I Do What I Want!
Author's Note: It's my birthday (or it was yesterday), and I'll write depressing fanfiction if I want to.
...
It was midnight, and Sam couldn't sleep. How could he, with all the commotion? John wasn't home yet, so Dean wouldn't sleep. Mary could've read him ten of the best bedtime stories ever in a row and it wouldn't have made a difference. He'd been upset that his father had forgotten about the only thing Dean requested of his father and had worked himself up to believe that Daddy must not love him anymore and become inconsolable. Then, as he fought the tiredness creeping all around him, all reasoning had collapsed and he'd pushed away the mother that had been rubbing his back, her gentle words no longer enough. His poor Chevy Corvette Hot Wheels car was thrown harshly against the wall in anger.
Could Mary blame him, really? Sure, she needed to find a better outlet for Dean to vent his anger, but he had every right to be upset, especially at his tender young age. She'd had to lie to her son about why Daddy wasn't there. John was making her lie to her little boy to protect them both. The more upset her son got, the closer Mary matched Dean's level of frustration.
"Dean, sweetie, you have to calm down," she encouraged, wanting to throw something herself.
"No Mommy!" he shouted, his favorite stuffed animal next to receive abuse. "I didn't do anything bad, and Daddy's still not here."
"Dean, please," she pleaded.
"NO!" he shrieked. Why should he? He'd been good all day and what did that get him? Nothing, that's what. His dad hadn't come home yet, Sam was starting to cry, and his mother was on the verge of tears. Everything was so overwhelming. Why be good when it got him nothing but pain? The tears flowed freely as he started violently throwing everything in sight. His mother came up behind him to hold him tight to stop him from hurting himself, but he fought her furiously, hands and legs randomly hitting and kicking any part of her he could.
"Dean, stop!" Mary panted. This was getting out of hand. Throwing things was one thing, hitting his mother was another. "Dean, you need to stop now."
"No, Mommy, you don't tell me what to do!" And with that he escaped his mother's grasp, running as fast as he could to the bathroom and locking the door behind him.
Luckily, picking locks was part of Mary's skill sets. She retrieved a bobby pin from her hair and went to work on the door handle, thankful that she was only hearing Dean whimpering and not tossing things around. Just then, as the lock gave way, mother and son heard another door click open. Dean shot past her as she swung the door open, unable to catch him as he ran down the stairs the greet his father.
The moment John arrived home, Dean was there to begin his assault. He began punching at his legs and stomach in a blind rage. Mary rushed downstairs.
"What the fuck is this!" demanded John as he attempted to fend off Dean.
"Where have you been?" she argued, not even trying to stop Dean's well-deserved tyrade against his father. She could smell the whiskey from where she stoodstood several feet away. "Nevermind, I already know."
Dean relented his physical assault so he could begin a verbal one. "I hate you, Dad! I hate you!" Dean was shouting. "Why weren't you here? I want you here!"
"Dean, stop!" John slurred. "Daddy had some stuff to take care of."
Dean wasn't buying it anymore. "No!" He slapped his father's thigh. "You're lying, and you made Mommy lie to me."
"I didn't-" he began.
"Ugh!" Dean cried as a hard punch landed in his father's stomach. What happened next was one of the worst moments of John Winchester's life, and one he would barely remember. Mary saw it coming and rushed forward as fast as she could to save her son, but not fast enough. John raised his hand and came down sharply on Dean's cheek, knocking him to the floor.
Dean's crying stopped immediately, too shocked from the blow to do anything but lay there and cover his cheek with his little hand.
"Get out!" shouted Mary. John's face bore surprise over his actions as well, but he wasn't getting out of this that easy. "How dare you touch my son. How dare you!?" She swung the door open and shoved him out. "Come back anytime soon and I'm calling the cops," she spat, slamming the door in his face.
She spun around to tend to Dean, who was trying so hard not to cry, his bottom lip quivering in a pout. Her perfect, brave little boy, standing up to his own father and calling him on his bullshit. He ran to her arms as she bent down, hand still grasping his reddened cheek as he broke down. Mary somehow found strength, pushing back her own tears as she pressed her son tightly against her. "You're okay, baby," she whispered soothingly in his ear. "Shh, you're okay, you're okay. Such a brave little boy."
"It hurts," he whimpered.
"Shh I know baby, I know. Let Mommy take a look at it, okay?" She lightly pushed Dean back, gently prying his hand away from his face so she could inspect the damage. No skin was broken, thank God, but it was already starting to bruise. She debated getting the authorities involved, but she knew she could handle John when he came back, if she let him come back. She'd worry about being pissed at John later. Right now, Dean needed her full attention. She gently wiped away the tears falling down his cheeks.
"I'm sorry, Mommy," he whispered.
Mary's heart broke. "No, baby, don't be sorry. Daddy's the one who should be sorry. You didn't do anything. You're my little angel, remember?"
Dean shrugged, unsure if he believed her.
Mary nearly broke down. Her sweet, sweet boy, already so unsure of his own goodness, his own self-worth. She pulled him in for another hug, and he nestled his face in her neck, ignoring the stinging in his cheek. "I love you so much, love," she comforted. "You're my brave, perfect little angel. Promise me you won't blame yourself?"
Dean was starting to calm down. "Okay, Mommy. I promise." He stood up, suddenly aware of Sam's cries. "I think Sammy's hungry."
And he's so selfless too. How'd I get blessed with such perfection? thought Mary. She smiled. "Want to help me feed him?"
Dean nodded in response, his tears starting to dry.
"You want to sleep in Mommy's bed tonight?" she offered. It'd been years since she'd allowed that, but she figured tonight was as good a night as any for an exception.
He nodded again, a little smile finally showing itself.
...
John paced inside his motel room, the liquor starting to wear off as he relived the horrible act he'd just committed. I just hit my son. His chest ached with guilt. How could he have let himself get that far? Sure, Dean was a little spoiled, but he didn't deserve that. Only drunken assholes hit their kids. "Shit," he swore. He was that drunken asshole. There was no fixing this, not for awhile at least. Maybe it was for the best though. On Fourth of July, he'd almost been able to tell Mary he needed a break, but had been interrupted. Now he'd gotten what he'd wanted.
"Shit," he said again. Not like this though, never like this. On his own terms, with an understanding Mary patiently awaiting his return. Not as the man who'd just hurt her four-year-old son. His son. How could he face Dean when he returned, if Mary let him return? He wiped his hand over his eyes before tears could fall.
He had no excuse, really. He and Mary had waited until they were financially and emotionally stable before having Dean, it wasn't like they'd rushed into things. Everything was planned, they knew to expect less freedom as spouses, as parents. Even so, sometimes John just wanted to do his own thing, away from his family. Well, now was his chance. But he wasn't going to use this time to get drunk with friends. No. He was better than that, better than what his actions tonight said otherwise. He could change. He would change. He wouldn't go back home until his head was on straight and he became the man his family needed him to be. The husband and father Mary, Sam, and Dean deserved.
...
While Dean watched Sam for a few moments, waiting on their parent's bed, Mary moved Sam's crib into her bedroom for the time being, both for convenience and comfort.
Dean pet Sam's hair as Mary nursed him, all three of them calmed by the quiet simpleness of it all. Dean drifted blissfully off to sleep as she set a sleeping Sam down in his crib. She cuddled up next to Dean, quickly falling into a deep sleep.
When she awoke a few hours later to Sam needing to be fed again, the spot next to her on the bed was empty. She switched in the lamp next to her bed, panicing. Where was Dean?
"Mommy, I think Sammy's hungry again," said a little voice coming from Sam's crib. She bent over the crib to find Dean curled around his brother, squinting up at her. She lifted Dean out of the crib, placing him on her bed before taking Sam in her arms, repeating the same process they'd been through a couple hours earlier.
...
A few weeks later (what Dean would later remember as a few days), Mary would be cutting off the crust of a sandwich when John would finally call. After an upsetting conversation with her husband who still hadn't come home, Dean, ever aware of his mother's feelings, would go to comfort her.
True to his "I wuv hugz" T-shirt, Dean would wrap his arms around her legs. "It's okay, Mom," he'd say, having grown up a little in that short time and starting to call Mary Mom instead of Mommy. "Dad still loves you. I love you too. I'll never leave you."
Mary would cup his healed cheek in her hand. "You," she'd say, "are my little angel." She'd follow this with an offer for pie. This moment would become one that Dean would hold onto as a favorite memory of his, replaying it during his time in heaven many years later, the encounter that brought it on either repressed or forgotten.
Author's Note: I swear there will be a purely happy chapter again sometime. Eventually. Maybe.
Also, side note for real life on a very serious note, if there's any sort of abuse going on in your household, don't hesitate to act. Call the cops, do what you have to do, but don't let the situation continue.
