Dean- Age 13
Sammy- Age 9
Sam looked at the house. It was old. Decrepit. Dilapidated. He shuddered at the thought of walking into it. He trailed in behind Dean. Their father headed toward the back, to the kitchen area.
"Dude, look at this fireplace!" Dean crowed. The fireplace was very old – from a time back before most houses had heating. It was big enough that Sam could walk in without ducking his head. "Wow." Dean stared in awe.
Sam caught sight of a beautiful staircase covered with decades worth of dust. The design was beautiful despite its fragility. He headed over to the staircase. He was within feet of the weak wooden stairs when the wood floor beneath his feet gave away and he felt himself fall into the black hole. His flashlight landed next to him, blinking rapidly a few times, but didn't go out.
Sam couldn't see through the blinding pain in his leg. He couldn't move it at all and was pretty damn sure he couldn't walk. He heard rapid footfalls from above as Dean and Dad ran to the hole above.
"Sammy, are you all right?" He heard Dean, who sounded slightly panicky, call from above.
"Uh, I think I broke my leg." Sam yelled back. "But I did find where our friends have been hiding…"
"You found the bones?" His father called out, for clarification. Sam rolled his eyes. What else would it mean?
"Yes sir." He answered.
"Good Job!" Sam soaked in the rare praise like a dried out sponge soaks up water. Sam heard footsteps as his father and brother searched for some stairs leading down to the basement.
Suddenly, they were right in the room with him.
"Oh my god, Dad, look at Sammy's leg. We gotta get him to a hospital!"
John looked over at his youngest. "Can you stand, Sam?" Sam shook his head no. John nodded in understanding. "We'll take care of it as soon as we clean this place up."
Dean stared at his father incredulously. "Dad! He just fell from about twenty feet up. He probably has more damage than just a broken leg! We need to get him to a hospital fast!"
John sighed. "And we will. As soon as we finish up here." His tone spoke of finality, but Dean wasn't done.
"So you'd rather burn bones than save your child's life. What kind of father are you?"
John turned and glared at Dean.
"Do you have something to say to me Dean?" He asked, rage burning in his eyes. Dean rolled his own eyes.
"I don't know. Why don't you have some Tequila? Maybe we could talk then, huh?" John grabbed a hold on Dean's collar and shook the thirteen yr old hard.
"Don't you ever talk like that to me again. You hear me?" Dean didn't reply. John gave his son another hard shake and dropped him unceremoniously to the floor.
Sam wasn't sure what Dean was thinking with his next move- he probably wasn't thinking at all- but Dean suddenly stuck his foot out and kicked his father in the shin.
John turned around to face his son slowly. There was a moment of tranquility before the storm erupted. John grabbed Dean by his shirt, pinned him against the wall and began punching the boy in the stomach repeatedly. Dean was in pain, but he fought back- something he had never dared to do before. Dean got in a few good kicks and punches before his father knocked him out.
It was the first time John had ever hit him while he was sober. Sam was very scared. Sure, he had always felt a little scared around his father, but he never expected his father to be so violent without and alcohol induced stupor. Before, Sam could just ride the beatings off as what the alcohol did to his father. But now, Sam knew, it wasn't the alcohol that made his father beat him- it was his father that made his father beat him.
"That'll teach him some respect." John muttered, glaring at Dean's limp form and showing no remorse for his actions. Sam felt his hatred of the man increase ten fold.
After burning the bones in the cellar, John took Sam to the Hospital. By the time they reached the place, Dean was awake again, though very grumpy and un-talkative since his fight with Dad.
They managed to get Sam's leg patched up and avoid any questions from Social Services at the hospital. Dean and Sam knew better than to tell the social services what John did to them. They knew that they would most likely end up separated in foster homes with people they had never met. Neither of them wanted that. As much pain as the brothers had to go through, it was easier since they had each other.
Dean cursed himself for provoking his father. He had been trying to help his little brother, but being rendered unconscious had done absolutely nothing to help the kid. Dean hated himself for putting Sammy through that even. The kid was already traumatized by their life enough already – he didn't need Dean intentionally calling attention to himself and abandoning him in Dean's own quest for rebellion. They couldn't afford it. Dean couldn't afford fighting with John if he could avoid it. He couldn't afford to leave his kid brother alone with that man while he was knocked out. He cursed himself again, feeling a sense of self-loathing envelop his mind the more he thought about what he did. He promised it would never happen again. He would never abandon his little brother like that ever again. He had to protect him.
Dean didn't fight back against his father since that night; not unless it was to draw attention to himself in order to protect Sammy. He merely did as his father said without questions. He knew the price of rebellion was too high for him.