"Hey, dad, can I have a bike?" Dean asked John, eagerly awaiting the answer which he was certain would be a 'yes'.
"Why would you need a bike? Can't exactly go hunting on a bike and expect a quick away, can you?" John asked Dean, confused at why Dean would want a bike. After all, vampires and werewolves can run faster than a bike for sure and demons would just click their fingers and make it go super rusty or something stupid like that.
"What?" Dean asked, bewildered. "Oh you mean a bicycle. I meant, can I have a motorbike?"
"What the hell, Dean, are you trying to get yourself killed?" John exploded. "Do you know how many people die on motorbikes every year? Don't be so goddamn ridiculous!"
"'Am I trying to get myself killed?' WE HUNT MONSTERS FOR CHRIST'S SAKE DAD AND YOU'RE GOING ON ABOUT HOW MANY PEOPLE DIE EVERY YEAR ON MOTORBIKES? ARE YOU CRAZY?"
"DO NOT. YELL AT. ME. SHOW SOME RESPECT. YES WE HUNT MONSTERS AND YOU HAVE LESS CHANCE OF BEING KILLED HUNTING THEM THAN YOU DO OF DYING DO YOU UNDERSTAND?" John yelled back.
Dean lowered his voice but it became far more incredulous than it had before. "Less chance of dying hunting monsters than on a motorbike? Do you remember that werewolf last year that almost took out my throat? Or the demon that almost smited you and me two years ago? Or maybe you've forgotten the time that there was A DEMON IN OUR HOUSE THAT KILLED MOM AND BURNT THE HOUSE DOWN. WHEN I WAS SIX!" He was yelling again. And that last statement was a low blow. Dean knew that John thought of that every day.
John's fist landed on his face before he could even register the movement. Stars flashed before his eyes and he fell to the floor. "I said NO! AND DON'T YOU EVER DARE TO SAY THAT ABOUT YOUR MOM EVER AGAIN, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?" John's voice was filled with a rage that Dean had never heard before. He bent down to where Dean lay on the floor. "You're going to Bobby's tomorrow. I refuse to have you around when you're saying things like that. And I will not have you around Sammy saying things like that either. Go pack your bag." He stood up and walked off, leaving Dean on the floor, still dizzy from the blow.
Typical, Dean thought. When I want something the answer's always no. Whenever I say something its always wrong. And he always hits me over it. I can't wait until we find this demon and then I'm leaving. Fuck the family business, I'll take Sammy and we'll go far away. Screw you, Dad.
He spat out blood and stood up slowly. He went to pack his bag. At least he like going to Bobby's. And it was all over a fucking motorbike.