Prologue
The oldest and clearest memory Sam has is when he was seven. His father, someone who – at the time – he could only understand through his brother with his gruff exterior and his saddened, hard eyes – was away. Now, Sam was able to understand that his father was on a hunting job but then, Dean told him he was visiting relatives. Sam questioned, at the time, 'why can't we see them to?' and 'I don't know any other family but you and dad'. When Dad was away, Dean would brush it off and sit with Sam in front of the television, with a classic cowboy film and a large packet of m and m's. At twenty past two on this particular morning, after watching a film with Dean and falling to sleep during it, Sam woke with a start and flipped up Dean's phone that was on the bedside table to check the time.
Sam was unsure of what had woken him, so he pushed Dean's arm from his chest, something Dean have no ability to control while he was sleeping and always ended up touching Sam in some way to make sure he was still there, and slid out of the shared bed. Then, the sound of the refrigerator opening and closing came from the small, built in kitchen that was a dirty cream colour that Dean had tried to scrub clean when Sam was asking too many questions. Sam, who was only small at the time, hid in the crook of the wall with the shadow of the dark covering him. He watched his father, who was seeable through the low hanging light in the kitchen, and grinned to himself. Daddy was back; Sam thought and chewed his thumb nail with his teeth. His father, who was a solid shape of facial hair and his leather jacket, was scrambling through the top cupboards, knocking the half empty box of lucky charms onto the floor. They spilled across the tiles and Sam's grin dimmed down. Even at seven, with little knowledge of the hunting life that Dean desperately tried to hide him from for as long as he possibly could, Sam was able to understand what was going on in front of him. Sam understood that dad could drink a lot. It wasn't drink like soda or squash, which was something Dean had to explain to him when he first found the whiskey bottle hidden between the mattress and the bed frame, but it was something that was suppose to make you feel better. Sam squeezed further into the space and hid his face against the wall.
"Where the fucking hell is it?" John's voice rung in Sam's ears and he lifted his hand to cover them, while still chewing on his thumb on his left hand. "Where the fuck...where is it hidden?" John threw the open loaf of bread off the counter and it hit the floor.
"Daddy sh." Sam's voice was a whisper, more to himself than to John. Sam didn't want John to hear but John did, and he turned towards Sam with his lips pressed hard together.
"Where is it Sam?" Sam pressed himself harder into the wall and looked up at his father as he took three hard strides towards him. John held his fists closed and looked Sam in the eye. "Sam? Where the fuck is it?"
"I-I don't know...Daddy, I don't know what you're looking for. I'm so glad you're back now!" Sam took his hand away from his mouth and held them open to his father, who clenched his teeth tight and slammed his fist into the wall behind Sam's head. Sam withdrew his arms and put them on top of his head, cowering away from his father's fist. "Daddy..." Sam looked up through his lashes at his father who was breathing heavily with a musky look covering his eyes.
"Where is it Sam?" John's voice was slurred, but the order was still clear and it made Sam stand up straight to look at his father.
"What are you looking for Daddy? I can help you find it?"
"I just want to know where it fucking is! I don't want you fucking helping me!" John punched the wall behind Sam again, this time hitting the spot next to Sam's face, making him flinch.
"Sam?" Dean's sleepy voice came from down the hall, which caused John to remove his fist from the wall and turn towards Dean's voice. "Are you oka- Dad?" Dean came from around the small corner to see Sam and John by the kitchen. At this moment, John moved away from Sam and into the kitchen, beginning to search again. Sam slumped down the wall, hugging his knees to his chest and chewing on his thumb nail. Dean, in his crumbled sleep shirt and black boxers, bent down to his brother, who was squeezing himself further and further into the nook of the wall. Dean pressed his head close to Sam's and whispered softly. "Sammy? What's Dad looking for?"
"I-I don't know Dean, I just woke up and heard him. I asked but-" Sam grabbed the bottom of Dean's top and twisted his fist into the fabric. Dean ran his hand through Sam's bangs before placing his palm to Sam's cheek.
"It's fine Sam. Go to bed, I'll be there in a moment, okay?" Sam chewed hard on his thumb nail and stared at his father, who was moving appliances out of the way with a hard shove. "Sam." Dean's voice was strong and made Sam blink a few times before pulling his eyes away from his father.
"Dean, he's been drinking."
"I know Sam. Come on, go to bed. I'll deal with it." Sam nodded and let go of Dean's shirt before pushing himself up the wall. "I'll be there in a minute Sam." Sam nodded once more before rushing down the hall and back into the bedroom. Sam closed the door quietly, jumped into the bed and pulled the covers tight over his head to block the sound. Sam placed a thumb to his mouth and chewed on his nail while he waited for Dean.
After twenty minutes, Sam had relaxed back into the pillows and his eyelids were drooping. Sam hadn't heard anything for about five minutes, although before he'd only heard muffled shouts and thumps of items falling to the floor, so he's pulled off the covers. Dean should be coming through the door any minute now, Sam repeated over and over again in his head as he watched the door handle. When nothing happened, Sam pushed himself up with an elbow to try to keep himself awake. Dean, hurry up. After another five minutes, Sam begun to get fidgety, he couldn't sleep properly without his big brother laying solid by his side. After another two minutes, he was watching the time on Dean's phone intently, Sam heard a slam of the front door. Sam slid quickly from the bed and headed to the window. He pushed the net curtain away and peered out. John was stumbling up the road, with a bottle of Jack Daniels' in his hand, towards the all night pub, that had a dim flashing 'open' light that Sam was just able to see through the misty morning air. Sam couldn't hear anything outside the room and twisted his hands together before moving away from the window. Sam stood for a moment before biting his thumb nail once and moving towards the bedroom door. He twisted the handle and pushed open the door.
"Dean?" Sam stood for a few seconds, before walking down the hall to the kitchen. All of the cupboard doors were open and the sides were cleared because all of the items, little there was, were spread and smashed on the floor. The dim light was still shinning over the small, messy kitchen. "Dean?" Sam looked around the kitchen and the hall but he couldn't see his brother and it made his voice come out as a squeak. "Dean?" Sam stepped backwards, which stepped hard on a shattered glass. Sam was wearing little on his feet, just a pair of Dean's old socks as there was no heating in this house, and the glass went through the arch of his foot. Sam pulled his foot up, glancing down and he noticed the blood dripping from him. Sam felt the arch of his foot with his fingers. He gripped his hand around the glass and, in one quick motion, pulled the glass from his foot. Sam let go of the glass, which fell to the floor with a clatter. He wiped his bloody hand on his pyjama bottoms and placed his foot carefully onto the floor to carry on looking for his brother.
Sam clicked the kitchen light off and wandered into the box-shaped living room, which owned little but a small black and white television – much like the one in their room – and a dust-covered cream sofa. Sam squinted his eyes to look through the dark. "Dean?" Sam called again and this time, a grunt of acknowledgement came from inside the room. Sam looked down and saw a dark, huddled shape leaning against the side of the sofa. "Dean!" Sam smiled and removed his thumb from his mouth before heading to the wall to click on the light.
"Wait! Sammy, no." Sam stopped moving and cocked his head to the side to peer at Dean.
"What?"
"Don't turn on the light. Just, come and help me up." Sam turned back towards his brother, and knelt down next to him.
"Dean, are you okay?" Dean have slight, resistant chuckle before slinging his arm over Sam's shoulders.
"Of course I'm okay dude, I just need to get to bed." Sam pulled Dean's arm further across his shoulders and, pressing a hand to Dean's chest, helped pull Dean into a standing position. Sam bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from talking, as he helped a limping Dean down to their bedroom. Sam pushed the door open with his foot, which left a bloody smear on the old wood, and helped Dean lay down on the mattress. The little light that was coming in through the window made it possible for Sam to see the red stain on the side of Dean's face and the way he clenched at his stomach.
"Dean..."
"Don't say it Sam. Just don't." Sam covered his big brother with the blankets as Dean's eyes began to flutter shut. Sam bit at his thumb nail as he stood next to Dean. After a few moments, Dean's breathing begun to even out and Sam thought he had fallen to sleep. Sam turned and headed for the bathroom only to be stopped by the sound of Dean's voice. Sam chewed his thumb nervously. "What are you doing Sam, come on." Dean had pushed himself up with one elbow, and a wince of pain, to watch his brother at the door, whose head had now turned to look at him. "Get back into bed to sleep before I make you." Dean gave a small smile, but Sam was unsure if it was to help mask the grimace that followed.
"I can't Dean." Dean's eyebrows pulled together, which brought Sam's attention to the slit on his eyebrow – which could easily have been made by the hard metal of their Dad's marine ring, but Sam chose not to mention that right now.
"Why the hell not Sam? Come on bub, I'm trying to keep my eyes open here." Sam glanced down at his hands before looking Dean in the eye.
"I don't want to get blood on you."
"Whose blood? Mine? I'm covered in it Sammy, I don't care."
"No, mine." Sam pointed an index finger to his own chest to which Dean's face shifted from gentle, and to be honest – although Sam doesn't like to think of his brother as annoyed with him – slightly frustrated, to panicked. Dean leaned forward, which made him wince again and clutch his stomach in his arm.
"What? Did Dad...what the fuck Sam?" Sam shook his head forcefully and gulped once, guilty for making his brother think that, before lifting his foot up and touching the cut with his finger to feel the still wet blood.
"No, Dean. I cut it on the glass in the kitchen. I'm sorry." Dean breathed out once before smiling at his little brother and flipping the covers off his body.
"Come here and let me have a look."
"I can do it Dean, you're...hurt." Dean swept a tongue across his lips before nodding.
"Yeah, I guess I am. Best clear us both up then." Sam's eyes tightened as he folded his arms across his chest.
"You first!" Dean smiled at Sam before rolling his eyes.
"Go and get the first aid kit from the bathroom." Sam pulled open the door and ran quickly towards the bathroom as Dean called after him. "And be careful on that foot Sam!"
When Sam had collected the first aid kit, he headed back to Dean and dropped it into his lap, careful of his injuries – which Sam was unsure of fully yet. Sam slid into a space next to Dean on the bed and noticed that Dean was sitting straighter and the light had been clicked on. Sam blinked a few times at this realisation before looking his brother up and down. Sam drew in a breath as he reached for the red crossed kit. Dean's left temple was cut, causing a cascade of red blood down the side of his face, as well as his nose, eyebrow and lip were spilt. Dean gave a small smile as he noticed his brother looking at him.
"Sam, face cuts are never as bad as they seem."
"What about your stomach then?" Sam pointed to Dean's arm that was gripping to his stomach tighter than before. Dean rolled his eyes.
"They aren't cuts, it just hurts a bit." Sam tried to pull the kit into his lap but Dean planted a hand on the top.
"You said you first Dean."
"I didn't agree bub." Sam frowned at his big brother.
"But you're hurt more."
"I'm not the one dripping blood all over the floor." Sam glanced down at his foot and gave Dean a small sigh, I wouldn't be able to win any argument with you even if I wasn't bleeding, before letting the first aid kit go for Dean to take. Dean slid off the bed and knelt in front of Sam, flipping the kit open. Dean opened a wash pad and begun to clean Sam's wound.
"Dean..." Sam begun to chew on his thumb nail while watching every move Dean was making, including the suppressed grunts and thinkingly unnoticeable winces – they would be unnoticeable to anyone but Sam.
"What Sam?" Dean didn't look up at his brother, instead he pulled a white pad and white bandage cloth from the first aid kit.
"Are we ever going to talk about it?" Dean smiled before securing the bandage in place with a safety pin.
"Dude, you're like seven and you act like you're about thirty." Sam shrugged his shoulders, biting harder on his thumb nail. He begun to taste blood but, at this point, he was paying little attention.
"That's not an answer."
"It's a freaking statement and that's all you're getting Sam, please." Dean's voice broke slightly at the end, as he pulled himself back up to sit on the bed. Sam bit once more on his thumb nail before realising he shouldn't push the matter any further. Sam pulled the first aid kit into his lap and opened another wash cloth. Dean bent his head down so Sam could reach his temple. He began wiping at the dried blood.
"It's not right Dean."
"Sam. If you do not shut up about it I will go into that bathroom and clean myself up."
"But, I don't understand Dean. Where does Dad go? Why does he do this to you when he drinks?" Sam began to wipe of Dean's lip, eyebrow and nose with another wash cloth before rubbing healing cream into the cuts.
"He was visiting relatives Sam."
"N-n-no he wasn't Dean." Dean clenched his fists tight. "People's daddy's at school don't do what ours does?" Dean looked up at Sam as he used thin white plasters to close the cuts on Dean's face.
"You haven't told anyone have you Sammy?" Dean's voice was desperate, pleading almost, with Sam to reply with what he wanted.
"Of course not. Winchester business is Winchester business, we share it with no one." Sam almost recited it, causing a memory of Dean sitting him down when he had told his teacher in year two that his daddy was away and his brother was looking after him and telling him the same thing. Dean quirked a grin.
"That's right bub! Now, come on I'm knackered." Sam closed the first aid kit and threw all the used items into the waste basket before clicking off the bedroom light. Dean laid down awkwardly, pulling the covers over him, as Sam slid in beside him.
"I'm sorry Dean." Sam turned on his side and looked at his brother in the little available light from the window.
"What for Sam?" His voice was hushed and quiet, something that had always shown Sam that he was ready for sleep any moment.
Sam didn't answer, just watched his brother for a few moments, heard his breathing even out to the familiar sound he heard every night – something he had become accustomed to and was not unable to sleep without, and slid closer to him. He touched his finger to the red wound on Dean's temple before feeling the tears well in his eyes – knowing they had been coming all evening did not change the fact that they made Sam feel weak, Dean was the one hurting not me – and letting them fall onto the bed sheets.
The following morning, Sam was woken by a sober John, who handed both him and Dean a large bag of m and m's. John gave Dean a gruff nod of the head and a quick search of the body, before walking away with only the comment of 'nice clean up job of your face Dean' left in his path.
The afternoon brought some changes to Sam Winchester's life. That was the afternoon that Dan sat Sam down and told him that monsters were real, ghosts were real and everything in the movies – expect the hot chicks and sketchy plot lines, Dean felt the need to add with a grin – were real. Dean also told him that he would have to begin training because they had to get ready. When Sam asked for what – you're strong enough for the both of us Dean – Dean answered vaguely with a whatever comes next Sammy. Sam wanted to say, are you trained up for Dad Dean? But felt that maybe, with John loading and unloading a gun on the sofa opposite them, it wasn't such a good idea to mention. Sam also learnt, that afternoon, what it felt like to be a Winchester when his father wacked the back of his head with his gun when he tripped during his first training day. Sam also made a promise with himself that day, when he was strong enough – big and strong – he would take him and his big brother and get them as far away from John Winchester as he could because Dean was always protecting him, especially from their father, and Sam needed to return the favour. He had to get his Dean away from John because, he knew, that Dean may seem strong and unbreakable, but with every hit John was breaking Dean more and more and Sam was scared that if he waited too long, there would be nothing left to save.