Thanks again to Alyssa Ray for her great help with this chapter :)

This chapter is going to be told from Dean's POV

Warning, it contains smacking and use of bad language.

Despite of what she believed about herself, the kid was a born natural. Even though she was a little shaky and of centre, I could tell she was gonna have a perfect aim when it came to firing weapons. Her Houdini trick near enough scared the crap outta me, I thought something had snatched her out of her bed yet she had sneaked out for early morning target practice. I would have been stupid not to have grounded her for the stunt she pulled.

That night, whilst we were asleep, a noise downstairs startled me awake. Cautiously, I crept down each step with a loaded handgun poised in my hands. Unintelligible ramblings drifted from the lounge area of the abandoned house we were squatting in. Peering round the door frame, I could make out a figure, who was laying on the couch in a sloppy manner. Dirty clothes and disheveled hair, complete with the overpowering smell of hard liquor, there was no doubt about it.

"Dad" I muttered, wandering forward.

I lowered my gun as Dad clambered to his feet lazily. Dad blinked at me, a dazed expression in his bloodshot eyes as I tucked the gun under my shirt near the small of my back. He slugged past me, heading in the direction of the stairs. I stopped him.

"Dad you need to crash here. You need anything you call, I don't want you near either of us tonight," I said. "We'll talk in the morning."

For the past eleven years, seeing my Dad in a drunken state is nothing new to me. Dad ignored me and continued to make his way towards the stairs.

"Dad, seriously, your gonna wake Chris and the last thing she needs is to see you like this," I stated. "You know it scares her."

Dad paused, before inching closer towards me. My words clearly had pissed him off. He glowered at me with angry eyes.

"Who the hell do you think you are!" Dad bellowed. "You have no right to tell me what to do, the only acceptable words out of your mouth are; yes sir and no sir."

His vice like fingers gripped onto my chin, his face inches away from my own.

"Dad, please" I warned.

The last thing I wanted was for her to see this. It always upset her and just caused more unnecessary tension between her and Dad. I was trying so hard to protect her from another drunken Dad outburst, for she had witnessed enough of them already.

"Stop!" a smaller voice shrieked. "Let him go you asshole! Why do you have to come back!"

My gaze followed the voice and tracked down it's location and it's owner. It was the kid, standing half way down the stairs, her hair scruffy, and dressed in her Pokemon nightdress and thick grey socks. She trampled down the stairs before confronting Dad herself, anger in her eyes. She had relived this scene over and over again and it never got any easier for her. Dad looked down at her, his fingers still crushing my chin, I just wished she had stayed asleep upstairs.

"Baby girl, why you talkin to your Daddy that way?" Dad asked, his voice slurred.

I roughly pushed my father away, determined not to let him touch Chris in any way. I could protect her from all of the monsters and creatures in the world, but I couldn't always protect her from our father, especially when he was drunk. Dad moved towards her, however she backed away and hid behind me. It reminded me when she was a toddler and wary of strangers.

"You promised you won't do this again! You are a liar!" she yelled. "Get away from me! Get away from us!"

Neither of us predicted Dad's reaction to the situation. Dad glowered at her before grabbing hold of her wrist and yanking her towards him. Chris yelped in surprise, as she struggled vainly against Dad.

"Lemme go!" she squealed, tugging at her trapped arm.

Dad continued to glare at her, his bloodshot eyes blinked at her as his grip tightened. Clearly he was pissed at her tone towards him. Yet at this moment I couldn't blame her for being angry with Dad.

"Listen up little girl, I don't like your tone, you seem to be taking lessons from your dear old brother here," he slurred. He shot me a glance before returning to her. "I have news for you young lady, I am your father and you will respect me. Maybe you need a little reminder to reinforce what I expect."

I hated his tone. It was intimidating and dangerous, not the best thing to broadcast in front of your eleven year old daughter. Suddenly the sound of a harsh and brutal backhanded slap caught us both off guard.

It was hard enough to knock Chris back on her heels, forcing her to loose her balance.

"I hate you!" she screamed, hurt and confusion lacing her voice as she glared at him. "Why do you do this? I don't understand?"

Chris collapsed in a heap on the floor, sobbing and holding a hand to her cheek. I was stunned, unable to move, or to understand the events that are unfolding before me. Sure, this had happened before, but it always started and ended the same. This was different. I had never seen such rage in my little sister's eyes before. I had never seen her lose control like that before. It scared me.

Chris got up and ran towards the tiny bathroom under the stairs in tears, locking the door behind her.

I looked from the door to Dad, still trying to understand what had just happened. I knew one thing, Dad had hit my Chris. Dad had hit Chris because he was drunk. This is one thing I couldn't tolerate. I never interfered if Dad was punishing her, but this was abuse. Anger boiled inside of me, causing me to lunge at him.

"Don't you ever touch her like that again!" I raged, shoving at him in the direction of the front door. "Get the fuck out!"

With one final push out the door, I slammed in straight in his face before bolting it shut with the lock. I then ventured over to the bathroom under the stairs, and with the back of my hand I rapped gently on the wooden paneled door with my knuckles. The kid was sobbing.

"Chris, he's gone. It's gonna be all right," I said, resting my forehead against the wood as waited. "C'mon sweetheart, it's safe, I promise."

The door unlocked and Chris peered out nervously. A red hand print very visible on her right cheek, tears streamed down her freckled face. Her expression broke my heart.

I reached out and pulled her into a fierce hug. She latched on to me like a koala bear, crying hard into my chest. Scooping her up in my arms, I brought her into the lounge. Settling her down in my lap as I sat down on the couch, I rubbed circles on her back, like I did when she was little. Even at eleven she still easily fit into my lap. I whispered soothing words in her ear.

As I rocked her back and forth, I kissed the top of her head, waiting patiently until she felt safe. I had been through this part before. Normally I would let her calm down and then I would put her to bed, and we would talk on her terms in the morning. Yet this time was different, we were gonna to have to discuss the anger she was feeling. The anger in her eyes had seriously struck a nerve with me. I needed to find out how bad it really was.

"I hate him!" Chris sobbed, continuing to repeat the phrase over and over again. "I hate him! I hate him!"

What could I say, at this moment I hated him too. I hated him for what he did to my sister, I hated him for drinking, I hated him for what he did to Sam, for what he did to our family. I gazed sadly at the little girl in my arms. Rocking her and rubbed circles on her back, allowing her to let it out was the only comfort I could give at that moment. Finally, she pulled away and I could see the bright crimson hand print that scorched her right cheek. Gently, I put my hand to her face, shocked by how hot is was to the touch. Concerned about bruising I began the tedious process of getting my little sister off of my lap. She was still not in the best state of mind, but getting ice on her face was more important right now. The swelling needed to be kept down and therefore the chances of bruising would be minimum. As she touched the ground with her sock clad feet, she gazed at me as I leveled myself with her once I returned to her with an ice pack.

"Your face needs ice," I told her. "I don't want you to bruise."

Chris winced once the ice pack came into contact with her burning cheek, her green eyes expressed a mixture of sorrow and confusion as she choked on several sobs. It was a signal for me to bring her into an embrace once again. She sunk into my arms once more. In her mind, I was the equivalent of safe. I was her protector, and her teacher. Since the age of twelve I had been more of a father to her than our own.

The kid had always expressed such strong loyalty and respect towards Sam and I, you won't have believed that such emotions would come out of somebody so young.

"I don't mean to annoy him" she mumbled into my flannel t-shirt, before pulling away slightly and gazing up so that we made eye contact.

Behind the maturity and stubbornness in her eyes, I could see her long lost innocence and naivety. I cupped her face gently, aware of her scarlet cheek, my thumbs swatted away the tears that continued to drip from her green eyes.

"Hey," I chided. "Don't you say that. You didn't say or do anything. He was drunk, end of story. You hear me?"

Chris looked away sadly, doubt in her watering eyes as she wiped her nose with the back of her free hand.

"It's when he's sober that scares me," she said. "He doesn't need a drink then. It's second nature to me now."

"It shouldn't be" I replied.

My brain boiled with anger. Dad had managed to pollute her mind. Just what the hell had he done to her? I only hoped that Chris would fall asleep soon.

Merry Christmas guys, all the way from Scotland :)

Stay tuned

Please review