"Hey Sammy," John said picking the four year old up. Sam laughed.

"Hi daddy," he said. John stared into the boy's gleeful blue eyes, but could see nothing than his wife in them. He tried to smile at the baby, but failed. He carried him over to the car where Sam's eighth year old sibling was waiting for them. Dean smiled as John set Sam in front of the car.

"Buckle him up, will ya?" John grunted slipping into the front seat. Dean wondered what suddenly had turned his father into such a grumpy mood, but lightened up when he saw his brother's happy face expression. Dean grinned.

'What is wrong with me? Why did I suddenly turn so angry when I saw my own child?' John thought as he drove through town. He glanced in the backseat where everyone was strapped in and keeping each other company.

"Look what I did made Dean!" Sam said happily showing Dean a picture with a few crayon doodles on. Dean couldn't look more excited.

John was angry. He knew it the moment he saw the glint in Sam's eyes - the same glint that Mary got whenever she was happy.

'For fucks sake John! It's not his fault!'

Three years later, he thought differently. Eight years later, he acted upon it.

Six days after - 12.45 am

Bobby froze. How on earth was he supposed to react to this? How on earth was anyone supposed to react to this. His eyes widened to a comic extent.

"God…" Bobby whispered. He looked up at Dean again and saw the dark dark circles around his eyes. He had been so focussed on Sam that he didn't notice Dean's condition. He hadn't thought about how it had been for Dean to see his brother deteriorate in front of him. He wondered what had happened after Sam tried to kill himself. He wondered how Dean had reacted. So many thoughts whirled around in his head, so many questions.

"Did he actually, not succeed, but like…" His voice trailed off but Dean understood.

"Pills. Got them out of him in time," he answered solemnly. Bobby shook his head. He still couldn't believe it. He couldn't, wouldn't, imagine the scenario of Dean saving his brother.

"I should never have left." Dean said staring into his nearly drained cup. Boy, could he use something stronger than this shit. Bobby sighed.

"Dean." He said sternly. "Don't ever blame yourself, ever. How could you have know what would happen?"

"I could have woken him up and told him I was going out," Dean continued, beating himself up even more.

"Dean. " Bobby said rather aggressively. "No. I wasn't there but I know that none of this shit was your fault." Dean remained mute.

"Dean, you look exhausted. Go to bed." Dean huffed.

"Wish I could, but I just drained two cups of coffee."

Bobby got up and went to the kitchen. He returned with a large bottle of whisky. In the meantime, Dean got up to check on Sam.

The door to the bedroom creaked open. The room, as dark as it was, showed a darker bundle in the bed farthest from the door. The dark mass scrambled beneath the covers. Dean went over to the bed to check on his younger brother. He knew that Sam would be terrified if he woke up and saw a dark shadow stand by his bed, and hoped that that wouldn't happen.

Dean crouched beside the bed trying to get a good look at his brother in the dark. He wasn't thrashing about as much as he was in the car.

Guess he feels safer here. Dean smiled at that thought. He swept a hand through Sam's hair, making him calm down, and left.

Bobby was almost done with his first glass and reached for the whisky for a second cup.

Dean took the other filled glass while sitting down. He sipped the drink, letting the warmth run through him.

Bobby finally got himself together.

"Do you have the slightest clue how long this has been going on?" Bobby asked. Dean drained the alcohol.

"Well… I suspected something. I don't know what, but something."

"When?"

"I… I'm not going to go all theraputic on you Bobby!" Dean suddenly said caught up in anger. Bobby looked a little taken back. Dean relaxed.

"I'm sorry Bobby, it's not you I'm angry at, it's-"

"Don't you dare say yourself!" Bobby interrupted. "If anyone, blame John."

Dean nodded sadly.

"I just… I should have noticed it. Now that I think back to it, it was so obvious. Sammy is a careful person, I don't know how I believed that he got all those cuts and bruises from being clumsy and unlucky. I just… How could I have been so damn ignorant?" He kicked the leg of the table.

"No." Bobby repeated sternly. "It's not your fault, at all."

"Bobby, he cut himself." The older man sighed and put the radio on. They listened to the calming music and drank the strong drink. Dean kept peeping into Sam's room during the long night, checking if he was having a nightmare - or worse.

A week after

Jessica faked sickness and stayed home from school. Actually, she wasn't faking. She felt nauseous. The thought of Sam was drilling in the back of her mind. She thought about a scenario Sam was just under the weather, but her feeling in her gut told her otherwise. She knew something was terribly wrong, she just didn't know what. She remembered in the local news five days ago, where they had found a beaten up man in front of a motel. He was alive and had told the police, that he didn't know who the attacker was. The attacker came from behind. There were no witnesses.

Jessica thought about who it was. Did this man have kids? Did he have a wife? Was he a nice guy who didn't deserve shit like that?
Jessica laid down the book she was reading, and tiptoed downstairs. Her parents usually kept newspapers in a stack in the kitchen.

Jessica picked up the right newspaper, thankful that they hadn't thrown it out yet. She tiptoed back upstairs and found found the article. She read the heartwrenching name.

Winchester. John Winchester.

Six days after

Nobody brought up the subject of Sam until the evening. It had been nice to relax like a normal, well as normal as the Winchesters' could have it, family. Sure, Sam hadn't said much, but that wasn't unusual. He hadn't said much since... How long had it been?

It was after supper when Sam was on the couch watching television, when Bobby walked in. He took the chair in the corner of the room. Dean followed, taking the seat beside Sam on the couch. Sam immediately knew what was going on and groaned. He couldn't take it. He felt as though he was a drug addict and this was his patronizing intervention.

Dean took the remote and turned the buzzing TV off. An unsettling silence filled the room.

"Sam, we have to talk about this," Dean started out by saying. Sam turned towards him.

"We already did," he said remembering what had happened after his unsuccessful attempt and the uncomfortable ride to Sioux Falls.

"I know, I hate to bring this up but we need to know more about what John did."

Is there a more cringeworthy way to talk about this? The entire room thought.

Sam looked down at Dean's shoes.

"What do you want to know?"

"How long?"

It was Sam's turn to freeze. How could he tell them, his brother and the man he considered a dad more than John, that his father had abused him for four years, and that he hadn't told them because he was a coward and worried that they wouldn't believe a word of it?

Sam stayed silent. Dean knew that he wouldn't get the information like this. He started out slowly, asking a few questions.

"It wasn't the first time that night, was it?" Dean asked, implying to the incident six days ago. He already knew the dreaded answer, but his stomach still sunk when Sam shook his head.

"A week?"

Another shake.

"Several weeks?"

Another shake, this time smaller.

"A month?"

Sam buried his face in his head. Dean knew what that meant. He continued with caution.

"Half a year?"

Another shake. Dean couldn't believe it.

"More?"

This time, a nod.

"A whole year?" Dean's voice was shaky. He couldn't take it. He simply couldn't take it. He tried to recall a few years back. He felt nauseous when he remembered that Sam was still secretive then.

Sam was still.

Why can't you just…

"How many?" Dean croaked. Bobby sat in the corner with a sheet white face. He could barely take the tension anymore. He couldn't hear the hushed boy's voice, but he knew that it was horrendously bad.

After a moment, Sam held out four barely noticeable shaky fingers towards Dean.

Dean felt the urge to hit something.

Sam shrunk into himself.

Dean felt the urge to destroy something.

Sam wanted out.

Dean felt the urge to kill something.

Sam couldn't move.

Dean felt the urge to kill John.

Sam felt too vulnerable. Useless.

All Dean could do was let out a non-humorous huff.

This is perfect. So fucking perfect.

A/N: Let me know what you think! :)