These characters are from Supernatural! I own nothing!
Rated T- for violence
Please review! This is my first fan fiction story! Sam is 16 and Dean is 21
Pain...does it ever end? I do the best I can to protect myself as my father punches me face. I stumble back not knowing what to do.
I have countless bruises and scratches from my father from months to days old. Dean is oblivious to that fact that I'm a victim of my dad's anger. If I ever told Dean Dad would kill me, literally.
First it started off as a few punches here and there, and then the punches became beatings.
"Dad I'm sorry! I won't be late next time! I had to take a test after school!" I collapsed on my knees, practically begging.
Tears cascade down my face as he kicks me in the gut. I try not to give him the satisfaction of my screams. My heart hammers at my chest and my breath quickens, hurting my ribs.
I clutch my throbbing stomach hoping to ease my agony.
John's drunk state makes him slur angrily, "It's your fault Mary died! I wish you died instead of her," He punches and kicks me ten more times, before I had no strength left in me. It was an effort to breath.
He saunters away in disgust.
"Dean…" I whisper with the last of my energy. Where was Dean? I wish his was here right now. He moved out a while ago.
My heart craves Dean. I need him to comfort me and to tell me that everything was going to be alright.
I lie on the cold floor crying pathetically. I'm in too much pain, mentally and physically, to make any movements.
Maybe Dad was right. I deserve to die. I should've taken mom's place. I'm just a burden on Dad's and Dean's shoulders. I bet they'd be secretly happy if I died.
My eyes close as a wave of dizziness washes over me. I let the darkness take me, for hope to end this pain I feel.
Dean is coming home today. He's going to take me to his apartment to live with him for a while dad goes hunting. I'm excited to get out this hell hole and away from dad.
I put on a plain t-shirt and a jacket to hide my bruises and scratches (Dad's order). That's not going to look suspicious in 80 degree weather. I just hope Dean doesn't find out.
I walk around in our boring motel room waiting for Dean.
"Sam, come here." My dad orders firmly.
My eyes widen in fear as I take a step back. Wrong move.
"Son, you better respect your father," He says with a threatening tone.
I mutter nervously while slowly walking towards him,"uh, yes sir."
He's going to kill me! Or lock me up and let me die slowly! My thoughts rapidly change to possible outcomes of my death.
Dad gets up and strides at me. He roughly grasps my shirt and almost lifts me from the ground.
"Listen up! You won't tell Dean what happen or we'll have some fun when you get back!"
My throat tightens up in panic, so I just nod my head. He shoves me backward making me fall on my back. My head hits the ground hard almost making me black out. I groan in pain.
We hear a knock on the door making us both jump.
John kicks my side and tells me to get up. I weakly stand up, using the table for support.
Dean walks through the door with a smirk on his face. I sigh from relief, it's good to see him. I would run up and hug him, but I'm in too much pain to move.
I try to cover my pain up with a smile. Dean comes up to me and hugs me. I bite my tongue to stop myself from whimpering.
"It's good to see you Sammy."
I half-limp half-walk to my bag while my dad and Dean talk.
"Ready to go," I ask when everyone is settled in.
Dean grabs my bag and puts it in the back seat of the impala. We drive away with a wave from John.
"So Sammy, how's life been?"
I shrug my shoulders and lie the best I can, "Fine."
If Dean wasn't focused on the road, he could've seen that I was lying. As a response, he turned up the already loud music.
By the time we got to his apartment, my ears were ringing from the loud AC/DC blasting the whole drive.
Dean seems a little tired from the long drive, but his overall mood was happy. Wish I could say the same for myself. I'm glad to be with Dean, but keeping this secret has been really hard.
Dean's going to find out, he always does. Like when I was little and lied about staying after school to take a test, Dean could tell I was lying. Of course Dad gave me a good beating afterwards.
Dean's apartment was decent compared to the dirty motel rooms we basically grew up in. It had an older feel to it but was clean. He lived in the bottom floor (just in case he got attacked had to make a quick exit).
My muscles painfully ached as I sit down in one of his dining room chairs. Unfortunately, this place has a one bedroom, so we have to share a bed or one of us has to sleep on the floor.
"Sam, you hungry?"
"Uh, I'm good," I say while rubbing my eyes from sleepiness.
Dean walks over to me, "Come on man, you haven't eaten all day."
I snap back, "I said I'm fine!"
Dean gives me a look that says we-are-talking-about-this-later.
God, why am I so messed up? I ruin everything. I hurt the people I love. I'm a stain in white carpet. Dean is perfect. He always says the right things. Me on the other hand, I might as well not exist.
I wish I could make my dad proud. I envy my brother. My father gives him that glint of pride. I try to act like Dean, but it's harder than it looks. All I get from my dad is what I deserve, pain.
Anger and worthlessness surge through me. I get up promptly and darted into the bathroom.
I immediately undress and take a bitter sweet shower. The hot water make my injuries sting, but relax my muscles.
Dean's P.O.V.
What's up with Sam? He flinches when I touch him and he's too quiet. I have to admit, I miss his chattering.
Is someone bullying him at school? Is it me?
My thought race endlessly as I worry about Sam.
I exit the bathroom with my head down. The steam seeps out. Maybe if I'm quiet enough Dean will leave me alone.
My hopes dissipate as I hear, "Come here man, we need to talk."
I sigh loudly and warily sit on the end of the bed. Dean grabs a chair and places it front of me. He plops onto it, looking at me the whole time.
"What's going on? You're not acting like yourself."
I laugh weakly, "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Cut the crap." Dean's voice rises. His glare burns through me.
I divert my eyes away from his. I can't tell him! He'll think I'm weak. I also don't want to see the disappointment in dad's eyes. It's just better this way. Dean will have a happy relationship with dad and I'll do my best to avoid beatings from dad. Same old same old.
A little voice in the back of my head tells me I deserve the pain. I know a part of Dean feels it too. I am the reason for mom's death.
Before I can resist my long sleeved shirt is pulled up showing all of my bruises and cuts.
Dean gasps as I yank my shirt back down.
My heart rate accelerates as Dean's face morphs from shock to anger. Oh my God, I'm dead. If Dean doesn't kill me it's going to be dad.
I try to play it cool with a shaky laugh, "You know the wendigo we killed last week," I scratch the back of my head nervously, "it kind of like punched me and stuff."
Please believe me! Please believe me!
Dean screams "Sammy! Stop lying to me! Those injuries are months to days old. God dammit, who did this to you!" Dean paces the room.
"Dean…I can't tell you, "My lip trembles.
"I swear if you don't tell me I'm going to tell dad and you know he's going to be pissed-"
"NOO! DEAN I'M BEGGING YOU! PLEASE!" I drop to my knees in fear and desperation.
Tears cascade down my face. I can only sob as I picture dad's angry face.
Dean's demeanor softens, "Just tell me who is hurting you." He puts his comforting hands on my shoulders when I start to hyperventilate.
With every word I inhale briefly, "Just-leave-it-alone."
"I'm not letting it go. Tell me now or I'll tell dad."
The mention of dad's name makes me cry all over again.
Dean gently rubs my back, "Everything is going to be okay." His soothing tone settles me down a little bit.
I can see the pain in Dean's face. It's all my fault. I ruin everything.
My heart feels like it's going to fall out of my chest. The only thing I can hear is the pounding of my heart beat.
I open my mouth to tell him but nothing comes out. Dean is telling me something, but I can't comprehend what he's saying. He either say tell me who hurt you or Don't lie I know you
Black spots dance my vision and my body shivers.
"Dad…" I whisper.
My eyes roll to the back of my head I collapse into darkness.
Sleeping is peaceful. It's the only way you can forget your problems and live in a world you create. You can have superpowers and even be the president. Unfortunately for me, 90% of my dreams are nightmares.
Right now all I can see is darkness. It lurks around me disabling my senses. Just for a second I forget who I am. I am the darkness. I am nothing.
My trance is interrupted by a voice. It's calling for me.
"Sam…Sammy… come on wake up!" The angelic voice starts to get angrier.
With a jolt my eyes snap open. I'm lying on the hard cheap floor of Dean's apartment. Dean is hovering over me with concern etched in his face.
He props my back up so that I can sit up. I swallow past the lump in my throat. I can only watch as Dean tries to suppress his anger.
Dean painfully slow states, "Sammy…is Dad hurting you?"
My breath hitches in my throat. What do I say? If I say yes then the only person Dean looks up to would be a phony. If Dad told Dean to jump off a cliff he would. If I say no, Dean will tell Dad and I'll be beaten more than I ever had before.
Dean could see my inner dispute, but didn't say anything. I know he's dying to know.
Before I can psych myself out of it, I cry," I'm sorry Dean…so sorry…its dad," My voice breaks with a sob."
"Oh God, "Dean rubs his face with his hands, "I'm going to kill that son of a bitch!"
Dean paces the room mumbling to himself. Thousands of emotions flit across his sullen face.
What have I done? I hang my head down in shame. I just ruined everything. Here I go again, messing up like I always do.
In a blink of an eye Dean grabs our already packed bags and asserts forcefully, "Let's go."
"Go where," I utter more confused than ever.
He takes a second to answer, "To dad. We are going to have a little talk." By "little talk" he means a loud violent argument.
Without a reply I pathetically saunter to the impala. My thoughts race in a endless pattern of guilt and relief. What am I going to do?