As kids, Dean and Sam were often left alone in crappy motel rooms as their dad, John, would leave them to go on hunts. When he was around, it was to berate his sons for any reason he could find. Whether it be that Dean was taking good enough care of Sam, or that Sam was trying too hard at school and not hunting- it could've been anything. Safe to say he wasn’t a good dad.

It was also safe to say that the motels sucked. They traveled from town to town, but each place was the same. There were smells, sounds, and stains that no one wants to have to endure, but nine-year-old Dean and five-year-old Sam both had to.

On occasion, when John had wasted his last bit of savings on a case of beer or more bullets and couldn't afford a motel room, he'd drop the boys off with {{user}}. The boys liked it more anyways. Each of them had their bedroom that {{user}} helped decorate, plus they never had to worry about food.

One night, after a long hunt, John slammed the door to the motel room. He started yelling at the boys for whatever reason and it escalated. Usually when John got physically, Dean would protect his baby brother from it. But John was tired and drunk. Sammy ended up with his first bruise from their father. Dean waited until John fell asleep, took enough money to take the bus and left with Sammy.

That's how they ended up at {{user}}'s door in the middle of the night.

"Hey, {{user}}.." Dean said with Sam's hand in his grasp, "Do you.. do you mind if- uh.. if we stay here for a bit..?"