Dean sat at the kitchen counter, doing his homework. Mary came over to him, running a hand through his hair. "Hey, Dean. How's the studying going?"
"Not bad... I have a test in a few days, though."
"Do you feel like you're ready for this test?"
"Not really," Dean admitted. "Freshman Algebra is hard."
"I think that you just need to spend some more time working on it," Mary looked at her son. "It'll come to you, if you commit yourself to grasping the material."
"I guess..."
At that moment, ten year old Sam ran into the kitchen, breathless. "Hey Mom! What's for dinner?"
"Stew," Mary said.
"How soon will it be ready? I'm really hungry."
"In about thirty minutes..." Mary looked at her watch. "Around the time your father usually comes home from work."
"That's ages from now!" exclaimed Sam, reaching for a cookie.
"Uh-uh," Mary smacked his hand lightly. "No snacking before your dinner. It'll ruin your appetite."
"Aw, Mom," Sam whined.
"Sorry, hon. I just don't want you filling up before the stew."
"Fine," Sam whined. "Hey Dean, watcha doing?"
"Homework," Dean said, not looking up from his textbook.
"What kind of homework?"
"Math homework. Leave me alone, Sam."
"Why are you taking so long to finish it?"
"Sam, get lost."
"Hey, I was just asking. You're such a-"
Sensing an impending fight between the two boys, Mary intervened. "Sam, here's an idea- instead of brooding around the kitchen and bugging your brother, why don't you go and play outside for a bit? I'll call you when it's time to eat."
"OK!" Sam replied and quickly ran out into their backyard to shoot some hoops.
"Thanks Mom," Dean turned to his mother as soon as Sam was gone. "And Mom?"
"Yes, Dean?"
"Please don't tell Dad about the math test."
"Why not?"
"Well, if he knows that I have to write it, he'll want to know how I did. And if I do bad, he'll kill me dead."
"Dean," Mary looked at him, not understanding. "You didn't even write the test yet. How can you know in advance that you'll do badly on it?"
"You know, just in case. I'm not good at math and you know how strict Dad is about schoolwork."
"Dean, I don't like where this is going. I'll admit that your father takes school seriously, but he's not going to kill you for getting a bad grade."
You have no idea, Dean thought gloomily, but nodded instead.
"Tell you what, Dean. I won't tell him about the test now, but if he asks about math class, I won't cover you. Especially since there is nothing to cover."
"Fine," Dean looked down. "I guess that's fair."
"Alright," Mary smiled at him. "And don't set yourself up for failure. You'll do well on this test, I know you will. Now, I have to get back to stirring the stew, but be ready to eat in about twenty minutes, O.K.?"
An hour later, John still wasn't there. The stew had already been poured into the bowls and Mary and the boys sat waiting for him at the table.
"I'm hungry," Sam said for the hundredth time in the last five minutes.
"I know, baby," Mary looked at him. "But you know how Daddy hates it when we eat without him. It won't be much longer."
"You said that twenty minutes ago," Dean mumbled under his breath, but as soon as he finished saying it, they heard the front door open. John walked into the dining room, looking angry.
"You won't believe the day I've had," he said, sitting down at his place at the head of the table.
"John, you're late," Mary observed. "The stew's getting cold and we are getting pretty tired of waiting for you."
"Mary, I don't need this right now," John grumbled. "I just told you that I had a crazy day at work. Can you not bug me about being ten minutes late, please?"
"Fine," Mary said coldly, not wanting to provoke an argument. "Boys, let's eat now."
The four of them sat at the table, eating their stew and not really talking much, except to ask someone to pass the salt or pour them some water.
"Mary, this stew tastes like shit," John suddenly announced.
"Well, John, maybe if you hadn't been an hour late for dinner, it would have tasted better," Mary looked at her husband, her eyes filling up with anger.
"So it's my fault you can't cook?"
"Excuse me? I wait for you to get home, making you a home-cooked meal. Not only do you not appreciate it, but you insult my cooking. Where do you get off, saying that?"
Dean and Sam sat in their seats, not saying anything, not wanting to create any more tension between their parents.
"Would you stop nagging me about being late? I had stuff to do, okay?" John glared at Mary.
"John, if you hate my cooking so much, then maybe you can cook for yourself from now on. Because I don't see you ever so much as lifting a finger to help me out around here."
"Would you stop being a bitch about it?" John exploded. "I was just saying..."
"Mom," Sam suddenly interrupted.
"Samuel, hasn't anyone ever told you that you don't interrupt your elders?" John looked at his youngest. "Or is that concept new to you?"
"No, Dad, I'm sorry, it's just that..." Sam pointed at something.
"I don't care what it is!" John banged his fist on the table. "You don't interrupt while your mother and I are trying to have a conversation!"
"John, calm down," Mary touched his elbow lightly, to get John to stop yelling. "Sam probably wants to say something important."
Actually, Sam was going to ask his mother to pass the milk. Not wanting to anger John any more than he already had, Sam decided to reach for the pitcher himself. However, the pitcher was too heavy for him and it slipped out of his hand, falling to the ground. The milk pitcher shattered into a thousand pieces, a mixture of crushed glass and white liquid all over the floor.
"What the hell!" John stood up. "Samuel, did you do that on purpose?"
"No, sir, it slipped..." Sam stuttered, obviously afraid of what his father would do or say next.
"Dad, it was an accident," Dean joined it, standing up for his brother. "The pitcher was too heavy for him."
Suddenly a loud sound filled the room, the sound of something hard hitting flesh. John had backhanded Sam, hitting him hard on the back of the head.
"Ow!" Sam exclaimed, the tears coming to his eyes. "That hurts!"
"John!" Mary exclaimed.
Sam was crying really hard by now.
"Sh, Sammy..." Mary was trying to soothe him, all while looking at John. "It's okay."
"Don't baby him, Mary," John looked away. "Kid had it coming."
"Sam, Dean, I think that you should go to your room. I'll be up in a couple of minutes."
Not stalling for even a second, Sam and Dean got up from the table and headed straight to the room the two of them shared. Dean put a protective arm around his little brother's shoulders and the two of them walked up the stairs, Sammy sniffling quietly the entire way there.