Warning: Parental abuse.

Dean looked at his friend Andrew with regret, closing his locker and walking towards the school parking lot. "I can't do it," he said. The halls were mostly empty of students and only a few teachers were wondering around here and there.

"What do you mean?" Andrew said, following him. "You're the only one whose Dad lets him have the car, and what a car! You never drive us anywhere in the impala. And don't say it's because your Dad won't let you go because your Dad lets you do whatever you want."

"That's because he's Daddy's good little soldier," Sam said. Dean hadn't seen his brother walk up. He didn't mind Sammy teasing him—god knows he'd said worse to his brother.

"You could give the constant back talk a rest you know, Sammy," he said.

"Yeah, that's what Ms. Graham said to you this morning, Dean. How is it that you're the good kid at home and the badass at school?" Andrew asked.

"And how is it that Dad doesn't mind you getting into fights and getting suspended, but he freaks when I stay late for science club?" Sam muttered.

"Dad and I have an agreement," Dean said. He said it with typical arrogance, trying to sound like a guy who'd worn his father down with his constant misbehaviour and negotiated some kind of a truce, not like one who got away with a lot because his father was so guilty about asking Dean to practically raise his brother and…well, a lot of other crap.

"Come on, Dean. It's free tickets! And I know you like Pearl Jam, even though they don't pass your whole classic rock test or whatever…please? I'll have to give the tickets away if I can't get a ride," Andrew said.

"What are you doing on the fifteenth, Sam?" Dean asked.

"I don't know. Just a regular night I guess," Sam said.

Dean thought for a minute, standing beside the impala. "I can't," he finally said.

"Are you seriously not going to go because you don't want Dad and me to fight?" Sam asked, rolling his eyes. "It's not like the world ends if we get into an argument."

Andrew was familiar with Dean's preoccupation with protecting his brother. He knew better than to argue with Dean about it. "What if we took Sam with us?" he asked.

Dean smiled, getting into the car. "Then I guess you might have a ride," he said.

"Winchester, you are awesome! Weird, but awesome! See you tomorrow," Andrew said.

"You didn't have to do that," Sam said. "I'm not even in high school yet. Your friends aren't going to want me along."

"My friends want a ride, and so they'll suck it up," Dean said, beginning to drive home. He usually was a bit more subtle about avoiding leaving his brother alone with his father, but he'd kind of been put on the spot just then. He hoped it would be easier when Sam was in high school with him next year…and maybe Sam would move in with him after Dean graduated the year after that. He didn't know how to broach that subject with either Sam or his Dad, but he was convinced it was the best thing for his brother, and maybe even for his father. If Dean couldn't get Sam out of the house he was seriously considering failing a few classes on purpose so he wouldn't graduate on time.

"You're too protective of me. I can take care of myself," Sam said.

"Sammy, are you seriously going to bitch-face at me because I got you free tickets to go see Pearl Jam?" Dean asked in exasperation.

"No," Sam said, laughing. "Thanks man."

"Stick with me, kid," Dean said. He turned the car into the driveway, wondering what he'd find when he walked in the front door.

John was sitting at the kitchen table, a sour look on his face. It wasn't promising. When he was watching a ballgame sometimes he was easier to deal with, at least as long as his team won.

"Why are you home?" Sam asked.

Dean winced. "Go upstairs and do your homework, Sammy," Dean said.

"I can't answer my own son's question?" John asked Dean, his tone surly.

"Yeah, Dean, I was just asking—"

"Now Sammy," Dean said.

Sammy went upstairs resentfully, and Dean turned to his father. "Did you get laid off again?" he asked.

"You know they can't always keep a guy on for the whole year. It's been rough out there. Less work all around," he said defensively.

Dean ran his fingers through his spikey hair. He didn't bring up the fact that John was a class "A" mechanic and every garage in town would fight for the chance to employ him if he wasn't a drunk who barely showed up for work and acted like an angry bear when he was sober. "Maybe Bobby has some work. Have you talked to him?"

"They just told me today, Dean. Just give me a minute to catch my breath," he said. "Hey, have a seat. Have a beer with your old man."

"I don't know, Dad. We need to talk about this. Do we have money for rent this month?"

"You're such an old man, Dean. If you're going to make me talk to you about this stuff, at least have a beer with me," John slurred.

Dean sighed and got himself a beer, passing one to his father as he went by. He took a pull of the beer, wondering with trepidation why his father was so insistent about it. "So? We need rent money?"

"I think we'll be a little short," John said.

"I'll go over to Stillwater and find a card game. Don't worry about it," Dean said. He paused, and then reluctantly continued, "You know, I'm seventeen. I could quit school and get a job."

"You think I can't take care of my family?" John asked, his voice deceptively soft.

"That's not what I meant. I just meant I could help out more. I don't even have to quit school—just a part time job," Dean said quickly.

John had a hard glint in his eye that Dean recognized. Strangely, even though Dean knew he could beat the crap out of his father, he felt the same stirring of fear in his belly he'd known since he was ten years old. The fear was something left over, because he knew that if he didn't take whatever punishment his father was going to give him, John would just go hurt Sammy. So he wasn't afraid of the pain, he welcomed it, because it was pain Sammy wouldn't have to feel. Dean had been so good at bearing the brunt of and hiding his father's bullying that Sam didn't even know it was happening, and he couldn't ever learn about it. Sam was a happy, well-adjusted kid, and that was how it was going to stay.

"Dad—" Dean began in a placating tone.

"—Get me a beer, son," John growled, interrupting.

Dean got up, knowing this was a trap. He walked slowly, trying not to tense his muscles or brace for impact. John would only get angry if he thought Dean was expecting a sucker punch. The punch was a devastating kidney shot which had Dean down on one knee in seconds. Luckily John rarely beat Dean up. He never lost control when he "disciplined" his eldest son. He just hit him, hard, in a place where no one would ever see, to let him know who was boss every now and again.

Dean took a couple of deep breaths and then got to his feet, remembering to bring his father that beer. "What do you want me to cook for supper, Dad?" he asked.

For a moment John looked completely stricken, and Dean realized he had recovered too quickly, and was looking his father in the eye without bitterness or reproach. His father liked to think the times he hit his son were rare, but Dean had just shown his father that he was used to it, and could live with it.

John mustn't have liked the resignation he could see in his son's eyes, because he left the house and didn't return for two days.

Dean didn't know what to do. Usually if his father went missing he ended up getting a call late that night to come pick him up. Despite the fact that he wasn't much of a caretaker for his kids, John had never left them for the whole night. Dean knew he couldn't call the cops, because he didn't want them to call child protective services on him and Sam. He'd be alright; he was old enough to live on his own, but Sam was still vulnerable.

He was surprised and a little bit pleased when John came home two days later cleaned up and sober. He had a couple of month's rent in his pocket and a new junker was delivered shortly after he pulled in the drive.

"Where'd you get the money?" Dean asked.

"You think you're the only one who can find a card game? I taught you how to play," John said.

"Alright, alright, relax old man. What are you going to do with that old junker?" Dean asked. He was hoping his father would say that it was going to be his after John fixed it up.

John smiled secretively. "I'm going to fix her up. See what she's made of."

"That's awesome, Dad. Do you mind if I take the impala this morning?" he asked.

"Can we pick Jason up on the way?" Sam asked, clomping his way down the stairs.

"Yeah, Dean, you can have the car. In fact, I was going to wait until you were eighteen, but I can't do it. I didn't buy the truck for you, Dean. I bought it for me. The impala's yours," John said.

It should have been the happiest moment in Dean's young life, but all he could think of was the fact that if he took the gift it was like saying that what John did to him was okay; it was like saying he forgave him for the casual cruelty that he sometimes meted out. He looked at his brother Sammy and couldn't find a way to refuse the gift without tipping him off to the fact that there was something seriously wrong between Dean and his father.

He found himself grinning and walking across the room to his father. His father hugged him tightly, and Dean knew this was all the apology he was ever going to get.

"We're taking the long way to school, Sammy," Dean said, grinning.