The Name's Dean

Worst Father Award

The beatings and abuse continued. John got drunk every time they weren't on the road, and sometimes even if they were. Dean just tried to stay out of his way and protect Sam. "Watch out for dad." Dean instructed him one night. Sam nodded and went into the bathroom. John's headlights cut through the windows and he stumbled inside, drunk. Dean prepared for the usual pain and emotional scarring as he helped John into his bed. Dean really hoped it wouldn't be a struggle tonight. But hopes were not reality, as his father swung a fist at him. Dean caught the punch and ducked out of the way, letting John hit air. He grabbed his wrist and tried to coax him. "Cmon, dad, just go to bed. You'll feel better in the morning." Dean said softly. John only grumbled something and swung at him again. Dean closed his fingers around John's fist, an iron grip on the lethal appendages. "Damnit, dad." He swore, nearly dragging him to his room. John hiccuped and stayed planted on the ground. "You fucking five year old asshole!" Dean shouted. He didn't care anymore. He could take John easily when he was drunk. He just never tried. John looked at him for a moment. He seemed to be taken aback. Dean ignored him and stomped between John and the floor. "Sam, pack your things! We're leaving!" Dean yelled. Sam didn't respond as he threw his few belongings into his suitcase, grabbing his brother's as well, and flew out to the Impala, trusting Dean would be there shortly. "Oh, and by the way, I am not a woman. I am a man. And if you ever try to hurt us I will not hesitate to kill you or press abuse charges." Dean spat. "Fa~." John replied weakly. Dean snorted. "And fuckin proud of it. Goodbye, Asshole." He roared, slamming the motel door and driving away.