He had been sat in a quiet panic for the most part of the day. There wasn't anything left he could do. Not without dad. He'd even asked around, someone offered to help Dean but he couldn't drag a civillian into this. They looked concerned so Dean just ran back to the motel.

He planned it out, he had a clean glass sat out for his dad and a bottle of scotch out and bought a bag of ice with the last of his food money. When he hears the Impala drive up he will jump up, poor a glass of scotch on the rocks. Just how his dad liked it.

When he heard the Impala and jumped up he almost fell. He was shaking. His chest was caught and he struggled to breath. But he ignored this and poured the glass anyway. The motel door was unlocked as Dean hit the bed.

John was tired but he had that small smile from a job well done.

"Hey boys," he mumbled, "That for me?"

He grinned as he sipped at the scotch and nodded to Dean for thanks,

"Where's Sam? In the can ..." Dean stared at his hands,"What's the matter?"

Dean shuffled uncomfortably and went to speak but his voice broke. John went straight to the bathroom calling for Sam as he opened the door. Empty.

"Where is Sam?" a beat passes with no reply,"Where is Sam? Dean!"

"I - don't know sir."

Both the Winchester's freeze; Dean in anticipation and John in shock. John suddenly bursts with anger.

"What the fuck do you mean don't know?" John throws the glass to the ground, Dean jumps,"Don't you -"

With a few long strides John is towering of Dean. He grabs Dean's shirt and pulls him up. With little resistance Dean follows his father's hand.

"You lost your brother?" John searches his son's expression,"Answer me!"

"Yes sir."

John's fist meets Dean's nose. Dean is on all fours, touching his face in shock as blood drops into his palm. John can't think straight - he's watching as his eldest son turns his large, green eyes to his face in fear. He cannot hold his own fathers gaze for more than moment, as Dean struggles up and begins to mumble, "I'm sorry Dad -", John suddenly stops caring. All his guilt for hitting Dean just leaves him. Sorry is not what he wanted to hear. Dean pulls himself up and his dad moves towards him.

"He is your responsibility Dean!" John walks to Dean who is now being cornered by his father,"Have you even bothered to look!"

"I tried," fumbles Dean as he feels the wall behind him and he cannot see a way around his father. He's trapped.

"Tried?" John pushes Dean with his full strength onto the wall, then his hand squeezes the bottom of Dean's throat. He doesn't hold back,accentuating each word with a squeeze of his hand and pushing Dean to the wall "You lost your fucking brother! And you just tried."

John's shouting and Dean hitting the wall could be heard in the car park.

"Dad -" Dean's voice cracks, the pressure on his throat makes it difficult for him to breath and the building tears don't help,"I'm sorry."

At that John pushes Dean to the ground. Dean doesn't fight back, he just let's himself fall. He lands on the smashed glass of scotch. John looks down with disgust. His hands tense into fists. He lets go and kicks Dean. In the gut. Twice before he realizes what he is doing.

John just leaves. He slams the motel door. Dean lies there for a moment. His eyes shut tight and not daring to move. His body ached and his nose and arm were bleeding. He couldn't breath. He wanted to cry out but he couldn't. He had not right to cry, not for himself at least.

Dean finally pulled himself up.

Dean was sat in the bathroom when he heard the motel door being unlocked. His nose had finally stopped bleeding, he could breath properly but his arm was not doing well. Contorting his arm to get a good look at it in the mirror wasn't helping - his stitching was sloppy at best and tiny specks of glass were still in the cut. The bathroom door opened and with it came a faint smell of a sleazy bar. Dean did not look at his dad.

"Has your nose stopped bleeding?" said John

"Yes sir."

Dean had stopped now and could feel his dad's presence. His dad's feet shuffled in the doorway.

"That cut isn't properly done," John now moved to Dean and took a hold of his arm. It took everything for Dean not to flinch so he just stared at the vodka, blood and glass in the sink. With no warning John yanked at the stitches, roughly pulling them out. John stuck his hand out and Dean put the tweezers in his hand. The tweezers poked at his wound and making warm blood begin dripping out. John was not careful. He splashed the cheap vodka on the cut and dried it quickly with paper. He then quickly stitched it up. The pain had reached the stage where Dean's arm was just numb and throbbing.

As John reached again for the vodka to clear the blood from his hasty stitching Dean finally looked at his father. He wish he hadn't. It was not dad looking at him. There was nothing but spite and bitterness - even through the haze of alcohol he could see it. John and Dean's eyes were locked for a moment. He just watched as he splashed the vodka on the wound. Dean could only look for a few second's before he couldn't face that look.

John then simply let go of the bottle. It smashed loudly. John stood up, walked out the bathroom but stopped in the doorway:

"Clean up your mess."