Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to Eric Kripke. I do not own the characters.

A/N: Thank you, my few readers, for following and reviewing! I hope you like this. For anyone who doesn't know, CBGB is a nightclub in NYC where the Ramones and Blondie got their start. Also, I bumped the rating up to teen for some swearing and alcohol/drug use. Let me know if you think it should be something else, I'm not too familiar with the rating system yet. There are also some direct quotes from the episode in here that do not belong to me. Lastly, is it just me that finds John Winchester frustrating? I'm constantly going back and forth because sometimes in the show the boys remember him as a stubborn, obsessed bastard, and other times they talk about how he was always there for them? Ugh...feel free to leave your opinion in the comments. I'm curious to see what other people think, but hopefully I portrayed him okay in this. I'm done ranting now, hope you enjoy. :)

"Son, you don't like me? That's fine. It's not my job to be liked. It's my job to raise you right."- The Things We Left Behind (10x09)

The rest of the day passed quickly and was completed with a visit to an old-fashioned hole-in-the-wall Italian pizzeria called Giovanni's. As the night grew darker, the Winchesters made one last stop at Times Square. Anywhere else, the night would have been pitch black, but the electronic billboards lit up the sky so that it might have been mistaken for a cloudy day. Sam and Dean walked down the street with their eyes glued firmly upwards in awe, relying on John to keep them from running into poles and other pedestrians. The bright flashing colors and the glow of the street lights almost made up for the lack of stars in the sky. As they made their way through New York, a taxi was forgone in favor of a nighttime walk in which they'd be able to see a little more of the city. The further they traveled from Times Square and the city lights, the older the buildings appeared, turning from skyscrapers into old three-story brick houses with wrought iron fencing. The darkness didn't seem to keep any New Yorkers from enjoying the night though, in fact, you wouldn't even know it was nighttime with the number of people sitting on porches, talking on sidewalks, just walking around as if the day had only begun. John kept his gun within reach, but even he felt relaxed after the day he and his sons had enjoyed.

Their hotel was nicer than they were used to, it had a bed for each of them, so Sam and Dean wouldn't have to share, and John had his bed in a room separate from the boys. They set up the salt lines, locked the windows and doors, and Dean took the bed closest to the door, but for a different reason than usual. After the room was secure, John and Sam passed out as soon as their heads hit their pillows. Dean had other plans… his night was just getting started.

Once he was sure both Sam and John were definitely asleep, Dean tip-toed across the room to get his jacket, glad he didn't have to worry about walking past Sam who was usually a light sleeper. He grabbed the hotel key, and careful not to disturb the salt line, unbolted the door and slipped outside. Dean grinned at his success and made his way to the street, remembering the path they took earlier that day where they passed CBGB and he began to form his grand plan. He dug out the map he had marked earlier from his leather jacket and followed the street signs to the best night of his life. After about thirty minutes of walking, he arrived. The sounds of the nightclub drew him in, and Dean, being sixteen years old, had no chance in hell of getting in on his own. So he snuck in through the back. It was easier than he expected to get in unnoticed, and once he was in, what he saw was nothing like he could have ever imagined. There were people smoking, drinking, snorting…something, and there was a ginormous man on stage with a mohawk screaming un-intelligible punk rock noises into the mic and for what feels like a solid four minutes, Dean just stands there in awe. The spell is abruptly broken when a pretty girl with spiky pink hair walks up to him.

"Hey Cutie! Yeah, you! why don't you come over, sit with me and my friends, have a few drinks?" She smiled as if she knew he was too young to be there and just didn't give a crap. She also seemed pretty drunk herself already. Not one to refuse a pretty women (ever) Dean smiled cockily and shrugged and said,

"Alright." He followed her back to a corner where a group of rowdy people sat, some with piercings, some with dyed hair, some with mohawks, some with all three.

"I brought us a new friend!" The girl yelled over the music and was immediately responded to by a cheer that sounded more like a muddled drunken roar. Dean took a seat next to his "new friend" and was instantly plied with at least three drinks. Also not one to be rude, Dean drank them all. Pretty soon Dean was positive he'd gotten completely drunk, and it wasn't the fun kind of drunk either. He started to feel nauseous and the room started to spin. The lights were too bright and the mohawk guy on stage's singing became less exhilarating and more migraine inducing. He wasn't sure how much time had passed but he knew any moment now he was about to start puking and he wasn't going to stop anytime soon. And then he heard him...

"Dean Winchester." Dad…how the hell did you find me? Dean thought to himself. He couldn't help feeling relieved, but he also felt a sinking dread. John was dead silent, and there was a look in his eyes that Dean had only ever seen directed at a werewolf or something equally as wicked. Dean wasn't the only one panicking though, one glance around the table and he saw all the badass punk rockers looking like they were about to piss their pants and looking anywhere except at John. Finally, an older man with a safety pin through his nose and a 'kill everything' tattoo across his chest looks up with guilt written all over his face and says two words:

"Sorry, Sir." John maintains his death stare a moment longer before grabbing Dean by the arm and hauling him up.

"Dean. We're leaving." Dean, too out of it to complain at this point, stumbled after John and out of the club, John's grip on his arm the only thing keeping him vertical. Once they reach the cool night air outside the club, Dean realized he'd just been dragged away from the best rock nightclub in New York and because of that, he had a few things to say. That, and he was mind-blowingly drunk.

"Daaaad…you embarrassed me in f-front of m' frieeeends…we were having fun…!"

"Keep walking Dean."

"I c-can't believe you did that t' me… I hate you…!" John stopped in his tracks, sighed, and turned around.

"Son, you don't like me? That's fine. It's not my job to be liked. It's my job to raise you right." With that said, he turned around, kept his grip on Dean's arm, and started walking in the direction of the hotel. Dean mumbled incoherently the rest of the way and stopped to puke in a couple alleyways, but he had to admit things could have been a lot worse if his dad hadn't have found him.

By the time they reached the dimming neon sign of the hotel, Dean had sobered up a little, his vision was only slightly blurry now, but John's anger was still very much present. As he unlocked the door to the room John looked over at Dean and said,

"We'll discuss your punishment in the morning." The door creaked open and Dean and John were greeted with the sight of Sam sitting cross-legged on the bed clutching the note John wrote telling him where he went if he happened to wake up. It seemed as though he had.

"Dean!" Sam shouted as he scrambled off the bed and tackled Dean in a hug.

"Hey, Sammy…" Dean said trying to fight to urge to puke again.

"Where were you? Did something get you? Are you okay? Why do you smell like puke?"

"Ugh, I'll tell you tomorrow Sammy, right now you gotta get off or I just might puke all over you…" Sam took a step back and wrinkled his nose.

"You smell like Uncle Bobby's house too."

"That would be the booze, Sammy." Sam went wide-eyed and started to say,

"But Dean-"

"Sam- I'll tell you in the morning, now shhhhh…" Dean mumbled as he flopped down fully clothed on the bed. John walked over and placed a trash can next to Dean's bed before saying,

"Get some sleep, both of you." He turned out the light and walked into the next room. Dean was almost asleep when he heard it.

"Dean, you awake?"

"No. Go to sleep Sam."

"Dean, where'd you go? Dad looked really mad." Dean sighed knowing Sam wasn't going to give up anytime soon and remembered his blur of a night with a little smile on his face.

"It was great Sammy, I snuck into CBGB and it was like nothing I've ever seen. I mean it was nuts man…"

A/N: Thanks for reading this little two-shot! Please review!