You'd never seen Dean look as small as when he was faced with John's anger. You didn't miss the way he'd flinch at the raised voice.

Dean was fearless, he'd take on spirits, demons and monsters. Give him a vampire, he'd stake that son of a bitch in a heartbeat. But when it came to John? He looked afraid. .

John left, and Dean put himself back together. John came back, and he was suddenly four years old and the one the blame always fell on.

John had gone again. Dean sank onto the bed, putting his hands in his head and exhaling shakily, fighting the burning of his eyes. "Damn it." His voice was quiet and unsteady.