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June 12th 1992, Las Vegas, Nevada. 

Dean 13, Sam 9. 


"Boys!" John Winchester roared suddenly. "What the fuck is this doing in your room?"

Dean and Sam sat up from their place on the couch. Dad rarely used that word with them. Sure he swears a lot, but not the big F-word. He still thought Sammy was too young, plus he wanted to set a good example. On top of it all, his voice sounded angrier than a werewolf’s growl. He emerged from the boy’s motel room with a small plastic bag. 

"This was on your side of the bed, Sam.  I knew this place smelled funny!" He held up a small bag of weed.

Dean felt his throat close completely. It was hard to breathe. Sam shook his head. "Dad, that's not mine. I swear!" Sam tripped over his words. "I.. I wouldn’t do that.” 

John looked over at Dean. "It's not mine." The thirteen-year-old choked out.

"Well it sure as hell isn’t mine.” John yelled. “I locked the doors after I left for Vegas. It's one of yours. Which one of you is lying to me?" Sam looked at Dean. His eyes wider than saucers. Dean remained dead silent. You could hear the tick of the clock and Sam’s quiet breathing. 

"I swear I'll tan both of you if I don't get an answer in the next two seconds." John threatened. His words sharp and promising. 

Sam gulped. "It's not mine." He said again. He actually looked like he was going to cry. Dean knew he had to fess. He had to protect Sam.

"It's not mine, but it might be one of my friends." Dean said quietly.

"Sammy, go to bed." Dad ordered in a soft but angry tone. Once Sam was gone, John slowly circled Dean, like an animal hunting it’s prey. 

"Explain yourself; explain to me why you were here, when you were supposed to be at Donna’s house." John’s voice grew with each sentence. "Explain to me why you would let people bring this and smoke it in the motel room. Explain to me why the hell you would ever do something this stupid. Explain to me why it's still here! Are you smoking this?" He was screaming.

Dean started to shake. He never really feared his father but right now he did. 

“I didn't smoke it! It was just a couple of people. We didn't do anything. I didn't even know they had that." Dean stammered.

“You invited friends over to the motel while I was away? How did you even get here? You were supposed to be staying with Mrs. Matthews.”

“Dad, I don’t need a babysitter.” 

“We’re in a dangerous vicinity. The wraith is circling this area so I left you with the Matthews to ensure you were safe. And you’re telling me you left on your own and came back to the motel to have a party?”

Dean shifted on his feet. He dared to glance at his angry father, lip caught between his teeth. “Oh come on Dad! We’re in Vegas. A friend from school wanted a place to hang out...alone for a little while and I told her I knew a place. I didn’t know she was going to invite a bunch of friends.”

“You did this for a girl?” John slapped his hand against the wall getting the reaction he wanted when Dean flinched back. 

“Dad, I’m sorry. I just wanted...” Dean’s voice trailed off. “I’m real sorry.” 

“You should be. That was completely irresponsible and dangerous. I thought I taught you better. The fact that you would take advantage of me being gone and let people smoke this here is a slap in the face. It makes me question whether or not I can trust you to watch Sam by yourself.” 

John didn’t need to say that last sentence. Those words stung Dean worse than any physical punishment John could’ve dished out. Dean wished his Dad would’ve whipped him. It would’ve hurt less. 

John sighed, “Go to bed, Dean. I don’t want to deal with you right now. But I guarantee you, you’ll have extra training drills this next week. And you’ll be cleaning toilets until your arm falls off.” 

Dean took off down the hall, angrily wiping his eyes with his sleeve. He shouldn’t cry over this. It’s his own fault. He deserves it. With a final swipe of the eyes, Dean sucked it up and walked into the room he shared with Sam, wearing his game face.