A rough hand grabbing his hair is how Sam woke up. Opening heavy eyes, he was met with the sight of his dad standing over him. What's his problem now? Sam sighed internally. A laundry list of things his dad could have been about started to form in his mind. He had messed up royally on the hunt, but he had already reamed his butt for that. He had used up the rest of the hot water, but that was only because Dean had taken a shower before him and used most of it himself. At this point it could have been something truly simple but as he started to really look at him, he noticed his breathing was slightly labored and his eyes were bright and glazed. Great, he's drunk.
"Get up boy." John slurred. Sam stared at his dad in defiance, refusing to move from the small then it hit him, literally and figuratively. It was October 2nd. Fifteen years since his mom died, fifteen years since everything changed.
The stinging in his cheek brought him back to brought his hand up to his cheek in shock. Had his dad hit him. That didn't make sense. Sure his dad got drunk every anniversary, but he had never laid a hand on him. Sam looked into his dad's eyes, searching for some hint of remorse, but he only found more anger. Tears began to fill his eyes but he refused to let them fall. Instead he pushed past his dad and ran out of the motel room, slamming the door on the way out. Wind blew through his hair and sent a chill down his back. They were staying in Vermont following a lead on disappearing cats being found dead in the middle of the woods by locals. Eventually they found out it was a Wendigo hiding out in a small cave. It was supposed to be an easy surround and kill, but of course Sam had to forget the flare gun in the truck. So his dad and Dean had to improvise by using a lantern and rock salt to make a small bomb.
The wind was starting to get heavier and it lifted his hair, only reminding him of his sore scalp. Sliding down the wall, Sam sat outside his motel room and only looked up when he saw headlights pull up.
"Heya Sammy." Dean said. "Whatcha doing out here?"
"Oh Mary, what have I done?" John was in a total state of despair. He had just done the most unthinkable thing imaginable. He had hit one of his boys. It was ironic. He spent the last fifteen years trying to protect them from monsters, when he couldn't even protect them from himself. It was just so frustrating. Sam was just so frustrating! He didn't understand why the boy had to talk back all the time. He understood that puberty was probably a playing factor, but Dean was never that way.
Dean was a good soldier. He never went through a phase of disobeying just for the hell of it. It was like Sam was trying to get under his skin on purpose. He knew what buttons to push to drive John insane, and he pushed them daily.
Looking at his red palm, disgust started bubbling up his throat. Looking around he found his discarded whiskey bottle and took another swig. The burn of the alcohol mixed with the burn of self hatred, but it was almost welcome. So he finished that bottle and moved onto the next. With every drop he began to relax and soon enough he was passed out on the mangy mattress. He'd worry about Sam later.
"Sam! What do you mean this isn't serious!" Dean exclaimed to his younger brother.
"Be quiet!" Sam loudly whispered while covering Dean's mouth with his hand. Dean shook his brother off of him and proceeded to grab Sam's face, tilting it toward the street light.
"You want me to be quiet. Sam your eye is starting to swell and you won't tell me what happened. Where's Dad?" Dean lectured on, pacing back and forth. "I mean I leave for what? An hour tops! And I come back and you're sitting outside with a swollen eye." Dean continued. Finally noticing his brothers silence, he forced himself to calm down. "Sammy, you gotta tell me what happened." He said. Taking a deep breath, Sam started kicking at the ground with his sock clad feet. "It's the 2nd." Was all he had to say before Dean's head snapped up towards him, and Sam could tell it he understood.
"That son of a…" Dean cursed.
"Dean stop! It's not really his fault. I mean he always gets bad when he thinks of mom!" Sam cried.
Inside the motel room John could hear muffled voices getting louder until the door was suddenly thrown open by his oldest. Before he could even process what was happening, Dean was grabbing the front of his shirt.
"You're drunk again." Dean grit out in disgust at his father. In reality he was somewhat relieved to know that his dad didn't have complete control over his actions.
"Get your hands off me." John slurred trying to push Dean off him.
"You hit Sam!" Dean yelled.
"Yeah well he killed my wife. Your mother! You should hate the brat too!" John spat. Dean ripped his hands away from his father in horror. Did he actually blame Sam for killing their mother?
"Yellow eyes killed Mom, not Sam! You would know that if you weren't drunk all the time!" Dean yelled at his father.
"You have no right to speak to me that way!" John slurred venomously.
"Of course I don't! You don't allow us to breathe without permission, let alone form words on our own!" Dean yelled back.
Standing in the doorway, Sam stood there with his mouth hanging open. Dean never talked back to their dad. It was always 'Yes Sirs' and 'No Sirs' from his older brother. Staring at his brother, he noticed that he was shaking with suppressed rage. Dread started to claw its way into his stomach as Dean's hands curled into fists.
"Dean! Don't, you're only going to make it worse." Sam said, trying to stop his brother from hitting their dad. Dean looked at his brother and the fight in him left instantly. He looked between his brother and father, letting out a huff of breath. Slowly, Dean turned and walked past both of them and started throwing his and Sam's things into his duffle bag.
" What do you think you're doing?" John asked.
"I'm leaving. We're leaving." Dean said motioning to Sam. "Come on Sammy, get your shoes on."
"You can't just leave." John argued.
"Well, we aren't staying with you." Dean retorted.
"Where are you going to go?" John asked. "You don't have anywhere to go."
"You lost the right to know where we're going the moment you touched Sam." Dean said. A chilling calm had washed over him, and all he wanted now was to get Sam the heck away from John. Sam was stuffing his pillow into his bag when Dean grabbed it out of his hands, zipped it and slung it over his shoulder.
"Come on Sammy." Dean instructed before grabbing his own bag and heading out the door. Sam nodded his head frantically and followed his brother to the car, sparing one more look at his father.
A small laugh of disbelief bubbled out of his mouth as he turned to Dean.
"He's going to kill us." Sam laughed to his brother.
"Ah, don't worry about it." Dean brushed off, putting the car into drive. "I feel like pie. I think there's a good pie place in Arizona." Dean said nonchalantly as they pulled out of the motel parking lot. Sam's eyes widened with disbelief. Of course Dean would joke about pie at a time like this.
"Why Arizona? Why not go to Bobby's" Sam asked.
"Because genius, Bobby's is the first place Dad would check." Dean said with the slightest bit of sarcasm. "And plus, Arizona has really good pie." Sam rolled his eyes.
Several hours later, a very hungover John stared at the empty bed next to his. Confusion rapidly turned into panic. Where were his boys? Looking around the room, he saw the discarded bottles and empty drawers. The room looked like it was ransacked. What happened last night? He was mad about the hunt going wrong, Sam had messed up again, and he and Dean had to waste half their ammo to create a plan B. He had been angry and lectured them both about being prepared. Dean left to get them a late dinner, and he went to take a shower, but all the hot water was gone. So he turned on the tv and had a couple drinks instead. He remembered that racing was on and Sam was trying to sleep, and complained about the volume. More drinking. And then nothing. Walking around the small room, John made his way to the window and saw that his truck was the only vehicle there. "Where are they?" John muttered under his breath. Looking around the room once more, he saw one of his cell phones peaking out from underneath a pillow. Grabbing the phone, John dialed Dean's number and waited. There was no answer.