A/N: Yay for updates!

The frigid wind hits the side of his face and he lets out an uncontrollable shiver. When he was little he would watch cartoons like Scooby-Doo and the characters' teeth would always start chattering when they stood out in the cold, he had always thought it was a gross dramatization but now he wasn't so sure. He wraps the small jacket around himself tightly. Damn if he wasn't an idiot. The least he could have done was grab a coat before walking out. And speaking of walking out, why did he have to do that anyways?

"Dumbass," he mutters quietly to himself as he kicks a rock. It skips across the sidewalk and lands a few feet away, he repeats to himself, "Stubborn fucking dumbass."

He was like his father in that way. It was all about impulse, intuition. Shoot first, ask questions later. There was a piece of them that was different though. Given time Dean would always realize his mistakes, but John would never admit to them. It just wasn't how he worked. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing, it was just how he was – or at least that's how Dean justified it. There was a difference between being stubborn and being wrong but Dean didn't allow himself to think like that because that would mean admitting his father was – "...stop it. Stop bitching to yourself. You're just cold and angry and you need to stop thinking about things you know nothing about."

Dean shivers once more; this temper tantrum needed to be over. It wasn't about admitting he had made a mistake, he knew that he had...it was about the embarrassment. Having to look Bobby and Sam in the eyes, telling them that he was sorry – John would surely hear about it, and that was an entire problem on its own. Of course, there was the other tiny issue of him having no idea where he was. The stupid paved road had ended a little while back but Dean had kept walking. His vision begins to swim and he curses loudly as he grabs his aching head. He can feel himself quickly slipping into unconsciousness; he leans against a nearby tree to steady and looks up towards the grey sky.

"Uncle Bobby, what's going on?" the older man grabs his shoes off the floor and plops down in a nearby chair as he frantically tries to get them on. He looks at his watch, the kids been gone for nearly thirty minutes. Bobby knows from experience that most Dean meltdowns took ten minutes tops, then again, the poor boy was pretty out of it when he left. Balls, he curses to himself, that's what you get for pushing the poor kid.

"Everything is going to be fine, Sam, I just have to go get your brother. This weather mixed with that flu of his," Bobby shakes his head, "I swear he has a death wish or something."

"He'll be okay though, right?" Bobby looks up and is instantly met with a pair of classic puppy dog eyes. They're John's eyes. It's something you never hear anyone say, but he's seen John with that exact same expression. Bobby, I need you to watch the kid's for a week. I'm trying, Bobby, don't you think I'm trying – it's so hard without Mary. I won't be gone long, but I can't take Sam and Dean – please Bobby...you know I would do the same for you.

"Yeah, kiddo, he'll be fine." He stands up and reaches out a calloused hand towards Sam's forehead, "you're still a little warm, why don't you stay behind?"

He can see the kid doesn't want anything to do with that, "Bobby, I need..."

"It wasn't really a question, son." He gives the boy a stern yet understanding look, he was good at that, it was an expression almost all parents mastered, "Besides, if your brother wanders back someone needs to be here to let him in."

It's a poor consolation prize. They both know that Dean didn't need a key to get back into the motel room but Sam doesn't want to argue, he just wants his brother back. So instead of saying anything, he just nods, "Sure thing."

"Lock up and salt the doors and windows."

Sam nods, "Yes sir, I know."

"Stubborn idjit." Bobby mumbles to himself as he starts driving down the wet road, it had started sprinkling right before he left. He allows himself to let go – his fists slam the steering wheel hard, "You should have stopped him from leaving. You knew he would walk out if you kept pushing – damn it. Damn it!"

He comes to a fork in the road. One way leads back to the main town and the other seems to be pretty abandoned barring a few houses. Bobby turns left, knowing Dean he wouldn't want to draw attention to himself, there's no way he would head into a populated area. The car skids over the slippery asphalt until the road runs out. Balls.

It's getting late and he prays that he finds Dean quickly before the sun starts to set. Bobby gets out of his car and begins walking down the dirt path. It's almost funny. They fought demons, spirits, and monsters people had never even heard of – but those things didn't scare Bobby. Not anymore. No, it was the moments like these that terrified him more than any fang or ghost ever could.

"Dean!" he calls out, his voice echoes throughout the open air, "Dean!"

The sprinkling rain begins to come down in heavy sleets, his voice cracks in panic, "Dean!"

He spots him a few yards away, propped against a tree, "U-u-uncle Bobby?"

"Hey," he sprints over to him, "hey, how you doing, son?"

"What are you doing out here?" Dean looks confused, he brings a shaking hand up and tries to wipe some of the water from his face, "Bobby...I'm so sorry. God, I'm freezing."

"I know, I know you are." Bobby rips off his own jacket and tugs it tightly around Dean's shoulders. He takes in the young boy's haggard appearance, "Come on, kiddo, we got to get you home."

They drive the short distance in absolute silence. Despite the jacket and the cranked up heater, Dean continues to shiver. Bobby steals several quick glances at the kid – he looked like hell.

When they finally get back the motel, Bobby helps Dean out of the car, and maneuvers him so that a majority of his weight leans on the older man, he's surprised by how light the kid is, "We need to fatten you up."

"Bobby," the boy's fevered eyes plead with the older man, "I'm sorry, Bobby. I didn't mean..."

"Listen Dean, you can apologize all you want later." He pushes on the motel door, it opens without hesitation, he rolls his eyes and silently reminds himself to teach Sam the definition of lock up and salt the doors and windows, "Right now, we just need to get you better."

"I'm really tired Bobby," the boy runs a hand over his face, and begins to slip slowly from the man's grip.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa – just hold on, kiddo. Just a few more steps, okay? Sam!" he calls out quickly entering the dark motel room, "A little help."

He looks up to see two people hurriedly emerge from the other room, "Bobby, what the hell is going on here?"

I know that chapter went a little fast. Lots of lovely whump and John feels in store for you all next chapter. Also, I've been working on an awesome Destiel AU and am in search for a co-author. If interested, please PM me! :)