A/N: I'd to like to thank my awesome Beta, Tutups for helping me out with this fic. So thanks Becky :)
Kripke is a lucky sod for owning these guys, wish I did...
Most teenagers loved their sleep and hated studying, but not this one. Dean Winchester wasn't like normal teenagers; He had to deal with things that he shouldn't. Every night he had to hear his 6 year old brother's sobs as he clung onto Dean. Every night he heard the violence, the shouts and the cries coming from the kitchen. He heard it all just so his baby brother didn't have to. He was only 17 and he looked so young and innocent, but his hazel eyes were old beyond their years. They'd seen more than any child should have ever seen. Ever since his brother had been born their dad had drunk more than before and the violence started the night the little boy turned 6 months old. Dean heard sniffling and sighed, he knew it was happening again tonight. He closed his books and put them on the table next to his bed. He turned to the doorway and held his brother's gaze.
"Shut the door behind you and come here, little guy." Dean told him, his voice soft and soothing. Everyone at school thought the eldest Winchester was heartless and lazy, even the teachers. He was prone to napping in class, his homework assignments were always in late, his test results were always less than expected. None of this was his fault. Once he'd checked on his mother and got his little brother settled back in his own room Dean only slept 2 to 4 hours a night, which affected everything, but he wouldn't tell anyone not even Bobby Singer (the boys' second father). The scared little boy did as he was told and curled into his big brother. Bobby had always been in the boys life, Dean couldn't remember a time when the former marine wasn't around, Bobby knew John from being in the same regiment with him.
"Daddy smells again." He sniffled, the sort of sniff that always preceded his tears. Sure enough; he broke out into sobs that shook his tiny frame as Dean felt a lump grow in his own throat. He hated John even more than ever; not only was the man the two boys called dad hurting their mother, but he was damaging the poor sweet innocent little boy that was curled in Dean's arms sobbing his eyes out.
"It's going to be alright Sammy." Dean promised, even though he knew that it was impossible to promise such a thing. He strained his ears, heard a muffled sound from downstairs and knew it was starting early tonight. He covered the little boy's ears and sang to him, he didn't know if he could hear with having the hands over his small ears, but it was just a precaution Dean took, just in case. Dean knew he couldn't sing, but he also knew hearing the words to 'Hey Jude' being sang to him soothed the little boy. He didn't care that his arms were hurting from being kept in the same position for a long time, he didn't care that his homework wasn't getting done, he didn't care about the tears that slid down his face because he only cared about his mom and his baby brother.
He found himself longing for the 5 years that John had been in prison for beating up some guy called Bill Harvelle. Those 5 years had been bliss for the Winchester family; Dean had done well at school, he'd slept, Mary hadn't been bruised and timid, Sam had been a happy little boy and some of the wounds that Dean had in his mind were starting to heal, but then John had been released from prison and he'd been worse. He'd even hit Dean a few times, when the boy had tried to stop him from hurting Mary.
He didn't know how long it lasted tonight; he didn't know exactly how long he'd held Sam. He just knew Sammy was asleep in his arms and that the latest thud had been the front door closing behind John. He kissed the little boy's hair and laid him under the covers before grabbing the first aid bag from under his bed and running to his mother. She was laid on the floor crying as Dean knelt beside her, tending to the injuries like Bobby had taught him. Years ago he'd begged the older man to teach him, just in case, but he'd never admitted why he needed to know.
"Why do you stay Mom? You need to get out of this. Sammy knows something's wrong, he's a bright kid. He knows when Dad comes home smelling like a bar, he needs to be safe. Just take Sam, I'll deal with the blows, I'll be out soon anyway. I'm 18 in 2 weeks; I'll survive until then…" He told her softly, worry seeping into his voice. He bandaged up the cuts he could see, he fixed up her injuries, but he saw that her psyche was worse off and he would never be able to heal that.
"This is no life for you and Sam, but if I leave, John...he'll hurt you and then he'll move onto Sam. I have to protect my boys. He'd find us anyway." Mary cried softly. She knew that what was happening to her was wrong and that it was a matter of time before she ended up dead, but she had to take the hits to protect her boys. Dean was the caring young man that John had once been but, unlike John, he didn't have that nasty streak in him. He was the best part of John and she knew it. Her eldest son hugged her, his t-shirt getting soaked yet again with tears but he didn't care, he just wanted to be able to protect the two most important people in his life.
"I'll shoot him, Mom." He promised yet again, but he was always scared to, what if he missed and John hurt them? For what seemed the hundredth time that week; he half carried his Mom up to bed, knowing when John came back he'd be too drunk to go upstairs. He sat with his back against the wall away from view from the bottom of the stairs and cried. It was the same routine every night, the same hell they all shared. Sam was only a 6 year old boy, he deserved better than this. Mary was a wonderful woman, a wonderful mother, she deserved better than this.
Then the routine changed as Dean furiously wiped his tears and felt such anger, that he had never felt in his life. Anger which was aimed at one man; who was supposed to love and cherish his wife, who was supposed to protect his family instead of hurting them, ran through his veins. He ran downstairs and opened the cupboard under the stairs. Tonight was the night it was all going to end. He sat in the darkness of the living room waiting all night.
That was the night Mary finally packed the essentials and left with her two boys. That was the night Dean finally drove the Impala. That was the night he was filled with hope for the sleeping duo in the back. That was also the night that Dean Winchester, 17 years old, raised a shotgun to the tormentor of his family, squeezed the trigger and shot him. Bobby took them in that night, grateful that something had snapped in Mary and got them out of there.
The next morning John Winchester was reported DOA (Dead on Arrival), he was unceremoniously burned that night and the house destroyed as precaution. The family were well known to the local PD so Dean was left to live his life, even though people knew he had killed his father.