He felt John's eyes on him, but he had no clue whether his father had switched topics in the meantime and improvising an answer would be like admitting that he was too deep in thought to listen to his father.
Plus, a thoughtful Dean generally gave reason to worry. He had to say something though; he had to snap out of it. Dean needed time to talk Sam out of this, cajole him into staying.
"Caleb still got that cool knife we stole in Sacramento?
He said I could have it, but I kinda forgot about that when we were between hunts…"
John looked up from his map and grinned. "You're interested in that little pig stick?"
Dean managed to look honestly affronted "'Course I am. I earned it."
John huffed a laugh "You'll get it soon enough. It's not like we don't have our own arsenal."
"Come on Dad, a pure silver machete? That's pretty cool."
John nodded and moved out of Dean's way as he left the kitchen.
He went for the bathroom door as slowly as he could, locked it and sank to his knees.
He couldn't face his father now. Not until his stomach stopped churning, his heart stopped pounding in his chest and his ribcage stopped feeling like it was shrinking, or whatever dramatic thing ribcages did.
+#+
When he was younger, Sam had invented ridiculously long school hours just so he wouldn't have to go home.
Dean let him have his way mostly; he liked seeing his brother happy. If 'happy' meant brooding over books way beyond his age recommendation and walking around with a backpack as heavy as an infant, then Dean'd let him have that, too.
When Sam got older and they needed him on hunts, Dean couldn't let that slip anymore.
But when Sam announced he was going to a soccer camp or on a field trip every so often, Dean turned a blind eye, always hoping John wouldn't see Sam reading in the library or shopping at the mall one day.
Later still, when Dad was gone on a hunt and Sam wanted some time alone with his respective girlfriend - so far there'd only been two, but he couldn't seem to remember their names, so he just went by calling them Candy and Sandy - Dean had wanted to believe him.
Of course, Dean knew perfectly well it was probably a trick.
The only time Sam didn't have him as his watchdog was when he wanted one-on-one and when he was in school.
Even when he was in school, Dean sometimes came over to check up on him, but he'd never let Sam know that.
So when John had taken off on an ordinary salt-n-burn two days ago, he'd let Sam stay at Sandy's.
After all Sandy's dad had been a marine himself, Dean had checked up on the whole family, the history of the house, even Sandy's reputation in town. As far as he could see, they were squeaky-clean and Sandy was just as good for Sam as any girl he could think of.
So it seemed like Sandy wasn't the only one who wanted to go to college.
Sam had probably had his test results delivered to her house as well. Maybe being sneaky was part of the whole hunter agenda and came with the training they'd both endured, but he didn't like Sam keeping secrets from him. He was locked in the freaking bathroom because of this shit.
He kinda preferred Sam's alcohol-infused shut down to the stony silence Sam usually surrounded himself with when he was deep in thought.
Of course, what had probably been meant to be a drunken haze, just enough to take the rough edges off reality, turned out to be more of a cataclysmic shock – which wasn't all that surprising, since, in spite of his physique, Sam was kind of a lightweight.
Guessing from how drunk he had to be to actually fall off his bed and not notice - even worse, to have John going ballistic (upon seeing the condition he was in) and not notice -
alcohol was the only thing Sam could think of to make this better.
Well, great minds thought alike. Dean wished he could pass out right next to Sam, so he wouldn't have to go through what was sure to follow once Sam sobered up.
Heads would roll tonight and he would put his on the line.
+#+
John knocked on the door. "Dean?"
Dean bit his lip and buried his head in his hands.
"Dean?"
If there'd ever been a good time for him to develop telepathic powers it would be now.
Implanting the thought in his father's head that they really needed burgers right this minute and he should take a long time getting them, too, would be great.
"Listen, I…"
'Yeah, you're sorry, you didn't mean to scream at me' Dean thought. As if he'd ever been mad at his father for longer than two hours just for yelling at him, especially after hearing one of his rare half-apologies.
He lifted his chin a little. "You will though."
He could practically see John run a hand over his mouth in a familiar gesture.
"What's that supposed to mean, son?"
Dean shook his head. "Please, just go get groceries… or ammo."
John heaved a long sigh and took his hand from the door knob. "Dean, are you alright?"
Dean refused to let the waterworks take over, he had to get Dad out of the house first, otherwise he'd bolt in the bathroom, demanding answers, in five seconds flat.
"Dean?"
"Yeah, Dad, I'm fine."
"Right."
He heard John rustling in a duffle, taking unsure steps towards the bathroom door again, pacing the room once, twice and–finally- silence.
+#+