Author's Note: Okay, so this multichapter AU fic stems from an idea that my brother, Jeremy, created. Every plot element was devised by him. In about a half hour. So he's awesome.

Anyway, in this fanfic Dean is in a rock band, Sam is a heroin addict, and Cas is suicidal and in a mental ward. I hope you enjoy it!

P.S. Heaven on Earth will absolutely be updated very soon!

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural in any way, shape, or form. The rights belong to the CW and Eric Kripke.

"Dean, you're on in five."

Dean nods, careful to keep his microphone from picking up the chatter of the backstage area. Around him, people are bustling back and forth, getting everything ready for the show. He clears his throat, attempting to rid himself of the phlegm building up on his vocal chords, and picks up his premium water bottle. The drummer passes by – what's his name? - and taps Dean on his shoulder.

"Dude, there's like, nobody in the audience. What the hell?" the drummer says, an annoyed look on his face.

Dean shrugs. "I don't know, what are you asking me for?" he responds, gulping down his water.

"Uh, maybe 'cause you're paying me jack shit?" the drummer scoffs. He shakes his head. "If the next gig we play at is the same, I'm quitting." He strides off to rejoin the rest of the band.

Dean rubs his hand over his face. Great. Another pissed off musician. That's the third one this week. Didn't Bernie say he was gonna hire a new sales person, or advertising manager or something to boost our publicity? Dean thinks, setting the water down and straightening his jacket. He's not all that interested in the business side of entertainment. That's Bernie's job.

"Ladies and gentlemen, it is our pleasure to introduce - the amazing - Dean Winchester and the Angels!" The announcer gestures off stage, and Dean sucks in a breath.

He pushes away the curtain.

"Get off your ass and make me a sandwich, you miserable sack of shit." John Winchester smacks his hand on the back of his youngest son's head, startling the man out of his trance-like state.

"You been drinking again, Dad?" Sam asks in reply, scooting off the couch and shuffling to the kitchen. He opens the cupboard and pulls out a bag of Wonder bread.

"Pff, no, of course not," John responds, his words slurring. He slumps against the chair. "Why don't you go do something with your life, huh? You're 20 now. You should have a job, a wife. Kids. Why do you have to ruin the family name?"

Sam sighs, cutting up meat and lettuce and sprinkling them on the bread. "First of all, I'm 30. Second, I can't get a job, because YOU don't have enough money to pay for my college education. And no intelligent woman would want a grunt for a husband." Sam plops the sandwich on a plate and brings it over to John.

John snorts and takes the snack. "Not like any college would accept you. You're an idiot." He munches on the sandwich, mayonnaise spilling over his lips.

Sam scrunches his forehead. "You don't mean that."

"Yeah, I do. You always got bad marks on your reports."

Sam sputters. "That was because I always missed my classes! Since, you know, you NEVER drove me to school and I always had to run there." He knows he shouldn't be getting worked up, that it only leads to pain. He promised Dean he would stop. But Dean doesn't know the whole truth, since Sam never lets him visit. It would cause too much trouble.

John lifts an eyebrow at him. "I hope I'm not making you upset," he says sarcastically. He puts down the plate and stands, slowly making his way over to Sam. He stops, looks his son square in the eye, and slaps him across his cheek. "That's for being a little bitch," he states casually, and heads off to his room.

Sam remains frozen in his spot.

Fight it.

You have to fight it.

You can't let this happen every time he does something to you.

…

Fuck.

25 years previously.

"Dean, stop it! It's my candy bar, Daddy bought it for me ONLY." Sammy swats at Dean with his chubby hand, desperately attempting to get back his chocolate. Dean grins.

"Nuh uh, I'm bigger than you, so it's actually MINE." Dean swipes the candy bar from Sam's grasp, ripping open the tin foil.

Sammy sticks out his lower lip. "Mommy! Dean's being mean to me and stealing my chocolate!" he cries, fat tears rolling down his red cheeks.

Mary sighs from the passenger seat, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Dean, split the candy bar in half and give one piece to your brother. The BIGGER piece, since it's technically his." She turns around. "And both of you, could you please keep it down until we get to the hotel? This is our vacation, let's not ruin it before it's even started, okay? Okay." She leans her head against the back of the seat, a headache forming in her skull.

There's silence for several seconds.

"DEAN, MOMMY SAID TO GIVE ME THE BIGGER PIECE! YOU JUST GAVE ME A CRUMB!"

John turns around to face the boys, an angry glint in his eye. "Both of you, shut the hell up! Can't you see that your mother needs her sleep?"

Mary cries out in alarm. "John, look out!"

"What?" John says, whipping around back to the steering wheel. A large truck looms several feet ahead. He swerves the wheel, and the car jolts around, skittering across the road and into a field of grass before plowing into a giant tree.

7 hours later.

"W-wha-?" John mumbles, rubbing his head. How long has he been unconscious? Where are -oh. Oh, God. They hit something. He'd been giving the boys a lecture, and not paying attention to the road, and they'd hit something. Where's Mary? Where are his kids?

He looks around. He's in a small, clean white room, with shelves containing various medical equipment. Oh. It's a hospital. That's good. There's a small knock on the door, and John looks up, startled.

A man in a green shirt with a stethoscope enters the room, his white shoes squeaking on the waxed floor. He smiles warmly at John. "It's good to see that you're awake," he comments, coming over to the side of the bed.

John smirks back. "Yeah. How long was I out, Doc?" he asks, sitting up.

"About seven hours."

John raises his eyebrows. "SEVEN hours? Wow, I must've gotten banged up really bad, huh?" he chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. "How's Mary? And Dean and Sam?"

The doctor's smile fades, and his eyes soften. He scrunches his forehead. "John, I have some very, very bad news. I'm going to need you to listen very carefully, okay?"

John's pulse quickens. "What is it? Are they alright?" he asks, panicking.

The doctor reaches out and places a hand on John's arm. "Sir, listen to me. You have to remain calm, alright? If you don't, you can face a heart attack."

John stills his body, focusing his eyes on the doctor. "Okay. Okay. What is it? What's happened to my family?" he says, his voice scarily quiet.

The doctor takes a deep breath. "The good thing is, you're kids are mostly fine. They've suffered several head injuries, and the younger one fractured a rib, but other than that, they're okay. But...you're wife, Mary, didn't make it. She passed away in the ambulance due to severe brain damage and loss of blood. I'm very, very sorry for your loss, Mr. Winchester." The doctor squeezes his arm slightly, attempting to provide some comfort. "When you're ready, you can call someone up to help you fill out several papers concerning her death." He smiles sadly at John, then quietly stands to leave the room.

John stares at him in shock. No. This can't be happening. His wife, his beautiful Mary – dead?! He can't accept it. But...it was HIM who crashed into the tree. It was his fault! The woman he loved has died, and it is completely his fault.

Suddenly, he remembers something. He had turned around...why?

He sucks in a breath.

He was yelling at Sam.

Sam had distracted him with his crying.

It's Sam's fault that Mary has died.

John's eyes darken, and he looks up at the doctor. "Excuse me, sir, could you tell me what room my sons are in?"

Present day.

"It's my fault, Dean, it's all my fault," Sam cries out the second Dean picks up the phone. He's lying in his bed, one hand holding the receiver, the other hand clutching his crack pipe. The panic in his voice is rising. "I know I said I wouldn't do it anymore, Dean, but I have to, I have to!"

"Whoa, whoa! Sammy, slow down. What's going on?" Dean asks from the other end of the line. He sounds surprised; Sam hasn't called him in months.

"Heroin! It's the only thing that can help me DEAL with him!"

"Who?"

"Dad," Sam whispers, a haunted look in his eyes.

Dean is confused. "Dad?" he replies. He pauses. "Sam, what's been happening over there?" he asks, suspicion growing.

"Nothing!" Sam responds hastily. He gulps. "Absolutely nothing, there is no need for you to come visit. I shouldn't have called in the first place. Bye." He slams down the phone and holds his head in his hands.

One hour later, the front door bursts open, and Dean stalks inside, a glare on his face. "Sammy!" he calls, his voice booming throughout the house. Sam rushes over.

"Dean? What the hell are you doing here? I told you not to come; I can take care of myself!" Sam yells, his face flushing hotly.

Dean shoves him aside, stepping into the living room. "Dad! Get the fuck out here now!" he shouts.

John pokes his head out his bedroom door. "Hey, Dean. Haven't seen you in a while." He grins.

Dean races over to him. "What's been going on around here? What are you doing to Sam?" he growls, shoving his face in menacingly.

John wrinkles his brow. "Nothing," he scoffs.

Dean turns to Sam. "What is he doing to you, Sammy?" he asks.

Sam shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot. "Not really anything important," he says softly. He gazes at the wall. "He just – he says it's my fault. Mom's death, I mean. And he says that I'm not good enough. And sometimes he hits me." He looks up, alarmed at his words. "But it doesn't hurt," he adds quickly.

Dean stares at John, shocked. Sure, he wasn't the best father when they were growing up – he drank all the time, and he barely payed any attention to the boys – but Dean never remembers John hurting Sam. When Dean had left 3 years ago to pursue a music career, he'd asked Sam to join him, but his brother had refused, claiming he was going to go to college. Now, it's clear to Dean that he was lying.

"Okay. Well, that settles it. Sam – you're coming with me." Dean grabs his brother's arm and pulls him towards the door. Sam struggles to get free.

"No! Dean, I TOLD you, I can take care of myself. I'm a grown man." Sam wrenches his arm.

Dean snorts. "You're not right in the head. Even if his hits didn't hurt all that much physically, he's been shouting fucked up stuff at you since you were six years old!" Sam stares at Dean, stunned. Dean nods his head towards John. "Oh, yeah. I saw you, saying that Mom's death was all Sammy's fault. It's why I wanted him to come with me so badly." Dean shakes his head. "But I made the mistake of letting him stay here. Well, you know what? I'm fixing it now." Dean pulls Sam out the door.

"I don't give a shit! You can go rot in Hell for all I care!" John shouts as Dean slams the door shut behind them.

"What am I going to do now?!" Sam exclaims once they're safely on the sidewalk, panting heavily. He stares at Dean expectantly.

Dean looks around for several seconds, thinking. He lights up. "I'm taking you to the hospital," he decides, then grabs Sam's arm and yanks him to the Impala.

Sam gapes at him, horrified. "What?! Why?!" he yelps, clumsily climbing in the passenger seat.

Dean slides the key into its slot. "Because I wasn't lying back there. John messed up your mind. All our lives, I've seen you. I've watched you. You think your worthless, and you're taking HEROIN." He turns the wheel, letting the car twist into the local hospital's parking lot. "But you know what, Sammy? You're not worthless. You may think you are, but you're not. And this place will help you realize that." He turns off the car, unbuckles his seat belt, and pulls Sam to the entrance.

Author's Note: I hope you liked it! Cas will appear in the next chapter. :) Reviews are always welcome!