Sam was asleep in one of the motel beds.

Dean sat on the rickety couch, trying to get some channel, any channel on the ancient TV.

"This place sucks." He said aloud. He leaned back against the sofa, trying to avoid the springs poking out of the cushions. The clock read 1:24. He was waiting until his father was home to go to bed.

"Dean?" Sam's seven-year-old voice called from the bed.

"Yeah Sammy?" Dean asked, looking over the couch at him.

"Can you get me some water?" Sam yawned. "I'm thirsty."

"You have legs little brother." Dean replied, turning back to the dinky little screen.

"Please?"

Grumbling, Dean consented, and poured his little brother a glass.

They heard the car pull up and the door slam. Someone knocked over the trashcan outside.

Sam and Dean looked at each other, Sam's eyes were lit up in anticipation to see his dad.

Dean's hardened; from the noise, it didn't seem like their dad was totally there.

He threw off the blankets.

"Dad's back!"

The door swung open, and in stumbled John Winchester.

"Dad!" Sam cried, jumping out of bed, and rushing his father. He hugged him tight.

"Hiya there Sammy boy."

Dean noticed that his words slurred together, and his eyes were shiner that usual.

He was drunk.

Again.

Sam grabbed the glass from Dean, and sat back on his bed against the wall, ready to listen about the latest hunting trip.

Dean leaned against the counter.

"How did the job go Dad?"

One sharp look from John forced Dean to reconstruct his sentence.

"How did the job go, Sir?"

John grunted as he rooted around in the refrigerator.

"No respect." He muttered. "No respect that one."

Just loud enough that Dean could hear.

"Da- I mean, Sir. I-"

John put up a hand, cutting Dean off. He looked at his son over the fridge door.

"I only ask, I only ask for a few things young man. Number one, that you take care of Sammy. Number two, that you do what I tell you to do. And Number three, that you respect me. Damn it son, it's not that difficult."

Sam watched this from his position on the bed, eyes wide.

"I do what you ask." Dean protested.

John slammed the fridge door.

"Don't backtalk me boy! I have a hard enough time as it is, raising you two on my own, on the raod. I work hard to provide for you and Sammy, and you should be thankful! I keep you alive and well!"

His voice was growing louder.

"I know that." Dean said.

John grabbed the boy's upper arm, and shook him.

"Don't be a smart ass Dean!"

"I'm not, I-"

"Goddamit Dean! I come home exhausted, I haven't slept in 30 hours. All I want is for Sammy to be asleep, a cold drink, and a long night's sleep.

And now, thanks to you, I'll have to put Sammy back to bed. And, there's no food in the house. What, did you eat it all Dean? Did I teach you two nothing on how to get food when you didn't have any?"

Dean had gone without five meals in the past three days so that Sam could have enough to eat.

"Can't you do anything right Dean?!"

John hadn't ever spoken to the boys like this before. Yes, he had come home drunk plenty of times before, and usually had a few choice words, but afterwards, went straight to a bed.

Tonight was different.

"Dad."

"Just SHUT UP and go back to bed Sammy!"

Sam backed up against the headboard.

Dean wrenched his arm out of his father's grasp, leaving marks.

"Don't talk to him like that."

Sam sucked in a breath as John's eyes flashed with anger.

The palm of John's hand connected sharply with Dean's cheek, sending him stumbling into the counter.

He looked up at his father, his green eyes burning.

John stared right back, as if daring him to do something about it.

Finally, Dean turned his head, hand on cheek.

John nodded.

"That's right son."

He stepped away, headed to the bathroom.

Sam crawled over and off the bed to Dean, who was holding his cheek in his hand.

The second John entered the bathroom, Dean grabbed Sam's hand.

"We're out of here Sammy." He said, and they ran out the door.

"Where are we going?" Sam asked as they raced down the street.

"Uncle Bobby's." Dean said. "He lives close, remember?"

Sam nodded.

"Dean Winchester!" They heard John's voice yelling after them.

"C'mon Sammy, as fast as you can go."

They ducked into bushes, doubled back, Dean helped Sam over the fences as they raced through backyards, and doubled back again.

Twenty minutes later, they had weaved through the mess of Bobby's lawn and were at his door.

Dean knocked with quick, loud raps.

It opened moments later.

"Sam, Dean! What're you two idjits doing here at-"

He noticed the reddening outline of the hand on Dean's cheek. His eyes swept Sam, checking him for any physical damage.

"Uncle Bobby, we need to stay here tonight." Dean said, matter-of-factly.

Bobby nodded, his face clouded over.

"Of course."

The boys walked in, feeling safe. Bobby locked the door behind them.

"Sammy, why don't you go upstairs? Dean'll be along in a minute."

Sam reluctantly let go of his brother's hand, and climbed the stairs.

Dean followed Bobby into the sitting room.

"Tell me what happened." He insisted.

Dean recounted the whole story, and Bobby sat there almost in shock.

The boy had a handprint on his cheek. Bruises on his hip from falling into the counter, and bruises clearly in the shape of fingers, from where John had grabbed him.

John Winchester did this.

Bobby almost couldn't fathom it.

When Dean finished, Bobby sent him upstairs to sleep and check on Sam.

He sat, debating what to do for the next three hours.

John came crashing on the door at ten thirty the next morning, yelling for his boys at the top of his lungs.

Bobby opened the door, as cold as could be.

"What?"

"Bobby, my boys are here, aren't they?" John asked, pressing fingers into the temple, fighting a headache.

"They might be." Bobby said.

"C'mon Bobby, don't do this to me. I need to find my sons."

"I have to talk to you before they see you, ya hear?"

John's mouth twitched, but he nodded.

Bobby stepped outside, and shut the door.

"What you did, was unforgivable." He started. "Dean has your handprint on his cheek, and in bruises, your fingers on his arm. You left him with physical injuries, not to mention the mental harm this could have on him and Sam. Dammit John, I thought you weren't going to drink so heavy any more. If you do this again, and someone finds out, the boys could be taken from you, do you understand that? They'll be separated. That would kill them John, and you know it."

"Bobby, I need my boys to come back to me. I need to teach them how to live the way we have to live."

Bobby pointed a finger at his friend.

"They'll be staying here with me for a while. They need to recuperate. Dean looks ill, in no regard to your treatment of him. Sam needs some time here with me, with actual adult supervision."

John stared at him for a minute, but knew that Bobby was the stubbornest person he knew, and wouldn't cave for the world.

"Fine," He finally spit out. He started to walk away.

"I'll be back in a week."

"John!" Bobby called after him.

He turned around and saw the flicker of a curtain in the upstairs window. His eyes slid to Bobby.

"What?"

Bobby's face took on an expression Joh had never seen on his friend before.

"If you ever hurt them again, either one of them, and I find out about it, I will personally take them from you. We will disappear, and you will never find us. The difference here, is that I want them to be safe. You want them to be hunters, but right now, they're children John. Just think about that."

He turned, and went back into the house, leaving John standing on the front walk.

Bobby was greeted on the other side of the door with a long hug from the boys.

"He won't hurt you again." He promised.

John left town for the allotted amount of time.

He didn't drink for the next three weeks, but fell back to the bottle after a close hunter friend was killed.

It was his personal record.