LOVE U LIKE MY PET FISH FLUFFY!!!!
P.S.- i don't have a pet fish =O
He awoke slowly, entering the land of the living once more, sadly. The sunlight hit him like a thousand bricks. The soreness he felt washed over him as he suppressed a groan. He opening my eyes slowly, cautiously, making sure his gaze strayed away from the window.
He had somehow ended up on the bed. Dad must have carried him. Not that John cared if he slept; it was so that Dean wouldn't get skeptical.
He attempted a move toward getting out of bed. His back seared from the pain. He tried moving slower, if that were possible, and seemed to lessen the pain as he got up.
Sweat was still glistening on Sam's forehead. He wiped it off with the back of his arm and made a move toward the bathroom. The door was shut, a yellow light appearing from beneath the door.
Seeing as the bathroom was occupied, he walked toward the kitchen, scared out of his wits when he saw Dad, no, John, sipping a cup of coffee. So Dean was in the bathroom.
In other words, he was alone.
"Good morning, son." Sam winced at John's blissful greeting. None of it was real. It meant nothing. It was all a show, just in case, at any moment, Dean was to walk into the kitchen.
"Morning" he replied sluggishly, putting an effort to reel back his pain and anger. How could a father physically beat his own child? Who does that? Sam didn't have to think twice about that question. On no level could it be considered challenging in the slightest.
John does that.
At only fourteen he's already become used to drinking lots of coffee. If he didn't he wouldn't have enough energy to get through the day. His father made his life a living hell, keeping him up nearly all hours.
However, he had to give his father a little credit. The only time he was ever hit was when he did something erroneous. Sadly, in his father's eyes, everything about him was wrong. His posture, his attitude toward hunts, his flawless ability to screw up a hunt, him. Everything was wrong. No matter how hard he tried, he could never be like Dean, the perfect boy who could murder a hundred innocent people and his father still be proud of him.
Sam let a small sigh escape his lips as he made a move toward the coffee. He moved his feet robotically toward the coffee maker, and, without thought, reached out with his right hand. Sam hissed from the pain as he remembered how beat up that arm was. He cringed, bringing his arm toward his chest, making sure not bend it anymore. It was probably sprained, if not broken.
"You better hide all that pain of yours when Dean comes" John said apathetically; yet, behind that heir of indifference Sam could see the animosity in his words, the way he nearly spat out the words in such a fear-provoking manner.
"Yes sir." Sam, still cradling his right arm to his chest, reached out with his left arm and began his daily routine of getting himself coffee. Once he had a cup, he added a dot of sugar before stirring it around. Finally, he put the cup to his lips and drank slowly, the lethargic heir he had slowly leaving him.
Dean finally finished up in the shower and headed into the kitchen.
"Sorry I took so long. I kinda used up all the hot water" Dean gave the two a sheepish look.
"It's fine, Dean. Sam wasn't going to take a shower anyway and I took mine earlier this morning." Sam's face fell. When had he John allowed to say something on his behalf. He could speak for himself.
"It's cool, Dean. Don't worry about it." Dean gave Sam a grin and ruffled his long, chocolate brown locks before heading over to the TV set. He sat down on the broken down chair, got ready to throw his legs on the table in front of him, when he stopped in midair. He turned back around.
"Sammy, why are you wearing a hoodie, it's February?"
Sam hesitated irresolutely. That was totally unexpected. When had he become observant?
"I'm just a little cold, that's all." Dean shrugged indifferently and turned back to the TV, flinging his legs on the table.
Damn, he didn't even get coffee.
Sam went to go sit by Dean when a hand grabbed hold of his right arm. He let out a silent scream as the pain washed over him once more. Was he the only one who cared about his well-being?
John had tugged on Sam's arm, not caring how much it hurt, and dragged him into his bedroom.
"What are you tryin' to do, boy?" he asked, his voice hushed. He let go of Sam's arm, viciously throwing it around, sending the boy with it. Sam landed on the ground with a small thud, his size barely making a noise as it was flung to the ground like a rag doll. He whimpered as he landed on his right arm. Again.
Sam didn't dare move; for one, it hurt to move his arm in any manner, and two, John would move him for him. As was predicted, John grabbed him by the collar, pulling him up till his feet were nearly a foot off the ground. He felt his arm scream out from the pain, but it was definitely a background sensation. John's deadly eyes locked on with Sam's, momentarily stunning him. They were black, but not like that of a demon. His eyes were usually a hazel color, but not it was the same color as his pupils. Sam gulped. What was he supposed to do?
"What are you tryin' to do boy?" he asked again, his voice sending warning to Sam's brain. He was pissed.
They listened as footsteps came their way. John quickly dropped Sam, catching him off-guard as he fell to the floor. Luckily, his pained arm strayed away from the floor, allowing him to let out a small sigh of relief. However, he still felt the pain in his back as he fell, which for the most part, he was willing to endure.
Dean peaked his head from outside the door, curiosity evident.
"Whatcha doin'?" Dean asked, coming out from behind the door, raising an eyebrow.
"I was teaching Sammy here a few more defensive techniques." He said it so smoothly that nobody except Sam could doubt him. John had become such a good liar. Somehow, however, Sam had always been able to see through his lies. Maybe it's because he's the only one that knows the real John.
"Oh, that's cool" he said, giving a bright smile to Sam. "You holding up, Sammy?" Sam gave a tentative nod. He initiated his move to sit up, but his back didn't seem to welcome the progress. He let out a groan as his back throbbed.
Dean appeared next to him as he helped Sam to his feet. "Damn, little guy, you sure took a beating."
You have no idea.
"Thanks" Sam replied sarcastically. "I appreciate the comfort that I got my ass whipped. That's the brotherly love I'm talking about." Dean let out a laugh as he made the move to pick up Sam.
"Wow dude, what the heck are you doing?" Dean continued to grin as he picked him up bridal style and took him into the kitchen. He heard Sam mutter something about "his damn faggot of a brother." Dean chuckled as he sat down, putting his brother in his lap.
"Are you kidding? Is this some kind of joke cause it sure as hell ain't funny." Sam gave Dean an 'Are you fucking crazy' stare before he started to squirm, attempting to get out of Dean's hold.
"Oh, come on now, I gotta take care of my baby brother, don't I?"
"I'm fourteen!" he said, his attempt at escape futile. He continued to struggle, Dean still holding firmly onto Sam's waist.
As Sam grew more erratic, Dean moved his arms to take hold of Sam's, laughing all the way. However, when he heard Sam's gasp, he immediately frowned.
"Let me go!" Dean immediately complied as Sam nearly fell out of Dean's lap. Sam cradled his arm to his chest, breathing heavily.
Dean got out of the chair hurriedly, standing next to Sam, rubbing his back. "Hey, man, you okay? Damn, Dad must've knocked the shit out of you." A small laugh escaped Sam's lips.
"You have no idea."
Dean smiled back in response, thinking his scrawny brother couldn't handle John's too rough training.
After Sam had relaxed a bit, Dean looked at Sam's arm intently. He held it protectively, making sure not to hurt it further. Sam shied away.
"I'm fine Dean. It probably just twisted the wrong way. It'll be fine by tomorrow." Dean gave an unsure nod, stopping his inspection.
He lunged at Sam again, being careful for Sam's arm, and picked him up. He sat back on the chair, bringing Sam with him.
"Are you serious?! Again?" Sam shrieked, laughing. Dean, amused that Sam hadn't put up much of a fight, began petting Sam's head playfully. Sam flung his hand away, knocking it off his head.
"Oh, come on, Sammy. Don't be like that."
"Man, you're a queer."
Dean gave a hardy laugh, and Sam joined in. Sam may have the worst dad, but he definitely had the best brother, without question. He continued to sit in Dean's lap as they watched TV the rest of the morning.
Hope u guys liked it!!!! Don't know how many people will like the idea of John being evil but i think it was a good start. let me know what u guys think about it and I'll continue!!!!!
REVIEW OR BEWARE THE WRATH OF THE FINGER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!