A/N - don't mind me. Just more head canons.
There was a tremendous bang at the door, followed almost immediately by the splintering and cracking of the door frame, and then another bang a second later as the door flew open and smacked the wall behind it.
A figure, a large figure, in black was across the room, in the hall, and opening the first door on the left by the time Dean Winchester managed to sit up and grab his gun from the end table.
The bedroom door was kicked open, resulting in a female scream, and a very angry "What the fuck, Dad?"
"Dad?" Dean asked, staggering to his feet, shakily pointing the gun at the back of the intruder.
"Get out here!" John ordered, and then pointed in the room. "Him, not you! You get your shirt on and go home!"
"Do you know how close I came to fucking shooting you?" Sam shouted. "What the fuck are you doing here? You called an hour ago and said you wouldn't be home until tomorrow!"
John backed out of the doorway and turned back to the living room. Sam stomped through the door, making a show of flicking on the safety on his pistol.
Dean stumbled back to the sofa and flopped down, slapping his gun back on the end table. Sam sat at the other end, arms crossed, and glared at his father.
The brunette from Sam's school bolted through the living room, shirt on backwards, frantically stuffing books and papers into a backpack. She kept her head down and didn't look at any of the Winchesters.
"Amanda," Sam called after her, but she didn't answer, just tried, then gave up on shutting the front door behind her and kept going.
"What the fuck is going on?" All three Winchesters demanded.
"What were the two of you doing?" John snapped. He stood over both his sons with his hands on his hips, but he stared solely at Dean.
"I was watching tv," Dean gestured toward the set, still playing 3rd Rock from the Sun. "Sam was studying with that girl."
"He was at second base!" John thundered, pointing at his younger son. "What the fuck were they studying, biology?"
Dean turned to look at his brother, noting the flushed cheeks, messy hair, rumpled shirt, and smears of pink lip gloss around his mouth.
He promptly burst into giggles.
Sam shot a bitchface at him before turning to his father. "You know, that's what normal teenage boys do! They make out with girls while pretending to study! They don't take history tests on Friday and hunt wendigos on Saturday!"
Dean shoved himself to his feet, walking past John who stared at him incredulously. He went into the kitchenette and returned with a beer and a bag of chips and dropped back onto the couch.
"This was a drill, and you," John pointed at Dean. "Failed. You," he pointed toward Sam. "Marginally passed. You should have ... "
"Does this not seem even slightly fucked up to you?" Sam raged. "What kind of a father kicks in his own front door like some kind of gangster and takes a chance that one of his own kids will shoot him?"
"One who wants to make sure his sons are prepared for whatever may come after them!" John bellowed back. "You still haven't checked me to make sure I'm not a shapeshifter or demon or revenant!"
"Oh, I'm sure you're really my father," Sam answered snarkily. "A demon would probably be less of an asshole!"
John snorted and turned to Dean. "What do you have to say for yourself?"
"I'm sorry Dad," Dean recited slowly, then popped another chip into his mouth.
Father and son looked at each other for a long moment before John's gaze flicked to the end table and dirty ashtray.
"Are you fucking stoned?" He roared, slapping the bag of chips out of Dean's hand.
"'m just a little relaxed," Dean half smiled, then looked at the chips in the floor and frowned.
John grabbed the front of Dean's shirt and hauled him to his feet, bringing them almost nose to nose. "You have got to be fucking kidding me." he growled.
Dean was wrenched from his grasp and pushed back in the direction of the couch. John found himself face to face with his younger son.
"You have got to be fucking kidding me," Sam hissed. "You're the biggest drunk I know, and you're pissed at Dean for smoking weed? Pot, kettle?"
"It's not the same!" John insisted.
"It's pretty damn close!" Sam snapped. "And besides, if it wasn't for you and the shit you put us through, Dean wouldn't have stuff he needed to get high to forget!"
"I am your father, and you will not talk to me that way!" John drew himself up as much as he could, barely still taller than the sixteen year old in front of him.
"Yeah, maybe if you ever acted like a father, I wouldn't." Sam scoffed. "I don't have parents. I have Dean and a drill sergeant."
He turned and stomped across the room, attempting to slam the bedroom door that wouldn't even completely close now.
Dean sat on the sofa, looking up at his father. "Dad, I'm sorry, really sorry. I just, that last hunt, I needed something to take the edge off ... "
"Is getting stoned worth your life?" John asked pointedly. "Because I could have killed you or Sam by the time you reacted just now. Is it worth Sam's life?"
He didn't wait for an answer, just stomped down the hall and slammed the bathroom door.
Dean sat there for a few minutes before rigging the front door to stay closed.
He never smoked weed again.