Dean had known that it wouldn't last. He was actually kind of annoyed with himself for expecting things to turn out differently than they had, for actually thinking that it was possible to have a normal family with normal relationships, able to hold conversations about things without them becoming arguments. The first month, things had gone pretty well, conversation was light and mostly civil. Two months later and Sam would every once in awhile get a jab in to deliberately annoy John, and John was beginning to lose all patience. Three months led to increased arguing, four and they were back to the way they had been, five and they were screaming at each other, old standards like 'I hate you' and 'Why can't you just shut the hell up' making appearances. Six months after both Sam and John had pledged to Dean that 'things would be different' and that they would be getting along, they were worse than before. Dean was not happy.

John was gone on another hunt, this time for a few days in a neighboring state, something about a haunted warehouse or something that Dean was not pleased to be left out of. And Sam wasn't a whole lot better; he'd started resenting Dean for telling him what to do, frequently yelling at him that he wasn't John and that he damn well should stop acting like it. It was the first time in recent memory, hell maybe ever, that Dean could remember not wanting to be left alone with Sam. Usually it was a time when they would make fun of each other and get a few good wrestling matches in around watching movies and eating junk food. Usually it was a time when they could just be brothers, not hunters. Dean supposed that this was being brothers, the younger wanting to branch away from the older, the younger growing up, the older growing annoying. Didn't make it any easier on him.

"Dad's home," Sam muttered, not looking up from the table where he had his history book splayed out in front of him, nestled in a bed of notes and papers. Dean looked at him appraisingly; he'd sprouted up in the past few months, all arms and legs and hair, completely losing the little bit of baby fat that had made him adorable and irresistible as a youngster. He would be taller than Dean soon, though Dean wasn't about to let him know that, suspected he knew anyway.

"Yeah. Listen, Sam, I know you've been trying, I really do, but you and Dad, you've been getting on each other a lot, lately. I know you're trying, I know that, but you've got to stop baiting him, you've got to stop -getting on him for everything, Sam. He's trying. He's a good man, Sam, he's a good father-"

"How the hell can you defend him, Dean? How can you stand there and tell me he's a good father when you haven't been in one school for longer than three months in your entire life? When you nearly died less than a year ago? Damn it Dean, how the hell can you stand there and tell me that I need to stop 'baiting him?' I'm not baiting him! And I don't 'get on him for everything,' Dean! You argue with him too, you argue with me, but you get this holier than thou attitude 'cause you think you're so great, and you-" Dean, about three seconds away from losing his temper completely, was somewhat relieved when John walked through the door. He stood in the doorway, seeing his sons nearly coming to blows, stared at them for a second.

"I'm hitting the bar," he said, and walked back out. Sam whirled on Dean, continuing his tirade, ranting to the point where he was nearly worked up to tears, and Dean just stood there, annoyed and frustrated but eventually just zoning out and letting it wash over him. Until Sam brought Mom into it.

"-and you think that because you knew Mom, that makes you more intent on revenge, that my not wanting to spend every freaking moment chasing this thing down, that that means I don't love her as much, but I do, and you can't just keep using her as an excuse-"

"Sam! That's freaking enough! Shut the hell up!" Dean yelled finally, grabbing his younger brother by the collar and slamming him against the wall. "Listen to me, you can bitch about Dad, you can bitch about me, but the minute you start telling me that I don't really love Mom, that I'm using her as an excuse, you had better think twice, because I'm not gonna look the other way anymore. Understand?" Sam glared at him, eyes burning, and Dean glared back, feeling his teeth grinding and jaw clenching.

"Yeah," Sam spat, and Dean glared at him before letting him go and grabbing his leather jacket.

"I'll be back," Dean said, slamming the door behind him when he went.

xxxx

Dean walked into the bar, didn't even need to flash his fake ID. The joint was definitely shady enough that he wasn't surprised that they didn't seem to enforce the drinking age that much, expected to find a few more people as young as himself in there. But that wasn't why he went. Part of him looked forward to the nights when John returned from a long hunt, when they would talk about what happened over a beer, discuss appropriate weapons, responses, tactics. It was a time he thrived for, a time when he felt like an equal. And damn, he needed to be treated like a freaking equal about now.

He sat at the bar, ordered a beer and walked over to find his dad. He was hustling, not really any surprise there, and Dean sat back to watch John work his magic. What completely surprised Dean was that his father, usually one to play in silence, intimidating the people around him and generally just overwhelming them, was apparently drunk enough to be talking up a storm to the people around him. And he wasn't just talking.

"Yeah, I've been havin' a hell of a time with my boys," he slurred, and a few men nodded in consensus. "My youngest is like a, I dunno, like a ball of fire, just wantin' to burn up everything, fight with everything, you know? And my oldest, he got hurt a while back, and now he's turned into a pansy. Kid keeps complaining that I'm arguing with my other son, but he won't just man up and tell us to stop. Just sighs and drops hints and all. You'd think he was a woman…" Dean had heard enough. He was tempted to throw the empty beer bottle at his dad's head on his way out, but he contented himself with slamming it down onto the table hard enough to shatter it, hard enough to silence the entire bar. John looked up, and even in his drunken state, he could tell that he'd made a mistake.

"Dean-"

"Piss off." Dean shoved out of the bar, angrily slamming the door behind him. He didn't know where to go, his hand was bleeding because he'd apparently cut it on the beer bottle he'd smashed, and, he realized with a groan, his entire family, his whole world, hated him. It was a lot to take in, and Dean could feel the blood loss and alcohol and anger and sadness all combine, threatening to make him collapse, knees on the verge of buckling. He made it to a bench at a bus stop, waved the bus off as it stopped for him, finally allowed himself to sob. Maybe he was nothing but a pansy, maybe he was being a girl, but damn it, it hurt knowing that there was absolutely no one in the entire world, who wanted to be around you, and he didn't care anymore as the tears flowed.

xxxx

He'd stomped into the room, eventually, blood still dripping from his hand, and roared at them, screamed that he wouldn't be playing peacemaker anymore, that they could kill each other for all he cared, just leave him the hell alone. It had been a long night.

The next few weeks were similar to the ones that had proceeded them, only Dean absolutely refused to become involved. It was hard, as he wanted to step in for Sam sometimes, remind John that he was still a teenager, and sometimes he thought that Sam was being absolutely and completely unreasonable, but he was so pissed off and wounded that he just let it go.

He actually found himself heading to the library every time they fought, because no matter how piss-poor the town, there was always a place to read. He didn't even care that it was a nerdy, Sam thing to do, just read and read while his brother and father battled it out.

To say their relationships were strained was an understatement.

Now, as Dean stepped into the shower -25 cents for 5 minutes- and found it to be ice cold -they were staying in a camping cabin, not in town, but close enough to expect warm water, damn it- he knew that it was about to get a whole lot worse. Shivering, he was quick, lathering his hair and body, rinsing, and stepping out with his towel, but he knew that Sam liked long, luxurious showers, and that though there were three different stalls and he could in no way blame Dean for stealing all the water, he would not be happy. At all. And that John, after having completed a long, tiring hunt, and having found his normal solace in a lovely bottle of Jack Daniels, would not be pleased at his son's complaints. Not at all. Dean sighed and walked into the cabin.

It actually went way faster than he expected. One second Dean was sitting, flipping through limited, boring channels, his father watching the TV without interest, the next, Sam was barreling through the door, dripping wet and clearly furious.

"What the hell?" He screamed, and John lumbered to his feet more quickly than Dean thought possible, waving the beer in one hand. "We're staying in this piece of crap cabin where they don't even have hot water! Why can't we stay in a freaking house, Dad, like normal people?"

"Sam, you'd better shut the hell up before I shut you up!"

"Oh, yeah, because you can't handle anyone criticizing you, not you, John freaking Winchester! You're the worst father of all time! I hate you! I freaking-" Sam's comment was cut off as John slugged him across the cheek. Sam dropped, clutching at the side of his face, clearly caught off guard, while John advanced toward him. Dean leapt to his feet and shoved his father back, bodily blocking him from his younger brother.

"Dad, we need to talk. Right now," Dean said lowly.

"I'm busy, Dean, it's gonna have to wait," John answered, not taking his eyes off of his youngest son.

"No Dad. This can't wait. Right. Now." Dean turned to Sam, who was picking himself off the floor, still holding a hand to his face. Dean could see blood on his hand and something in him snapped.

"Sam, get out of here. Why don't you go take a run around the campsite, huh?"

"Dean, I-"

"I mean it, Sammy. Get out." John laughed, looked at his oldest son, who was standing in a defensive position, hands clenched at his side.

"You don't have to Sam, I don't know what Dean thinks he's gonna do, but you can stay."

"Go, Sam." Sam looked between his father and his brother, one leaning drunkenly to one side, the other standing as if on the verge of fighting. Was this what Dean felt like? It took him a few seconds, a slight hesitation, then he slowly walked out of the cabin, closing the door behind him. He waited a second, looked at the closed door. He couldn't hear any yelling, so maybe everything was okay…He started running, too afraid to stop.