A/N: WARNING! - The following fic contains very triggering topics such as child abuse and even though there's a reason behind it it's still not okay and could be very triggering to some readers.
I don't know how in character this is or how canon compliant it is either, I didn't care too much (for once) while writing this. I wrote this as a way to cope with a real situation that happened to me and though mine wasn't nearly as extreme as this it still greatly hurt me and I needed a way to get over it.
I also had this fic beta-ed and this made them cry so be prepared for emotions.
Dean is 16 and Sam is 12.
The very second the sound of the impala's muffler had faded out, Sam had ripped open the blackout curtains to let in the afternoon sun that shone perfectly into the room, careful not to disturb Dean's perfectly laid salt line as he did so. With his brother and dad gone, the boy had the motel room all to himself. So that meant adjusting the motel to his own liking and momentarily breaking some of his dad's overprotective rules.
He didn't always like being left behind for hunts and out of the action, but at least he had some time to read in silence. He was always having to tune out whatever dumb show Dean wanted to watch or one of his dad's million calls to whoever to work a case. So silence, at least the kind that wasn't tense, was hard to come by in the Winchester family.
After rearranging the pillows on his bed, and stealing the ones off Dean's, Sam had gotten comfortable and eagerly opened the book on the supernatural that Bobby had given him for Christmas just a few months prior. Even though his dad had one exactly like it, he was absolutely obsessed with it. It was just his and his alone, one he could write in and make notes in, personalized perfectly to his liking. He had flipped to the chapter on ghosts and poltergeists, feeling it appropriate since that was the hunt his family had just left on.
That had been about two hours ago. The sun had finally set so Sam had closed the curtain, partly so he wouldn't get in trouble when his dad returned, and so no one outside could see he was all alone inside. He had gotten bored of reading half an hour earlier and was now watching TV. Another perk of getting to stay behind was that he got to watch whatever he wanted and got to turn it up however loud he wanted. Not that he turned it up all that loud, mindful of whoever may be staying in the room next to theirs, but the idea of that freedom was good enough.
Sam laid upside down off the end of the bed, his head hanging off the bed and he toes at his socks absentmindedly, barely paying any attention to Home Improvement as it plays on the TV set across the room. At this rate, he was counting down the seconds to when his brother and his dad would return, far too excited about what he had read in his book and ready to ask over a million questions to fact check what it had said, even if ghosts were one of the most common occurrences for hunters. Hell, even he had gotten to go toe to toe with a ghost last summer. But still, he couldn't wait to bug Dean about it all.
Unfortunately, they weren't due back for another hour or two. The particular case was located on a remote farm about an hour outside of town and even if they finished up early there was still at least another hour before they'd return.
So that's why when the familiar rumble of the old car reaches Sam's ears, he sits up quickly, too quickly because he sees white but he ignores it and rushes to the window. Pulling back the curtain and peeking out the small crack he's just made, he confirms it is in fact their car. He's pretty sure his heart stops when he realizes that his dad is the only one to get out of the car.
Where was Dean? Had something happened to him? Was he okay? Maybe he was just in the back and hadn't gotten out yet, it was pretty dark after all and he couldn't see in the car too well. Or he had gotten out and Sam hadn't heard it and hadn't seen him.
The worst part was the scowl that was on his dad's face and made so much more sinister by the dim floodlights outside that casts scary shadows on his features. Any thoughts he had that he was just overreacting was gone, just like that. The last time he had seen anything close to that look was when another hunter had decided to tell him how to punish Dean after he had acted out on a case the group had been working. Whatever had happened must have been pretty bad and Sam still didn't like that he didn't know where Dean was.
Sam rushed over to the door and unlocked it, swinging open to his dad, who stood there, looking like he was just about to unlock the door himself. He peered around him, hoping to see Dean out there somewhere to put his fears to rest, greatly ignoring how much scarier his dad was up close.
He hardly got a chance to properly look for his brother before he was roughly pushed out of the way. He was already pretty clumsy as it is, so being knocked off his balance causes him to stumble into one of the chairs at the small dining table, both he and it crash to the floor.
Sam had seen his dad mad before, John Winchester was sort of known for his short temper, and sometimes when he had a few too many he lashed out at Dean, but he had never seen him like this. Something was wrong as if he hadn't noticed already.
But maybe he hadn't meant to. So Sam picks himself up off the linoleum floor and then adjusts the chair to its proper position. "Where's De-" he starts before getting cut off by his dad, "God, would you just shut up? I don't want to hear it right now." and John slams the door shut behind him. Sam's eyes go wide like a deer in headlights as he watches his every move. Had he done something wrong? Had Dean made him mad? Maybe any second now, Dean would come to his rescue, maybe they had gotten into an argument on the way back and Dean was currently walking the rest of the way.
He wants to ask how the hunt went, if the ghost was hard to track down, what had happened to Dean, but he knew better than to try that right now. For whatever reason, even if it didn't make sense, his dad was pissed. So very carefully, Sam tries to walk over to his bed without being noticed to clean up the mess he had left on it. He goes about picking up his things, closing his book softly and putting his pens back in their case. Then, he hears John yell, "Goddammit, Sammy, you're so useless. You know that?" It was so sudden and so loud that it caused him to drop his pencil case and send all the pens inside to roll across the floor. Immediately he begins to gather them up, a hard task to do now that he was shaking so much.
"Jesus, look at you. I don't know why Dean sticks up for you so much, it's a wonder you haven't managed to get yourself killed yet." As Sam reaches under the bed for the ones that had rolled beneath it, he's overcome with the urge to crawl forward and stay there; he was still small enough and he could do it, but he wondered if it would just make his dad madder at him for hiding instead of facing him and taking whatever he had to say.
He inhales a few times until his breathing isn't shaky and he balls up his fists to hide how much they shook as well, standing back up and turning to face his dad. He wasn't even looking at him, his back was turned and his hands braced on the dining table. A few moments of silence go by and Sam is almost sure it's over. He was too hopeful to assume it was anywhere near finished. He knew that as soon as John spoke again, this time quiet.
"It's your fault she's gone, you know." He's talking about his mother, that much is obvious, it's the only
he's ever known and the only
his dad has ever mentioned, even if Dean had told him more about her than their dad ever had. Which brought him to his next thought, Dean always said that their dad had said it was a demon who took their mom, how it was Sam's fault he wasn't sure, but John said it with so much conviction he believed every word.
"If you hadn't been born," he pauses and lets out a small laugh like Sam is his biggest regret he's ever made. And then he turns to look Sam in the eye and he really wishes he hadn't, Sam doesn't want to be looking at him in the face for whatever he has to say, it'll only make it more real, "Everything was great until you were born. And it's because of you we have to do all this. Me and Dean protect your ungrateful ass and what do we get out of it? You're so damn useless. If Dean wasn't so obsessed with keeping his 'perfect' little brother safe, he'd be better off but he doesn't see that. You've got him so blinded, Sammy. You've taken everything away from him, away from us."
Sam can feel tears welling up but he doesn't cry, not yet. There's no evidence that any bit of what he says but Sam believes every single word. They came from his dad and his dad knew everything, his dad was the adult and his dad was smart, even if it hurt, it all had to be true.
He was right, he took Dean for granted. Dean had always put so much effort into taking care of Sam, even when no one took care of him, and what did he do in return? Sam never said 'thank you', he whined about his brother suffocating him and being overprotective. All Dean did was give for him. Even just that afternoon, he had been glad Dean had left. Dean didn't deserve such an awful brother like him.
"You're weak, you'll never be half the hunter Dean is. You're just a waste of breath. All you do is sit around and read useless books while me and Dean do the real work." Sam wants to cover his ears, crawl into bed and hide under the blankets until he wakes up. He must have fallen asleep while watching TV. This is just a nightmare, he knows it is, it has to be. There's no way his dad really means those things, they can't be his real thoughts… could they?
Sam flinches when his dad begins to close the distance between them, the worst part is that he seems to have noticed. "You're scared of me, aren't you?" he narrows his eyes and Sam can't help but feel like he's looking into his very soul as he tries desperately to avoid eye contact. "Aren't you?!" John yells, clearly wanting an answer, so Sam nods just slightly, not wanting to admit how terrified he currently was of him. "Good," and then Sam feels his fist collide with his jaw. He's sent tumbling to the floor.
Once he's gotten over the initial shock of what's just happened, Sam starts to cry. He can't help it anymore, he's so overwhelmed by what's happening and not knowing what he's done to deserve it. Whatever it was had to have been
. Their dad has never once hit them, sure he's made cheap shots while drunk before and he's let his temper loose on them before but he's never actually physically hurt them on purpose before.
"You're just proving my point, Sammy," he really wishes he'd stop saying his name, it only makes it so much worse.
He's barely had time to try and get back up before there's an iron grip around his throat and he's lifted up into the air, his shock goes perfectly well with the screeching of tires out in the parking lot. Sam claws uselessly at the hand around his neck and tries to look anywhere except his dad's face, even as his vision clouds and it gets harder to breathe.
He's only vaguely aware of the door bursting open and a familiar voice demands, "Put him down," His gaze darts over to the door where Dean stands, pointing his shotgun at their dad who responds with, "You're really gonna shoot me with that thing, son?"
Dean glances over to Sam and meets his gaze, something about the eye contact puts him at ease, or maybe it's just knowing that his big brother was finally here to save him from this nightmare. "I'm not your son," he says, and then he fires the gun. The grip is released and Sam is sent to the floor as their dad stumbles backward from the shot. "Sam, come here," Dean calls and he doesn't hesitate to scramble to his feet, rushing over to hide behind his big brother. He braves a glance at their father, who lays motionless on the ground and is terrified for a moment that he's dead, right up until he notices a lack of blood from any fatal shot. Then he sees the grotesque ghostly figure that looms close to his body.
As soon as Dean sees it too, he whips something out of his pocket that Sam doesn't get a good look at before he sets it on fire, and the ghost burns up with a horrible scream that makes Sam's blood run cold.
And then the motel room is quiet.
"Sam? Sam are you okay?" when Dean had knelt in front of him and placed his hands on his shoulders, Sam wasn't sure. He looked Dean in the eye and saw nothing but worry. He couldn't help it but the words his dad, the ghost, he reminds himself, had said about how he held his brother back echoed in his mind. Now that it was all over and the initial shock was beginning to wear off, Sam's tears flowed more freely. He began sobbing to the point he couldn't breathe and he rushed forward, burying his face into his brother's shirt, clinging onto him as if his life depended on it. He closed his eyes, tried to lose himself in the sound of Dean's rapid heartbeat as it slowed. "It's okay Sam, it's alright, you're safe now," he felt his arms wrap tightly around him and hold his still shaking body still as he cried.
"D-...Dean," Sam could hardly catch his breath long enough to speak but he had to know, "what h-hap-pened?"
John momentarily takes his eyes off the road to cast a worried glance in the rearview mirror at Sam, probably the millionth one since they got back on the road. The darkening bruise on his jaw made his stomach twist in a sickening way and he didn't want to think about how it already looked worse than it had the previous morning. If that one looked bad then he didn't want to know what the one on his neck looked like.
He felt guilty for not remembering everything that happened when the ghost had possessed his body, but he knows he's better off not knowing. If the bits and pieces he did remember were bad then he can only imagine how horrible the rest of it was. It had to have been awful if Sam still wasn't talking to him, hell, Sam hadn't even looked at him since that night.
Sam was currently curled up in the back seat, knees brought up to his chest and gazing out the window. His blank stare at the scenery that passed by was what haunted John the most, right next to the bruises and how small his twelve year old looked. He hated to know he was the source of it.
With a heavy sigh, he returned his gaze to the road. Only a few more miles and they'd be in Montana and he'd have a nest of vampires he could take out his problems on. He desperately hoped that by laying waste to those monsters that he'd be able to cope with what had happened.
As John drove, he played it over in his head, the bits he remembered and what Dean had told him. Whether it was an attempt to fill in the gaps, he still had or to cope with how guilty he felt, he wasn't sure. All he knew was he needed to go over it, he needed to know where he went wrong.
Four days ago, they had arrived in a small town in northern Oklahoma on a case John had just barely caught wind of. Something about a farmhouse renovation gone wrong, about how the man who had bought the property was convicted of killing his son during their visit to the house but then claimed to not remember it. It had every indication of a ghost. He remembered looking over the history of the place. He remembered reading that the man who originally lived there in 1917 abused his family to the point where his wife killed herself and he eventually killed his youngest son, blaming him for what had happened to her. Then, in turn, his oldest son killed him. The oldest was apparently still living and had been the one to sell the house despite now living in California.
John didn't think anything of it, why should he have, it was the everyday run of the mill ghost hunt. So he and Dean set out later in the afternoon, leaving Sam behind because the boys had bickered and picked on each other the whole way up and he didn't want to hear more of it. Shortly after arriving at the house and checking a few rooms is when everything became harder for John to remember.
Dean told him that one minute, he was there and they were working the case together then the next, John was driving off in the impala, leaving Dean behind. Apparently, moments before he had left, Dean had gone to find him to show him a small shrine to the deceased family and an object he was sure the ghost had been tied to. When John had left, Dean had assumed the worst, which John was sort of proud of him for being smart enough to do so. He said he had gone outside to get an old truck left on the property to start to chase after him. It was luck that he had absent-mindedly put the object, a locket with a picture of the family, in his pocket. Dean said he remembered it as soon as he pulled into the parking lot, having only thought about how Sam could have been in danger the whole way there and that he didn't really have a plan when he got there initially. At least it worked.
John turned on the radio as soon as he came to the end of what Dean had explained yesterday morning, stopping before he had a chance to remember the awful words he remembered saying to Sam. They may not have actually been his words, but as far as Sam was concerned, they were. He wanted to change that, change that he heard those things from him and change how his youngest now feared him, but he didn't know how, not beyond just giving the kid some space.
He spent the rest of the trip wishing it had been some sort of sick dream, like the kind he used to have when the boys were little, the ones where he'd come back to find them dead just like their mother. There were moments he caught himself holding his breath, hoping he would hear Sam pipe up from the back with the monster fact of the day. He was beginning to realize just how much he took those moments for granted, all the times he had gotten mildly annoyed at his youngest for going on and on about something John already knew everything about. He knew now that he was excited and John should have felt honored that Sam had wanted to share that with him.
A few more painful hours of silence later, pierced only by whenever Dean turned up the radio for a song he liked, they finally arrive in the small town in southeast Montana plagued by vampires. John pulls into the parking lot of the first decent looking motel he spots and leaves his boys in the car when he gets out to check into a room. While the guy at the desk sorts through the paperwork and counts up the cash John has handed him, he looks out the windows of the main office where he can see Dean turned around in the front seat, probably talking to Sam, despite there being no obvious movement in the back.
As he had guessed, Sam hadn't moved an inch, John notices, when he returns to the car to move it to the parking space designated for their room. He doesn't even move until after Dean has gotten out of the car first, following his older brother like he was his lifeline, or like he was a shield to protect him from John. And when John goes to Sam his overnight bag from the trunk he doesn't take it until Dean grabs it first then hands it to him. His bruises somehow seem darker now that he's out in the sunlight and John tries so hard not to look at them, tries so hard not to think about how the one on his neck is the perfect shape of his own hand.
The first thing John does when he gets into the room is set up at the dining table, already ready to bury himself in the hunt, allowing the boys to stake their claim over the beds and make the space theirs for the days ahead. He'd worry later about setting up the couch to sleep on afterward, he had more important things to deal with first.
He's not sure how long it's been since he started going over the news reports and cross-referencing the incidents with known vampire lore but he's brought back to the present when Dean suddenly swipes the car keys off the table. "I'm gonna go, uh, grab some groceries and stuff. Be back later," He announces, heading toward the door. Before he can even turn the handle, Sam calls after him, "Can I come too?" John can't help but notice how his tone makes it sound like accompanying his brother is urgent rather than any sort of excitement to see the town like he normally might have. Meaning he doesn't want to stay behind with him, John honestly can't blame him for it either.
"Sorry, Sammy, not with those bruises, they'd raise too many questions," Dean gives him an apologetic and reassuring smile then opens the door. The whole exchange seemed unreal and John couldn't have ever dreamed of his oldest having to say those words, even in their line of work.
He tries not to make it obvious that he's listening to them, even as Sam argues, "Why can't Dad go?" In such a soft voice, as if he doesn't want to make him mad by asking. If John didn't already feel like a piece of shit, he definitely did now.
"Because Dad's got work to do. It'll be fine Sam, I promise. I'll be back soon." And then Dean's gone, unlike Sam, he doesn't seem hesitant about leaving the two of them alone together, but then again, Dean knew really what caused the whole ordeal in the first place. With the satisfaction of putting the ghost down himself, Dean most likely didn't have any anger towards John for what happened. That boy thought too highly of him.
He casts a glance at Sam, who stands in the doorway that separates the beds from the rest of the motel. They make eye contact for maybe half a second, if that, before Sam flees and shuts the door behind him.
John always knew parenting wasn't going to be easy, especially when his children became teenagers, but no one could have ever prepared him for parenting while being a hunter. Hell, he hadn't met anyone else thus far who was in a situation anywhere near similar to his, it was pretty unheard of. If they did, and that was rare mostly because John tried to keep from bringing up his kids with hunters he barely knew unless they brought up their own first, they weren't full-time hunters. Most of the time, the few who did have kids, had homes and wives and a life outside of the job. So, since his situation was rather unique, he had no one to turn to and no reference to how to handle Sam.
He tried to get back to work, he really did, but every time he started reading, his mind would drift to Sam and how he wanted so badly to fix it, to do anything so that he wasn't scared of him, that was the last thing he wanted for either of his boys. Even though it had only been a day and a half, leaving him alone didn't seem to be working and John didn't know how long he could go like that. The only thing he could think of was to take what he remembered had been said and make sure that Sam knew that wasn't what he thought of him. He'd make sure that Sam understood how much he cared about him, how much he loved him.
With a deep sigh, he stood up from the table, noticing immediately how unsteady he felt on his feet. He was nervous. Because he was either going to fix this or make it so much worse. He had this deep fear that he would somehow lose his temper and ruin everything. John couldn't remember the last time he was this nervous.
He crosses the room and stops himself before he just walks in unannounced, taking a moment to knock on the door softly and say, "Sam?" He feels a little proud of himself for that much, being mindful enough to take it slow.
There's no answer unless absolute silence counts. For a moment, the worst crosses John's mind. The reports of kids who hurt themselves to get away from abusive parents rises up in his thoughts like the bile beginning in the back of his throat just from the thought. He has to remind himself that it was just one incident and Sam is just scared. He hoped that much at least, he couldn't wholly stop the worry.
Very slowly he opens the door, "Sam?" He repeats as he steps in looking for him. John spots him by the bed opposite the window with his back to the door, frozen in place. He looks like he was in the middle of cleaning up the mess on and around it. How he had managed to already spread his things out within maybe twenty minutes of arriving at the motel he wasn't sure.
"You've been awful quiet in here, kiddo," John makes sure to leave the door open behind him, thinking maybe if he leaves a way from Sam to escape if he needs to he'll trust him more, maybe he won't feel trapped. Sam just goes back to what he's doing but very slowly, like every move is calculated. He folds his clothes and smoothes out the wrinkles on the bedspread like he's being graded on it. It's almost hard not to notice how tense his shoulders are and how stiff he holds himself.
John sighs because once again he's reminded that the reason his son is so guarded is because of him. But that's why he's here, to fix that.
He steps forward, closing some of the distance between them. The floor underneath him creaks with the movement and Sam jumps, freezing once again but this time casting a wary glance over his shoulder. "Sam," John says, trying to make sure that every single ounce of his worry translates into the single syllable. He places his hand on his shoulder which he quickly realizes is a mistake because Sam jerks back and spins around to watch him, watching for any threatening move and ready for a fight.
"Come on kid, you're killing me here," John makes his second dumb move consecutively and tries to move forward again. In response, Sam moves backward until he bumps into the nightstand. "Stop," he says so quietly that John almost missed it.
At a loss for words and where to go next, he decides to be direct, because the only thing John knows is how to be direct. He moves quickly and pulls his twelve-year-old close to him, despite his desperate cries of protest and the flying punches he tries to make in defense. It's difficult as he fights back but he manages to wrap his arms around him, even if he continues to struggle and John tries to shush him. When that doesn't immediately work, he raises his voice, "Dammit Sammy, just calm down," and he instantly regrets it because he realizes how cross he seems but Sam is still after that, save for how heavily he was breathing. John was pretty sure he was beginning to cry and if he was honest with himself, he could probably start too.
"Listen to me," He says in a calmer voice, having to take a breath to steady himself so he's stable enough to hold the both of them up. He places a hand against his head, careful of how his arms sit so he doesn't press against either of the bruises, "I need you to listen to me because this is so important, Sam. Do you understand?" He waits a moment before he feels a small nod against his chest.
"You are so important to me, Sam, both you and your brother. All of this is for you, because I care about you and I want you to be safe, okay?" John knows well that he doesn't tell either of them this often enough, and maybe he should. He goes on, "I'm so proud of you, Sam, you're smarter than both me and Dean combined. Sam, I'm so damn proud of you. Nothing you could ever do is going to make me hate you or love you any less. And I'll go down making sure you're safe if that's what it takes. I don't know what I'd do if something ever happened to you, if I ever lost you…"
He got so carried away in what he was saying, making sure he believed it himself as much as Sam did, that he didn't notice the grip he had on him now. It was almost like he was his lifeline now, just like how he clung to Dean, that gave John hope that it was working.
"Whatever you heard," He gently pulls Sam away from him so he can look at him, and for the first time since everything had happened they make eye contact, Sam actually looks at him. He notices the tear tracks on his son's face and how he's still crying. He carefully wipes some of the tears off his cheek before continuing, "Whatever you heard me say wasn't real, it wasn't me. I don't- I could never even think those things about you let alone tell you them. I love you and I'd never hurt you. You understand?"
He's quiet for a moment, looking into his eyes like he's searching his soul to make sure he means every word. And then, in the quietest voice but just loud enough for John to hear, he says, "Yes," and he lunges forward to hug him, locking his arms tightly around him. John hugs him back tightly, making sure he knew he wasn't going anywhere and that he could rely on him as much as he relied on Dean. John would always be there to protect his boys, even if it was the last thing he ever did.
A/N: A lot of this made me cry to write and some of it was hard to do.
Like the boys, I have a very rocky relationship with my dad and he said some pretty hurtful things that I'm still not quite over.
I don't tell you guys this because I want you to feel sorry for me, I'm telling you because I want you to know that no matter what someone says about you it doesn't define who you are, only you get to determine that. If someone does start saying hurtful things to you you're allowed to remove yourself for the situation (if you can safely of course) and you don't need to listen to it. I know it's hard, especially when it comes from a parent or someone whose opinion you value(d), and I tried to convey that here, but it's you who determines who you are and the value you have.
Some of the things I wrote John saying in the second half are things I wished I could hear my dad say to me, so if you need it you can go back and read those words to help you through whatever you've been told.
And you know what? I don't know who will read this but I'm proud of you. I'm proud that despite everything you're still fighting and you're still here right now. If it feels like it's getting hard and you can't go on then I hope I can give you some courage to keep it up- it's difficult but you can do it and I believe in you. Give yourself room to make some dreams and figure out the first steps, even if they're baby steps, to making them happen. You can do this. I'm proud of how far you've come already.
Thank you for reading.