You couldn't really say that John Winchester hated his sons. On the contrary, he valued his children's lives highly. But that didn't stop him from getting so drunk that he beat the shit out them. And that didn't stop him from losing control every once in a while, and beating them even when he was sober.
And that didn't mean he had to like Sam. Sam had been the reason Mary had died. Right? Right. Even Missouri had said so. But John could never hate his youngest son, as much as he wanted to, because he was also Mary's child.
But John hated the fact that Sam had been reminding him less and less of Mary each day, and reminding him more of himself. As much as being reminded of Mary annoyed him and only made him sad, it was worse that he seemed to be losing the memory of her. Sure, there were times that he wished he couldn't remember her and then would drink until he couldn't, but she was the only woman he had ever loved and he refused to let her memory fade completely. So the fact that Sam was becoming more like him angered John.
John took another sip of his drink, disappointed that it was nearly empty already, even though it had been full this morning. Where was the brat anyway? John glanced at the clock- 10:34. Sam knew he was always to be home by ten. John was getting fed up with the boy's behavior. Getting in the pick-up truck, John drove to the house of one of Sam's friends- Bobby was it? - and got out. There weren't any cars in the driveway, and the man guessed the parents were out of the house.
He rang the doorbell twice before someone finally answered. The door revealed a teenage boy, about Sam's age- maybe a little older. Past the boy in the doorframe, John could see a group of teenagers sitting in the living room and, more importantly, his own son.
"Mr. Winchester! Uh, I thought Sam was spending the night over here…?" Bobby started. John gave the teen a glance before pushing past him and entering the living room. Sam, who had been in the middle of a great game of poker with what was certainly a winning hand, froze when he caught sight of his father and his stomach knotted up.
'What is he doing here? He was supposed to be busy all night!' John had specifically told his sons to keep out of the house tonight, so Sam had gone to spend the night at Bobby's and Dean was out on a hunt. By himself.
"Dad? What are you doing here?" Sam questioned. John's cloudy eyes narrowed and he grabbed his son firmly by his elbow. Everyone else in the room was watching, but John didn't seem to notice.
"What am I doing here? What are you doing here? You were supposed to be home an hour ago!" There was a slight slur to John's speech.
"You told me not to come home tonight. Remember, you said you were having some people-" His father effectively cut him off by grabbing a hold on his shoulders and giving him a hard shake.
"What have I told you about lying?" He backhanded the boy. The other teens in the room gasped.
"I'm swear, I'm telling you the truth! " Sam pleaded, struggling against his father's grip. John only held on tighter.
"Like hell you are! Stop fucking lying!"
Sam looked down at the floor and mumbled something incoherent. John gave his son another harsh shake. "What was that?"
"Sorry sir. It won't happen again." Sam said again, louder this time. The teenager looked up at his father from under his too-long bangs while the older man scowled at him in disgust.
"Yea right." John muttered. The oldest Winchester glanced around the room at Sam's frightened friends. One of the girls was actually crying. John scoffed at her.
"Let's go." He grabbed his son by his forearm and couldn't help but notice how the boy winced at the motion. John's eyes narrowed and he pulled his son's arm out and pulled the sleeve up for a closer inspection. Sam's eyes widened as he realized what his father was about to find out and desperately tried to yank his arm back in vain.
"What the fuck is this?" John yelled as he saw Sam's newly healed scars. Sam didn't respond. "Answer me!" His father ordered.
"Well what does it look like!" Sam snapped, raising his own voice. Uh-oh. He shouldn't have done that. He had more self-control than that. So why the hell did he just snap? And why the hell did he go and yell at his father? Yes, Sam knew he would regret this.
John was silent for a moment, but Sam could practically see the rage shedding off of him in strong currents. Sam took several steps back as his father advanced on him.
Suddenly the room was filled with sounds of the garage door opening. John stopped moving towards his youngest son and turned to Bobby instead, with a questioning look on his face.
"That your parents?" He asked. Bobby looked to dazed to answer, but didn't have to as his parents came in through the garage door a minute later.
Bobby's father paused, taking in the situation in the living room. Apparently his son had some friends over… Marissa was crying, Danielle was comforting her friend, Bobby was standing by the still-open front door, Sam was leaning against the far wall with his head down, and John was in the middle of the room, looking back at him.
"John? I thought Sam was spending the night here?" He unknowingly repeated his son's earlier words.
John shrugged. "Sorry Dan. Change of plans. Sam is needed at home so I came over to get him, I hope you don't mind." The Winchester knew how to lie quite easily.
Dan looked over at the younger Winchester, who was still staring at the floor, with worry. "Are you okay, Sam?" The boy in question looked up.
"Oh yeah, Mr. Miller, I'm fine." Bobby, Marissa, and Danielle all stared at him in shock. Sam silently pleaded for his friends not to say anything. Marissa just started crying again, but Sam let out the breath he didn't know he had been holding when no one ratted him out.
His father also seemed satisfied by the lack of response from the other teens. He strode across the room and grabbed his son by his upper arm and they headed to the door. He paused for a moment to exchange good-byes with the Millers, and Sam took that moment to speak with Bobby, who was now standing right next to him.
"Don't say anything." He whispered softly, so that not even his father could hear him. Bobby gave him an incredulous look.
"Sam! He hurt you! Someone needs to know…" He responded in the same low tone as his friend.
"No. No one needs to know. Promise me you won't tell anyone, Bobby." Bobby looked at him like he was insane. "Bobby! Please." Sam added as his father started to go. Bobby swallowed hard and mentally berated himself before nodding.
"Thanks." Was the last thing Bobby heard before his friend was all but dragged out the front door.
The entire car ride home, John was silent, and that scared Sam more than yelling would have. It was as if John was forming some sort of plan on how to punish his son…
And he was. As soon as they got home, John took out his belt. This was John's idea of structured punishment. Half an hour later Sam found himself stuffed in a dark closet with nothing but his own thoughts.
He wasn't even sure what John had been punishing him for. His father had told him to stay out of the house tonight, because he was having some friends over. Sam dutifully made sure that he could sleep over Bobby's house and obeyed his father. So why did his back sting so much?
He guessed it to be because he had yelled at the man. Surely his father wouldn't give a damn about his scars? Of course not. If he cared about Sam, he wouldn't beat him.
Sam sighed. His back felt like it was on fire. The sixteen-year-old wished, not for the first time, that his father had chosen to 'spare the rod'… and the belt… and the fists…
Sam stopped himself before he could go any further with that thought. He put his head down in his knees, forced to sit with his long legs tucked into his body in the cramped closet. He wished he could fall asleep, but every time he closed his eyes he saw his father's angry face. Must the man torture him even through sleep? Wasn't it enough what he did during the day?
Several hours later, John came back and unlocked the door. Sam briefly wondered why he was back so soon, but found out a few seconds later.
"Get up. You have two minutes to pack."
"What happened?"
"One of your stupid friends called the police. Now hurry up or you won't be allowed to pack at all." Sam swallowed and nodded, dashing upstairs as fast as he could. He was able to get his stuff in record time, seeing as he didn't have too many things to pack anyway, and got all the stuff Dean had left behind as well. Dean had expected to come back here, so he had left at least half of his belongings.
Sam rushed out to the truck and climbed in. His father was already in the drivers seat waiting for him. Neither of them said anything as they headed to the highway.
…
Dean was flying down the road, enjoying his freedom while he still had it. Soon enough, he pulled up to the house his family had been staying at, and froze. There was no sign of his father's truck, only a police car and a gathering crowd. Okay…
Dean got out of the car and joined the crowd. He saw Sam's friend, Bobby, by one of the squad cars, apparently being questioned. This only served to heighten Dean's confusion and worry.
"What happened?" He asked a man standing in the crowd.
"Supposedly some kid called in an abuse case to this address, but the house is empty." Dean's eyebrows furrowed at the answer. He walked over to Bobby just as the officer was leaving.
"Hey Bobby!" The boy jumped slightly and looked at him with uncertainty before recognizing him.
"Hey, your Sam's brother. Hey Officer-" Dean covered his mouth quickly and led him away from the scene.
"Bobby, I don't want any attention drawn over here, but I need you to tell me what happened." Dean spoke calmly, trying to ease his own fears.
"Well, Sam was supposed to sleep over my house tonight, but your dad came over to get him, and he just kinda started pushing him around. Dude, it was scary. And then he pulled up Sam's sleeves and there were all these scars." Bobby ran his fingers on his own forearms as if to illustrate his point.
"Ah man, and you called the fucking cops! Is Sam okay?"
Bobby shrugged. "He was okay when he left."
"Then why did you call the damn police?"
"Your dad hit him! Why wouldn't I?" Dean just walked away from the kid. He was beginning to get a headache…
Unfortunately, a police officer walked over to him. "Are you Dean Winchester?" Dean seriously considered lying, but figured that they'd find out anyway, since his family had been living here long enough for some people to recognize him, damn it all…
"Yes sir."
"Do have any idea of the whereabouts of your brother and father?" Dean shook his head.
…
"Dad, did you call Dean?" Sam barely heard his father mumble "Oh Shit!" under his breath before catching the cell phone that was tossed to him. He immediately dialed Dean's cell.
…
The police officer was about to continue with the interrogation when Dean's cell went off.
"Hello?"
"Dean, it's Sam. Where are you?"
Fuck. The officer was watching him closely, trying to see if one of his 'missing persons' was on the phone. Dean would have to be very careful with what he said.
"Hey man. I'm at my house. The police are here."
"Oh shit. What are they doing?"
"Well, apparently my little brother and my dad are missing. This kid Bobby called them."
"Bobby called? Fuck! (Faintly: Watch your language!) Sorry sir. He promised me he wouldn't say anything! And why are you talking like that?"
"Yeah. The police are right here. Where are you?"
"Oh. Um… I think we're heading north on I-95. Ow! Uh… Hey, Dean, I got to go. Just drive north on 95 and call back later… I guess."
Dean's eyes clouded in worry at his brother's words. "Uh… sure, but, hey, are you all right?" The cop perked his head up and looked at him with suspicion.
"Yeah, I just have to go. (Faintly: Hang up the phone!) Later."
Sam hung up. Dean cursed under his breath, wondering why his father had been so insistent that Sam hang up and worrying that they had run into trouble.
The policeman finished his interrogation with Dean lying through his teeth, and immediately the Winchester jumped into the Impala and got on the interstate highway. It was almost 6am before he found his family staying at a Motel 6 in Waterboro, South Carolina.
The first thing he noticed was Sam's bruising. There were bruises on his face, and when his little brother changed his shirt, Dean noticed bruises on his arms and shoulders, accompanied by welts on his back.
"Dude, you wanna tell me what happened tonight?"
Sam looked up at him with sad eyes. "Not really." Dean scowled at him. That answer did nothing to satisfy his confusion.
They're dad was out trying to find a Wendy's, McDonalds, or anywhere that will give you food at 6 in the morning really.
Silence reigned between the brothers before Sam spoke again, moments later.
"Are you sure it was Bobby who called the cops?"
"Yeah man. I saw him at the house talking to the cops and everything. He even told me that he called them. He said that dad saw your scars?"
Sam looked down. "Yeah. It was weird. He told me to stay out of the house, so I asked Bobby if I could sleepover his place. And then, when I was over there, Dad came barging and got mad at me for being out past curfew. Then he found the scars and got really pissed, but Bobby's parents came home so he couldn't do anything. Man, I asked Bobby to keep his mouth shut, and he promised that he would. Now Dad's even more pissed."
Dean nodded. He felt sorry for his little brother. Their dad already picked on him anyway, blaming him for Mary's death and just about everything else that ever went wrong. Sam received the most beatings, and Dean could just see that his brother was sinking slowly into depression. The suicide attempt was enough to tell him that.
"Sam, are you okay?"
Sam shook his head at his brother. "It just keeps happening Dean, I can't stop it. No matter how hard I try to do what he says, he's still going to hit me, isn't he?" The teen was near tears now. The worst of it was that Dean knew that answer to his brother's question. There were never any right answers with John. The man was a sadist and needed to beat his sons- he couldn't help it. And his children couldn't do anything about it. That thought alone nearly brought Dean to tears himself. But Dean never cried. Never.
…
(a few weeks later)
Sam stared at the clock intensely, watching the second hand make its way around the circle once again. The bell was due to ring in exactly three minutes. How the hell had it gotten so late already? Sam wasn't really paying attention to his Physics teacher's lecture on Quantum Mechanics. He was more focused in on the clock than anything else, silently pleading for the minutes to last longer than he knew they would. All too soon, the bell rang and school was over.
Sam walked home slowly. He tried to prolong his actual arrival at his house as long as he could. Sam got out of school at 2:30, his father usually made sure he was off of work by 3 in order to get ready for any hunts or to do research, but Dean didn't get off of his current day job until nearly 5. Sam found that if he walked home the long way, it would take about an hour to get home, maybe an hour and a half if he walked slowly. Then he'd only have 30 minutes to be stuck with his father as opposed to 2 hours.
Although John often questioned why his son arrived home so late when the school let out so early, Sam really didn't care. He wanted to spend as little time as possible anywhere near the man.
Every day it was the same. He'd come home from school to a drunken father, who seemed to be drinking more with each passing day. They would get in a fight over something stupid, and John would beat the shit out of him. If they couldn't find something to argue over, John would go back to the ever-lasting topic of Sam being responsible for his mother's death. The man just couldn't seem to get over it. When Dean came home from work every day, he'd try to treat his brother's wounds, though he really couldn't do anything for most of the pain except apply some ice to the bruises.
Dean was worried. This was beginning to be an every day occurrence, finding his brother unconscious, or on the brink of unconsciousness. He was amazed that his brother wasn't stuck in a hospital more than he was, considering what the boy went through nearly every day. Whenever he could, Dean took the brunt of his father's anger, but his day job was a necessity at the time being. John spent all the money from his paychecks on either alcohol or gambling, not really considering the fact that he had two sons who needed to eat. But Dean hated the fact that he couldn't be there for his kid brother, always fearing that one of these days his father was going to go from being a hunter to being a murderer.
One night Dean came home to his father gone and his brother in the bathroom. At first, he was worried as his mind flashed back to a scene only a couple of weeks earlier. Dean walked over to the bathroom and nudged the door open. What he saw nearly made him pass out again, but Dean clung to consciousness and tried not to throw up. Sammy, innocent, sweet 16-yr-old Sammy, was on the bathroom floor, clutching a razor to his wrist. Dean opened the bathroom door cautiously. He hoped for the best – that Sam would be fine and would yell at him for walking in on him in the restroom – but he expected the worst – finding Sam with that razor once again clutched in his hand… with his blood once again flowing on the bathroom tile…
Sam didn't look up as his brother entered. He didn't seem to be physically harmed to the point where it was life threatening, and his arms weren't bleeding. Not from where Dean could see anyway.
Dean walked over to his little brother. He carefully placed a gentle hand on his brother's shoulder, surprised when the teen jumped. Sam turned to look at the twenty-one year old and Dean could see the streaks that the tears left running down his cheeks. Immediately his concern heightened.
"What's wrong, Sam?" He asked, searching the adolescent's eyes for answers.
"God, Dean," Sam started as a new wave of fresh tears exploded. Dean felt helpless as he watched his brother visibly breakdown. Sam didn't even try to keep the tears back or hide the truth of his misery from his older brother.
"Why is it that even when I do everything he says, he still finds a reason to get mad? He's still going to be pissed when I come home and he's still going to punish me." Sam cried. Dean's anger and hatred towards his father increased 10 fold as he pulled the broken boy into a tight hug and let the teenager cry into his shoulder.
"Nothing is ever going to be right, is it?"
"Shhh…. Don't say that, Sammy. I will be all right. It will." Sam looked up at his brother. He wished he could believe those words. He really did. But the truth was that he didn't believe it was going to be all right. How could it? It wasn't like he could go anywhere to get away from the man who terrorized him day in and day out. And John wasn't going anywhere. They were stuck with him.
The next afternoon, Dean came home to police cars and immediately jumped to conclusions. His first thought was that John had finally gone over the edge and become a homicidal maniac in all his drunken glamour. But young man forced himself to calm down and think through the possible circumstances as he pulled into the driveway. It could be another Bobby Miller incident. Hopefully.
Dean let out a breath of relief when he caught sight of his younger brother, looking rather good for Sam, who usually looked like shit by the time Dean got home (something that Dean cursed his father a million times over every day for).
"Sam, what happened?" He asked, walking up to the teenager.
"Dad is a drunken idiot who went and had himself arrested for public intoxication. Six weeks in rehab. The cops are still trying to figure out where I'm going." He looked at the ground and mumbled something else.
"What?" Dean leaned in closer in hopes of hearing the solemn adolescent's incoherent speech better.
"They're talking about foster care, Dean." The words were whispered and sent a jolt of fear racing down Dean's spine.
"Hell no!" Dean went off to talk to the cops, eager to get this whole mess taken care of without losing his brother.
It ended up being that Dean and Sam had to go to a hearing in order for Dean to gain temporary custody of his brother. Dean thanked god that the police waited until after his 21st birthday to arrest his father, seeing as that was the legal age for gaining custody of a minor.
Dean let out a breath as they exited the courthouse, and let himself smile. A real smile. It would be six weeks of him and Sam staying in one town without moving around anywhere and without John constantly breathing down there necks with his sickly sweet alcoholic stink. Nope. They had 42 days of freedom.
Dean chanced a glance at his brother. Apparently, Sam realized the great luck in their situation as well, and had a smile that lit up the entire sky. Dean couldn't remember the last time Sam had worn a smile so big. Probably never. Sam had always been rather depressed, even as a kid, which wasn't surprising given their home life.
That night, Dean's high spirits gave him the confidence to make dinner on his own. After all, it was his job to take care of his teenage brother. But when the smoke detector began to go off and his visibility began to thin through the kitchen smog, Dean decided it would probably have been better to just go to Wendy's or Sonic.
"What the hell happened in here?" Sam yelled, coming into the kitchen after being disturbed by the smoke alarm. The younger boy acted quickly, turning the stove off and putting the smoldering pot in the sink under cold running water before opening a window to let the smoke out. He turned to his older brother, silently asking for an explanation for the commotion.
Damn it. How did Sam do that? Dean felt like a guilty child found with his hand stuck in the cookie jar. "Um… I was trying to make dinner." Dean muttered. Sam stared at him for a second and Dean thought the boy hadn't heard him. He was about to repeat himself when Sam burst out in roaring laughter that brought tears to the younger boys eyes.
"What?" Dean looked at him with wide eyes, wondering what was so funny about him trying to cook dinner. Sam merely laughed harder.
"Do you…do you…" Sam tried to speak but couldn't get enough breath in to speak the words through his shots of laughter.
"Spit it out Sammy!" Dean said, though he himself was laughing at his brother's laughter. Apparently it was contagious.
Finally, Sam settled down enough to speak what was on his mind. "Do you remember my 9th birthday?" He had a grin a mile wide, and his jaw was beginning to ache with all the smiling, but he couldn't stop even if he wanted to.
Dean shrugged. "Yeah… I got you The Nightmare Before Christmas and you couldn't sleep for a week afterward." Dean grinned at the memory. Sam's own grin dropped for a moment to glare at his sibling.
"The nightmares weren't 'cause the movie, you jackass. If there was any reason I had nightmares it was because of the damn hunting. But that's not the point. Do you remember what happened when you tried to bake a cake for me?" Sudden realization showed on Dean's face, as he finally understood what his brother was getting at.
"You mean the time I burnt the house down?" Sam nodded and they both grinned slightly.
"So… you were going to try to duplicate the memory?" Sam asked, looking around the kitchen with one eyebrow raised. "What? Did you forget that you couldn't cook?"
"Hey! I used to have to cook for your lazy ass all the time! I made you spaghetti-o's all the time when we were younger." Dean protested in his own defense.
Sam looked at him skeptically. "Yeah, but you burnt them." He reminded. His brother grinned at him sheepishly and merely shrugged his shoulders.
"Whatever. How about we go get some food?" He motioned towards the door. Sam got up.
"As long as I get to drive." Dean snorted.
"You wish."
…
Sam was awakened the next morning to the telephone ringing. The damn thing was too loud for his tastes. The boy looked over at his brother, hoping Dean would get up and get it himself, but Dean didn't even move as the harsh sound of ringer went off again. Dean had always been a heavy sleeper, able to sleep through some of the loudest alarms, whereas Sam, on the other hand, awoke instantly to even the smallest of noises.
"Hello?" He slurred sleepily into the receiver.
"May I speak with Mr. Dean Winchester?" The voice on the other line requested.
"Well, I can try to get him up for you, but I'm not making any promises here. Hold on just a sec." Sam placed the receiver down on the counter for a moment, heading over to his brother.
"Dean?" He tried, "Dean, get your ass up!" Dean didn't even move. Sam sighed and reached down, grabbing a shoe from the floor and threw it at his brother. It missed and slammed against the wall with a loud thud that echoed throughout the room. Again, Dean didn't even flinch at the noise. Sam groaned, picked up the other shoe and tried once again to get his aim right. The sneaker landed smack dab in the middle of his brother's face and the older boy shot up off the couch. He looked around for his attacker but only found Sam, laughing his head off.
Dean scowled at the teen and threw the smelly sneaker back at his brother, who easily dodged the assault. "What the hell?" The angry twenty-one year old yelled at his brother.
Sam took a moment to calm himself down in order to get the words out. "Phone for you." Dean's mouth fell open.
"You woke me up for that?" Sam shrugged. "Man, you are so dead." Dean threatened. Sam ignored him and walked into the kitchen, suddenly hungry now that all thoughts of sleep were gone. He could hear Dean now speaking to the woman on the phone, but didn't care to pay much attention to the conversation.
Being a much better cook than his older brother, Sam made himself a fried egg and put it on one of the store-bought bagels. Thank god they had gone shopping last night and had more to eat than just leftover pizza or sugary cereals. Well, they did have sugary cereals, like Frosted Flakes, Quaker Sugar Puffs, Golden Grahams, and Captain Crunch All Berries, but they were all for Dean, who, much to Sam's disgust, added about a tablespoon of sugar to them after he had poured them in his bowl.
Sam had just sat down to eat his breakfast when Dean came in.
"Hey guess what?" He had a slight smirk on his face. The smile wasn't big enough to be truly amused, but at least this wasn't going to be bad news.
"Hmmm?" Sam asked, his mouth stuffed with bagel and egg.
"Dad has to stay an extra 2 weeks for psychological analysis. Supposedly he had a mental breakdown."
Sam snorted. "He's been having mental breakdowns for years. Maybe they'll finally lock him up in the loony bin."
Dean just shook his head. "I don't know, bro. They're just doing an analysis, so that probably means they're still going to let him go." Sam looked slightly disheartened. He finished his breakfast, obsessively placing his plate in the dishwasher as he did so, before grabbing his backpack and accepting the ride Dean offered. Sure, he was old enough to drive himself, but the only problem was the lack of a VEHICLE, and Dean would rather die then let him drive the Impala. John's pickup was still in the shop for a crash he'd gotten in weeks earlier.
Being a junior in high school, Sam was very much exposed to the Colleges and Careers Program the school offered. Because of this, Sam began to think about what College would be like and what the future might hold if he did go to one. And thus, Sam started to build up his plans for departure. He wasn't stupid. He knew John wasn't going to be gone forever; eventually his father would come home and regain custody of Sam and the family image he currently shared with his brother while the two were living on their own would be shattered.
Sam wanted, no, he NEEDED to escape this fate. He wasn't destined to live with his father his entire life, taking the abuse and joining in on the hunts. He wasn't destined to spend the rest of his life as his father's scapegoat and merely sit in the shadows until John went overboard and killed him or he was killed on one of their many hunting expeditions. Whichever happened first. Either way, it was a feeble demise.