Author's Note:Kayso, this is my first attempt to wander into really AU stuff. I know this is short, but I'm just testing the waters with this story. So let me know if I should continue this or trash it. Reviews are always welcome, as are ideas. How do you want Dean introduced to the story? I have an idea, but your thoughts are always welcome, and usually better(:
Sam Parker awoke on the mattress on the floor of the basement as he always did, making as little noise as possible in the hopes that his step father would not awaken with him before he got out the door to school. His mother and father had divorced when he was very young, and Mary had remarried a man named Eric who didn't like her son very much. She pretended not to notice when Sam was limping or when he was bruised or scratched or otherwise harmed. He knew better than to say anything; he didn't want to leave his mother. He knew that if he was gone, she would replace him as Eric's punching bag. He'd told Sam so.
Mary might've made some bad choices, but she was too good for that, too good for Eric. She was blonde and pretty and looked and acted as much like an angel as it was possible for someone to do. She went to church on Sundays and baked cookies for the kindergarten classes she had. She bought nothing for herself except a bit of concealer to hide the bruises when Eric got out of hand. Sam would never wear makeup and just wore his, always saying he'd gotten into a fight with someone. No one asked any more than that; no one really wanted to know.
Eric Parker got away with a lot. He was the mayor, and on the school board and a 'pillar of the community'. No one seemed to mind that he was a drunk, abusive, womanizing, poor excuse for a human being. Of course, he hid all that with his connections and expensive suits.
Sam dressed quickly and quietly after showering, and was prepared to leave out of the side door when he heard something that made him freeze in his tracks. "Sam! Get in here!" Eric was awake. And he was in a bad mood. Lovely, Sam thought sarcastically before dropping his school books and making his way upstairs meekly. "Yes, sir?" he asked, keeping his eyes on the floor. Eric backhanded him so hard his lip split open and he tasted copper as his head jerked back.
"Did you do the dishes last night, boy?" he demanded. Sam nodded. "Yes, sir." Eric grabbed him by his overlong, chocolate hair and dragged him over to the sink. "It doesn't look like it." One bowl. Probably from Mary, having conveniently forgotten what Eric did to Sam when he didn't do what he was told. Hell, when he didn't do what he wasn't told, he was punished. "That wasn't there!" Sam protested. Eric threw him back by his hair, and Sam stumbled, his hip ramming into the kitchen counter. He winced in pain.
"Get out, boy. Don't expect to go anywhere for the next three months," Eric growled. Sam got out as fast as he could, knowing that mentioning that he never went anywhere anyways would not amuse his step father. It was both harder and easier to deal with Eric when he first woke up. On one hand, he was groggy and irritable, usually hung over. On the other, he was easily distracted and hungry, so he let things go easily and was more confused.
When Sam arrived at school, he hurried straight into the boy's bathroom to wipe the blood from his split lip. It was swollen and painfully obvious, as were the bruises around his wrists from the night before, when Eric had gripped them so tightly he'd almost torn the skin.
Sam dabbed the blood from his lip carefully and efficiently, far too used to this sort of thing. Then he realized he was going to be late, and hurried out of the bathroom.