Febuwhump Day 27: Shower Breakdown. Dean finds Sam in the shower after their father loses his temper.

Title: A Little Weather

Sam sat curled beneath a woven blanket in the dark room lit only by the light of the TV. He allowed his head to peer out just enough to see the screen as he flipped back and forth between the news and cartoons. The rain beat against the window panes of the cabin and rattled the glass. Sam shivered under the fabric as the chill of the storm broke through the poorly insulated walls and seeped into his bones.

He jolted sharply when a clap of thunder burst like the crack of a whip behind him. He missed Dean. If he were here, he would tell him that everything would be okay and lovingly chide him for being afraid of a little weather, but the best Sam could do was try to distract himself with asinine children's cartoons. Every time he tried to pay attention to the show, he ended up staring sightlessly at the TV while his mind was overcome with thoughts of the impending hurricane, so he gave up and flipped back to the news, where the newscasters warned of the grave dangers nearing the South Carolina city the Winchesters were staying in.

Dean was gone often now. John ordered him to work at a nearby construction site after he got into trouble one too many times and their father deemed that he needed some discipline. When he wasn't working, John dragged him on hunt after hunt, leaving him with no free time at all. Sam had seen how it ran his brother ragged and felt guilty for how little he contributed. John wouldn't permit him to help on hunts and instead of a job, he attended middle school. Despite keeping him from contributing to the family business, John didn't miss an opportunity to remind him how useless he was.

John drank more as the years went on and the verbal lashing became crueler and more frequent. Sam did his best to hide it from his brother. He already had enough on his plate as is.

Another thunder clap had Sam ducking beneath the blanket. His heart jumped to his throat before he calmed and groaned, frustrated with his own fear. He had always hated storms, the sense of doom they brought, the cold that his thin body failed to fight off, the ominous booming of thunder, and John had no patience for it.

Where is Dean? He shouldn't be out in the middle of this weather. Surely the construction crew had packed up and evacuated like any rational member of society. Sam started again when the TV turned black and the room was filled only with the patter of rain and the growl of the nearing storm.

A creak made Sam tense, but he quickly realized it came from in the room. "Dean?" Sam threw off the blanket. He stilled when he saw that in the open doorway stood John, supporting himself on the doorframe and partly hunched over.

"Dad," Sam said.

John tried to flick on the light switch, but the room remained dark. He grunted and gave up, slamming the door behind him as he stumbled to the kitchen. Sam watched him move, the lurching steps he took and the intermittent sways, an obvious sign of his inebriation. He knew better to be around his father when he was like this, but his concern for Dean was stronger than his fear of John.

John staggered in the kitchen, gathering ingredients from the pantry and refrigerator and nearly falling twice. Sam could smell the whiskey from fifteen feet away. The longer he watched, the more frustrated he grew at the man's inability to complete the simple task of preparing food.

He balled his hands into fists at his sides in an attempt to keep them from shaking. "Dad! Where is Dean? Shouldn't he be home by now?"

John seemed to notice Sam for the first time since his arrival. He squinted and glared, taking in his scrawny, indignant presence. "Pain in the ass," he muttered. He eyed Sam for a petrifying moment, as if sizing him up. Sam stood his ground, ignoring his rapid heartbeat and nauseous stomach, and waited for his father to say something more, but John only shook his head before turning back to the fridge. He pulled open the freezer door and withdrew a bottle of vodka, lazily unscrewing the cap and throwing back a hearty swig.

Sam allowed himself to regain his confidence. He took a deep breath before shouting, "We need to get Dean! It's dangerous for him to be out like this," then softly, pleadingly, "Please."

John smacked the bottle of vodka on the counter and leered at Sam. He took a heavy step in his direction and Sam resisted backing away, but suddenly his father was moving quickly, a disturbing shift from drunken to smooth, and approached Sam. Sam took a nervous step backwards. The scent of alcohol was suffocating and now that he was close, the thin light of the cabin illuminated the blood on his shirt and face. Sam's previously wild heart froze and his eyes grew wide as his father leaned in. "Dad-"

John grabbed the front of his shirt in his first and yanked him until he was dangling, only his toes sweeping against the wooden floor as he struggled. "You don't tell me what to do," John snarled.

It wasn't like his father hadn't threatened him before. There was the occasional well-timed slap, the 'I'll knock the shit out of you' phrase he so often uttered, and even when Sam was younger, John wasn't shy about spanking him. But as the alcoholism became an ever more present figure in their lives and John grew angrier, there was something different about this moment. Something terrifying and real and John felt out of control. Sam tried to pry the fingers off his shirt, but they didn't budge. "Let me go!" Sam cried.

"I'm going to teach you a lesson," John said and Sam watched as he raised his fist and hurtled it towards him. It caught him in the stomach, pushing all the air out of his lungs and causing him to violently cough. Before he could regain his breath and beg his father to stop, the second punch came, John's large hand connecting with his left eye. Sam yelped and tried to cover his face. John released his tight hold on Sam's shirt and he crashed to the floor, landing on his back and smacking his head on the hard ground. He scrambled to sit up, but before he could regain his composure, John was on top of him and hands were flying to his face. The next punch came to his nose, spouting a fountain of blood down his lips and chin. The next was his cheek, colliding with his collar bone. John swung at his mouth and a tooth was knocked loose. His mouth filled with the copper taste of blood.

"Dad!" blood and spit gurgled in his mouth. Tears streaked down his cheeks and his small hands tried to push away his father, but John didn't even register them. The man was breathing heavily, shoulders heaving up and down, and when Sam searched his eyes for any humanity, he saw the crazed, wild look in them and he felt somehow more vulnerable. There was no appealing to the mercy in those eyes, they were soulless, lost, unforgiving. Sam screwed his eyes shut and waited for more blows to come, but when the weight on his body was suddenly released, Sam peeked through swelling lids to see his father lumbering back to the kitchen.

Sam inched backwards, fearful that any sudden movement would catch his father's attention and drag him back to the assault, but he was elsewhere now, occupied with his current task of making a sandwich and Sam took the opportunity to jump up and sprint to his room. He stared at the closed door. He was in his room now, safe, but his body was tense, ready for his father to change his mind and break in with new invigoration. Slowly, Sam stepped away. He retreated to the bathroom and tried to inspect his forming bruises and fresh cuts in the mirror, but he couldn't make out anything in the darkness, so he reached for the shower and turned on the faucet. He was relieved to find that the water began splashing down despite the lack of power. He waited in the drafty bathroom until it turned warm, then heaved himself into the stall.

The water was almost uncomfortably hot so that the pellets hitting his skin burned. He stood in the stream, forgetting to clean his hair or wash himself, resting one hand on the wall and staring blankly forward.

Dean was out there, alone in the storm, and his own father wasn't concerned about his wellbeing. Sam was trapped in this frigid cabin with a father he was terrified of. He could sneak out a window and try to find Dean, but when he returned, John would undoubtedly beat him again and he didn't want Dean to see.

Sam delicately touched his new black eye and hissed, drawing his hand away at the pain that shot through his face. When had he gotten so weak? Was he always this expendable? John seemed to love Dean in some messed up, distant sense. He would never pummel Dean this way, but Sam was unnecessary, a pain. He wondered if this was how Dean saw him as well. When he came home after a long week of demanding work followed by a draining monster hunt to Sam fast asleep after a day at school, did he think his little brother was a burden?

For the first time, Sam realized in his daze, he had gotten in the shower fully dressed. His clothes were drenched and weighed him down. He folded to the ground, with his hands in his lap, he sobbed. The tears flowed freely, mixing with the water, and he allowed himself to feel all the pain radiating from his body. It burned as the hot water struck the open slits on his face where his skin was cut open.

He wept, unbridled, in the privacy of the small room. It was shameful, not something his brother or father would ever do, but there was no one around to judge him for it, so he continued. He thought of all his failures, all the times his father cursed at him and called him useless, all the disappointed looks his brother had given him. He let himself fan the flame of self-hatred and guilt because he didn't have it in him to fight it.

Sam didn't notice when the bathroom door squeaked open or hear the footsteps as they approached him.

"Sammy?"

Sam nearly leapt to his feet, back pressed against the tile wall, fear engulfing his entire body when he realized there was no way to escape. He melted into the corner, trying to make himself as small as possible, and held his hands over his head.

"Hey, whoa, what's going on?"

It wasn't the harsh, slurred voice of his father.

Sam peered through his fingers. "Dean?" he asked softly.

Dean stepped into the shower, not concerned with the water on his already sopping wet clothes. "Why are you crying?" he turned the water off, then placed a hand on Sam's shoulder and tried to see his face in the dark. Sam melted into the touch, falling into his brother's arms.

His cries were muffled in Dean's shirt. His shoulders shook and he clutched the fabric of Dean's flannel. Dean held him, the back of his head cupped in his hand, and murmured kind words Sam couldn't make out.

Sam pulled back just far enough to speak. "Dad hit me," he admitted. He didn't plan on telling Dean. His brother already had enough on his plate without Sam adding his petty problems onto the pile, but safe in his brother's arms, his defenses fell.

Dean froze, his whole body becoming stiff. "He what?" his voice filled with stunned rage.

Sam twitched at the aggression, instinctively preparing for another assault.

Dean relaxed and pet Sam's hair. "I'm not gonna hurt you."

Sam was embarrassed for ever thinking Dean might harm him. "I-I was scared because you were out and the news was talking about a hurricane. I told Dad we needed to get you."

"Shit. I'm sorry. A tree fell down and they closed the road so I had to walk back. I should have come sooner. I know you don't like storms."

"I didn't know what to do," Sam whimpered.

"I know. You didn't do anything wrong," Dean soothed. Sam felt his hand tremble as it brushed through his hair and realized that Dean was fighting back fury.

"Please don't do anything. You'll make him more mad. It's my fault," Sam couldn't stand it if he could Dean in trouble too.

"Listen, Sammy," Dean said seriously, "I should have done something sooner. Dad's not Dad anymore. It was never supposed to get this bad. There is nothing you could have done to deserve this. It's not your fault. It never was."

Sam whispered, "Are you mad at me?"

"No. I promise. I won't let anything like this ever happen to you again. Now I need you to pack a bag and I'm going to call Bobby to come get us. Okay?"

Sam nodded numbly and Dean gave him one last quick squeeze before pulling away. "We're gonna be okay. Do you trust me?"

"Yes," Sam answered honestly. He would always put his faith in Dean. If his big brother said something was true, he would believe him.

Dean stepped out of the shower and helped Sam out by his hand, making sure he didn't slip. He pulled a towel off the bar on the wall and threw it over Sam's hand, tousling his hair. Sam giggled.

When Dean turned to walk away, Sam grabbed his arm. "Dean, wait."

Dean tilted his head and waited for him to continue.

"Are you sure? I know that you get along with Dad and if you want to stay, it's okay. I can try to do better. I won't make him mad again," he silently begged for his brother to argue.

Dean held him by his shoulders. "I don't care about him. He can go fuck himself for all I care. It's you and me, right? So we're gonna go to Bobby's and we're gonna forget about Dad. I told you, I'm going to keep you safe. That's all I care about."