Well, hello all! It's been a long time. A long, long time! Things have been crazy, and weird and I haven't been able to think about writing, but I'm back now :) I'm thinking this story should be about 4 or 5 chapters, but who knows. I surely don't! Anyway, I'm going to let you get to it.

Cindy

Sam aged 16

Dean aged 20

John aged 45

Old Scars, New Wounds

Chapter 1

December 5, 1999, Prescott, Arizona 11:30pm

John Winchester was drunk…really, really drunk. It happened like this only three times per year…the anniversary of Mary's death, she and John's wedding anniversary and this day…Mary's birthday. For Sam, it seemed worse than it had in the past. Maybe it was because Dean wasn't there, or maybe it was something else altogether. Dean hadn't meant to be gone on one of the days he knew his father would be over the top plastered, but a run for certain 'supplies' and a broken down car meant he wouldn't be home until at least the following morning which left only Sam to deal with their father's drunken depression. John had seemed off the past month or so…more distant and always deep in thought. It had been that way since he had come back from a meeting with a contact. Someone whom he said possibly had information on the thing that had killed his beloved Mary. Ever since he had returned, Sam felt that his father looked at him differently. He almost seemed wary of the teenager, like he wasn't quite sure how to act around him. Sam had caught him staring at him several times, the elder Winchester quickly looking away when his son met his gaze. When Sam had told Dean about it, Dean had shrugged it off and told Sam to stop being such a sensitive girl.

Sam had initially been hurt by his big brother's lack of sympathy, Dean's response to his fears making it seem as though he didn't care. Sam had withdrawn from Dean for a few days after that, but when he could no longer bear not talking to his brother he had talked himself into believing that Dean was right. Maybe he was being overly sensitive. Maybe John's change in demeanor had nothing to do with him, or maybe there was no change at all. Maybe Sam was just imagining the whole thing. Sam had relaxed a bit after that, but then Dean had left on his supply run and without his brother there as a buffer, Sam could tell beyond any shadow of a doubt that his father was most definitely treating him differently. When Dean had called and said he would be late getting back, apologizing profusely to Sam about leaving him by himself when he knew what date was looming, Sam had nearly cried. He had watched John leave the house that morning and knew he wouldn't be seeing him until late into the night, or even early into the next morning. He dreaded the moment that his father would walk through the door and now it was happening and Sam felt a foreboding that made goose pimples rise on his arms and the hair stand up on the back of his neck.

Sam watched warily as John stumbled through the door, his coat hitting the floor when he missed the hook on the wall. He turned the television off, hoping that his father would not even notice him. He breathed a sigh of relief when the man continued to stagger into the kitchen, bumping into furniture, the wall and anything else that was in his general vicinity. He didn't even spare a glance in his son's direction. Sam stood from the old worn out couch and tiptoed across the living room floor toward the hallway leading to his room. He almost made it too, but then a deep, slurred voice called from the kitchen and Sam stopped in his tracks, his heartbeat kicking up a notch.

"S'm…get y'r ash in here, boy."

Sam sighed and turned toward the kitchen with trepidation. He slowly made his way to the room and stepped just inside the entryway before he stopped and looked at his father through his too long bangs.

"Yeah, Dad?" he asked, his voice quivering slightly.

John looked up from the tumbler filled with amber liquid and gazed at his son with bloodshot eyes. He cocked his head slightly and eyed his son critically. "Where's D'n?" he finally asked.

"He…he's in Phoenix…remember? The car broke down. He'll be home tomorrow," Sam answered cautiously.

John seemed to think about his son's answer for a moment then he nodded slowly. "Yeah…I r'mber," he slurred. "Why are you still up?" he asked as he continued to watch his son, his head bobbing slightly as if it was an effort to hold it up.

"I…I was waiting for you to get home," Sam replied softly.

John chuckled lightly then picked up his glass and swallowed down his jack in one gulp. "Get to bed," he grumbled as he slammed the glass back down a bit harder than necessary.

Sam jumped at the sound then took a step backward, his hazel eyes wide as he stared at his father. "Yes, sir," he whispered before turning and hurrying to his room.

Once the door was securely shut behind him, Sam sank onto the bed and dropped his head into his hands. He wracked his brain trying to remember anything he had done or said in the past month to make his father act so differently toward him. He couldn't think of anything and in fact, when he thought harder about it, he and his father had been getting along surprisingly well before John had left to meet his contact. It was once John returned that things had gone downhill. Sam lifted his head and glanced at the closed door then toed off his shoes. He slipped off his jeans then slid under the covers of his bed. He shivered as the cool sheets met his bare skin, but warmed up quickly as he drew the blankets around himself. He lay there with his eyes closed, willing his weary body to sleep, but his body, and his brain had other plans. He couldn't stop the multitude of thoughts that flooded his mind, nor calm his still nerves as the feeling of foreboding continued to rise in him. His breath hitched slightly when, after nearly twenty minutes of trying to sleep and failing, the knob of his bedroom door giggled noisily before the door slowly opened and a presence entered the room.

Sam immediately picked up the smell of alcohol and knew that it was John who had entered his room. He slowed his breathing down as best he could and feigned sleep as he heard footsteps approach his bed. The footsteps stopped just at the foot of his bed and it took everything Sam had to keep from shivering with the sudden fear that filled his heart. He shouldn't be afraid, it was his father afterall. The man who had always loved him, in his own guarded way, and had always protected him with almost the same ferocity as Dean. This was his father and he shouldn't be afraid, but God help him, he was terrified in that moment. Something wasn't right, he could feel it in his bones, but couldn't fathom what it could be. He couldn't help but jump a little when John's deep and now completely sober voice sounded through the dark room.

"I know you're not asleep, Sam so you can stop pretending. Always have to be so sneaky… so secretive," John growled as he moved up the side of Sam's bed until Sam could sense him right by his shoulder.

Sam turned his head in the direction of his father's voice and slowly opened his eyes. He gasped when suddenly, a strong hand clamped down on his mouth and John's angry face come into view, a mere inches from his own. Sam struggled to pull away, but John pressed his free hand roughly down on the teenager's chest to keep him in place. Sam pulled his arms free of the blankets and grasped at the forearm holding him down. He tried with all that he had to break free of John's hold, but his father had at least eighty pounds on him, and most of that was muscle. He stared pleadingly up at John's face with wide, confused eyes. John merely smiled as he cocked his head.

"You can't get free, Sammy. You're small and weak. You're nothing like your brother or me. You'll never be like your brother or me…and that's the problem," John hissed as he moved to sit down next to Sam on the bed. "Now, I'm going to pull my hand away from your mouth. If you make one peep, I'll make you regret it," John added before lifting his hand from Sam's face, his other hand still firmly pressing the frightened boy to the bed.

"D-Dad…wh…"

Sam was rocked by a vicious slap to the side of his head, his eyes filling as pain shot through his skull. Suddenly, hands fisted in his tee shirt and jerked him up out of the bed. He was slammed against the wall, his feet barely touching the floor as he stared, terrified into his father's rage filled eyes.

"I said to stay the fuck quiet and what is the first thing you do?" John growled as he leaned menacingly over his son. "You fucking open your mouth. You never follow orders…always have to go against whatever I tell you!"

Sam cried out as John pulled him away from the wall, only to slam him back again, harder this time. "Dad…please…"

"I said shut up! I don't want to hear your whiney voice anymore! Do you hear me?" John screamed, spittle dotting his curled lips. He moved a hand to Sam's throat and grinned when Sam swallowed fearfully. "Now, I'm gonna talk and you're gonna listen," he hissed as he squeezed ever so slightly, grin widening when Sam nodded, his eyes wide with fear.

"Everything that I've ever done has been for you, Sam…you and your brother. Now Dean, he knows how to act. He knows how to be grateful. He knows what his place is. You on the other hand…all you do is complain and whine about how fucked up our lives are and how all you want is for us to be normal. Well, I got news for you…our lives are never going to be normal. That possibility ended the night my sweet Mary died. After that night, I knew life would never be the same. I raised you boys the best I could, did everything in my power to protect you and then…then I find out…," John's voice trailed off as he stared intensely into Sam's eyes. Sam stared back, stark terror creeping up his spine as he realized that he was in deep, deep trouble.

Suddenly, Sam knew. This wasn't his father. His father loved him…would never hurt him like this. He had to get free somehow…had to escape this house and whatever this monster pretending to be his father was. Gathering all of his strength and courage, Sam screamed as he suddenly drew his knee up hard into John's groin, the large man shouting out in surprise and pain as he lost his grip on Sam and dropped to his knees on the floor. Sam scrambled away and toward the open door of the room. He quickened his pace further as he heard John roar in fury from the bedroom. He heard staggered footfalls behind him and raced to the front door. He reached the door and grasped the doorknob, turning it and pulling. Just as he felt the cool air kiss his face, he felt a hand twist in his hair and he cried out in surprise and pain as he was yanked back into the tiny room.

Sam was dragged to his feet by his hair then flung like a rag doll into the wall, his body dropping to the floor like a sack of potatoes. He groaned as he tried to push himself up onto this hands and knees, jerking when he heard the front door slam and the deadbolt engaged. Before Sam could make it off the floor, he was once again grabbed by the hair and yanked to his feet. John pulled Sam to him, the teenager's back to the older man's chest, and wrapped a strong arm across the weakly struggling boy. He pulled Sam's head back, the teen wincing as hair was pulled from his scalp. He shivered as John whispered in his ear.

"You, know, Sammy…I had hoped you would finally listen and that we could have handled this maturely, but now…now I'm kind of glad you're putting up a fight. We're gonna have a lot of fun…you and me…before day breaks."

Sam rolled his eyes toward his father and curled his lip. "You're not my dad. He would never hurt me," he hissed.

John chuckled as he tightened his fist in Sam's hair. "Oh, I'm your dad, Sammy…and you're right about me never hurting you…at least until now. After I found out what you had done, it was all I could do not to snap your fucking little neck. I knew Dean would never let that happen and I could never fight him…not over your sorry ass…but, when he called and said he wouldn't make it back tonight, I knew this was my shot. I was gonna do it right after that phone call, but then I had second thoughts. I wondered if maybe…just maybe…Cromwell was wrong, so I left. I sat all day and thought about it…about what happened that night in your nursery, about what Cromwell told me about all of the others…and about you. It all fit. Cromwell didn't get it wrong. Once I figured that out, I knew you had to die…and I knew it had to be before Dean came back."

"Wh-what are you talking about? I haven't done anything and…and the night Mom died, I was just a baby," Sam choked out, just barely suppressing a sob.

"Doesn't matter," John said as suddenly spun Sam around and slammed a fist into the teens gut.

Sam dropped to his knees and doubled over, gasping for air, one hand on the floor holding himself up as the other held his stomach. John sank down in front of Sam and clucked his tongue. "I really don't want to do this, Sam…you're my son and I did love you…probably still do, but I vowed to avenge your mother's death and I owe it to her to do just that."

Sam sucked in a deep breath then howled out as he brought his head up into John's chin, knocking the man onto his back. "You're not my father and I had nothing to do with Mom's death!" he screamed as he staggered to his feet and backed away. He watched warily as John made it to his feet, his hand rubbing at his chin as he eyed his son angrily.

"You're gonna pay dearly for that, Sammy," John seethed as he sprang forward, just missing Sam as the teen jumped to the side and ran for the kitchen. Just as John reached Sam, the teen spun around and slammed the coffee carafe filled with steaming hot coffee into the side of John's head. The man howled in pain as his skin bubbled from the piping hot liquid. There were tiny shards of glass embedded in his skin as he turned rage filled eyes onto the retreating back of his son. He dove over the small kitchen table and rammed squarely into Sam's back, knocking the teen to the floor with loud thud. Sam gasped as all of the air was driven from his lungs when John landed on top of him. His cried out weakly when John grabbed him by the hair, pulled his head up from the floor then slammed it back down again. Sam's vision went black and then he felt himself being lifted from the floor. He groaned in pain as he was roughly dropped onto a cold surface…the kitchen table his muddled mind supplied…and his arms pulled behind his back.

Sam tried to fight as duct tape was wrapped around his wrists, but all his struggles managed to do were to pull a chuckle from his attacker. Next, his socks were pulled from his feet and his ankles taped tightly together as well. He gave a pained gasp as he was turned over onto this back, his body crushing his bond arms beneath him. He tasted blood as he attempted to open his eyes and he nearly gagged. Finally, his head stopped swimming enough for him to pull his eyelids open. John was standing over him, smiling down at him, holding the bowie knife that Sam had managed to get for him two years earlier for his birthday. Sam's eyes widened and started to struggle, but was stopped when the knife was lowered to his neck and John shook his head.

"Uh-uh, Sammy. You aren't going anywhere," John said as he moved the knife to the collar of Sam's tee shirt and cut through it like it was butter. He set the knife on the table by Sam's hip and tore the tee shirt the rest of the way, then let the torn pieces fall to sides, revealing Sam's chest and stomach. John reached for the knife and again placed it against his throat.

"Such a good looking boy, I gotta give that to you. All the training and working out has you filling out just fine, Sammy. Too bad it won't do you a bit of good now," John said as he slowly dragged the knife down Sam's chest, over his stomach before letting it come to rest at his navel. Sam shuddered at the feel of the knife on his skin then lifted pleading eyes to his father's face.

"Please…don't..."

"Winchesters don't beg, Sam," John said, then suddenly dug the tip of the knife into the soft skin beside Sam's navel, blood immediately pooling, then running down the soft slope of Sam's lower abdomen to soak into the waist band of his boxers.

"Nah!" Sam cried in pain as John dug the knife in deeper, not cutting through the muscle, but still deep enough to make sure that it would cause the most amount of pain possible. More blood pooled and ran…down his stomach and over his side, forming small puddles on the table beneath him.

"Shhhh," John shushed as he brought the knife tip to Sam's lips, immediately silencing the boy. He moved the tip of the knife to Sam's chest and drew it slowly down, just deep enough to draw blood, and smiled at the slight whimper Sam made.

"My dad and brother are going to kill you," Sam breathed out, his chest heaving as pain enveloped him. "They're going to find you and they're going to rip you apart."

"I am your dad, Sammy. Why do you insist that I'm not?" John asked as he swept his dark eyes up to catch Sam's gaze.

"You aren't him…he would never do this. He loves me."

"Hmmm… a nice thought maybe, but…," John said, but then he blinked and when his eyes opened again, Sam saw a flash of glowing silver and he sucked in a frightened breath.

"Shapeshifter," Sam whispered as the enormity of his plight sunk in.

His father could be dead, or at the very least, incapacitated…and the thought of John's possible death brought tears to the youngest Winchester's eyes. Even if he were still alive, Sam doubted there would be time for John to get free and get home before the monster had finished what he planned. Sam squeezed his eyes shut to hold in the tears, but they sprang open when duct tape was roughly put over his mouth. The shapeshifter wearing his father's face once again drew the knife down Sam's chest and stomach, illiciting a muffled scream from his victim. The monster brought the bloody knife to his lips and licked the blood away, smiling down at Sam with blood stained teeth.

"You're a smart boy…you figured it out. Doesn't mean that what I told you was a lie. I have all of your daddy's thoughts right up here," not John said as he tapped a finger to his forehead. "The things he thinks about you…wow. If you knew the half of it you'd want to blow your brains out. I'm just going to save you from having to do that…but, not here. I want to enjoy my time with you…take it slow," the shifter added as he tucked the knife away in its sheath.

The shifter moved to the end of the table, preparing to grab the teenager by his legs, but Sam had other ideas. He swiftly pulled his knees up then kicked out with all his might, connecting firmly with the shifters chest. Surprise showed on the shifters face as he flew backward and his head hit the refrigerator hard. His body dropped to the floor in a motionless heap and Sam gave a triumphant grunt as he rolled to the edge of the table and worked his legs around until he could slide safely to the floor. His head swam as he became upright, but he shook the dizziness away. Once he was no longer swaying, he made small jumps to the utensil drawer, aiming to retrieve a knife to cut himself free with. He looked back over his shoulder to make sure the shifter was still out for the count and would've smiled if his mouth was covered with duct tape. He continued his way to the drawer and once there, he carefully began to turn himself around so he could reach the drawers handle with his hands, but just as he turned, the side of his head was hit by a ferocious punch and Sam dropped, his head pounding, his brain muddled. He felt rough hands grab him and drag him up, then fingers were digging into his cheeks as the shifter held his face and slammed the back of his head into the cabinets behind him.

The shifter leaned in close to the nearly unconscious boy and whispered, "We're gonna take a little trip now and you're gonna find out how much that little display cost you." Sam felt himself hoisted up and then he was flung over the shifters shoulder, his head bumping against the shifters back as it swiftly headed for the front door. Sam's last conscious thought, before the darkness took him and just as the cold December air hit his bare skin was that he was never going to see his family again. The shifter squinted into the darkness to make sure nobody was about then opened the door to John's truck and dumped his hostage inside. Within a few moments, the black truck heading away from the small house the Winchesters called home at the moment and disappeared into the night, taking the youngest Winchester with it.

That's chapter one! So, what do you think? Should I continue? Please let me know and I'll get working on chapter two as soon as I can!

Cindy