[For John Winchester]

[my_wayward_son]

Dean was sitting in the hut he shared with Sam, tilting his head back as he looked up at the rafters - they were done well enough. If he believed what his brother said, which he did, his prior self had done a good job of putting the place together. He'd thought about messing with the roof a bit so when it rained Sam's bed would get soaked, but he'd

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[wayward_dad]

Sammy had split after showing him the way to the hut, off to look for Dean. Although part of John had wanted to go with him, he would be glad to have a few minutes alone to collect his thoughts. Climbing out of Hell, John hadn't known what to expect. Oh, he'd had a few ideas, but ending up in this situation hadn't been one of them. Some strange island with no demons, not to mention the demon? It made his stomach roil with unease. He'd been hunting that demon for some twenty years now. John didn't know how to not be on the hunt.

Pushing open the door to the hut, John's gaze immediately fell on Dean.

One hand still on the door, John peered over at him. Pride and relief and pleasure welled up in his eyes; he never thought he'd see either of them again.

"Hey, son."

[my_wayward_son]

The hair along the back of Dean's neck rose and he stiffened, hand going to the small of his back where he usually kept at least one of his guns. Damn island. He'd gotten used to not really needing his guns here - at least, not in the hut, anyway. Sloppy. A minute later and he had the knife out from under his pillow. Jesus - this won't do me any good.

"What are you?" He'd heard rumors of people who looked like other people, but he'd been through this once before - in that cabin up in the middle of freaking nowhere. It seemed like it had been a hundred years since then, but it all came flooding back as he looked at this person - this thing - standing before him.

He'd seen his father's body - burned it right along with Sammy. Built the pyre themselves. He'd felt the weight of it - Dean knew the truth. He remembered the words his dad had said to him about his brother, knew that he should be dead and that his dad should have still been alive. It's my fault - damn it - my fault. He's burning in hell and I'm sitting on some desert island.

[wayward_dad]

John's eyes followed Dean's movements, watching carefully as he reached behind his back and came up empty before moving to rifle beneath a pillow tossed on an old pallet. Dean looked tanned, healthy. Judging from the length of time it took Dean to get himself armed, John knew he'd somehow let down his guard. While John couldn't remember how long Sam had said Dean was here, or if Sam had even told him at all, John knew it had to be a while. There was no other reason Dean wouldn't have had a weapon trained on him faster otherwise.

"Dean."

Holding one hand out to show he meant no harm, John continued, "It's me." Lifting his chin, John met his son's eyes intensely. "It's your dad."

[my_wayward_son]

"Yeah - right. Like I'm gonna believe that - answer my question. What are you?" Dean kept his knife ready as he moved slowly, carefully, toward the table where he'd left his .45. "You've got about three seconds and then I'm sending you right back wherever you came from." He was pretty sure he could hide a body here - if the thing even left a body. Shapeshifter. He'd gotten in enough trouble with those things before.

But that didn't make any sense. Sam's voice kept playing through his head, telling him there was a whole lot more that was weird about his place than just the fact that they were there - that strange things happened here. You can't just go around shooting everyone. Well, Dean figured he'd been really good when it came to not shooting people on this damn hung of sand. This thing was just asking for a bullet right between the eyes - pretending to be his dad. Where did these evil assholes get off?