Disclaimer: I don't own supernatural, I just own the plot of this story!
Author's Note: Thanks for reading! Reviews are much appreciated and always loved!
Sam walked into the motel room, happily totting a bag full of books. His smile was wide and his eyes were shining with joy as he pulled out a thick green book and plopped down in a chair to begin reading. Dean was following behind Sam; his eyes were filled with anxiety and worry, knowing exactly what was to come next. He and Sam had disobeyed their father's orders and left the motel. His father had gotten back early from his hunt and Dean was sure, the second he saw the impala in the parking lot, that he was in big trouble.
"Boys?" A quiet, yet commanding voice, clearly belonging to their father, called.
Dean gulped as he saw his father step from the dark shadows of the motel room and out into the light created by the open door.
"Hey dad," Sam muttered, barely glancing at their father so he could eagerly continue reading his new book.
Dean could tell his dad was fuming.
"Where have you been?" John asked, his eyes boring into Dean's features, making the child feel slightly uncomfortable.
Swallowing nervously, Dean responded, "We went to the library, sir."
John turned to Sam, and, with as much kindness as he could muster, sent him to his room. As soon as Sammy disappeared john ordered Dean outside.
"Do you know what kind of danger you put Sammy in, today?" John shouted at Dean the second the door closed.
"Yes sir," Dean grumbled staring down at his shoes.
John raised his hand and sharply slapped Dean across the face. "Look at me when I talk to you," He barked.
Dean's eyes immediately snapped up towards his father's face.
"You have one job in this family, Dean," His father shouted. "Keep Sammy safe! And you failed at it," John spat.
It was silent for a moment until John spoke once more. "Start running," he finally ordered, "I can't even look at you right now. Your mother would be so disappointed."
The words stung and for the first time in years tears brimmed at the corner of Dean's eyes and threatened to leak out. As he began to run in the direction his father had pointed him in he thought about his mother. 'I bet she hates me,' Dean thought, feeling more rejected then he ever had before. 'I am a failure and no mother wants a failure for a son.'
While Dean ran he began to feel weak. His stomach growled loudly underneath his ratty ACDC t-shirt. He hadn't eaten very much for the past few days because there hadn't been enough money to feed two growing boys and Dean was always willing to sacrifice his food for Sam.
Suddenly Dean lurched forward. His breath became shallow and his heart beat unevenly. Collapsing, he closed his eyes, trying to get his breath back. He crouched on the cement for what seemed to be only a few minutes, but soon the blue sky turned orange and he still couldn't muster up enough energy to stand.
As darkness finally crept into the sky, Dean was able to stand. Slowly and carefully he started the long walk back to the motel.
On his journey back, Dean stopped at a gas station to sit and catch his breath. While he sat there, breathing heavily and sweating profusely, a fat, bald truck driver approached him.
"You got any money on you?" The truck driver asked, revealing a heavy southern accent.
"No, sorry," Dean mumbled, standing up, trying to walk away from the man.
But the truck driver blocked his exit using his oversized form. "Well, then" The older man slurred, "I can give you some, but you gotta do something for me first."
"No thanks," Dean protested as the man leaned in towards him, lips puckered up for a kiss.
Dean resisted this advance even more, causing the truck driver to slam Dean up against the wall of the gas station. With his stinky breath filling Dean's nostrils, he said, "You'll do what I say, bitch."
Dean tried again to free himself, but that only made the man angrier. "What? Am I not pretty enough for you?" He joked.
"You're disgusting," Dean responded without thinking.
"What did you say?" The man asked, pressing a sharpened knife into Dean's throat.
"N-nothing sir," Dean stuttered, immediately regretting his statement.
Usually Dean would have easily been able to beat up or at least outrun this man, but in his weakened state Dean could do nothing but watch as the man shoved the knife deep into Dean's spleen.