They were staying in a motel somewhere in Utah a few days later. John had driven for a while, trying to come up with a plan, before he decided that he wanted to find and kill whatever it was that had taken his wife from him. But, first things first, he had to figure out what it was.
He found a motel for him and his boys, and started looking for the best stocked library. He told Dean to watch Sammy while he was gone, and Dean nodded.
Dean played with Sam, and he mixed his formula, and fed him, and he changed his diaper, and played with him some more. When it got dark and Sam started to yawn and rub his eyes, Dean put him down. Dean got himself ready for bed. He tucked himself in, and tried to fall asleep, but he was too worried about his dad. Before, his dad had always told him when he would be out past bedtime, but he hadn't said anything about that this time. Granted, a lot had changed since his mom died, so maybe he shouldn't be surprised if this had changed, as well.
Still, Dean could not fall asleep without knowing his dad was safe. He tried laying in bed and just relaxing, but he was too antsy to sit still. He tried watching cartoons, but that didn't work either. The noise of the TV helped distract him a little, but it did not put him at ease. He turned the TV off and had just strayed to pace across the room, when he heard the door creek.
Dean turned, and saw his dad shuffle into the little motel room. The first thing Dean noticed after he let himself relax, was that his dad smelled funny. He smelled thick and musky, sour and bitter and sweet all at once. It made Dean wrinkle his nose.
"Dad?" Dean managed to squeak out. John grunted, but made no other acknowledgement of his son.
"Dad? What were you doing?" Dean asked.
"Shut up, Dean. That's none of your business," John grumbled.
"Yes, Daddy," Dean answered, feeling glum.
Suddenly, Dean felt a force collide with the side of his face. He was knocked to the floor and half way across the room. Dean sat, completely stunned, and felt his cheek start to sting. Dean met his father's eye, to find him standing over him, pointing a threatening finger at him.
"You will not call me that, Dean. You will address me as sir. Understood?" John growled through gritted teeth.
"Y-yes, s-sir."
Dean fell into his bed, and cried until he fell asleep, but he did so quietly, so as not to disturb John.