Disclaimer: They're not mine, but you knew that.

Author's note: Okay, so there's nothing really interesting about this little domestic scene. Review if you'd like. I love the feedback!


This is Not Going to Be My Life

Sam woke up suddenly, his whole body becoming tense and his senses hyperaware. That was normal for him. He had been trained to be ready for anything from the moment he woke up till the moment he allowed himself to sleep. His muscles ached from training hard the day before. Dad had been pushing both Dean and Sam in hand to hand combat and given that Sam was stuck in an eleven-year-old body while Dean had the advantage of a fifteen-year-old's height and muscle mass, Sam had been at the receiving end of many a well aimed blow.

Yep, that's a bruise, Sam thought to himself at the sharper pain that burned his side as he pulled his body upright and reached for some clothes. The twin bed that usually held the sleeping body of his older brother and the sound of running water coming from the bathroom clued Sam into the fact that Dean was already up. That wasn't a good sign.

Did I oversleep? Sam glanced at the clock. It read 5:45. The school bus for the K-8 school came at 7:15, while the high school bus rolled up at 7:55. Dean tended to wait till the last minute before pulling himself out of bed, which meant the brothers rarely saw much of each other in the mornings. He's taking Dad's lecture to heart, Sam grinned. John had given the teen hell for missing the bus last week. Dean usually did what their father told him, but this seemed a little extreme.

Sam let his mind wander as he stretched out his tight muscles, then he grabbed his books and headed down to the kitchen to make the coffee for his Dad and brother. He liked to be the first one up in the morning and usually took the time to finish up any homework he hadn't had time to fit into John's intense training schedule.

His class had a project on the Founding Fathers due today, which he had been working on all week. He had finished the paper component yesterday at lunch so that he could print it out on the school's computer. It was already in his backpack. Sam knew it was good and smiled a little in satisfaction while he pulled out his notes for the group presentation today. He was supposed to pretend to be Paul Revere, which was kind of silly, but Sam was kind of excited because Tessa Jamison was in his group. She was without a doubt the prettiest girl in their grade and smart, too. He would have asked her to the Winter Ball, but John wasn't really big on school events and Sam knew that he would probably be hunting that weekend, because they went hunting every weekend. Anyway, she probably would have gone to the dance with him if he had asked, but now she was going with Joey Harrington, which sucked out loud.

Sam sighed to himself as he got out a bowl of cheerios and contemplated using the last of the milk; there was really only enough for one but Dean would probably want to eat something this morning too and there wasn't much besides cereal in the house. He compromised by only taking half a bowl and sat down to reread his note cards. He was halfway though the midnight ride when John came in from the garage, which in this house was connected to the kitchen. Sam looked up in surprise; it was unusual for his Dad to be up before the boys left for school. John was fully dressed and had a familiar look of intensity on his face.

"Hey Dad, I made coffee," Sam proffered.

"Thanks kiddo," John said distractedly.

"Where are you going?" Sam asked, taking a bite of his cereal.

"We are heading up to Pastor Jim's."

"Today?" Sam tried to conceal his distress.

"Watch your tone," John demanded, his voice rising. "Yes, today. We're leaving in an hour. Get your stuff and clean out the fridge."

"But Dad. Today is a school day." Sam was having trouble regulating his tone and knew he was walking on thin ice, but couldn't keep the protest from slipping out.

John fixed him with a warning glare. "Samuel. I am not going to tell you again," His voice was flat and angry.

Sam glared into his cheerios, but choked the requisite "yes, sir." John found it less than convincing, but let silence settle over the small, dirty kitchen as he grabbed a mug of coffee. Sam, adolescent rebellion aside, sure did make a good cup of joe.

His youngest was hardly ready to let it go. After moment he looked across the table at his father and tried again. "Dad, couldn't we leave tonight? After school?"

"Sam!" John was incredulous. Was his son really going to push him on this?

"It's just that there's this project and we're supposed to—"

"What you are supposed to do is listen to your father. When I tell you to do something, I don't want any backtalk. Do you understand me?"

"Yes." Sam bit out, sounding desperate. "Dad. I understand. It's just that—"

"What we do is important, Samuel! More important than some school project." John emphasized by picking up one of Sam's notecards and brandishing it in his face, like it was something he should be ashamed of.

"Give it back." Sam growled, surprising them both with his intensity. He stood up in open rebellion. "Are we going to be back by Monday? What are we even hunting, Dad?"

"SAM! That's enough!"

"It's not FAIR, Dad! You just do whatever you want! What about me and Dean?"

"How dare you?" John growled back, nearly knocking over his chair as he surged to his feet. Seizing his eleven year old by the collar, John nailed him hard on the behind five times. Sam grunted in pain, but other than that held his tongue, struggling to control his breathing.

Hauling the boy upright, John forced Sam to look him in the eyes. "You will not speak to me in that tone of voice and you will obey my orders. Is that clear?"

After a major internal struggle, Sam spit out "Yes."

John tightened his grip momentarily. "Yes, what?" He prompted, dangerously quiet.

"Yes. sir." Sam responded, desperate to get out of the room.

"Go get your stuff together. You have fifteen minutes." John growled as he released Sam's collar. The boy stumbled backward momentarily before catching himself and quickly shoving his school work into his bag. He kept his eyes down as he stormed up the stairs, nearly bowling into Dean as the fifteen-year old made his way down the narrow stairway.

"Good morning to you too," Dean said sarcastically as he flattened against the wall to let his younger brother pass. He had heard the whole argument from upstairs and had dressed quickly so as to help ease the tension. Seemed he had arrived a little late.

"Go to hell." Said the eleven year old, under his breath but distinct enough to be heard by his sibling and father. Dean raised his eyebrows in surprise. Sam was still young enough that swear words were completely taboo to him. Under normal circumstances John would have had something to say, but he let it pass as Sam continued up to the room he shared with his brother.

Dean looked warily at his father as he poured himself his own cup of coffee. John tried to soften his demeanor. "Dean. Eat some breakfast, then get the dishes," he ordered.

"Yes, sir." Dean said lightly, dumping Sam's half eaten bowl of cheerios down the drain as his father took another load out to the car. Good Times, he thought sarcastically as he heard Sam stomping angrily in the room above.