In Sam's defense, John did tell him it was OK to get a soda, plus he knew exactly where he was. He was just going down the block to the party store.
But to be honest, John was to scared and shocked to point that fact out to his oldest son.
Dean was at the library, as he had been for the past few weeks. It was a small town and John knew that it would look suspicious if he kept coming in, so they alternated.
Sam had come home from school, asked where his brother was, sat down and did school work. After five hours John nearly slammed the book closed and ordered his son to get himself a soda. If he'd know this was going to happen he would have tied Sam to his chair.
Dean had come in, exhausted, a stack of paper in his hands. He gave the small apartment one look then turned a panic face to his father.
"Where's Sam?" he gasped.
John didn't even have a chance to answer before the papers were on the floor and Dean was rushing back out the door.
John started for the door but stopped suddenly when both his sons appeared as quickly as they'd vanished. Dean was holding Sam's arm tightly, practically dragging his little brother back into the room.
Sam's face was ashen, guilt written all over. John frowned. "Dean,"
Dean slammed the door shut and yanked Sam further into the apartment. "What the hell were you thinking? You don't go out by yourself. You go to your goddamn school then you come straight home. What's so hard about that Sam? Can't you just once do what your told?"
He was screaming, his finger jabbing into Sam's face. John stood back, shocked.
"Dean," Sam muttered, lowering his eyes.
John was amazed that his youngest son's voice didn't hold even an ounce of fear. Instead it was patience, almost patronizing.
"You have no idea what's out that Sammy. And if you're not gonna listen to me and train yourself properly then you aren't gonna even go out."
"I can't stay inside all the time," Sam said carefully, looking up only briefly to his brother's face.
"No, but you can wait the ten damn minutes until I get back. We're not like those fucking pussies you go to school with Sammy. Things are out there trying to kill us. I thought you were smart enough not to give them the chance."
John took a step forward, feeling Dean had went far enough. "I was here Dean-"
Dean turned. His eyes swimming with fury, "And what the hell were you thinking Dad? Letting him go out there by himself? You want him to die? You want another person I love to be killed simply because you're-"
"Dean stop." Sam cut him off. The younger brother's voice firm. John watched as Sam stepped forward and place a gentle on Dean's shoulder. "Please, I'm alright."
Dean twirled back, "You lucked out-you could have gotten killed-you have no fucking idea what's really out there."
"Dean, calm down," Sam lifted his other hand to place on his brother's other shoulder. "Please."
To complete John's surprise for that night, Dean actually did. He relaxed his shoulders under his brother's hands, then took a breath. Then another. After a long moment Dean sighed.
"Sorry." He whispered, his voice husky with embarrassment. "I came in…you were gone. I've been reading all that shit about the kids being taken….I didn't think."
Sam gave his brother a shy smile. "I know, thinking for you is a rare event."
Dean lifted his eyes, "Shut up punk,"
Sam cast his father a wryly look over Dean's shoulder. "You finish up with Dad, I'll be in our bedroom."
"Roger," Dean responded, suddenly cheerful, back to his old self. He turned his head sideways and watched Sam walk into their room. He winked as his brother turned and smiled at him then he closed the door.
"You ok?" John muttered, still confused.
Dean swallowed then turned back to face his father. The light and relaxed manner Dean had shown his little brother was gone, he took a heavy step toward his father.
"Never, never let Sam outta your sight like that again." Dean hissed, the fury he's shown only moments ago coming back into his voice.
John blinked, hadn't he used those exact same words years ago when he first ordered Dean to care for his little brother?
"I told you when I was sixteen that I'd do whatever you asked of me. You want me to hunt evil, fine. You want me to research mysteries death, done. You want me to train myself to burn corpse and fight invisible demons, no problem. But if anything…anything, happens to Sam. I'm done. I'm gotta this fucked up game and you'll never see us again."
Dean spat, lowering his voice so Sam wouldn't hear them. But despite his that fact his voice was pitched to a tone John had never heard before.
Dean's face was flushed red, his bottom lip tender from being tugged on.
"He's 14-" John started.
"He's Sam." Dean said, his teeth clamped together. "He's mine. You don't put him in danger unless I'm there."
John couldn't help himself, "You're not always gonna be there Dean. He's growing up."
"You wanna bet?" Dean took another step, bring himself within inches of his father. "When it comes to Sam, I'm always going to be there."
John watched in stunned silence as his oldest son walked away. He watched as Dean entered the shared bedroom then close it carefully behind him.
He heard one laughing fit come from Sam hours later, then nothing else for the rest of the night.
By the next morning, Dean came out looking same old same old. Smiled at his father, annoyed Sam by hiding his backpack.
It unnerved John, seeing the way it was forgotten. He almost asked Sam later what had happened behind those closed doors.
It didn't matter though, John learned his lesson, and never even attempted anything with Sam when Dean's permission and advice hadn't already been given.
He understood, Sam was Dean's.