Dean woke up to screaming.
No, that couldn't be right. His dad was out of the house, drinking. He swore he watched the old black car swerve out of the driveway mere hours ago.
That didn't change the fact that his little brother sounded like he was in a hell of a lot of pain. Quickly, the fourteen year old darted out of his bed, only pausing for two seconds to slide on a shirt so he wasn't in just his boxers. Please just be a bad dream, his father couldn't be home.
As luck had it, as the door swung open, Dean saw his brother lying on the ground, bruises forming all over his bare stomach and chest. Dean's green eyes barely had time to widen before Sam snapped up to look at him, alerting his father that he was now there.
John, their dad, spun around quickly, right after throwing one swift kick to Sam's stomach to assure that he wouldn't be moving. He stalked closer to Dean, getting right in his face. "Go to your room." His hand rose to point towards Dean's room, but after Dean shook his head, it moved down quickly to smack him, hard. Sam gasped from behind John, almost feeling the pain Dean did added to his own. That didn't stop Dean from snapping his head, right cheek now reddening, to face his father again, his green eyes flaring.
John saw the anger behind his son's eyes and got even more mad, pushing him back against the wall. A quick little glance over his shoulder confirmed that Sam was still on the ground, bruises littering his scrawny twelve year old body. Damn, that kid was never going to be tall. Not that it mattered now. His older son needed to be shown that he couldn't just jump in on punishment whenever he wanted.
Dean moved to his left but was stopped by an arm around his waist, pulling him towards his father. John, now red with anger, pulled Dean in so his back pressed against his father's chest as the older man hit his head repeatedly. As soon as his arms pulled away from holding onto his son, Dean stumbled away from his father, dizzy, holding his head. Before he knew it, his feet had been knocked out from underneath him and he fell on his ass just before a foot made it's way into his side.
The sun shone into the green painted room, falling in squares on the floor from the window's splitting areas. The room smelled of rose scented Fabreez but if you payed enough attention to the small odd tint of the rose scent, you could also smell blood.
Dean's green eyes slowly opened, focusing on the face right in front of his own. Brown hair, blue eyes (although they tended to change color often), a small bruise on his forehead that could be covered up with light concealer.. Wait, was that Sam? Suddenly the sweet dream crashed as Dead snapped fully awake, suddenly aware of the splitting pain in his side.
"Good morning," Sam's meek voice cut through the air, causing Dean to blink. Morning. Meaning it was Thursday, right? He looked over at the clock on the bed stand to find that it was 11:18 AM and a nice 73 degrees out. He looked back over at Sam in confusion, who was holding up a water cup for him to drink from.
Slowly, as if in fear that something horrid would happen if he took it, Dean's hand wrapped around the cup. He didn't realize how dry his throat had felt until he saw the clear liquid. Sam nodded for him to drink it, which he did, finishing the whole cup in one go. It didn't make all the pain magically go away, but it sure as hell made him feel a lot better. Sam smiled a bit at how fast he drank it before taking the cup back. "I'll refill this, you stay here. Don't move too much, please.."
Dean frowned. "But Dad-"
"Isn't here. He left for 'work', remember? It's Thursday." Sam held up his hands in mock quotations around the word 'work'. Really, their dad's job was hunting. He went to a nearby forest daily to shoot down animals, either selling them or bringing them home for food. It did pay relativity well. The furs and hides always sold nice and if they had a shortage of food, John would just go out and bring them dinner within an hour.
When Sam left the room, Dean flopped back on the bed, just now realizing it was Sam's. He sighed, squeezing his eyes shut. Maybe Bobby would go hunting with their dad today, meaning more food and no abuse for the night. Truthfully, Bobby was Sam and Dean's father. Not actual father, but he treated them so kindly, unlike their real one.
Maybe if that stupid house fire hadn't started.. Well, both of them. Up until Dean was around five years old, everything was really normal. He had a mother and a father, both loving and had real jobs (his father was actually a lawyer back then). Sam was three and the two were practically inseparable. Their mother was pregnant with a third boy and it was already agreed that he was going to be named Adam, thanks to Sam's suggestion.
One night though, right after he had been put to bed, something happened. Dean wasn't sure what had started the fire, all he knew was that his dad hated talking about it. Maybe he did on accident, he had always thought. No matter what started it though, it happened, killing their mother, Mary, and their unborn brother.
The moment when Dean had carried Sam outside and turned around to see the house aflame was the moment he lost his faith and his father lost his mind. Their mother was dead and they would no longer have another playmate. To Sam and Dean, that was already devastating enough as small children.
John had tried to move on, he really had. He tried dating websites, bars, even gay bars as well, thinking that maybe someone of the other gender would help him get his mind off of the beautiful woman he had lost. The only time he actually got serious with a woman, she looked almost identical to their mother, thoroughly confusing the two boys when he had brought her home for the three of them to meet. She ended up breaking up with him after five months, saying he was too attached to her and it was weird. Personally, at first, the boys didn't mind. It was just weird to see their dead mother around.
But then John got abusive. He blamed the two kids for all of his problems. He beat them almost every night for months on end before showering them with love for about a month, repeating the vicious cycle over and over and over and over and over again. He became an alcoholic as well, getting to the point where he wasn't allowed in certain bars because he went there way too often. Their basement was packed to the brim with various beers.
The boys had blamed themselves. They were only seven and five, wouldn't you if your father blamed you for something every day, hurting you for it? It was when Sam had met a girl in school that really changed him to make him happy.
Her name was Jessica. Even Dean had to admit, Sam got so lucky meeting her. She was gorgeous. Blonde hair flowed to her mid-back (she had it trimmed often enough that it seemed never to change length), shining blue eyes, a beautiful complexion, even for a five year old. The two had become instant friends in school and Sam always seemed happier when he was home. His grades had actually rocketed through the roof as well.
They started dating in fifth grade. Sam had asked her to be his girlfriend on Valentines Day, a gesture she found so sweet yet cheesy. She immediately said yes, making Dean scoff and roll his eyes when he found out. Secretly, it made him happy though. His brother had a safe place away from the abuse at home.
They dated through middle school and up to freshman year of highschool, which Sam was about to finish. It was a normal occurrence for Jess to come home with Sam or for him to go home with her. If it was nice enough, the two would go to the library to study and read and get all 'googly-eyed', as Dean put it, over each other.
Misfortune seemed to love Sam though. Jessica went to her aunt's house for winter break, which burned down Christmas eve. Jessica's younger cousin had gotten into the matches, accidentally setting a newspaper stack on fire. The whole house had gone aflame.
Out of the fourteen that were staying there, only two died and three got hurt. Jessica and her grandmother were the unlucky deaths of the family, leaving Sam in agony. He didn't attend her funeral, actually refusing to get out of bed until school started up again. Even John left him alone, knowing that Sam needed time to sort this out on his own. That meant double the rage pointed at Dean though.
The death of Sam's best friend and girlfriend had happened five months ago. It was May and although Sam couldn't go a day without thinking about her, he managed to keep himself calm. His grades barely dropped and he was actually graduating second highest in his class, not that it mattered much right now. He was only a freshman.
Dean, on the other hand, was a sophomore. He was supposed to be a junior but he had to redo eighth grade because of how often he would skip classes. His father didn't really notice, he couldn't remember their ages without being reminded.
Which was where Bobby came in. He had always been a close friend of John and Mary's, so it wasn't too surprising to the boys when he stepped in to act as their father in a way. He and his wife, Ellen, and their daughter, Jo, were always a second family, sometimes more of a first. Dean always saw Jo as a love interest in his mind, but she rejected him every time.
Dean's past reflecting on how he and his brother ended up in this situation came to a crashing halt as Sam came back in, holding an apple pie and about five glasses of water. Dean grinned. He had to admit, as much as a pain in the ass his brother could be, he really did know him.