the lessening of tension in his brother's body. "We're good. Yeah?"

"Yeah." It was Dean's turn to look down. "Uh, Sam . . . ?"

When he didn't continue, Sam prompted,"What?"

"I'm sorry, man." Dean finally looked up at him. "Sorry for letting you think that I was gonna dump you and go back to hunting with Dad."

Sam lost a little of his smile. "Dean, you don't have to –"

"Yeah, I do," Dean insisted. "It was just – all I could think about was getting that damned demon out of him. I had to do it. I – I just should've talked to you about it first, so you'd know –" he shrugged – "that we were good. Bobby said something about it, but - it just never occurred to me that you'd think I'd leave you."

Sam didn't want the conversation to get too heavy; the two of them had enough to deal with right now. But, as much as Dean had needed to say what he had, Sam had something to say, too. "I'm sorry, too, Dean."

Dean just looked confused. "About what?"

"I should have believed in you," Sam said simply.

Dean grinned. He could feel it, too wide and way too sappy, but he didn't care. Sappy was here to stay, for a while. "Thanks, Sam." Chuckling, he leaned in and brushed his lips over Sam's. "I think maybe I'm not so hungry anymore." His lips moved down to Sam's jaw line and worked their way up to his ear. "At least not for . . . "

Sam's breath caught in his throat. "I could get behind that," he murmured.

There was a soft knock on the door and the two pulled apart, startled.

Bobby stuck his head in and beamed when he saw Sam sitting up.

"Damn, boy! About time you woke up!" He came to the bed and tested out Sam's forehead, nodding in satisfaction at the lack of fever. "How's your head?"

"I'm good, Bobby." Sam gave the older man a heartfelt smile. "Thanks for patching me up."

Bobby patted his shoulder. "Well, it's not like I could've let you bleed out in the front yard." He motioned to Dean. "This one's woulda torn me a new one."

Dean snorted. He went around the bed to the table and started gathering up the dishes. "I'm gonna take these downstairs, get a sandwich or something."

"Nah, don't bother." Bobby took the dishes from him. "I got a pot of chicken stew going. Should be ready in about half an hour. Think you can wait that long?"

"Yeah, sure, Bobby. Thanks."

"Good. But do me a favor, will ya, kid? Take a shower." He sniffed the air exaggeratedly. "It's getting' a little ripe in here."

Dean made a rude gesture, then grinned mischievously. "Hey, Sam, want to join me for a

'shower'?" He made exaggerated little quotation marks in the air.

Bobby looked horrified. "Damn it, Dean! Don't ask, don't tell only works if you DON'T talk about it!"

"Ah, come on, Bobby! I promise not to let Sam get his head wet!"

Bobby choked. "Dean, do not make me get my gun."

His threat was accompanied by an emphatic smack to the back of Dean's head and the older boy laughed.

Bobby's hand patted Dean's shoulder fondly, then he turned back to Sam. "Seriously, though, Sam. Hold off on the shower. We don't want the bandage gettin' wet. If you want to, you can take a bath, but be careful."

"Okay, Bobby."

Taking the pile of dishes from Dean, Bobby started to leave, but turned at the door. "Listen, boys, John wants to see you two."

He saw Sam stiffen and said quickly, "I told him he'd have to wait until you were ready. I just wanted you to know he's asking."

"Thanks, Bobby," Dean said, casting a reassuring glance at his brother.

Bobby nodded. "I'll bring the stew up when it's ready, Dean. You stay up here with Sam."

"You don't have to do that," Dean protested. "I can come downstairs and get it."

Bobby shook his grizzled head firmly. "You stay up here." He waited for Dean's nod of agreement, then said, pointedly, "Shower, Stinky." and left the room.

There was a little bit of awkward silence after the door clicked shut behind the older man. Dean said cautiously, "You okay with seeing Dad?"

"Yeah, sure, of course," Sam said at once.

Dean looked at him. "You used to be a better liar," he said wryly.

Sam flushed.

"You get that it wasn't Dad that tried to have you killed, right, Sammy?"

The younger boy nodded, but he wasn't quite meeting Dean's gaze.

"Listen, Dad can be a dick, no question. But trying to have you killed? I really think we have to put that on the demon."

Sam was silent, staring at his lap, pulling at his fingers nervously.

"Sam?"

"Why would the demon want me dead?" Sam asked carefully. "He said he wanted me for his army."

It wasn't quite a protest, not quite an accusation of John, but Dean paled. It took him a moment to gather a reply. "I don't know, Sammy. Maybe he decided you weren't gonna do what he wanted. Maybe he's just a crazy fucker. I don't know. But Dad says the demon took him six weeks before we split, when he was off hunting that werewolf in Louisiana."

He grasped Sam by the shoulder, waiting until the boy met his eyes. "Sammy, I believe him."

Sam dropped his eyes again and tried very hard not to think thoughts about disloyalty. About betrayal. Dean was many things, but disloyal wasn't one of them. It just wasn't in him.

All right. Fine.

Sam didn't trust John. He couldn't. But he could trust Dean to know what he was doing. He met Dean's worried eyes. "Okay. But maybe we could wait, see him tomorrow?"

"You don't think this is one of those 'rip the band-aid off fast' kinda things?"

Sam laughed, yawning in the middle of it. "No, I think this is one of those 'I'm starting to feel really freaking tired' kinda things." He gave another gigantic yawn. When it was over, he could hardly keep his eyes open.

"You okay, baby?"

Sam's energy level had plummeted, but he tried to pull together a smile for his lover. "Did I ever tell you how much I love it when you call me 'baby'?" He yawned again. "Crap, sorry."

"It's okay. Lay down, get some sleep. I'll go take a shower."

"Wait." Sam reached out and took hold of Dean's shirt. He pulled him in close and they found each other's mouths, the kiss deepening as they reconnected.

When they pulled apart, Sam's smile was tired but genuine. "We're good, Dean. Go get washed up before Bobby throws you in there."

Dean waggled his eyebrows a la Groucho Marx. "Maybe later I can give you a sponge bath."

Sam waggled back. "Sounds good." He blew out a tired breath as he sank back onto the pillows, already half-asleep as the door shut softly behind Dean.

SUPNSUPNSUPNSUPN

The shower next door was still going when the bedroom door opened again.

The sound brought Sam wide awake and he lurched up in bed, reaching under the pillow for a non-existent weapon.

John stood in the doorway. "Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you." He hesitated, then took a step in. "Can we talk?"

Uneasy, but not wanting to appear weak in front of his father - shot and unconscious three days or not – Sam nodded reluctantly. "Turn on the light, will you?"

"Sure." John fumbled for the light switch.

Sam winced when the overhead light came on.

"Headache?" John switched off the light and went to the lamp in the corner. A softer, more diffused light filled the room. "Better?"

Sam nodded and the two stared at each other, neither knowing how to begin.

"How are you?" John finally ventured.

"I'm okay." Sam's hand went to his head, touched the bandage. "You?"

John shrugged and gave him a faint smile. "I'm not possessed."

"Dad," Sam said. "I'm sorry – "

"Doesn't matter." John waved off his apology. "It's done now." There was an odd glint in his eyes. "I know you boys would never have left me like that if you'd known."

"No." Uncomfortable, Sam cocked an ear toward the shower and cursed inwardly. It was still going strong. Dean and his long freaking showers.

"What did you want to talk about, Dad? If this is about me and Dean – "

"No." John's face was red. "I don't want to talk about that with you."

"Then what?"

"I want you and Dean to come back," John said firmly. "We're a family. We should be together. And we still have a job to do."

"Our job is done, Dad. The demon is gone," Sam protested. "It'll take him years to claw his way out of Hell, if he ever does."

"Is that what you think?" Surprised, John gaped at him. "The demon's not gone, Sam."

Sam blinked. "What?"

"The son-of-a-bitch who rode me wasn't the demon that killed your mother," John said, a dark look on his face. "And not the one that's after you."

Sam shook his head, fear a cold lump in his stomach. "Dad . . . "

John came up to the bed, staring down intently at his son. Now that he was close, Sam could spell the stench of too much whiskey on the big man.

"Dad . . . " He scooted back against the headboard. "Wait for Dean, okay? He should be here."

John didn't even hear him, lost in the hell of the last few months. "The demon who took me was a soldier," he said, fingering the knife at his belt. "Bad enough on his own, but he took his orders from someone else."

Dim light or not, Sam's headache was ramping up. He listened for the shower but couldn't hear anything over the pounding in his head.

"We can get him now, the three of us," John said. "I got word that signs have been cropping up in Colorado. We need to head over there, as soon as you can travel." He looked his son over assessingly. "Tomorrow morning?"

Sam stared at his father in horrified fascination. "Colorado?"

"Outside Aurora. Instead of just waiting for him to show up, we take the fight to him." His gaze turned inward. "The demon who rode me took me there once. I know just where he'll be."

Sam shook his head. "Dad, no."

John's eyes focused on Sam again. "He won't be able to resist coming after you. We can catch him, kill him. Finish this thing once and for all."

"You want to use me as bait?" The word tasted bitter on Sam's tongue.

"It's the best way to bring him out. He's linked to you, solid. We can draw him in, hook him in a devil's trap. Make him bleed."

The slick shine in John's eyes made Sam feel sick. The air in the room was getting thin, sucked into the fire of his father's fanaticism. His breath hitched in his throat and he gave a little wheezing sound.

John's lip curled a little. "You don't have to be scared. We'll protect you."

"No!" Sam shook his head frantically. "I'm not doing it. I'm not going anywhere near him."

John seemed to be making an effort to hold onto his temper, but little spurts of rage curled around his words. "He killed your mother! Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

"I'm your son," Sam said, his lips feeling numb. "Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

"If you're my son, then act like it," John said harshly. He crowded forward over Sam and Sam had to fight not to shrink back. "This is your responsibility, Sam. I'm not asking you. I'm telling you."

"Dad? What the hell?"

An angry Dean stood in the open doorway, clad only in jeans, his chest still speckled with drops of water. "What are you doing in here? Bobby told you to wait until we were ready!"

John turned to face him and now Dean could see Sam, white-faced and looking like he was ready to collapse. He moved quickly into the room and shoved his father away from Sam. "What are you doing? Are you giving him shit about us being together?"

"No!" John's tone was indignant. "I didn't say one damned word about that!"

Dean didn't try to hide his disbelief. He sat down on the bed next to Sam and put a comforting arm around him. "You all right?"

Relieved beyond words, Sam leaned against him. "I told you, Dean, I told you – "

Dean put a finger across Sam's lips. "Sammy, calm down. What the hell is going on?"

"He wants to use me as - as bait."

Dean looked angrily at their father and then back at Sam. "Bait for what?"

Sam didn't want to say it. Had to say it. "The demon."

The word fell like a stone into the sudden quiet of the room. Dean stared at Sam, clearly wondering if his brother was off his head. "The demon's gone, Sammy," he said gently. "We sent that bastard back to Hell."

Sam looked at his father's grim face, then quickly back to the safety of his brother's. "Dad says the demon that took him isn't the one that killed Mom."

That hit Dean like a punch to the stomach. He looked at his father. John nodded.

Dean fumbled for a minute, then said, "It's okay, Sammy. It doesn't matter. We can handle him. We don't – " He stopped, backtracked. "What the hell do you mean, 'bait'?"

Before Sam could answer, John said roughly, "Sam doesn't want to kill the demon."

"You really think I don't want him dead?" Sam said disbelievingly. "After what he's done to our family? After what he's done to me? I want that bastard dead!"

"Then come with me to Colorado! That's the only way this thing ends!"

Dean and Sam spoke instantaneously

"Colorado?"

"I'm done hunting!"

Sam heard Dean's indrawn breath. He didn't dare look at him. He didn't know where those words had come from, but the moment they left his mouth, he knew they were the absolute truth.

He was done. With hunting, with the demon. With all of it.

"So you're just going to let the demon get away?" John said harshly. "You're going to let people continue to die when you can do something about it?"

"Quiet, Dad." Struggling to move past the shock of Sam's sudden announcement, Dean shot a glare at his father. "I'm still waiting to hear about you wanting to use Sam as bait to catch the demon."

Dean's face and voice were calm. Still, John stiffened and readied himself. "That thing killed your mother," he said defensively.

"So now I'm supposed to give him a shot at my brother?" Dean said in disbelief. "Do you have any idea what Sam's been through the last few months?"

"No more than what I've been through!" John growled. "When you left me tied to a demon and went waltzing off on your own!"

Guilt flushed over Dean's face and he glared at his father. "You asshole!"

John waved angrily at the both of them. "You really think the demon is just going to let you go? He'll never stop coming!"

Sam knew it didn't make any difference what he said, what argument he brought out. Nothing he'd ever wanted or said had ever mattered to the man standing before him. "I'm done arguing with you, Dad. And I'm done hunting."

"What about Dean?" John's mouth had an ugly twist. "You're willing to put him in that kind of danger?"

Sam went even whiter and Dean flashed an unfriendly grin at his father. "What, are you kidding? Now you're worried about me being in danger?" His laugh was sharp, bitter. "I don't know, maybe Sam's got something here."

John stared at his eldest and shook his head. "You'll never stop hunting, Dean. You love it. You always have."

"Yeah, I do. But I love him more." Dean looked at his brother. "You been thinking about this long?"

"I don't know. I guess." Sam was confused, shocked at Dean's ready acceptance of his announcement. "Didn't talk about it 'cause I thought I couldn't have it."

"You sure this is what you want?" Dean pressed him.

"Kind of a sudden decision, but yeah." Sam's smile was lopsided. "It's one of the few things I am sure of. That and you. I haven't thought much beyond that."

Ignoring their father's obvious discomfort, Dean leaned in and kissed Sam on the mouth. "We'll figure it out together, huh?"

There was a short silence as the boys looked at each other.

When John spoke, his voice was a deep, angry rumble. "He'll find you, Sam. And if you don't join him, he'll kill you."

Sam met his father's eyes. "If he kills me tomorrow, I'm still out."

"And if he kills Dean?"

Sam looked away.

"Damn it, Dean, you can't – " John began.

"Time to go, John." Bobby, shotgun held loosely in both hands, stood in the doorway.

John's expression darkened.

For a moment Dean thought he was going to fight it. Then his father's shoulders slumped in defeat and Dean knew it was over. His anger bled away, leaving nothing but pity, and love, for the man his father used to be.

"Damn it, Dad." Rising swiftly, Dean went to his father, pulling him into a hard hug. "Don't die, okay? Don't die."

John stood stiffly for a moment, then hugged Dean back, heart clenching tightly in his chest. Over Dean's shoulder, his eyes went to his youngest son. Sam's face was expressionless. He showed no sign of wanting to follow his brother's lead.

Trembling slightly, Dean released his father and stepped back to Sam. Sam reached out silently and the two boys clasped hands.

John looked at them and his lips quirked in a tired smile.

"I'll let you know when he's dead."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

At long last. Epilogue to follow. Sooner rather than later.