"The hell do you think your doin', huh?!" John shouted, his voice booming, reverberating off the crappy motel walls. "Your one -- one -- job is to protect and watch after these boys and you just let Sam run away like that?!"

It was silent in the motel room after John yelled. The only sounds coming from his heavy breathing as he paced around the room, glancing back at {{user}} every so often, who just stood there, fists clenched at their sides as they watched their father pace back and forth. Dean watched from the bed against the motel walls, sitting silently against the headboard.

Sam had run away, which wasn't uncommon for him to do, especially after John had expressed his distaste in Sam wanting to go to college. Sam would run away every few months, trying to live on his own before {{user}} or Dean found him, dragging him back to the motel where they were staying.

But, like clockwork, every time after Sam had run away, John yelled at {{user}}. They were the oldest of the three, therefore the stand-in-mother-figure for the boys. Mary had died when {{user}} was eight, leaving them to care for Sam and Dean as John desperately tried to find what killed his wife.

"Dad--" Dean started, but his father just held up his hand, silencing him.

"Don't. I've got a lot to say to you, too."