Sam was sitting on the bed reading a book when his dad burst through the motel door and made him jump, dropping the book. Sam knew just by the way John walked that he was drunk. Immediately his guard was up, because a drunk dad, was a dangerous dad.

Sam kept his eyes on John, tracking him to where he leaned over the table to shake off the dizziness from too much whiskey. John turned around and seemed to remember his boys were supposed to be there.

"Where's your brother?" He barked when his eyes locked on his youngest.

Sam jumped at his dad's loud voice and swallowed before answering. "Dean's out hustlin' pool."

John nodded his head and said, seemingly to himself. "Good boy."

And then Sam noticed his father's eyes zero in on the something and turned to see what he was looking at; it was the bag of weapons he was supposed to clean.

And didn't.

Shit

"Sam, what the hell is this?" John growled as he unzipped the bag and pulled out a still bloody machete from their last hunt. "You disobeyin' orders?"

"No, sir." Sam rushed out. "I just forgot."

"Can't even follow a goddamn simple order." John snarled while shaking his head.

Even though Sam knew his dad was in no mood to be fucked with, his temper flared. Dean had always told him to keep a lid on it, that it'd only get him trouble. But Sam had simply forgot to clean them and his dad was an ass. He opened his mouth to apologize to placate John but his stupid mouth had other plans.

"I don't know why I have'ta do them." Sam spit out, his voice raising. "I didn't even use the damn weapons. You had me sittin' in the car like a little kid while you and Dean took out the vamp nest."

By the time he got finished with his speech he noticed John's face getting red and that vein by his temple pulse.

And then Sam realized what he just did.

"Bein' disrespectful too, huh?" John snorted as he stalked towards his youngest son. "What does that get ya, Samuel?"

Fuck.

The shit was about to hit the fan

Sam knew with his dad being drunk and the mood he was in it wouldn't be just getting his butt busted. It would mean John would beat the hell out of him till he couldn't even think about sitting for a week or more. Usually Dean took the brunt of their father's anger, trying to make sure his little brother was out of the line of fire.

Sam had seen his dad take a belt to Dean's naked back, whipping him hard enough to leave wicked stripes behind that would turn an ugly black and blue combo before fading into the varying stages of green and yellow.

But Dean wasn't there to save him and John was reaching for him with hands that would hurt.

"No!" Sam shouted as John grabbed is arm in a vice grip. "Don't!"

"Don't tell me no, boy." John growled, jerking his son off the bed. "You're gonna get what's comin' to you."

Being fourteen and gaining height, just behind Dean, he was lanky, didn't have the bulk that his dad and brother did. Sam tried to jerk his arm away, dig his socked feet into the floor, but it didn't phase John in the least bit. His bruising grip pulled Sam behind him till they were standing in the middle of the room where John would have plenty of swinging room, because that's undoubtedly where the situation was going.

"Wanna ignore orders," John started as he tucked Sam under his arm and across his hip. "then get mouthy with me, being a disrespectful whiny shit. I'm gonna give you somethin' to whine about."

And then John laid into Sam's vulnerable ass.

Sam inhaled sharply at the first swat, squeezing his eyes shut tightly against the pain. His dad was using all his strength, putting his shoulder into it, creating a deep ache in the muscles of his butt with his hand alone.

It burned so bad, even through his sweatpants, made Sam's hands scramble to hold onto something. Unfortunately, in his position that meant grabbing his dad's shirt in a death grip as he squirmed around. No matter how he tried to twist John always found his target.

"Please, dad!" Sam pleaded. "I'm sorry!"

"Nuh huh," John's winded voice replied. "I'm not dad right now, I'm sir. And you ain't sorry yet but I'm gonna make sure you are by the time I'm done with you."

At that declaration John got a better grip on Sam, leaning him even further over his hip, and started the searing swats on his thighs. With that Sam starting crying, tears dripping down his nose onto the floor he was staring at.

"Got the nerve to be a smartass," John barked out a humorless laugh, keeping up his painful rhythm. "Whatcha think about that now, boy?"

"I won't do it again." Sam cried. "I'm sorry da-sir."

Then suddenly he was pulled upright, his head spinning from the blood that had rushed to his head from being bent so far over John's hip. Sam sniffled, wiping snot on the back of his hand, thankful that it was over- then he was being dragged across the room again.

"Sir?"

"Ain't done with you yet."

Sam's eyes widened; his father ripped his duffel open to retrieve the paddle he kept for such occasions. If he thought dad's hand hurt, the paddle would be wicked. He started to struggle to get out of the death grip around his arm.

"Don't, dad!"

John's glare snapped to Sam. "Again with that don't."

The man shook his head at his son's stupidity then released his grip on Sam's arm. Before he could back away, Sam was slapped so hard across the face that he cried out. The burn went through the pores of his skin to settle deeply into the meat of his cheek.

John sat heavily on the bed to snatch a still shocked Sam over his left knee. The kid was getting lanky with long legs so he grabbed Sam's hips and hauled him more over his knee so his ass was in perfect position to take some damage with the paddle.

The Winchester patriarch grunted as he jerked his struggling son's pants and briefs down past his knees.

"Quit squrimin', Sam. I haven't even started yet."

Sam laid still because he didn't want to make anything worse than it was already going to be. "You don't have to use the paddle. I'll clean the weapons right now."

"Oh, your gonna clean them," John laid the first hit with a loud smack! "I guarantee that, boy". and by the end of the ominous promise he had to raise his voice over Sam's yelling.

The fourteen year old Winchester jerked with every smack of the smooth wooden paddle. As John tanned his ass, Sam sobbed. He didn't have the pain tolerance Dean did, he'd only started hunting and hadn't had any serious injuries. Besides, Sam thought grimly, his older brother had been beaten far longer than he had.

"Sir-I-I can't" Sam pleaded. "Hurts!"

"Good." John spit out. "Seems you learn lessons better through your ass."

With that the inebriated man upped the level of pain by raising his arm higher before bringing it down. Each hit sounded like a gunshot throughout the small rundown motel room.

Sam's legs kicked out of pure instinct to get away from the incredible nauseating pain. The paddle created an immediate sting that turned to deep muscle burn before the next swat could land. And it went on…

And on

And on

On

….and

On….

The boy's voice was hoarse from screaming, begging, for it to stop but his dad just kept swinging and smacking. The kicker? No matter how loud he shouted nobody would be coming to his rescue. The ramshackle motel they were staying at was in the shitty part of town where everybody hurried along the streets, minding their own business and pretending they couldn't see anything.

There'd be no witnesses to Sam Winchester's soul jarring beating.

And that's how he felt; his soul being torn into little pieces because his own dad was inflicting so much pain cause he was drunk off his ass. The man that was supposed to protect him, teach him how to be a man, the destroyer of their three person family.

Sam's voice became so wrecked he couldn't let out another sound except a deep groan that resonated from his chest. And he was exhausted, so tired his eyes drooped even through the hellish beating he was taking.

Finally, Sam couldn't take anymore.

He retreated inside himself and laid limp over his father's knee. His body rocked forward with every paddle collision to his bare skin from his butt, down to his thighs and when dad missed his target, Sam's lower back where the skin was thinner. His hearing sounded like he was in a tunnel, strikes reverberating, bouncing around in his skull, pounding his ear drums and then made a home in his brain. And still, it went on.

And on

Crack!

and on

Crack!

On….

Crack!

And

Crack!

….on

Then only harsh breathing between father and son.

"Why do you make me do this, Sam?" John asked so quietly his son didn't know if he had really said it.

Sam couldn't answer properly. He whispered a mantra of sorry sorry sorry, so sorry.

He heard the paddle being dropped to the floor and then he was being dumped along with it, whimpering as his poor ass made contact with the scratchy carpet.

And then John left, slamming the door behind him.

CHAPTER 2:

Dean whistled as he walked up to the crummy motel they had been staying in for the last week. His hustle wasn't so bad, made four hundred bucks off some more sap who didn't know when to stop. His whistle immediately stopped as he looked up and saw John's truck parked out front of their room.

Damn, old man wasn't supposed to be back for another few days.

Before opening the door Dean straightened his shoulders, bracing himself to whatever he'd be walking into. Blowing out a quick breath, Dean opened the door and was met by silence.

"Dad?" He called out. "Sam?"

His heart finally started to slow down as he heard the shower turn off and a minute later a still damp little brother came out the bathroom.

"Where's dad?" Dean asked.

Sam shrugged his shoulders. "Don't know." he croaked out.

Dean noticed Sam didn't move from the door of the bathroom and he stood hunched over a bit. "What's the matter with you? You gettin' sick?"

"Nothin'."

The eighteen year old eyed his brother before shrugging his own shoulders and heading to the refrigerator to see what he could find to eat. Dean's older brother senses were screaming at him that something was wrong, bothering him, so he turned to say something more but stopped short.

"What the fuck, Sam!" Dean blurted.

Sam's lower back was littered with blood splotches just beneath the skin that was an angry red-purple around the edges.

Dean rushed over to inspect the bruises.

"What are these from?" Dean demanded. At the defeated look he received he already knew the answer. "Dad was here?"

"He was mad cause I didn't clean the stupid weapons from the vamp's nest." Sam shuffled painfully. "I went and pissed him off more."

"Runnin' your mouth?" Sam's silence was answer enough.

Dean ran his hand down his face as he sighed. "Let me see the damage."

His little brother broke out the puppy dog eyes as tears brimmed, dangerously close to falling over. "No..." He softly plead.

"I know, Sammy." Dean wrapped his hand around Sam's neck and gave him a reassuring squeeze.

Sam carefully turned around and let his towel drop enough to let his brother see.

For just a moment Dean forgot where he was as dark spots danced in front of his vision. His eyes glued to the dark purple mass that was his brother's butt. He curled his fists when he looked closer to see open skin where Sam's thighs met ass.

"That bastard!" Dean yelled. "I'm gonna fuckin' kill him!"

Sam didn't disagree.

CHAPTER 3:

John Winchester might have been the biggest asshole on the planet and he was a shit parent, smart though.

The first stupid move he made was when he hurt the person his oldest son loved the most. His Sammy. That one should've been a given.

His second mistake, which he was slow to realize, was walking into the dark and eerily quiet motel room. Too slow through the alcohol fog, John's Hunter instincts kicked in right before he heard the sound of a bullet sliding into the chamber of a gun.

"Dad."

John's hair stood up on the back of his neck at his oldest son's dark voice. "What's going on, Dean?"

The lamp beside the lamp turned on momentarily blinding John. His eyes cleared to find a barrel of a gun dangerously close to his head. Looking beyond the gun his sight traveled up the arm of the person holding the glinting firearm and landed on the coldest green eyes he'd ever seen.

John put his hands up slow as he brows creased in confusion. "Christo."

"Not a demon."

"What the hell's going on, son?"

"I want you to listen to me very carefully son of a bitch." Dean shifted enough so he could make direct eye contact with his father. "This'll be the last time you see me and Sam. I don't want to ever see your sorry ass again and if you even think about hurting Sam again I'll kill you dead. Do you understand?"

John stared at Dean for a moment before he composed himself. "I don't know who you think you are, boy. You ain't goin' nowhere."

The man shivered as his son smirked at him without a trace of humor in his face. Suddenly staring at the boy who grew up to a man now seemed more dangerous than any monster he faced. John knew Dean could be ruthless when the time called for it and now looking into the smoldering green eyes he knew without a doubt Dean would kill him without so much as a tear.

Dean circled slowly until he was closer to the door and then dropped his gun by his side.

"You know, I could handle you beatin' my ass but you've hurt Sam for the last time."

John opened his mouth only to be punched in it. He stumbled back and then went down on one knee, spitting a tooth out in the process.

"Don't look for us."

And then his son was gone out the door.

SPN SPN SPN

Dean jogged the block over where he parked the Impala and where his injured brother laid on his stomach in the backseat. He quickly jumped behind the wheel and cranked up the black beast.

"What'd you do, Dean?" Sam asked concerned.

"Don't worry about it, Sammy. You wont be dealing with dad's bullshit anymore."

Sam was silent for a few minutes as his brother backed out of the parking space and guided his baby out onto the road. Then, very low, "Thanks, Dean."

Dean's eyes met his brother's hazel ones as he dialed a number he knew by heart,

"Hey uncle Bobby."

END