A/N: this is my first story on . It's short but I hope you guys like it!

Summary: What's worse than a drunk John and a carefree Sammy? The drunk John hitting the so called carefree Sammy.

A one-shot in which John gets angry, Sam gets hit, and Dean gets protective. Lots of emotion and brotherly-fluff between Dean and Sam later on. NO INCESTS.

Teen!chesters.

Sam is 14 and Dean is 18.

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Heavy breathing and the sound of loud gulps was what made Sam anxious. He knew that nothing ever went well when his father was drinking, especially not when Dean had already pissed the man off.

The oldest of the brothers and John had, had a huge argument over something as small as Dean getting home 15 minutes later than his curfew. He had tried explaining to his father that he had planned on getting home on time, but was caught up in traffic on the way to the motel. Whether that was the truth or a small lie was unknown, but either way, there was no reasoning with John, especially not when he was drunk.

Now Dean was cooped up in his and Sam's temporary room, meaning Sam was torn between either getting yelled at by his older brother if he tried to enter the bedroom, or having to risk doing his homework in the presence of his father.

Dealing with Dean would have been the better option, but Sam knew his dysfunctional family well enough; if he gets Dean mad, Dean yells, then Dad gets mad, and Dad yells.

So of course, he stuck with staying in the somewhat slightly safer zone. But then again, when are Winchester's ever safe?

Sam wrote down the answer to the last question of his math homework before placing his pencil down, picking up his glass of water, and tiredly taking a sip out of it.

That's when everything went haywire.

As Sam placed his drink down on the table, it happened to have landed right on top of his short, overused pencil before tipping over and crashing onto the floor, shattering into multiple tiny pieces as the room-temperature water pooled on the kitchen table and wooden floor.

The young, tired boy didn't even get the chance to fully comprehend what happened before he was pulled out of his seat, a tight, unfriendly hand gripping onto the collar of what was once his older brother's shirt before he had grown out of it.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" John growled loudly, letting go of his youngest son, glaring at him angrily.

Sam flinched at the sudden outburst and the heavy smell of alcohol that came from his father's mouth.

"I didn't mean to, Dad." Sam said firmly at first, hoping the steadiness and honesty in his voice would get John to calm down.

"The hell you didn't." He barked, inching closer to the nervous boy. "You think it's okay to just go around breaking things?"

"No." He shook his head, he couldn't help the shakiness in his voice this time.

"That's 10 bucks you've cost us. You realize that?" John slurred. "You carefree, inconsiderate abomination."

"I said didn't mean to." Sam repeated, surprising himself at the raise in his tone toward his father.

The man gave a look of bewilderment as well, before chuckling drunkly, slamming his son towards the wall, his hand gripping onto his collar once again. His mood suddenly changing once again into a furious one.

"Who do you think you are?" John hissed, the smell of alcohol following every slow word he spoke. "How dare you talk back to me?"

"At least I'm not the drunk." Sam mumbled, not realizing how much of a bad idea saying that was.

Oh how he wished his dad didn't get to angry when they failed a hunt— angry enough to down multiple bottles of alcohol and get to the point where he was holding his youngest up against the wall, definitely leaving a mark on his fragile chest.

"What did you just say to me, boy?" John yelled, letting go of Sam and giving him a threatening look.

Now, Sam was about to cowardly reply with a, 'nothing, sir.' However, of course his sharp tongue got the best of him, and instead of saying what he knew he should have said, he did exactly what he shouldn't have done.

"You heard me." Sam growled, standing up straight, although he could feel his heart beating rapidly and knees quivering like never before— worse than they did on hunts that freaked him out. Standing up to his father was for some reason far more scarier, but he did it anyway.

The next few seconds happened in such a rush though, because before Sam knew it, he was suddenly slammed back into the wall, except this time, instead of feeling a pressure on his chest, he felt a stinging sensation on his cheek that definitely felt like it was reddening.

Both Sam's and his dad's eyes widened as they realized what John had just done. But Sam didn't cry like anyone would have expected him to, instead, he sucked back the tears that forced to spill out, and flared at his so called father with nothing other than pure hatred and anger.

"Sam, I-" But before John could apologize, he was cut off.

By Dean. "What the hell is wrong with you?!"

For some reason, Sam expected for that disgusted statement to be directed at himself, because he's always the one that messes up, but instead, he found his older brother marching up in front of their father and shoving him against the wall.

"You think it's okay to just beat your own son? That's called abuse, dad!" Dean yelled out angrily, having so much more to say.

"Dean-" Sam tried prying his furious brother away from their only parent who's eyes were now filled with regret, seeming to have completely come out of his drunken-trance.

"No, Sam. Stay out of this." Dean gently pushed his brother back. "Go to our room."

"But Dean-"

"Go, now." Dean ordered, giving his brother a dead-serious expression.

Sam backed away, knowing that if he couldn't reason with his own father earlier, there's no way he could reason with Dean in this state.

"You're unbelievable. I thought you'd just yell at him or something– never this! How could you?" Dean continued once again.

"Dean, I'm so, so sorry." John pleaded, looking for any sign of forgiveness from Dean, wanting so desperately to be allowed to go and hug his youngest son who's heart he had probably broken.

"The hell you are!" Dean barked, the anger never wearing off. "What the hell, dad? You're always the one telling me to protect Sammy, and then you do the exact opposite? How could you hit him?"

"Dean, you have no idea how much I regret it. I do, so, so much. I wasn't thinking, you know I'd never do something like this to Sam— to either of you."

The eighteen-year-old shook his head in disbelief, stepping away from his father— could he even call or refer to him as that anymore? Our father, the man who hit Sammy.

Dean didn't want to do this anymore, at least not now. He just wanted to make sure Sam was okay.

"I'll go and apologize— r-right now. I'm so sorry." John suddenly spoke up, his eyes tearing up as if what had happened had just fully came into realization to him now.

"No way, not when you're like this." Dean snarled, looking at his father in complete seriousness. "You don't go anywhere near him tonight."

"Son-" John was about to entreat when Dean started walking away, but was immediately cut off.

"Don't call me that." Dean snarled, not looking back at the man even for a second. He had to go check on Sammy.