John had no idea what to do, even with a few months passed, the wounds were fresh and there was too much anger spread out to be able to deal with anything. John knew Dean was his son, he loved the boy but he just didn't know what to do, he couldn't haul his ass back home because he wasn't a kid anymore, he was an adult and able to make his own decisions.
Though as the months passed, John started trying to contact Dean to find out where he was and how he was and if they could just talk things out. He got worried to the point of being ill when he couldn't find Dean anywhere and he spent his days figuring out ways to find the boy.
Then one day he got a call and John grabbed his coat. "Sam, look after Jude." he ordered, heading out to the Impala, "I'm comin' buddy, I'm comin'." he told him, speeding off to Dean's location and parking up. He got out and his eyes widened when he saw his boy. "Dee..." he whimpered, dropping to his knees beside him and scooping up. He'd called for an ambulance so they just needed to wait.
"My baby, what happened?" he asked, holding his hand over the wound to decrease the speed of blood loss. "I've got'cha, Daddy's here."
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If you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.
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