It's been four years since it began, and Sam tries, how he does try to not think of it as it really is- child abuse.

But it's just that, and it never stopped. Sure, John might've had a good day here and there, but just when Sam thinks he's safe, thinks that "Today will be good, I won't get hurt-"; a fist comes flying towards him.

It's made Sam shy, only close to Dean. He might try and stick up for a kid at school, but stops before words even leave his mouth. He remembers what happened last time he stuck up for himself.

"Leave me alone! Get away!"

A bottle –flying -to close, to slow,-

Gruff voice. "Listen to me Sam. I told you to come here."

Hands, reaching, grabbing, to late- caught.

Pain.

Sam still tries to say no. And the only thing he gets in return are purple and blue flowers blooming along his chest.

Sam wasn't the only one that learned.

John had, too.

-

If Sam was going to go to school, he couldn't be marked up. John only hit where those incriminating things would be hidden.

John couldn't have Sam taken away. He was a living reminder of Mary. Maybe she'd come out one day, if Sam left her. John could see her in Sam.

If Sam was gone, would his Mary come back?

-

Sam didn't understand why his dad said what he did.

Things about his mother, and how she's still here, but waiting, waiting for something.

"I know, I know you're waiting Mary. But I don't know if you will come back. I'm not sure I should do it…..so that you can come back."

-

Sam had long since learned that those monsters his father killed were indeed real.

He regretted ever saying they weren't, because if he hadn't said it, he wouldn't be here, right now.

Cringing and trying to curl in on himself while his father bore down on him with large adult fists that had the power of a Marine and Hunter behind them.

"I see you Mary."

Lies. His mom is gone.

"Please come back."

Sam thought the exact same thing- except he was wishing for Dean.

-

When Dean did see the bruises, and it was rarely because Sam always had a shirt on, he pinned them on training.

Dean knew that he and Sam had to practice, get faster, know how to fight the monster that lurked and killed people.

And his dad was extra tough on Sam.

"Because Sam needs to practice more," he thought.

-

Two more years went by and Sam was eleven, Dean fifteen.

It was this year during winter break when Sam was in sixth grade, that he met Lance Roland.