Dean slammed through the door of John's apartment, making it clear to anyone who happened to be nearby that he was pissed.

"John!" Dean yelled as soon as he got through the door and shut it behind him. It didn't take long for him to hear loud footsteps running up the stairs in response to his yelling.

"Dean? What the hell are you doing here? Where's your brother?"

"Somewhere safe. Somewhere you can't get to him."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"You know damn well what I'm talking about! Sam told me everything." Dean was in John's face now, pointing an accusing finger at him.

"Dean, I don't know what you're talking about? What did Sam tell you?"

"He told me what you did to him. How you beat him when you were drunk. How you raped him. What kind of sick fuck does that to his own son?!"

"I would never do that, Dean."

"Shut up! I'm doing the talking." Dean shoved John against the nearest wall roughly and then took a step back. "You are never gonna see him again, and you will never try to contact him again. Lose his number, lose my number, and stay the fuck away from us. You understand me?"

"Dean, enough! You don't get to decide anything when it comes to Sam, and you're lucky as hell I let you walk away and start deciding things for yourself. But you walked away from this family, and you don't get to just barge in here and take Sam away 'cause you want to."

"I'm not taking him away because I want to. I'm doing it for Sam, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't wanna stay with your sorry ass any longer than he has to."

"My sorry ass raised you boys and kept a roof over your head, fed you, clothed you. And this is how you thank me? Taking my son away from me?"

"Bullshit! I hustled money in any way I could for our food and clothes when you were gone for weeks at a time leaving us in some shitty motel room! You don't get to pretend like you provided for us, and you sure as hell don't get to claim father of the year award. I put more time into raising Sam than you ever did! So fuck you." Dean turned towards the door to leave, but John grabbed his wrist before he could and turned his son to face him.

"You know, I was doing you a favor by choosing your brother over you, but if you're gonna be an ungrateful little brat, I guess you don't need anymore favors from me," John said, picking Dean up and tossing on the couch, hands going for his belt buckle.

"Don't even think about it," Dean said, jumping up from the couch and circling around it, dodging his father.

John attempted to grab at Dean again, but practically missed by a mile, stumbling over himself, cursing under his breath. "Get back here, boy."

"Stay the fuck away from me," Dean yelled over his shoulder, headed for the door. John caught up to him before he could turn the handle and shoved him against the door, back facing him. "Get off me!"

"Stay still," John said as he struggled to hold Dean's arms against the door. Dean persistently kicked and shoved at his father, successfully breaking free when his elbow hit John's nose knocking him backwards.

Dean scurried through the door as quickly as he could, not looking back. He ran down the street towards his motorcycle, hopping on and starting the engine.

Dean slowed down as he reached the gravel driveway at Bobby's, the time passing by quickly. He had been lost in his thoughts, not really paying attention. He went inside and closed the front door of the house and saw Sam asleep on the couch with a different episode of Game Of Thrones playing on his brother's laptop. Bobby was standing in the kitchen doing dishes when Dean walked in and he turned to face him.

"Well, how'd it go?"

"As good as could be expected, I guess," Dean shrugged, not really looking at Bobby.

Bobby could tell Dean was tense with anger, his shoulders hunched ever so slightly, gaze glued to the countertop. He moved over to Dean and placed a hand on his shoulder. "You can stay here as long as you need. I made a bed for him, but he stayed there pretty much the whole time, saying he could keep an eye out for your bike through the window if he stayed there. Thought it best to leave him be."

"Thanks, Bobby," Dean said, glancing over to his sleeping brother on the couch. "I'll bring him upstairs soon."

"No problem," Bobby said, patting Dean's shoulder once before moving to leave the room. "I'm headed to bed. Try not to stay up too late."

Dean took a moment to himself, running a hand through his hair, willing himself to relax. When he felt sufficiently calm, he moved to the living room to bring Sam upstairs, but he had barely just entered the room when he heard Sam scream.

"Dean, help," Sam mumbled. He turned on the couch slightly, like he had weights holding him down preventing him from moving much, but he was fighting against it. His head began to whip back and forth on his pillow, his mumbling growing louder by the second. Dean rushed to his brother's side, his hand reaching out to Sam's forehead. He was warm and sweaty, his whole body shaking against whatever was holding him down in his dream.

Sam got more violent as the nightmare went on, and a second later the shaking went from zero to sixty, nothing holding him down anymore. He started thrashing at the air, arms flailing, feet kicking, and he ended up throwing himself off of the couch with the force of it, but somehow remained asleep.

Sam's head ended up in Dean's lap when he fell, so he gently placed his head on the ground so he could get up and grab Sam's arms. Just like last time, he held him down firmly, trying not to hurt him at the same time, until the nightmare subsided. Dean whispered in his brother's ear, more for his own sake than Sam's, repeating the same few phrases over and over again. "It's okay, Sammy. I got you. It's okay."