"Dean!" Sam screamed as their father smashed Dean's head against the wall. Dean had told him never to interfere when dad was beating him, or he would get hurt. But Dean was losing consciousness and Sam couldn't let John hurt Dean if Dean couldn't fight back. Little Sammy rammed his body against John's, pushing their father to the floor. Luckily, John was much clumsier on his feet when he was drunk, and he slammed easily into the yellowed carpet of the motel room. But both of the boys knew that the adrenaline coursing through their father's veins made wouldn't allow him to be knocked out so easily.
Dean struggled to stand, green eyes unseeing, and led Sam into the bathroom, where he slammed and locked the door merely seconds before John's body hit it. Dean was used to this by now, and unfortunately so was Sammy. But this time, Sam was the one helping his 17 year-old brother steady himself on the side of the tub, as the 15 year-old snatched up one of the motel's white washcloths and began wiping the blood from Dean's jaw and checking for fractures. Dean was sitting with his head in his hands, breathing in short, gasping breaths as his heart rate slowed. His short, golden-brown hair was matted with sweat and blood. Sam slid down the wall next to his big brother and leaned his head on Dean's shoulders, Sam's dark hair getting sticky with his brother's blood. It was late, and, as much as Sam wanted to make sure Dean was alright, he couldn't have stopped his dad, or fought back the current heaviness that weighed down his soft brown eyes.
Even with Sam asleep on his shoulder, Dean couldn't relax enough to block out the crashes coming from the other room. His father trashed nearly every motel room, and Dean was the one to clean everything up; it was a never-ending cycle. John had his first fit of drunken rage a few months after Dean's mother, Mary, died in a house fire 4 years ago. At first, John went through the normal stages of grief one would suffer after the death of a loved one. All three of the boys were heartbroken. But John was their father, their rock; or at least he was supposed to be.
As the boys slowly built themselves up from despair, John just seemed to drag himself farther down. He used alcohol to wash away the sadness. It worked. John was no longer sad. But he wasn't a happy drunk; he was violent. John didn't mind one bit; anger was a better feeling than sorrow. But Sam and Dean cared. At first for their father; they couldn't bear to lose another loved one. But their father was fading. John Winchester was alive, but the father that those two boys once knew was long gone, a seething stranger in his place. When Dean began to understand this, he realized that his new job was to care for his brother, as his father was too far gone.
Eventually, John's anger overflowed into his actions. He went from punching plaster to knocking his own flesh and blood unconscious. John blamed Dean for Mary's death, Dean couldn't fathom why. But that didn't stop John from taking his anger out on his son. Dean had always taken care of Sam, but when Sam got to the age where he realized what was going on, and tried to intervene, Dean's goal switched from staying alive, to protecting lil Sammy.
John and the boys were constantly on the run, moving from town to town. As neither one of them was 18, Sam and Dean were dragged along on John journey to get as far away from that house as possible. No matter how far he got, John couldn't seem to run away from the death of his wife. He dragged his sons from motel to motel, and they had rarely stayed in the same place long enough to go to school. But here in Lawrence, Kansas, John had recently acquired a part-time job as a mechanic. Not to buck-up and support his family, but due to the fact that he was burning up their 'rainy day' money at a rapid rate. This included Sam and Dean's college accounts. Dean never expected to make it through high school, but his younger brother had potential, and he wasn't about to let an 8-pack of Heineken take that away.
Tomorrow was Sam and Dean's first day at Lawrence High school, and Dean had taken Sam school shopping the day before with the money that he'd gotten from bets. They had their backpacks ready in Dean's 1967 Chevy Impala, which he drove Sam everywhere in to keep him away from John. Of course, with this opportunity of freedom, Sam had asked Dean why they hadn't run away yet. Despite Dean's hatred of his father, he loved him deep inside and wouldn't leave him, who knows what John would do without Dean to take care of him. It would get better soon, that's what he always told Sam. It'll get better. Dad will get better. It's just a phase, Sammy. A four year phase. But deep down, Dean wasn't too sure of that, he wasn't sure of anything anymore.
This time, though, they might actually have a chance to settle down for a bit, and Sam could maybe get a sense of normality. As his vision faded out, Dean's mind was stuck with firm determination, that tomorrow would be a better day.~