Please Don't Leave Me

Chapter 1

(Abuse)

Dean POV

Being slammed into a wall can either be an enjoyable experience or not. Unfortunately for Dean Winchester, the latter was his case. Wincing as he is pushed further into the wall, he let out a small terrified gasp knowing anything else would make the already messed up situation worse than it already is. As his father lifts his hand to add to the blacks, blues, and purples that already decorate Dean's skin, his little brother walks through the front door. His father drops him immediately and lets him slide down the wall. Enraged to be interrupted, he sent Dean to his room, a menacing smile playing on his lips. Dead made his way down to his room that resides in the basement. 

"I thought Dean would be home by now. Where is he?" The question he could hear his younger brother asking his father made Dean's chest hurt more than it already did. He wishes he could be there for his brother more often like an older brother should be.

Pausing his descent into his room, he listened for the answer his father would give Sam. The answer would be the determining factor on if he would be allowed to leave his room tonight. It is cold and lonely down there. It had no means for escape when father came in, but Dean guesses that is why John chose this part of the house for him to live in. 

Dean was so lost in thought he almost missed his father's answer, which was disappointing, but not surprising. John answers saying Dean won't be home tonight destroying any hope Dean had obtained. Great, He thinks continuing downstairs, another day without food. How many days is this now? 3? 4? He'd lost count, but it didn't matter because Sam was safe. John doesn't want Sam to know what he really is because he's an actual father to Sam. John takes care of Sam the way a father should and Dean doesn't want to be the reason Sam loses his father too. He knows what his father does to him isn't right, but how could he be so selfish to rip his brother's life apart for something so tiresome? And besides, it's not like he didn't deserve it, at least that's how he felt.

Before he knew it, he found himself standing in the middle of his room. It was a simple room that had nothing unusual about it. That is if the cold and blood stains were ignored. Looking around the room, Dean could feel dread creeping through his body. No matter how hard he tried to be grateful that his father had given him what he had, the room never failed to make Dean's skin crawl. There were too many bad memories that had been born here for Dean to ever be able to feel comfortable in the room. 

Heavy footsteps coming down the stairs pulling Dean back to reality. Quickly he limped over to the bed and threw himself on it. Planning to be asleep was his main goal. He knew it wouldn't stop his father from doing what he was planning, but he couldn't stop the small optimism he had that his father would pity him for once. He was weak, as much as he hated to admit it, due to the small amounts of sleep he got and the minuscule meals he got that seemed to be becoming scarcer and scarcer. The daily beating was definitely not helping his case either. At that thought, Dean's stomach began to churn and his bruises to ache.

John slowly started to make his way over to the bed. It was as if he wanted to drag it out because he knows the longer he takes the more scared his oldest son becomes. 

"I know you're awake," John snarls causing Dean to jump slightly. He was a lot closer than he thought. Grabbing Dean's hair, John ripped him out of the bed and onto the ground at his feet. Knowing better than to look at him, Dean fixed his eyes his father's old steel-toed work boots as he pushed himself onto his throbbing knees. The two of them stayed there like that for a while. Dean staring at his father's shoes waiting for a hit or kick, something, while John glared at him. Dean was too scared to say anything to the man because he knew how much his voice irritated the man standing over him and he was not in the mood to test his luck.

"Here's your food," he mocks as he drops a piece of bread in front of Dean. Dean looks at the bread and tried to keep his stomach quiet because he knew John would take it from him if he heard it and repeat the "Don't be so greedy" matra Dean had heard too many times. 

After a few more unbearably long seconds, John turned around and walked out of the room without another word. Dean stayed where he was until he could hear the click of the second lock before grabbing the bread and getting off of his defaced knees. Sighing, he examines the bread to find it moldy and stale, but at this point, it was better than nothing. Eating it was definitely not something he enjoyed, but never would he turn away something edible.

Taking his time consuming the poor excuse of a meal, he wondered if this is what his life would always be like or if it was coming to an end soon. Anymore anything he ate felt more and more like the last meal he would get so why not take his time and enjoy it. 

After he finished, he moved to lay down in the old broken down bed, but his phone dinged. Wondering who it could be because no one ever texted him. Mainly because no one had his phone number for the most part. Looking at the screen, he saw his brother's name lighting up the screen.

Sam: Can you pick me up for school in the morning?

Groaning, frustrated, Dean typed out a message that made him feel guilty.

Dean: No. I'm so sorry, but I will give you a ride home. Is that okay?

Sam: It's alright, I'll see you tomorrow.

Not replying, he plugged in his phone and ignored the familiar ache that never seemed to leave his body. He had school tomorrow and needed at least four hours to be able to function like a somewhat normal person. Relaxing his beaten body was never easy. It was like it was demanding that he do something about the damage done, but what could he do? It wasn't like John supplied him with pain pills after he beat him. The cold room was doing nothing to rid him of the ache that plagued him. It just made him tenser and aggravated his joints. It was a lot to ignore, but eventually, the stress of life pulled the boy into blissful unconsciousness.

I am currently going through and trying to edit all of the chapters to be 3rd pov. It may take me a hot minute, but I want this book to reach its full potential (even though my writing is mediocre at best). Sorry for any confusion that this causes.