John didn't listen and he drug Sam into the life.
He was never supposed to be raised as a hunter. He was supposed to get the normal apple pie life.
Dean could feel his flames burning under his skin. He had never been a kid, never had a childhood, no matter which life it had been. He had never had a brother either, someone he was in charge of, who he was supposed to take care of, who was of his own blood.
The fact John went behind his back to do so didn't go unnoticed by him.
Sam was ten now, they had finally been in a place longer than two weeks. Apparently that meant that John could take Sam outside to the woods and teach him how to shoot, how to fight. Not that he was against it, but John had taken him to a wood that held a wendingo. The same wendingo that they were there to hunt.
He didn't like seeing Sammy cry, especially when he was the one who had to stitch up the gashes in his side from the wendingo's claws.
He had sun flames, but he couldn't use them. He knew how John would react. He didn't want him to kill him, or worse, Sammy.
He'd have to help, little by little. It would take weeks, but he could probably cut the injury heal time down by a week or so, depending on how much he wanted to risk it.
If it came to it, he'd kill John to protect Sammy.