Masks (Destiel AU)

Chapter 12: What Happened?

A/N hey all! Before I completely and utterly forget, thank you so so much for reading this!

Deans POV

Groaning, I heave myself out of bed and change clothes, I fell asleep in mine last night and the pants are covered in blood. The shirts fine because it's black, the blood doesn't show on it and I can't bring myself to move it.

He brings the knife closer to me and I flinch away from it, which makes him laugh. I wish he would stop drinking, the kind John was becoming less and less frequent as I got older.

"You need to learn why you shouldn't leave Sam alone." He jerks the knife downwards and it embeds itself in my thigh, ripping a scared scream from my throat. I feel the fear seep through every part of my body as he cackles and pulls the knife out. He wipes it on the carpet and I reach forward and apply pressure to the bleeding wound, slightly hysterical. He just smirks and squats down in front of me, punching my ribs and pulling me into him as some sort of twisted hug.

I shake my head at the memory and tip toe downstairs, quietly making breakfast for Sammy. The usual morning routine, except this time I had to avoid passing out.

He holds me close and drags the knife down my rib cage, pulling a muffled cry from me. I squeeze my eyes shut as he makes an identical cut on the opposite side. He laughs in my ear and twists the end of the knife into my sternum before he slams me into the floor and flips me into my stomach.

He sways drunkenly as he sits on my back and pulls up my shirt, I move my arms to push off but he leans forward and holds them still with one hand. Even though he was older than me he was a lot stronger. I try to picture the kindness in his eyes that he used to have, but all I can see is the burning hatred and haze that covered his eyes, sealing them off from reality.

I shudder and gently touch the still bleeding wounds on my torso, I hadn't told Sammy about them so they weren't bandaged. I would have to do that at school. I turn the pan on, spraying it with oil for pancakes.

He laughs wickedly and lightly traces the muscles of my back with the knife before drunkenly giggling as he digs it into my shoulder, pulling it down and making a short line. He giggles again and hiccups before taking a cushion and shoving it in my mouth, not enough that I couldn't breathe but enough to muffle my screams.

I try to wriggle away but he digs the knife in again next to the last mark and begins carving lines of fire across my right shoulder blade. He then stumbles upwards and holds a hand against the wall for support. I lie dead still, crying into the cushion silently, in too much physical and emotional pain to move. I feel terrified and worthless as I wait for the next attack from the man that was once my father.

I pour the batter into the pan and watch as it bubbles, signifying that it needs to be flipped. I turn the pancake over ad barely register that it's cooked exactly the way Sammy likes it.

He giggles again before stumbling back and flipping me over, pushing my shoulder into the floor and tearing the cushion away. I let out a scream of pain before he unbuckles my belt and shoves that in my mouth instead. Pure fear courses through my brain as I try to understand why I can't fight back and why he can still do this to me, to Sammy.

"Never leave Sam alone, understood?" He pulls his fist back and it collides with my exposed ribs again.

And again.

And again.

I murmur good morning to Sammy as he shuffles into the kitchen and plops onto one of the chairs with a groan. I quickly look at him and decide he's probably just tired and stressed from last night. Sammy knew what dad could do and was probably surprised at how little he had done. Well, that's because he only saw my face and leg, not my torso.