**AU where John takes Dean up to Stanford and drags Sam back home with them. Sammy isn't happy about it, but he's about to find out just how bad it's gotten since he's been gone. This one has a bit more vunerable!Dean. Reviews are greatly appreciated!**
Dean was silent in the passenger's seat of the impala, occasionally nervously glancing towards the back seat at Sam, and then to his father, and then back to his folded hands in his lap again.
Sam watched his brother quietly; they had all been sitting in uncomfortable silence for almost two hours now, after John had screamed at Sam in front of his brother and practically shoved him into the car. He didn't know if he should say anything now, or if that would only make his father angrier.
There was utter silence in the car- no noise whatsoever besides the purr of the impala's engine, and the gentle, nervous tapping of Dean's fingers against the doorframe to the passenger's side door. Sam didn't mind it. It was actually somewhat comforting. Right now Dad was scaring him, so the constant reminder that his brother was close was very reassuring.
Out of the blue, the impala screeched to a stop as John pulled it over to the side of the absent dirt road they were on, starting to get out. "I'm so goddamn done. Get out of the damn car, Dean."
Sam watched his brother's expression change in the rear view mirror, a sudden look of familiar dread passing over his face as he went to obey orders instantly, climbing out of the car clumsily.
Instant curiosity struck Sam as he went to get out of the car as well, closing the door behind himself as he watched curiously. They both seemed to be following some sort of unspoken routine, but he had no idea what was going on.
He watched as John rummaged around in the trunk of the impala, his expression cold and hard as stone. As Sam turned to his brother, he only grew even more confused. Dean's shirt was folded neatly on the hood of the impala, and his brother stood with his arms folded atop the impala's roof, his body pressed rigidly against the car's side. Sam studied the way Dean's body was tensed, how he rested his chin on his folded arm, how his eyes stayed cast down all this time. But the thing he noticed most were the mixed lash marks across his brother's back. Some looked old, some looked newer. They started at Dean's shoulders and went down as far as Dean's jeans would allow Sam to see, and beyond that as well, he was sure.
"I'm so frustrated already, Dean." John muttered from where he stood, still at the trunk of the impala, staring down at something that Sam couldn't see. "And you have to sit there making your damn noises and make the damn car ride unbearable."
Sam was having trouble comprehending any of this. Dean had been drumming his fingers... Dad hadn't warned him- hadn't ordered him to stop. Not once. Why was he making such a big deal out of this?
He could see Dean peek out of the corner of his eye, straining to see Dad's hands. What was he even holding? Sam slowly moved closer in order to see what his father held, only to be horrified. Along with the thin switch Sam could see in his father's hand, he could also spot a thick leather strap, a plastic hanger, a yard stick, a riding crop, and a belt.
He had no time to even begin to imagine what John used these for before his father prepared to demonstrate. He walked over to Dean in silence, placing a hand on his back and pressing him closer against the impala. Sam watched the shudder go through Dean's shoulders, and how he shied away from his father's hand, his eyes squeezing shut tightly.
"Dad..." Sam started, only to be scolded by his father.
"You get no say in this, Sam. Keep your mouth shut unless you'd like to be the one over here teaching your brother a lesson. Do you think I want to do this? This has been an ongoing thing- which you obviously would know nothing of- and I am so sick and tired of it. He has to be taught."
"No!" Sam snapped, causing his brother to flinch visibly, closing his eyes tighter. "No, you're doing it because you want something to get your damn frustration out on! He did nothing wrong, dad! You can't be serious right now! Dean, come over here. You don't have to take that from him!"
Dean knew better than to defy his father. He stayed where he was, only moving his feet a bit to get a better stance.
John turned away from Sam, fuming. After doing a few placement taps in different spots on his son's back, he brought the switch down with a snap.
Dean ground his teeth together as he rose up onto his toes, his eyes screwing shut once again and his face contorting into a pained expression. The pained noise, however, came not from Dean, but from Sam. Horrified, he choked out a cry of disbelief, stumbling over to begin attempting to force his father away from Dean. "Dad!"
John gave Sam a good shove to clear him out of the way, starting with the placement taps on his son's back once again.
Dean flinched at every light tap, anticipating another strike with the switch. He stayed as still as he could manage, however, wanting nothing more than to please his father with his obedience.
When John brought down the second lick, Dean ducked his head to bite down on his arm, wishing to god that he had asked for something else to bite down on beforehand. He stayed as still as he could as the third and fourth stripes were laid down across his back, resolving to bury his face against his arm completely. He could hear Sam yelling at Dad again, and the whipping stopped for a moment while they fought some more. He didn't mind so much, it was nice to be able to breathe for a second. Just as he lifted his head from his arm, however, a sharp sting was laid across his side, causing him to shy the other way harshly, a surprised cry escaping his throat. He turned, and the betrayed look on his face nearly broke Sam. Dean's eyes flickered back to the switch in his father's hand for a moment before he looked at John's face, waiting to be scolded, or given an order, or to be hit again.
"Dean, go grab something different from the trunk." John muttered, holding out the switch for Dean to take, causing his son to flinch violently.
Dean quickly pulled himself together, however, obediently taking the switch and going to the trunk of the impala to set the switch down, retrieving the leather belt and folding it over in his hands as he walked back over to his father, holding it out expectantly.
Sam watched in utter disgust as John took the belt, inspecting it, like he was deciding whether or not it would suffice to hit his son with. After a moment of turning the belt over again and again in his hands, he seemingly decided it would work, because he gestured for Dean to return to his position.
Sam watched as Dean turned without any trace of defiance or hesitation, only full willingness to obey. His brother placed his hands atop the impala, squaring his shoulders and spreading his feet once again, planting them in place, determined to please John with his compliance.
He didn't miss the way his brother pressed further against the impala when John placed the belt on his back, didn't miss the way his brother's body tensed knowingly.
When John did a placement tap, Dean almost jumped out of his skin, anticipating the pain. Sam swore he was ready to murder his father right then and there. He watched as John laid down the first blow, not holding back even a little.
Dean reached back as his mouth fell open in a silent cry, his entire face contorting into a pained expression that nearly broke Sam's heart right then and there. He caught his brother's eyes for a split second before his brother was turning again, putting himself back in position without so much as having to be told to do so. Something snapped in Sam, however. He reached over, yanking the implement from his father with a growl, holding his opposite hand out. "Dean, c'mere."
Dean peeked over his shoulder, and when his father didn't protest Sam's command, he turned to do so, his head ducked as he cowered, slowly walking towards his brother, eyeing the belt his brother now held. He stopped once he stood right in front of Sam, his gaze still wandering to the belt again and again.
"C'mere." Sam repeated, gesturing for Dean to come even closer, and his brother was suddenly right up against him, hugging him and all but burying his face against his chest, making barely-there gentle noises, ones Sam could barely tell if they were of relief or fear. He wasn't sure if his brother was trying to thank him or beg him not to let him be hurt again. Either way, Sam didn't plan on letting his big brother be hurt any more than he already was.
Dean nuzzled against Sam for another minute before he heard his father bark an order, something about 'standing up like a man and letting Sammy finish this up.'
He pulled away from his brother at the words, reaching up to place both hands atop his head in order to allow Sam full access to wherever he saw fit to whip his brother. It was always uncomfortable when Dad whipped the belt around his sides. He could never sleep right, and it always hurt to put his shirt on, even more so than usual.
He glanced up at his baby brother, waiting for the order to turn around, or to 'stay put, Soldier', or to be told that if he broke stance they'd have to start over, or some other command. All he got, however, was a near-tears look from Sam as his brother glanced down at the belt, tossing it aside. "Dean, I'm not gonna hit you. I can't hit you, I'm not- nobody's gonna hit you anymore."
Dean turned to his father immediately at Sam's statement, hoping desperately for confirmation. The disapproving look John gave him, however, told him that his father didn't think he'd been properly taught his lesson, yet.
"You're not touching him again." Sam suddenly spoke up. "Dad, I swear to god if you touch him again I'll beat you until you can't speak anymore. I swear it." He suddenly had his arms around his big brother protectively, pulling him in against his chest once again, using one hand to start stroking at Dean's hair comfortingly. "You're done. You're all done. You did so good. You did so good."
Dean glanced up at Sam in disbelief, doing his best to glance back at John, wanting the same sort of praise from his father. He wasn't used to being told that he'd done good, only when he'd done something wrong and was about to be corrected for it. When he got no such approval from his father, he glanced back at Sam, his eyes shining, begging for some more of the too-rare positive attention he was receiving.
The smile Sam received when he continued praising his brother was one of pure joy. Was this all it took to make Dean this happy? Was he really this deprived? "Dean, you took it like it was nothing. I would've been crying, y'know? You were so brave."
Dean was nodding all of a sudden, pulling free from his brother's arms, turning to go back over to the trunk of the impala, suddenly searching for another implement. "I can do it again, Sammy. Watch, you can watch and see how still I'll be. I've gotten so good at it. And you just- you tell me what to do and I obey. I'm good at that, too. And then you'll be prouda' me again, and you can tell me so. I like it when we do that. He fumbled with the strap he was grabbing, offering it out for his brother.
"No- my god, no. Dean- you don't have to- I don't have to whip you in order to tell you that you're good." Sam had to take in a shaky breath in order to compose himself, doing his best to fight back tears. "C'mere, big brother. I'm not gonna hurt you. I just wanna tell you what a good, good man you are."
Dean stepped closer, almost in disbelief, letting the strap fall back into the trunk, going to tuck against his little brother's chest again, the smile returning to his face. "I did a good job, Sammy. Didn't I?" He glanced up at his little brother for confirmation once more.
"Such a good job." Sam murmured, rubbing gently at Dean's back as he nodded reassuringly. "Dean, I'm so proud of you."