Title: On The Turning Away

Author: Oldach's Dream

Summary: He thought bitterly that, if their dad had to hurt them the way he did, he should at least supply the proper first aid supplies the boys would need to deal with his anger and drinking issues.

Disclaimer: I own nothing of Supernatural.

Rating: T

A/N: Wanna know a secret? I really have no idea where I'm going with this. I mean, I could end it after this chapter...but I really don't want to. I have some ideas of what I want to do...but they all kinda come later...

So, if you have any suggestions, I'd really love to hear them. Seriously, anything you have to offer, just include it in a review and I'll consider adding it to the plot. That is, if the general consensus is that I should continue. You're gonna have to let me know.

Chapter Two: Where the speechless unite

Dean really didn't understand what 'normal' meant. He'd heard the word used in everyday conversation, around school. By teachers and counselors.

It was funny, at the beginning of every school year, so far in his life, Dean, and every other kid in his class, they all had to take turns talking to a counselor.

They'd get taken into this big, comfortable office. The adult, and it was someone different each year, would ask you if you wanted any candy, or to hold one of their 'comfort' stuffed animals.

Dean always said no to the animal, he was a big kid and didn't need any stupid stuffed animal, but often took the candy. Sometimes he'd even manage to shove some in his pocket for Sammy. He was always thinking of his little brother.

That was normal.

Then the counselor would ask him questions.

What are your parents like?

Do you get along alright?

Do you fight sometimes?

About what?

Do you eat meals together?

Are they nice?

Are they normal?

Dean didn't know what normal meant. So that first year, he'd answered honestly.

No, me and my father don't really get along. He yells a lot, and hits me sometimes. I'm scared of him. But more scared for my little brother than for me. Sammy's so young. He'd get really hurt if daddy decided to hit him like he hits me sometimes.

Dean had said it all so factually. With a tiny frown and concentrated expression, hoping he was getting the answers right. And when the adult, it had been a graying old man, he remembered, hadn't answered after a few moments, Dean spoke in a nervous tone.

Is that normal? He'd asked.

He'd gotten a social worker at his house the next day and a solid two hours of his dad, who had been very irritated, which was a nice way of saying hung over, talking to said social worker. Telling her that, ever since Mary's death, his eldest son had had a lying complex. He wanted to get attention. Felt overshadowed by the grief losing his mother had caused the family and the care that his two-year-old brother demanded.

Dean, who had been silently listening up until that point, had wanted to protest there. He wasn't jealous of Sammy. He took better care of Sammy than his dad did. He loved his little brother too much to ever lie to him, or about him.

He wanted to say all this. But something in his father's gaze had stopped him. Something scary and hard. Unfeeling and unforgiving. Something that had manifested itself in the form of a clenched fist, once the social services lady was convinced that the school had been wrong.

She was out the door, waving happily to John from her shiny, silver car. Starting the engine and driving away. Leaving Dean unprotected and alone for the worst beating his father had ever graced him with.

He was left bloody and bruised. Crying and whimpering, despite his father's shouts and demands that he grow up and act like a man.

That was the first night Sammy and Dean had shared a bed. Up until that point, Sammy was still little enough to sleep in his crib, across the room from Dean, safe and sound in his own little baby world.

That night though, Sammy had managed to crawl out of his own bed, over the railings and to Dean's side of the bedroom. Sammy could barely string together full sentences yet, but he managed to sense that his brother was hurt badly and needed him.

Dean had taken the comfort offered, and swore that he would never let his baby brother be hurt by their dad the same way he just had been. He swore to himself that he'd protect him forever.

He'd also learned, after that night, how to lie. Every year, He told the counselors that he was fine, and that his home life was normal.

He still didn't fully understand what normal meant, what other people defined it as; but he had figured out that it wasn't an abusive, alcoholic father. So he worked that part out of his yearly evaluation.

It was a quick 'My mom died years ago. My father works a lot to support us. I'm really close with my little brother.' And he was out the door. Rewarded with a handful of candy. Given a check mark and a smiley face on whatever records they kept filed away on him.

No one knew what really went on in the Winchester home. No one wanted to get involved. No one cared. Dean didn't care that they didn't care. He didn't need any adults making things worse again.

He had his little brother. They had each other. And as long as Dean could protect him, everything would be fine. They would be fine.

Then, one day, he came home from school and he saw his father's car in the driveway when it normally shouldn't be. He walked through the front door, and heard the, somehow angry and frightening sounding, snores coming from the living room couch. He smelled the fire and the leftover smoke of something that had been burning.

He walked towards the stairs that led up to the bedrooms cautiously, and cringed when the broken glass crunched beneath his worn out tennis shoes. His heart began beating a little faster and he swallowed thickly.

He wanted to tell himself that he was wrong, that this wasn't really happening. It was a bad dream, a nightmare. He'd wake up any minute, Sammy cuddled up at his side, safe and sound. But it was no use, he already knew the truth. He continued climbing the stairs to his and Sammy's bedroom, chewing on his lip harshly.

It had been another regular day, a normal day for him. Until he smelled the smoke, the burning. The remainders of death and destruction. Then it had turned into the day that he had failed his little brother.

The day he had let him get hurt.

"Sammy?" Dean called as soon as he had shut the bedroom door firmly behind him. Hating, for the millionth time in his life, that it didn't come equipped with a lock.

Sammy was curled up under the comforter when Dean approached him. He could tell by the steady breathing that his brother was indeed asleep. Dean quickly scanned his little brother's body, checking for injury.

It didn't take him long to find the burn on his hand. Dean swallowed thickly and blinked back tears. He hated his father.

Never before had he felt anything like this. This rage burning through him, unchecked. He had been hurt by his father so many times before, and each time, he told himself that he hated the man. But he had never felt it entirely, there was always a tiny sliver of doubt. Something his brain chased away and ignored. A childish need to impress his father, to make him proud.

It was gone now, and felt only blind hatred. His father had hurt his baby brother. He hurt Sammy. Any lingering remains of childhood innocence or acceptance that Dean might have sill possessed were gone. Burned away by the injury on Sammy hand.

The five-year-old boy picked that moment to roll over and crack his eyes slightly. All of his hatred revelations to a sudden back seat as he focused on his little brother. Taking care of him would always be the most important thing.

Dean made the mistake of thinking that Sammy was fully coherent, because his eyes were opening, and he reached out to touch his shoulder lightly. As soon as he did so, Sammy jumped and pulled himself away from the touch. Whimpering slightly as he curled himself into a ball.

Dean swallowed again, his voice was thick when he spoke. "It's okay Sammy, it's me, it's Dean." He was repeating the comforting phrases he always soothed his little brother with he woke up from a nightmare.

"Dean?" He croaked, sounding desperate.

"It's me, buddy." He assured again. He was standing flush up against the mattress now, his stomach pressed against it tightly, but he reached out hesitantly.

"Dean," Sam said, only more forcefully, as he launched himself at his big brother.

Dean was a little taken aback, but quickly encircled his arms around his brother. Sam was still half on the bed, so Dean had to hold the majority of his weight, to keep him from falling off. Lucky for him, Sammy had always been a small kid. Round for his size, but small in general.

"You're okay," he soothed, rubbing circles on Sammy's back with one hand, his chin was resting on his head.

He felt Sammy's tears bleed through his shirt. He tightened his grip and held on to his brother for dear life. The hug was desperate, because both of them needed each other. Was petrified of the thought of losing each other. They were all they had.

"Dean," the younger boy spoke after a few more moments.

"Yeah?"

"My hand really hurts." He said it almost fearfully and when Dean tried to pull back slightly to gauge the injury better, Sammy fisted the back of his t-shirt with his good hand harshly and would not let him go.

"I know it does, kiddo." Dean tried to reason with him. "And I gotta look at it, alright?"

It Sammy a few minutes of shallow, barely controlled breathing, but finally he nodded affirmatively and let Dean pull away. Sam sat perched on the side of the bed, Dean standing as close as he could.

Sammy lifted his good hand to wipe away his tears, and held the burned one out to his brother. He saw Dean cringe.

"Is it bad?" He asked, sounding young and innocent. A little kid. Which he was. It was just hard for Dean to remember that sometimes.

"It's not too bad," he said, and it was the truth, he simply hated seeing his little brother in any type of pain. "It'll hurt for a little while, then you'll get a blister. It's just really important that you don't pop the blister, 'cause that'll make it hurt again."

"Okay." He nodded, listening intently. The worst of the burn was in the outside of his hand, the side of his palm, circling over to the back of it. It reached to about the knuckle of his middle finger.

"I'm gonna go in the bathroom and get a cold washcloth to put on it. It's the only thing that'll make the hurt go away a little, okay?" Dean knew that wasn't entirely true, there were burn creams that would probably work wonders for his brother's hand, but there was no way they had any in their home.

He thought bitterly that, if their dad had to hurt them the way he did, he should at least supply the proper first aid supplies the boys would need to deal with his anger and drinking issues.

Sam hesitated and Dean waited, speaking again when he wouldn't meet his eyes. "I'll just be gone a second, Sammy." He assured, knowing his brother wouldn't want to be alone. "Right across the hall and back. You won't even know I'm gone." He smiled, trying to act a lot stronger than he felt.

"What if daddy wakes up?" His voice was tearful and pleading.

Dean opened his mouth to tell Sammy that there was no way he would wake up, and that he would be safe. Then he glanced down at his brother's injury and remembered the bruises that still traced his own ribs from a few nights before.

"If you hear him, hide in the closet like you always do, and I'll hide too, I promise." And he would, as long as the older man didn't start in on Sammy, Dean had no problem staying hidden.

"Okay," Sam finally gave in. "But hurry."

Dean nodded and did as he was told. He silently made his way across the bedroom and out the door, scurrying across the hallway and into the bathroom. He chased away his own fear of his father, picturing Sammy, hurt and vulnerable, waiting for him, only a few feet away. It was enough to add even more speed and haste to his silent movements.

He re-entered the bedroom mere minutes later, placing everything he had retrieved on the bedside table. He was back standing in front of Sammy again, and everything was a little bit better.

Dean raised the dripping, cold cloth and placed it on his injury. Sammy immediately jerked away, but Dean held onto him. Securing his hurt hand in both of his. "Shhhh," he said gently. "It'll make it better in a minute."

And that was all it took for the initial pain to fade to a relieving cooling sensation. "It helped." Sam said quietly.

"Told ya." Dean smirked softly. He showed Sammy how to hold the cloth in place and proceeded to start fiddling with the other things he had fetched from the bathroom.

He held out a little white pill and a glass of water, Sam eyed both curiously.

"It's an aspirin." Dean explained. "It makes pain go away."

"Like the headaches dad gets when he drinks too much?" Sam asked innocently and Dean was struck suddenly with how sad it was that he knew that. That either of them did.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "But it helps other things too."

Sam nodded and picked the small pill out of his brother's hand.

"Put it in your mouth then swallow it with a big sip of water." Dean instructed and Sam followed his directions. Trust in his big brother out weighing any fear or uncertainty that taking the medicine might cause.

"There you go." Dean took the glass away from Sam when he finished with a satisfying 'ahh' "Not bad, right?"

Sam shook his head and Dean smiled again. Now that Sammy was all taken care of, he crawled up onto the bed with him. He settled himself so that the two boys were sitting cross-legged across from each other, their knees touching.

"You wanna tell me what happened today?" Dean asked the younger boy gently. The way Sammy's head ducked to the side and he started chewing the inside of his lip, it made Dean feel even guiltier than he had before.

"Daddy. He came home early..."

Sammy's story lasted almost half an hour. Violent sobs interrupting him often, but he didn't stop until everything about that afternoon was revealed.

"I-I-I d-d-didn't mean t-t-o make him m-mad." He finally finished, and Dean was crying himself.

He hated his father. God, he hated his father so much.

By now, Sammy was half curled up on Dean's lap, having crawled over to his side for comfort halfway through the duration of the story.

"W-w-w-hy..." Sammy cried, trying to calm his great gulping sobs.

"What?" Dean asked, distracted with the task of trying to calm his brother.

"D-d-daddy?" He cried. "W-hy's he so m-mean?"

Dean gulped. It was a question he had been struggling with since he had learned that his father's behavior towards his sons wasn't normal. He was forced to remember that this was the first time Sammy had experienced their father's cruelty first hand.

"I..." He wouldn't lie to Sammy. He couldn't. But he hated the answer he had to give him. "I don't know. I really don't know, Sammy."

Sammy just continued to cry, and Dean didn't stop him. Letting the tears fall, soaking into his side. He held onto Sam tight. Pulling him down with him, so that they were both laying down on the bed.

Sammy's cries didn't take long to fade into harsh hiccups, followed then by shallow, almost sobs.

This is where Dean stepped in. Sammy's head was beneath his chin and Dean's arm was around his waist, his hand was on his back and he started rubbing circles, as he had before.

"Take deep breaths, Sammy." Dean instructed, doing so himself. "In and out. Like me."

The brother's tuned their breathing until Sammy was finally calm. He relaxed completely into Dean, falling asleep once again.

Dean hoped that Sammy would sleep good tonight. But Dean knew, sadly, that he probably wouldn't. Sammy was prone to night terrors. Which was a phrase one of his teachers had used to describe really bad nightmares. Which Sammy had. Almost every night.

Night terrors.

It was appropriate. Their life was terrifying enough.

Dean just sighed, pulling his baby brother closer still. He couldn't stop Sammy's subconscious from attacking him. He couldn't protect him from the monster they were forced to call dad. He couldn't erase the past or change their lives.

The only option the Winchester brother's had, was to be there, and to deal with all of it.

Together.

TBC...

A/N: Howdy folks.

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And remember, any ideas, please share.