"My only job is to look after you, isn't it?"

[the_cynical_nerd]

Rating: Giallo

Warning: Violenza 

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Dad was drunk again.

When he had came back, that night, Dean could smell the whiskey in his breath and he was sure that the stain on the front of his shirt was beer, that he had probably spilled on himself while wasting away in some bar.

He had started to do this more and more often, during the last year, and, at first, Dean had thought that it was normal for a man to need a way to vent out all his frustration and anger.

But then, John had began to spend almost all his nights at the counter of some pub, coming back to whatever motel they were staying at, completely drunk.

And he had started to get mad at them, for even for the silliest reasons, in such an aggressive way that, in the end, had Sammy scared to even breath, when he was in the same room.

And Dean hated to see Sammy scared, he hated it with all his heart.

Every time he was seeing his little brother walking on eggshells to avoid annoying their father, he felt the urge to go and punch the man in the face, even if he knew that such a stunt would probably end with him on the floor and a bruised rib.

The teen loved his dad, but at the same time he was constantly wondering if John did actually felt the same way about them.

Because, sometimes, it looked like they were nothing but a burden, in his eyes; something that he was forced to deal with, but that he didn't care about.

When the man came out from the bathroom, with a flushed face and an gloomy expression, the two kids gave him a warily glance, trying to understand if it was one of "those" nights.

Sitting in front of the TV, Sam was peeking at his father while the adult moved around the room, taking off his jacket and shoes, before heading to the table and taking out his gun, for the usual cleaning.

"Sam, turn off the bloody thing. It's too loud."

As soon as the order erupted from John's mouth, the youngest of his sons immediately grabbed the remote and pushed the red botton on it, making the screen turn black.

"Sorry, Dad."

The shy voice of the child, for some reason, made Dean feel so irrationally angry, all of sudden, that he forced himself to stay glued to the bed, where he had been laying all evening, reading a stupid action comic they had found in the room.

Why they needed to apologize all the time, even when they had done nothing wrong?

It wasn't fair and the more the time passed, the more the teen was starting to feel annoyed by the man's attitude.

Still, he was always doing his best to try and look after both of them, his dad and his brother, because despite their lives were nothing like the ones of normal people, he loved his family and for some reason he felt that he was responsible for them.

John was busy hunting and Sammy needed someone to protect him, so the teen had learned years before that it was his job to take care of his sibling and to help out his father, in any way possible.

Sometimes, even if he would never say that out loud, he went to sleep asking himself if that was all there was in store for him, if his only purpose in life was to babysit his brother and to please the only parent they had left.

And sometimes, that thought would start to spin around inside his head like a tornado, hurting him and making him feel sorry for himself.

"Are you even listening to me, boy?"

John's voice snapped Dean back to reality and the kid looked at him, realizing he had been too distracted to actually notice that his dad had been talking to him.

"Yes, Sir. I'm listening," he lied, hoping that in his confusional state, the adult would repeat his words.

John frowned and looked at his oldest son in a menacing way, making the teen shiver a little.

"Then why are you not on your feet yet? I told you to go and grab me a six-pack at the store down the road."

Dean gulped down and then he stood up, abandoning his comic on the bed.

"I... I think it's closed, at this hours, Sir", he stammered a little, expecting the man to get angry at him, like he used to do.

But John's simply huffed, instead, annoyed by the news.

"Then go to the vending machine and get me a couple of cans. There is one at the end of the porch, on the other side of the parking lot."

Dean nodded.

"Yes, Sir."

Then, his eyes quikly shifted toward Sam, who was still cross-legged on the floor, in front of the dead TV, and back to their father again, who had started to undo his gun with shaky hands.

"Sammy, why don't you come with me? Let's take some air."

Dean gave his brother a nod, hoping that he would get the hint and stand up to follow him, and indeed the other kid started to get on his feet, but they both froze on the spot when John spoke once more.

"You don't need him to come, it'll take you a minute."

"I know, it's just that..." Dean tried to think about something to say, any kind of excuse that the man could find acceptable, but came out with nothing: he simply didn't want Sam to be alone with him, when he was like that.

The week before John had slapped the kid so badly that he still had a little bruise on his cheekbone, only because he had tripped and bumped into his dad's arm while he was polishing on of his knives... and Dean wanted to avoid that something like that could happen again.

John didn't seem to be able to control his own strength, when he was that drunk and that upset.

"What?"

Again, the man's voice echoed in the room.

But this time, he had turned to stare at his sons, focusing on them, and waiting for Dean to say something.

"Dad, I don't mind going with him," Sam said, standing up, but still a step behind his older brother, just in case.

"You shut your mouth! I wasn't talking to you, Sam!"

At this point, Dean clenched his hands into fists, almost without realizing it and when he responded to his father, he was surprised by how harsh his own voice sounded.

"Don't yell at him, he didn't do anything," the teen almost growled, feeling his muscles tensing throughout his body.

"I do what I want, boy. Now you better remind your place and do what I told you, Dean, or else..."

John's voice grew cold now and Dean knew that he had took the first step on a dangerous path, but even so, he kept glaring at his father.

"Or what?" He asked, ignoring how Sammy was now tugging him by his shirt, trying to get his attention, to make him stop.

As soon as the kid answered him, the adult's eyebrows went down over his eyes, and it was like if John had put on a mask of pure rage.

When he was drunk like that, he had the tendency to lose his patience very rapidly, and Dean was aware of it, but despite that the teen refused to take a step back, this time.

"We both go out to get your beer or neither of us leave the room."

"And why is that, Dean? You think I'm going to eat Sam while you're gone?" John asked him, clearly annoyed by the impertinence of his son.

"Dean, it's okay. You can go," Sam pleaded with his brother, not wanting the situation to escalate, but it didn't seem like the other one was in the mood to listen to his advise, by now.

"Dad, you're tired. You should go to bed, you don't need more beer. Please." Dean tried to reason with the man, even if he didn't expect it to work. "You can have the bed all for yourself, I'll sleep on the couch. Or I can share the other one with Sammy."

The frown on John's face worsened and a moment later the man pushed himself back up, leaving the pistol on the table and taking a step toward his boys, making Sam flinch on the spot, before moving backwards a little.

 

On the other hand, Dean stood his ground and kept still.

"I don't like it when you get sassy, boy." Their father said, his hands now moving to his waist, in a gesture that Dean knew all too well. "Now you better stop or you'll taste the belt, I warn you."

"For what? I didn't do anything wrong."

The teen bit his bottom lip, still refusing to surrender, since in his heart he knew he was in the right.

Dean had always been an obedient child, ready to comply and to follow his dad's orders, but now that he was slowly turning into a man himself, there was a part of him that was getting less and less eager to submit every day.

"You're being cocky and you're challenging me. I thought that I'd taught you to obey a long time ago."

Again, John got closer, and now he actually started to undo his belt, making it slip through the loops of his pants and then bending it in two.

"Now you go for my beer, boy," the man snarled at him, straight on his face, and Dean's nose twitches because of the intense smell of alcohol that hit him.

He kept staring at his father's face and, for a moment, he wished with all his soul that he could turn back time, to have his mom back, to have a nice house, to go to a nice school and to have a normal, boring life, like all kids of his age.

But then, he sighed and accepted that nothing of that would become real, no matter how bad he wanted it, and that he had to deal with what he had.

And that included an obsessive father, who sometimes needed to use him as a punching bag, both emotionally and physically, to feel better.

Maybe, he thought, that was his role in life, after all.

That, and looking after Sammy.

Maybe there wasn't anything else awaiting for him.

So, he looked up and he opened up his mouth again.

"No."

The second the leather belt hit the side of his leg, Dean let out a yelp of pain, and he immediately rose both his arms up to his head, to shield his face and the upper part of his body.

"Sammy, go to the bathroom!" He yelled at his little brother, turning to throw a look at him, while he was hit again, this time on his back. "And stay there!"

The younger kid did what he was told almost immediately, his big eyes already starting to get glossy with tears.

He ran to the other room, shutting the door behind himself and sitting on the toilet, starting to sob quietly right after, listening to the sound of the beating that was going on in the bedroom.

The sharp sound of the belt landing on flesh and the muffled cries of his brother, who was probably doing his best not to shout, like every time their father was punishing him like that.

Sam hid his face in his hands and then he waited for all that to stop, trying to think about something else... without really managing to do so.

When the bathroom door opened, more or less half an hour later, Sam looked up, not sure about who he was going to pop in.

The room had been silent, for the last bunch of minutes, but he had waited to be fetched, just like Dean had told him to do.

So, he was happy to see his big brother appearing from behind that same door, even if he had a red mark on his cheek and he was rubbing one of his thigh with the palm of his hand, clearly in pain.

"Come on, Sammy. You can come out, let's go to bed." Dean told him, with a cracked voice, trying to put on a brave attitude.

"...where is Dad? Are you okay?"

At the child's question, the teen forced himself to smile, and the most cheeky grin of his repertoire lightned up his face, just to show to his little brother that he was fine, even if he was feeling like a wreck.

"Dads gone out. I don't think he'll come back, tonight. And I'm great, I'm tougher than you think, midget."

Sam looked at him, his lips trembling a little.

They both knew it was a lie, but they also knew that there was no point on dragging that matter any longer... so, after a second, the youngest Wicnhester stood up and walked to the door.

While the kid passed in front of him, Dean stretched out a hand to ruffle his moppy hair, trying to cheer him up.

"Don't worry about me, Sammy. I'll be okay. And you will, too." He told him, his smile fading now, since the other one was not looking anymore. "I'll look after you. That's my job, after all, isn't it?"