Disclaimer: The idea is all mine, and mine only muahaha – my precious x)

Warning: Language and a bit of violence.

A/N: After requests, and because I simply like the idea, I made another chapter to the story. The lyrics are from the song He's Back (The Man Behind the Mask) by Alice Cooper, and this will probably be the last chapter. I've already started on the sequel to Daddy Won't Hurt You! So it won't be long before the first chapter is up!


Man behind the Mask

Did you hear that voice
Did you see that face
Or was it just a dream
This can't be real
That only hap
pens, babe
On the movie screen

~Alice Cooper, He's Back (The Man Behind the Mask)

"Get up!" Somebody yelled and pulled me out of the bed. Because of my leg I couldn't stay upright so I fell to the floor, winching in pain.

"You fucking brat, now I have to take you to the ER. Why can't you ever stay still, huh?! Why do you always have to get yourself into this mess, so I have to take care of you?!" John hauled me up by the collar and shook me violently as he spit the angry words into my face.

I knew what I had to do, play nice and guilty. If I talked back at him, I would end up in a coffin and not the ER, or I could pretend it wasn't him who had done this and just be guilty.

"Sorry s-sir," the pain in the leg didn't make anything better, and John didn't care at all, and… Oh my God, Sammy! I had forgotten him. He had been sleeping against my side, and I think I could remember him tugging my shirt, just before John threw me out of the bed.

I tried to turn my head to see where he was, but the grip in my collar made it imposable. I could hear him though. Small hidden sobs, a rattling from when he moved and the sound of his nails scratching the floor when he tries to grab something to comfort.

"You look at me when I talk to you, boy! Change your clothes and get out to the car, fast! I will take you to get that leg fixed…" As he mentioned the leg, he kicked it which made me cried out in pain, and the tears I had been holding back were now streamed freely down my cheeks.

"… Oh, look the little weak the puppy is crying… Now you know what to do, get started!" He yelled and threw me hard back down on the floor. If it wasn't because I knew my leg was broken, I sure would have known it by now.

"And you Sam!" He got over to Sam and, just as he had done with me, hauled him up from the floor and showed him hard against the wall. A cry escaped his lips, and even more tears fell down his face.

"Leave him alone!" I managed to spit out, but John just ignored me.

"If you as much as show yourself outside or bring any other kind of attention to yourself! I'll personally show you the inside of your guts, got it?!" John yelled into his face, and as a reflex Sam nodded, never getting eye contact with his father.

John let Sam go, who fell straight to the floor, and it gave a loud thud when he hit the ground hard. He got out of the room and smacked the door hard behind him.

"Sammy?" He curled into himself, knees pressed up against the chest, his head resting on his knees while his body was trembling violently.

I dragged myself over to him, ignoring the awful pain in my leg. He flinched a bit when I put my hand on his shoulder, but as soon as he realized it was me, he leaned into the touch. I grabbed him around the other shoulder too, and hugged him into my chest. The silent sobs into my chest almost shattered my heart once again; the kid must be terrified by the words from John.

"It's okay Sammy, it's gonna be okay soon," I whispered into his chocolate brown hair and surprisingly Sam shook his head.

"Nooo, it's not, not ever…. I'm sorry, I… What's he gonna do?" He whispered in confusion and looked up with those wet bloodshot eyes that could make even Frankenstein feel sorry for him.

"Shhhh, we're just going to the hospital, getting my leg fixed it's all, dad won't do anything else, and he won't hurt you, okay?" I was surprised of how calm my own voice was, because I deep down felt like crying.

"Okay," he silently agreed and pulled away.

"What's wrong?"

"Yo-u need to get finished," he peeped and looked down at my clothes. I followed his gaze and understood what he is saying; I weren't exactly dressed to a prom night in my bloodied shirt and hair and my torn jeans.

I had soon cleaned myself as good as I could and changed my clothes, well everything but my jeans – the leg hurt too much to even try and take them off. After making sure Sam was going to be as okay as he could I moved out to the car, or more like limped out to the car.

John was waiting with a gloomy expression covering all of his face. He didn't say anything, and the ride to the hospital was spent in silence. Only my small moans when he made a sharp turn, or the car bumped on a stone or something and made my leg hurt even more.

As soon as we got to the hospital though, John changed from the father I know to the father I once knew.

When the car stopped he was out of his door and by my side, supporting me as we walked in, which stunned me completely.

But on all the personally changes, I still knew what he was doing. It was a mask he pulled on when he or we in this case, showed the public our faces. It was a weird feeling when someone who abused you like this, sometimes got down to earth and started to care and be a responsible father, just to turn it all around again when we came home.

After questions on questions, then a doctor, a nurse and some more questions, an x-ray, more doctors with more questions, I was finally done. When my leg was in a big leg cast, I had been handled a pair of crutches, we were finally on out way out of the clinical place.

"Thank you so much for taking care of my son," John said and shook the doctors hand. I sat in a wheelchair and waiting patiently while my father acted his fatherly act.

"You're welcome, but no more skating for the young man, for a while, this is the place where we don't want to see people again, understand me right," the doctor joked and you didn't have to be a professor with Ph.D. in Human Rights Act to see that both John and me were both giving false smiles to cover something dark.

"I'll keep him away from the skateboard then," John said and glared down at me, his mouth smiling as assuring as he could, his eyes burning with extreme dislike and disgust. It sent chills down my spine, but I kept myself together, at least so the doctor wouldn't notice how I flinched away from John's touch or when he spoke to me.

"Yeah, I'll try to be more careful," I said carefully, not wanting to set John on fire once again.

After John had gotten the most important information, and I had kept myself in the background, only answering the questions asked specifically to me, we were standing beside the car once again.

"You just stand there Dean and I'll get the wheelchair back in," John said and pretended he was soothing me. The only thing was it made me shiver in a mix between horror and fear.

When John got back he held helped me into the passenger seat, raw hands around my shoulder and waist and his angry, but heavy breathes touching my neck. Then he took the crutches and threw them in the back before he crawl into the driver seat. He gave me one angry glare before starting the car and driving home.

All of the way I was pressed against the door side, my head resting on the cool window. I didn't do it because John had said anything to me – he hadn't said anything really – but because he was close. I didn't like him when he was this close to me, because without a warning he could grab me and I wouldn't be able to do anything about it.

At least John was driving fast. All I wanted to do was get home and hug Sam into my chest and never let go. Just the thoughts of how frightened Sam must be, not knowing when we were going to come back, what John had done to me – which surprisingly was nothing, or what John would do when we came home, made my heart clench – even more than it already had.

We had been through this before, of course, but the outcome was always unpredictable. So I was wishing for the best, and expecting the worst.

When the car pulled up beside the apartment, John just got out, smacking the door hard and waited for me to get out too. With my leg it made it difficult, and I had to use the roof of the car to pull myself awkwardly out. As soon as the door was closed John locked the doors, pointed at the crutches he had pulled out and thrown on the ground and then left me there.

I hurried over to crutches and picked them up, my broken leg always bowed either up under my body, or when I bent forward curved up backwards in a horizontally angle.

As I limped into the apartment, almost stumbling over my one foot and the crutches, I saw John sitting in front of the TV, and actually with nothing in hand, I would have expected a beer. I couldn't see Sam, so I hurried into our room and found him there.

He was curled into a ball, lying on my bed, and I had to stand and watch him for a little while before disturbing his sleep. That kid just knew how to bring up the best feelings in me.

I hobbled over to the bed and sat down on the edge. I let the crutches fall slowly down to the floor. I lay down behind him, moved my arms around his slim body and buried my nose on his brown shaggy hair.

Sometimes I wondered that if we hadn't grown up like this and hadn't been so close, I would never have done this. I would have thought someone would consider it as wrong. But I didn't, and neither did Sam. We knew it was only for comfort, and even though I hated the chick flick moments, I could never keep them away if Sam needs them.

Sam's breathe changed and he stiffed beneath me hands. I knew what he thought, so I hurried to keep him calm.

"Shhh, it's alright, it's just me. Go back to sleep lil' brother," I said and brushed my hand through his hair, and as if the words were magic Sam closed his eyes, tugged himself closer into my warm and soon his breathe was heavy and deep again.

I listened to the breath for a little while, and waited for John to do something, but he didn't come. As if Sam's breathe was a lullaby, I forgot everything about John and just let the sleep take over.

John never came into the room that night, didn't do anything the next day or week. It was like he actually enjoyed not beating me or Sam, but I knew the mask would drop soon. It was like being to a masquerade, it's beautiful and special with the mask on, but sooner or later you're going to get hungry, and the mask has to be taken off.

What I knew was, John would get hungry, really soon.