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Disclaimer - I do not own any supernatural characters just playing with Kripke's toys 😊.

Thank you to the wonderful Meilean for her help and support.

Chapter 2: Accusations

Previously:

John panted out. "One down, one to go." John panted out. One of his hands scrambled in the leaves beside him, looking for his gun. Dean swore as more blood oozed through his fingers.

Bobby frowned. "I thought you said this thing was hunting alone?"

"It was. But it wasn't the barghest that shot me."

There was murder in John's eyes and Bobby looked questioningly to Dean who gulped. Dean then lifted his hands. Sure enough, it wasn't a gouge or bite in John's side. It was a bullet wound.

"Sonofabitch."

Now - Deep in the Woods

Dean insisted on being the one to apply the field dressing and would not leave his father even for a minute. Sam hovered too, though it was more his brother he watched than their father. He tried to make himself useful, handing over gauze, tape, and whatever else was needed.

The other hunters cleared the site, leaving no trace of the bizarre-truth behind. Then they built a travois to carry John out of there, so they could get back to the cabin they had appropriated. There was no question of taking him to a hospital, not unless infection set in and there was no other choice. Bullet wounds had to be reported and no one wanted to deal with the authorities and questions that would follow, especially with the boys in tow.

Although they had all worked together, by the time they got back to the cabin suspicions were rife and tensions were high. There had been no one out there but the hunters and the barghest. That meant, one of the people present had shot John Winchester.

Given the chaos of bullets when the creature arrived, this might not have been surprising. They all knew the job came with risks, including collateral damage. Only John hadn't been shot in the rain of gunfire that followed the creature's arrival. The initial crack had been the shot, John's blood had acted as bait, only then had the creature arrived.

The question now was, who had fired that initial shot? They were all firing the same rounds, which had been prepared for the hunt, so the bullet wasn't much help. Of course, there were forensic processes that could identify the gun used but they didn't exactly have access to those.

A more worrying question was, why? There were three options. An accident of some kind - though they were all too experienced for that to be likely. An intentional move to make John bait and draw out their prey - not a strategy that any of them, officially anyway, approved of. Or a deliberate shot at John Winchester, to harm or even kill him. This last option had them all on edge, watching each other with caution and suspicion.

To some extent they were all friends, at least as much as a group of grouchy, paranoid loners could be. There was a reason that hunters rarely worked in groups. And, of course, the two boys were John's sons. But John was a man that could drive Mother Teresa to pick up a gun and shoot him. And everyone present, even his sons, might have a motive. It made them all suspicious of each other.

There had been a few scuffles while they had been planning the details of the hunt from their appropriated base. Bobby had pulled his gun on John when the ex-marine kept bulldozing his opinion over everyone. Travis and John had ended up with their fists wrapped in each other's collars and had to be forced apart. And during an argument over who would take point, John had fast-pitched Sam's math textbook into the fire causing sparks to singe Martin's trousers. Martin had retaliated by barely missing John's head with his bottle of beer, which smashed against the wall of the cabin instead.

But up until the shot, the only casualties of all this headbutting had been, the book, the bottle, Sam's pinky finger - which he cut cleaning up the glass - and some logs that Dean was supposed to be splitting for the fire which ended up being good for nothing but kindling.

They eventually got the field-dressed John back to the cabin and settled him on the threadbare old couch, both sons staying glued to his side.

Martin focused on unloading what they'd need from the truck. Travis checked their warding and kept his distance, hovering at the other end of the living area, watching all the others but saying little.

Dean laid out what he would need, then had a brief moment of indecision between not wanting Sam to watch and not wanting him out of his sight. The stubborn set of his little brother's face settled it and he focused back on the job at hand.

Unable to meet his father's eye, Dean lifted the gauze and inspected the wound which was still oozing fresh thick blood.

"Dad's gonna need something to bite down on," he said grimly to Sam. Sam nodded and took off his belt as he'd seen his father do for Dean in the past.

Looking in as much pain as John, who writhed and made long deep moans through his clenched teeth, Dean dug deep into the wound searching for the bullet. Luckily it had just embedded in the muscle and not hit anything vital but still, blood loss and infection were concerns. Bobby supervised and kept John mostly still. Once again Sam acted at scrub-nurse, sterilising and handing over equipment as needed.

It took a while to locate and safely extract the round, John's eyes were glassy and sweat poured off him by the time Dean dropped the small metal bullet into a tin, looking ready to throw up, pass out, or possibly both. With a herculean effort, he pulled himself together enough to clean and sew the wound.

"Why would someone want to shoot Dad?" Sam asked as Dean finished the last of the sutures. His voice was small and far more childlike than it had been since he became a teenager. Dean swallowed, looking nauseated, as he had throughout the procedure, and didn't open his mouth.

"Have you met the man?" Bobby teased, trying to banter some of the fear from the younger boy.

"It was probably Bobby," Martin said, removing the magazine from his pistol and then checking the barrel. "He's threatened to shoot John several times, hell he threatened to do it yesterday."

"I defy anyone to spend time with the man and not want to shoot him," Bobby grumbled. "I bet even you've thought about it a few times," he said to Sam.

"I've never threatened to shoot him!" Sam said indignantly. "Clock him one, maybe," he added with a side-glance at his dad and a cheeky grin.

"Right back at you, Kiddo," John croaked, with that soft look he reserved for Sammy.

"So was that a confession Singer?" Martin pressed.

"I already told you, it wasn't me, unfortunately."

"Unfortunately?" John queried trying to sit up more on the couch as Dean moped blood from his stomach and Sam started fishing for fresh gauze.

"Well I'm not saying it wouldn't be satisfying," Bobby said with no hint of embarrassment.

"Thanks Singer," John gave up trying to sit up when his son scowled at him for moving.

Bobby was giving him a knowing look. "Please, like you wouldn't get a kick out of filling my butt with buckshot."

"Fair point," John grinned.

"We don't shoot people!" Dean admonished, his eyes blazing. "Especially not each other," he added quietly.

John's eyes swept over his boy. It wasn't like Dean not to join in the banter.

He had been upset when John first went down, well distraught was more accurate. Breaking all protocol to run across the clearing to his side and nearly being taken out by the barghest as a result. John would be speaking with his son about that later. Right now, Dean still looked pale and distracted. Probably dwelling on all the 'what-ifs'.

Feeling his father's inspection, Dean redirected. "Dad, you need to stay still or you're going to rip these stitches," he snapped. "They're not very good in the first place and we've barely enough propane to boil the water to keep them clean as it is. They're going to get infected if you're not careful."

"No clean water means no coffee, so hunter's helper it is," Travis said, pulling out a bottle of moonshine.

"Give me that!" Dean ordered. There was a brief pause. None of the people in the room took well to orders - apart from Dean and then only from his dad - but, after a brief staring competition, Travis tossed the bottle, catching it by the neck, and held it out to the boy.

Dean removed the cap and poured whiskey over his dad's wound.

"Sonofabitch," John said with a gasp, tensing and gritting his teeth but holding himself in place.

"I'm sorry." There was something raw and exposed in the way Dean looked at his father.

"It's ok, it needed to be done," John reassured him.

Dean held out the bottle.

"You could have done that first," John grumbled light-heartedly, taking the offering and helping himself to a generous swig. Dean gave him a sheepish grin.

"Wouldn't be the first time you've threatened to shoot him," Martin kept his focus on Bobby, holding onto and shaking his theory hard, like a dog with a chew toy.

"Probably won't be the last either but that doesn't mean I did it," Bobby said, not the least ruffled by either the accusation or this admission. "Trust me, the day I shoot him he'll know it was me. I'll be looking him right in the eyes. Besides, for all the enjoyment I'd get from it, the rugrats would be upset." He paused to wink at Sam, whose eyes had been going back and forth like he was watching them play tennis with a severed head. "For some unknown reason they like the grumpy old bastard."

"Yeah, right," Martin put in. "Those boys would come around and you know it. Hell, you've said more than once that they'd be better off without him. We all know they'd get over it and turn to you because they've got no one else."

Suddenly Martin found himself at the nasty end of Dean's single action colt. The fury burning in the kid's eyes was no bluff. There was not the slightest hint of hesitation or doubt.

"Dean!" Bobby warned, but he didn't move as the boy pulled back the hammer.

"Say that again," Dean dared. "Say again how I'd forgive someone who shot my dad, ever!"

"Woah, kid, easy, I was just yanking Bobby's balls," Martin said, his hands up to calm and stop.

"You think it's funny my dad's been shot? You think it's ok? NO BIG DEAL?" Dean was starting to shake and Martin's eyes widened worriedly. In that moment Dean may well shoot him, intentionally or accidentally.

"Dean," John said. His voice was quiet but firm and uncompromising. They had all heard him use that tone with his eldest before. It was a one-word command that acted like a conditioned control. Dean took a breath. His body seemed to calm if not relax, then slowly he lowered the gun, releasing the hammer as he did.

"Don't you EVER suggest I would …" he took a breath again, forcing down the emotions that threatened to burst forth once more. "He's my dad," he said simply.

"I know kid, I get it." Martin wasn't angry at Dean. He'd been present for too much Winchester family time. He knew the kid carried too much weight, shouldered too much responsibility. Yet he barely ever bent, let alone showed risk of breaking. Martin worried about the cracks such pressure was causing, hidden in the foundations. He wouldn't be surprised if he was one day visiting the boy in the loony bin.

Travis had watched the exchange silently from a distance. He'd been more aware of Dean edging closer and closer to explosion than Bobby and Martin, who'd been too focused on each other. Dean's butt dropped back down to his chair but his temper was still primed for release.

"Perhaps all this focus on accusing Bobby is just your way of deflecting," Travis threw in now.

"What?" Martin turned on Travis at the accusation.

"You didn't want him out there, and you especially didn't want those kids out there."

"Hey, watch who you're calling a kid!" Dean said, homicidal shifting down to disgruntled.

"Yeah!" Sam joined in, earning indulgent smiles all round.

Martin brushed through the aside with a wave of his hand, red faced and indignant as he stared at Travis.

"Just what exactly are you accusing me of? You think I saved his ass all those times just to shoot him myself?"

"It wasn't fatal, was it? I've heard you say that a warning shot can make a potent point."

"You've had too much whiskey, your thoughts are pickled."

"I haven't had any." Travis threw an accusing look at Dean, the bottle was still beside him. "And the only reason I drink so much when we're together is so I can put up with your whining about Winchester."

"It's not Shitforbrains I worry about," Martin defended, a hint of throwing the accusation back at its originator in his tone.

"Right, it's them 'wet-behind-the-ears' brats. How many times have I had to listen to it; one of these days I won't be there to yank his ass out of the fire. I just hope it's only John that gets it and not the boys, it would serve the asshole right. Maybe you figured it was just what he needed before something worse happened."

"You've got a screw loose, you know that? I'm not going to shoot someone to make a damn point. And even if I was, it wouldn't be another hunter in the middle of a damn hunt! What's wrong with you?"

"Hey, I'm as well trained as any of you, I know how to shoot, you know. I could have done it," Sam suddenly piped up. There was a youthful need to be included as well as something defensive at the implication he was vulnerable. John's sharp eyes turned to his youngest.

Martin and Travis rolled their shoulders and cleared their throats, trying to release some of their animosity. Meanwhile John's evaluating gaze seemed to be seriously considering the possibility it had been his youngest. And if it had been, in what context Sam might have fired.

"I didn't though!" Sam said, looking indignant at his father's expression.

Dean shifted so he was between the two members of his family, his back to his dad. "I know you didn't do it Sammy," he said quietly.

"Maybe it was you," Sam grinned. "I read this book and the statistics for firstborns committing parricide for the inheritance are scary."

Dean snorted. "What inheritance, Dad hasn't got two beans."

"The car," Sam said with the air of someone who had just proved their point indisputably.

"We can't discount Travis." Bobby, seeing John was not enjoying this part of the speculation, redirected the focus away from the youngsters.

"Don't start on me Singer," Travis' good humour was fast leaving his face.

Bobby's tone shifted too, to match Travis' hostile one. "Martin and me, we might have a good grumble, we've watched the boys enough to earn the right. But you, you were the one that was genuinely pissed at him."

"Yeah, you were really mad about that elf hunt," Martin said speculatively. "He wouldn't follow your orders and his plan worked."

"Yeah, on the beastie and the damsel," Bobby smirked.

"Right, the lascivious Miss Laura that you were mooning over. I hear she was very grateful." Martin wiggled his eyebrows. "But not to you."

John cleared his throat, his eyes flicking over his boys, but it was too late.

"EW!" Sam screwed up his face, understanding what they were suggesting. The fourteen-year-old had only recently started showing any interest in girls and still seemed somewhat dubious about the whole thing. He accepted it as one of his brother's idiosyncrasies, but it was certainly not the sort of thing his father should get up to. Dean stayed silent but his lips twitched in that slightly pouty way they sometimes did when he was upset.

"Didn't you say that you wanted to introduce this Winchester to your Winchester?" Martin pressed on.

"He's an upstart, a precocious newbie, but you don't kill 'em, you teach 'em."

"So you admit it. You shot him to use him as bait and to teach him the harsh realities of hunting?"

"I didn't shoot him! You really think I'd shoot a man over a piece of ass?"

"Just that? No. But if you could teach him a lesson and get an advantage on a hunt …" Bobby started. "You didn't mind leaving those kids out in the park on that -" His words were cut short though when Travis pulled his glock.

"We had them covered, there wasn't any risk," he insisted.

The atmosphere tensed further as Martin's hand moved towards his weapon also. John tried to sit up and Dean blocked him from the others.

"So, let me get this right," Bobby interrupted, deliberately tossing his own gun onto the table. "Travis wanted to teach him a lesson after the elf hunt, Martin wanted to send a warning about hunting with the boys, Dean wanted the black beauty and Sammy just thought it might be fun? Are we sure there was only one bullet in him?" He sent a challenging smirk at Dean.

"When you've all finished working out who would most enjoy shooting me, can we get back to the issue that someone actually did," John pushed aside Dean's restraining hand and sat up as much as his wound would let him. "Because no one is leaving this hunt until I find out who."

"You're not the boss of me," Travis disputed, pointing angrily, not seeming entirely conscious he still had his gun in his hand. "And unless you want to get shot again, you'll not try and stop me doing whatever I damn well please."

Dean was up, gun cocked again and aiming at the man in an instant.

"Dean," John calmed, putting a hand on Dean's arm and lowering the aim to the floor. He noticed the slight shaking to the boy's hands and frowned.

It was at that moment that Sam's stomach growled loudly, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. After a pause they all lowered their weapons and laughed, especially as Sam had turned bright red.

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AN: I hope you enjoyed the chapter. All comments welcome. Just one more chapter to go :)