It's the year Sam's twelve and they're living in Ripon. They've been there a better part of 8 months – an entire school year in one place. Dean begged Dad, for Sam's sake. Seventh grade, he'd told him, is a big year in a kid's life and Sam deserved as close to normal as he could get. Just this once, he'd pleaded. And it worked. Nobody was more surprised than Dean.
Dad certainly didn't stop hunting though, and therefore neither did Dean. Sam wasn't allowed to join them yet, though it was only a matter of time seeing the hard way their father was driving him in training. Maybe that's why he'd let them stay this year. Maybe this really was Sammy's last taste of normal.
For a kid that hated their life so much he sure put up a fuss when he and Dad went away. Asked Dad to come every time, and every time Dad said no.
"You wanted normal Sammy. Well, this is it. You're staying."
"Well then let me stay here. I don't need to go to the Brittons!"
The Brittons were a couple down the road that had befriended their father, much to his initial reluctance. Try as he might to keep them isolated as per his preference, Harvey Britton was not a man to be distracted from his goal. And so now the two men regularly shared beers over a game of poker and Harvey and his wife took Sam in when they were on the road. Long haul trucking, they agreed, was not the life for a child.
They'd collected Sam last night on their way home, and he'd been so dead on his feet that he passed out in bed instantly. But that was almost twelve hours ago, and as much as they were all exhausted, Dad wouldn't tolerate a late morning. It was time to get up.
"Sam! Sammy! Rise and shine sleeping beauty."
"Go 'way Dean. 'm tired."
"Yeah well, so am I, but we can sleep when we're dead. Get up."
Sam proceeded to pull the covers over his head. "Don' wanna."
So it was gonna be one of those mornings was it? Fine. Dean walked over to Sam's bedside and ripped all the covers off the bed, leaving only a shivering Sam in the middle. "Deeeeeeeeeeeeean!" he wined, but he still didn't move.
Dean moved to grab his brother and bodily set him on his feet, but stopped the instant his hands his Sam's back. Sam had hissed, a short, loud noise that could only mean one thing.
"Sam, are you hurt?"
Sam, wide awake now and sitting up met his eyes only briefly before they turned down towards his lap. A sure sign of a lie. "I'm fine, Dean."
"No, you're obviously not. You were moving like an old man last night, I thought it was because you were tired, but it seems like I was wrong. Let me see."
"No, it doesn't matter."
"It doesn't matter? What the hell Sammy, it always matters if you're hurt! Now let me see!"
"No, I'm going to shower."
Clearly the kid was underestimating him if he thought that was gonna be the end of the conversation. Within a second Dean had Sam in a headlock and lifted up the back of his T-shirt to examine the damage.
Bruises were everywhere. Fresh ones too, from the colour. No wonder he was hurting.
"Jesus Christ Sammy, what the hell happened to you?!"
As soon as he was free, Sam jumped away, pulling his T-shirt back down. Dean watched as he continued to back up, putting distance between them like a skittish animal. Like an animal that had taken one too many beatings, he realized. Wrong question, Dean, he thought to himself.
"Who did this to you Sammy, you tell me now." His tone left no room for argument, and sure enough Sam whispered "Mr. Britton."
"Harvey fucking Britton? Dad's friend? We've got to tell Dad!"
"He knows Dean! Dad knows!"
"What the hell – there is no way Dad knows about this, no way he would let this happen. Nice try, Sammy."
"I swear Dean, I told him. I told him the first time it happened."
"The first time? The first time? The bastard did this more than once?" Sam didn't respond. Dean guessed there was no good way to respond in the face of the anger he was throwing out into the room. And their Dad. . ."You tell me exactly what you told Dad, Sammy."
"I told him that Mr. Britton punished me."
"And?"
Sam looked down. Dean could see the back of his neck and the tips of his ears turning red. "I told Dad that he spanked me. He said that if that was true I must have done something to deserve it." He trailed off brokenly at the end. "So just leave it, okay Dean."
"I'm not gonna 'leave it' Sam. This is not, fuck Sam, this is not a god damned spanking. You know that right? Tell me you know that this is wrong!"
"But Dad said. . ."
"Dad may have said that, but did he see? Did you show him?"
"No."
"Well he's sure as hell gonna see now."
"Dean, no!"
But Dean was strong and determined and he was hauling a struggling Sam down the hall without even breaking stride. "DAD!"
Their father was in the kitchen with a coffee and the newspaper, exactly where Dean expected to find him.
"How many times have a told you boys not to be hollering at me from across the house? If you want to talk to me you come to me. Now what is it?"
"Sammy's hurt Dad. You need to look him over."
"You're hurt Sam?"
"Yes sir."
"What happened?"
"Mr. Britton. Like, like I told you about before, sir."
"Ah. What did you do?"
"I sassed him about setting the table."
"Well then I think you got justifiably punished, wouldn't you say?"
"Yes sir."
And that was the moment Dean lost his shit.
"NO! Are you both fucking INSANE? Sam did not deserve this! You haven't seen it Dad. You may think you know what's going on, but you don't."
"Dean...."
"He's just a baby Dad and you've been sending him off to get beatings, well you better fucking look and see what they've done to him!"
Dean was screaming. At his father. Oh shit. All the air seemed to have been sucked out of the room and both his Dad and Sam were staring at him in shock. He'd never talked back to his father, never, let alone yelled at him. He had no idea what was going to happen next.
His eyes never leaving Dean's, their father simply said, "Sam, come over here please."
Sam didn't move. Whether it was out of shock or fear was anyone's guess, but he didn't move an inch.
"To me, Sam."
Even though he was dragging his feet, that got Sam moving. He stopped when he reached their father, and stood there stock still.
"Strip off, Sam. I need to see what Dean's talking about."
"But Dad..."
"Now, Samuel."
So Sam's shirt came off. Their father didn't turn Sam around, instead he rose and walked around to Sam's back. Dean could see the moment he took in the damage, as his hands turned into fists and his jaw clenched. It would be a miracle if he had any teeth left.
"This is pretty bad Sammy. Real bad. Is there more? Do I need to see more, Sammy?"
Sam was crying now. Whether from pain or humiliation or both was impossible to say, but Dean could see his face all messy and red with tears.
"Sammy, answer me."
"Daddy, I . . ."
That's all Sam could get out, but it was more than enough for all of them to know. Their father had gotten his answer loud and clear.
"Sam, are you wearing underwear?"
"Yes sir," he choked out.
"I'm gonna have to take your pants down. Just for a minute son, just so I can see. Then I'll have them right back up. Okay?"
Dean couldn't help a brief chuckle to himself. What would Dad have done if Sam said no? But all amusement left him the minute he saw the backs of his brother's legs. If his back had been bad, his legs were a horror. Before he's even registered it, however, Sam's pants were back up and their Dad had turned him around.
"You stay here with your brother, Sammy."
"Yes sir."
Roused by what was clearly a call to action, Dean started moving towards the door with their father. "Dad, I want to come too."
"No Dean. You need to stay here and look after your brother."
"But. . ."
"I said no. He's got some open cuts. You need to take care of those. Get him cleaned up.
"Yes sir."
****************
It was an hour later before their Dad returned. Sam hadn't said one word when Dean had cleaned his wounds, but he also didn't resist when Dean pulled him down to the sofa with a gruff "Get some rest." That's where they remained, Sam asleep with his head in Dean's lap. He would have gotten up to greet their Dad if hadn't been weighted down, but for now he simply removed his fingers from Sam's hair and sat up straighter.
"How is he?" John asked, nodding to Sam.
"All right. I got him cleaned and bandaged. I think he's just wiped out after everything."
"Yeah."
"Did you salt and burn the body so the bastard can't haunt him?"
"Britton's not dead, Dean."
What?
"What?!" he asked, but it was hard to sound indignant when you were whispering. Gently easing out from under Sam he stomped into the kitchen. "He's not dead? You let that bastard live after what he did to my little brother?"
"I don't kill humans, Dean. No matter what they do."
"I would have. I would have killed him."
"You think I don't know that? Why do you think I made you stay here?" And then, quietly, "You can't kill everyone who hurts your brother, Dean."
"I can certainly try."
Apparently their Dad just didn't get it.