(A/N: I don’t actually think of John as this angry a person canonically, but to make the story fit, I made him a physically abusive asshole. Also, super extra secret bonus thing if any of you understand the teacher reference I threw in here!)

Sam walked into his bedroom-of-the-week, eyes still burning and red from his last bout with his father. A bruise was quickly forming on one of his cheeks, and he knew that he wouldn’t be able to go to school the next day because his teachers were very strict on the “no hats/no sunglasses” rule. Ms. Bitters, Sam’s homeroom teacher, was especially stern with rule-breaking. She had once growled at a student when he walked into class chewing gum. Sam shuddered slightly at the memory and chucked his backpack somewhere in the direction of the desk. He wanted nothing more than to throw himself onto his and Dean’s bed and sleep, but he needed to start dinner and do the laundry. 

Sam scrubbed a hand over his face and headed to the kitchen. John hadn’t gone grocery shopping in quite a while, as he was usually too drunk to remember to do so, so Sam had a very limited amount if ingredients to make something half-edible. He knew that asking his father for more would be pointless; once John got to the punching stage of his drunkenness, he was too far gone to do anything else but yell and cry. 

Pulling out his meager ingredients, Sam pondered over what to make. He had some ground beef, half of a loaf of stale bread, and some ketchup. Maybe meatloaf?

As Sam thought, John had wandered into the living room and slumped down on the couch, bottle of cheap whiskey dangling precariously from his fingers. He could hear his younger son banging around in the other room, making an awful racket that sent John’s head throbbing. 

“Saaammmm!“ he slurred, almost dropping his bottle. "Pipe down!" 

Immediately the noises from the kitchen quieted, and John nodded to himself.

"Fuckin’ h’ngry,” he mumbled and rubbed his stomach.

Sam huffed and went about dinner in a very reserved manner. He tried to make as little noise as possible, mixing and cleaning up after himself as though there was a bear in the next room and not his father. When Sam had the meatloaf in the oven, he went down into the basement and grabbed the ancient laundry basket he had found in the moth-ridden linen closet and silently made his way back into the room he and Dean shared. He gathered all their dirty clothes and softly tread towards his father’s room, quickly picking up all the soiled clothing on the floor and bed. He turned to head back to the basement where the outdated washer and dryer sat tiredly and almost screamed when he saw his brother standing in the doorway.

“Jesus, Dean,” Sam whispered angrily. “You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

“BOYS!” John bellowed, struggling to pull himself off the couch. Dean winced at the sound. 

“Don’t worry, Sammy, I got ‘im.” Dean said and practically ran to the living room. Sam shook his head and went down to the machines. He threw the clothing into the washer, poured in a small amount of detergent, and set it going. He checked the timer on the oven on his way back to his room, noted the time remaining, and walked into his room to start on his homework. Which he didn’t have to do. Because he couldn’t go to school the next day. Fuck.

“Hey, Sam?” Dean asked, sweeping into their room like a Greek god personified, brushing his hair back with one of his grimy hands. He had just finished his shift at the auto shop down the street. “I’m gonna take a shower, ‘kay?”

“Yeah, Dean.” said Sam solemnly, sitting down on their dingy comforter.

“Rough day?” Dean supplied, walking over to kneel in front of his little brother and rub a gentle thumb over Sam’s purple and yellow cheek. Sam just nodded. Dean sighed and stood, scratching at his neck awkwardly before grabbing his duffle and heading off to shower. 

Sam flopped back onto the mattress, staring up at the ceiling despondently. If only he and Dean could leave, get out from under their father’s proverbial boot and strike out on their own. But Sam and school, and… but he kind of really didn’t. He could barely go to school anyways, since most teachers frowned on his covering up and anti-social personality. A few had even threatened to call CPS on his dad because Sam had a test that day and couldn’t skip out after his dad had punched him. Sam sat back up, ideas racing through his mind so fast that he could barely catch them all. If school was the only thing holding them back from leaving, then Sam would gladly give it up to run away with his brother. 

Dean breezed back into the room, hair still wet from the shower. Sam jumped up and dragged his older brother onto their bed, motioning for Dean to be quiet. Dean’s eyebrows furrowed.

“What’s up, Sammy?” he whispered questioningly, placing a hand on Sam’s side. Sam warmed under the contact.

“Dean, I have an idea.” Sam whispered back. Dean’s face couldn’t pick between confused and amused.

“Oh yeah?” He asked finally, rubbing his hand up and down.

“I’m gonna drop out.” Sam stated, nodding firmly. Dean’s eyebrows practically shot up into his hair.

“What? Why?” he asked incredulously.

“Because.” Sam said, as if that explained everything. “Then we can leave.”

“Sammy, we can’t leave. You have to graduate.” Dean looked even more confused. Sam huffed.

“I don’t wanna graduate, Dean. Not if it means having to stick around here.” Sam scooted closer to his older brother, putting a meaningful hand on Dean’s knee. 

"Sam,” Dean said reproachfully. “I didn’t finish high school. And look where I am now! Working as a mechanic for some dip-shit who doesn’t know a thing about cars.

"Sammy.” Dean said and took his brother’s face in his hands, careful to avoid the new mark on his precious little brother’s skin. “I want you to have what I couldn’t. I had to drop out to take care of dad; the least you could do is finish and rub that diploma in my face.” Dean smiled sadly. Sam shook his head, reaching up to pull Dean’s hands off his face.

“No, Dean! I don’t want you to have to take care of dad anymore. We should get out of here. Dad can take care of himself, you know he can.” Sam looked into his brother’s eyes pleadingly, cradling Dean’s hands against his chest. 

“Sam.” Dean said and tried to pull away. “We can’t do that to him.”

“Why do you always have to defend him!? He hits me, abuses you; why can’t you just accept the fact that that man out there isn’t our father anymore!?” Sam stood angrily, pointing towards the shut door. 

“But he is our dad, Sam.” Dean said, staring at the wall. “We can’t just leave him now, especially since mom’s anniversary is coming up.” Dean’s voice cracked a little.

Sam sighed and looked down. “Then what should we do?” He asked in a hushed tone, already sounding defeated. He wanted to finish high school, but he could barely go because of all the bruises. 

"First of all, you are going to finish high school.” Dean said sternly, pulling Sam back onto the bed with him. ”We’ll figure out what we’re gonna do after that.” He dragged his brother into a hug, palming the back of Sam’s head.

"Okay, Dean.” Sam whispered into Dean’s neck. “Okay.”