Summary: Pre-Series – 12-year-old Sam, 16-year-old Dean, Abusive John – His little brother's behavior is freaking him out, causing his mind to buzz with stomach-churning possibilities. Did John do something to Sam? Did he hurt Dean's kid?

Warnings: If you're triggered by abusive situations, you may want to skip this one. There's also a vague spoiler for the series finale in the author's note at the end of chapter two.

Author's Note: Let's try this again. This story/first chapter was originally posted (then disappeared) on 11/13/2020. Hopefully it'll stick around this time.

Also: I don't dislike John or think he was as abusive or as horrible as he is portrayed in this story. This is just a "what if," a worst-case scenario in response to Sam's statement.

Snatch – to take hold of something suddenly and roughly.

My entire life you've protected me from Dad. – Sam to Dean in 15x17

Something is off.

Dean senses it the second Sam jumps down from the cab of John's truck.

Caleb chuckles as he sits shotgun, watching Dean's little brother run toward the Impala before the car even stops rolling. "I think the kid missed you."

Dean doesn't doubt that – he missed the kid, too – but this is something else. This isn't Sam running to Dean as much as it's Sam running away from John. The realization is unsettling.

Dean kills the ignition and opens the driver's side door, barely on his feet when Sam rushes him; the kid's left arm circling his waist in a tight hug.

Caleb chuckles again at Dean's clingy little brother as he unfolds himself from the passenger seat. He stretches out the kinks in his achy muscles, then walks toward John, grasping the man's outstretched hand.

Dean glances in their direction to gauge John's mood, but he looks fine – relaxed and smiling. Of course, that doesn't mean anything. Their dad's mood changes like the weather. With Dean gone, did Sam take the brunt of whatever mood John was in last night? The thought stirs too many emotions to sort – suspicion, confusion, dread, worry, anger, regret.

Dean shifts his attention to the 12-year-old plastered against him. "Sammy." He rubs his brother's back, unnerved by the kid's silence and slight tremble. "Hey. What's wrong?"

Sam doesn't respond and doesn't meet Dean's gaze when his big brother holds him at arm's length for a better assessment.

Dean frowns at what he sees – a pale, exhausted kid still wearing the same clothes Dean left him in the day before. The kid's hair is dirty, too; his unwashed face bearing the marks of dried tears. "Sammy," he says again, trying to calm his racing heart, to push down the rising guilt. He never should've left Sam alone with John. "What happened?"

Sam blinks at him, his eyes misty even now.

"Did you sleep last night?"

Sam shrugs.

"Did you shower this morning?"

Sam shrugs again.

Dean narrows his eyes at the continued silence, at the way his brother's right arm just hangs there at his side.

"Boys..."

Sam flinches at their dad's voice and steps closer to Dean.

The fearful reaction only heightens Dean's concern. His little brother's behavior is freaking him the fuck out, causing his mind to buzz with stomach-churning possibilities. Did John do something to Sam? Did he hurt Dean's kid?

"Let's eat."

Dean nods as John and Caleb head toward the diner. He wraps his arm around Sam's shoulders, wondering if he imagined his brother's quiet gasp. He knows he didn't. "Sammy?"

Sam shakes his head, refusing to speak as he draws nearer to Dean's side, seeking the safety and shelter of his big brother.

Dean holds the kid tighter, wishing he were there last night to provide the same protection, to stop whatever happened or at least take Sam's place. He's done it before, and while he knows that's no way to live, it's how they live. How they've always lived – walking on proverbial eggshells to avoid setting off their dad.

"He's the real monster," Sam had once whispered as he had huddled in Dean's arms inside a motel's locked bathroom, and it still breaks Dean's heart. All of it.

He sighs and steers his little brother across the parking lot.

In one of the back booths, John listens to Caleb recap the previous night's hunt while Dean eats bacon and watches Sam poke at the short stack ordered for him. The kid still hasn't said anything and still hasn't moved his right arm. He nudges the syrup-soaked pancakes with a fork held in his left hand, fueling Dean's curiosity about what the hell is going on. What kind of injury is his little brother hiding under the hoodie that's at least two sizes too big? When did it happen and how? Is their dad to blame?

That's the question that makes Dean lose his appetite. He abandons the bacon and drinks his orange juice, willing John and Caleb to eat faster so they can leave. He knows Sam will tell him what happened when it's just the two of them, when there's no risk of their dad overhearing.

Time crawls as John and Caleb begin discussing the new hunt, the one they're heading to after breakfast. Dean tries to follow the conversation, but his focus wanders as he continues to check on Sam. The kid's constant shifting and pinched expression implies he's in pain...or at the very least, uncomfortable.

John notices as well, though his reaction is not sympathetic.

Sam freezes, his fork clattering to the floor when he realizes his dad is staring at him.

John scowls across the table. His youngest has been jumpy and withdrawn since last night, and it's grating on his nerves. "Jesus, Sam. What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Dean glares at the harsh tone as Sam shrinks back beside him, eyes wide. "Don't talk to him like that."

John arches an eyebrow. It's uncharacteristic for his oldest to snap at him, especially in front of another hunter, but he lets it go. "Fine." He takes a final sip of coffee and stands. "He's not my problem anyway. He's yours."

The words are as callous as they are dismissive. Sam has never been a problem, and it pisses Dean off to hear their dad describe him that way. Is that what he thinks of Dean's kid? Does he view the 12-year-old as a burden, as something they drag around the country because what else are they going to do with him?

If so, that's bullshit. Sam is Dean's life – his heartbeat, his breath – and if their dad doesn't feel the same, then he doesn't deserve him. Doesn't deserve either of them.

John tosses a few dollars on the table. He has more important things to worry about than these two pains in his ass – this moody teenager and his anxious kid. "We're heading to Rock Springs. Meet us there. No later than 2200. Got it?"

Dean sits taller to better shield Sam from John's cold stare. Their dad not even trying to hide his contempt for them. Not anymore. Not in years.

"Got it?" John repeats, towering over them.

Dean clenches his jaw, fighting the urge to respond with something he can't take back. "Yeah," he replies instead, returning his father's steely gaze as Sam reaches for his hand under the table. He squeezes it, reassuring his little brother.

John grunts like his sons aren't worth another word and turns, clearing a path as he stomps toward the exit.

Caleb watches the entire scene over the rim of his coffee mug, speechless. He knew John could be an asshole but – "Damn."

Dean snorts at the shock in his voice.

"I don't even know what to say, man."

"Don't worry about it," Dean tells him, wondering what Caleb would think if he knew the scene he just witnessed is nothing compared to what happens when there isn't an audience. "Just go. Go before he leaves without you."

Caleb nods, though he looks hesitant to leave. "Are you sure? You two gonna be okay?"

Dean glances at the kid still holding his hand beneath the table. They're always okay if they're together. "Yeah. We'll see you later tonight."

Caleb nods again and stands, adding a few dollars to John's. "Be safe."

"You, too."

Caleb smiles, but the expression is strained. Like it's difficult for him to go, difficult to pretend it's normal to leave a 16-year-old and 12-year-old by themselves in a no-name town. It's difficult – and wrong – but he does it.

Dean watches him push through the diner's door, then listens for the rumble of John's truck to fade in the distance before sliding out of the booth. "Come on," he says, waiting for Sam to join him. He pays their part of the bill – since their dad never does – and leads his little brother out to the Impala; his stride faltering when he sees Sam's duffel sitting beside the front tire. The bag discarded in the dirt, resting where it landed after their dad tossed it out the window as he left.

Sam stares at it, receiving the intended message – that he isn't worth the effort. John couldn't be bothered to put his belongings inside the car and can't be bothered with him, either.

"Dad is such a fucking prick," Dean growls, grabbing the duffel and dusting off its bottom. Sam doesn't respond, but when he reaches for the passenger door with his left hand, Dean opens it for him. He drops the duffel in the backseat as he waits for his little brother to get settled, then closes the door and crosses to the driver's side. Once he's behind the wheel, he turns to his kid.

Sam blinks at him, on the verge of tears.

Dean brushes the 12-year-old's bangs from his eyes, surprised by the degree of warmth radiating from his skin, like Sam is running a low-grade fever. The new symptom only intensifies the big brother's urgency to find out what the kid is hiding. "It's just us now, Sammy. Tell me what happened."

Sam shakes his head. It's not a refusal this time; he just doesn't have the words.

"Okay," Dean says, his voice steady even as his heart pounds. He has so many questions he's not sure where to begin...but first things first. "Are you hurt?"

Sam nods, confirming what Dean already knew.

"Your right arm?"

Sam nods again.

"Let me see."

To be continued...