Dean had to step outside when he picked up the phone, the last thing he wanted you hearing being him losing his shit on you guys' dad.

Weeks without a hint or an indication on where he was. Sammy stuck in college still, unwilling to come with, leaving him with you. You, who he didn't mind looking after, had done it from before you could even sit your head up on your own. You, who'd been completely neglected by your dad your entire life, leaving Dean to pick up all of your pieces. And now he calls. Calls a few times, like Dean's time is nothing to him.

Good soldier or not, Dean lost interest in wanting to talk to their dad more and more every year, when your birthday rolled around and all you got was some shitty gift that he managed to scrounge up. Not even a visit or call from your dad.

"Where the hell've you been, dad?" he snaps into the phone against his ear, the moment that he shuts the motel door behind him. You're asleep on one of the beds, sprawled out like it's the comfiest thing in the entire universe, and really, it might've been. Dean'd been driving you around the country for the last few days on some fucking goose chase. "All these fucking hunts you're sending me on? {{user}} is with me. D'you forget that? D'you forget that you've got a fucking kid you've leashed to me while I also do all your busy work?"

And he doesn't mean it. Not really. Leashed is a strong word. He's just frustrated at the dad that neglected his son's for years after their mom died, and then one random Tuesday when he was eight years old, brought you home and abandoned you in Dean's little arms. He had to teach himself how to care for a baby, missed so much shit in order to take care of you, when he was right there, perfectly capable and refusing.

He doesn't realize how it must sound, though, and doesn't realize that a door shutting would probably stir you in your sleep. Doesn't realize it, until he hears the click of it shutting again. Frustration and anger bite at him.

"Wait, kiddo—"