Dad’s arrival only served to solidify the mask Dean had put in place at his brother’s approach - he wasn’t going to show this weakness around his father. Jaw set, chin up, eyes bouncing from Dad to Sam to the building to the axe in his hand and then dropping to skitter on the ground, his father’s feet, listening to his brother’s sarcasm and remembering years of the same tone, years of these little jabs between the fights. It was like no time had passed at all, if he didn’t look, because if he didn’t look he couldn’t see all the differences, for just a second, and it was pretty bad that he was thinking of that time and remembering it as simple, uncomplicated in comparison to today, tonight.
> "Look, if he's there - just, focus on getting Mom out. I'll distract him."
“Sam,” his tone quiet - not quiet enough that John wouldn’t hear, but it was close - and it was still clearly a warning. The last thing he needed right now was to think of what Sam meant by using himself as a distraction, what would happen if they went in to rescue Mom and lost Sam instead. He wasn’t going to think about that, but the seed was planted, now, and he knew it wasn’t going to just go away; he wasn’t going to just let Sam throw himself at Azazel.
He was, however, as willing as his brother was to get in there and get Mom out. He didn’t want to stand around planning, he didn’t want to feel like he was supposed to be doing as he was told, waiting for an order. This was about getting Mom back, this wasn’t some hunt where he needed to fall in line behind his father’s words, and though he didn’t actually say as much, didn’t shoot any looks, he shifted in place enough that it was clear he wanted to get a move-on, too...
...and then turned and headed for the building. He wasn’t going to follow, this time.