"So, the reason Prospero chastises Ariel for asking for his freedom is so that he can remind him how good he has it now compared to when Sycorax was his master. Kind of guilting him into being obedient," Castiel explained, looking over at the boy across the table expectantly, searching for a sign that he was grasping the concept.

Dean, however, was looking down at his watch, checking the time while anxiously shaking his leg beneath the table. "Dean?" He called. The boy looked up at him. "You understand?" Dean nodded slowly, "Yeah," he stated simply. Castiel, unconvinced, nods anyway.

"Okay then. Let's look at the word choices he uses, now. Using the words 'slave' and 'servant' to make an antithesis," Dean was looking at his watch again. Castiel sighed. "Dean," he said more sternly. Dean snapped back to attention.

"I'm listening!" He insisted, "I just gotta go soon," he looked across the café to spot his brother sitting farther off and talking to a few other kids his age.

Sam was so excited when Dean had told him about the tutoring session, stating that Harvelle's, the cafe, was where a few of his friends would go to do homework. Among them was the owner's daughter, Jo, and Sam's crush, Jess. Dean decided to leave him to his own devices while he and Castiel went over the material, but it was starting to drag now.

"Sammy," Dean called, getting the boy's attention. "We're leaving soon," and Sam nodded, understanding perfectly. Dean nodded in return, then looked back at Castiel.

"Well, we should just stop here. You seem to be in a hurry? Are you trying to catch tonight's game?" Castiel questioned with a slight chuckle, attempting to make conversation. Dean didn't have cable, but he didn't have time to think of a lie, so he nodded and looked back at his watch.

"Alright, Sammy. Let's go," Dean said, standing from his seat. Sam began to shove papers into his binder and packed it into his bag. Dean looked down at Castiel who was packing his own things neatly into his bag and they hurriedly said their goodbyes. Dean headed towards the door and Sam followed him out.

The walk home was quiet and it had gotten cold. The evening sun was completely concealed by the clouds and the cold breeze pushed it's way into the openings of Dean's jacket.

Sam's cheeks were turning red from the cold as he tried his best to bury his face into the collar of his own jacket. Once they had gotten home there was very little light showing through the windows. If the apartment wasn't so well kept, you would have thought I was abandoned.

Dean checked his watched one last time as they entered: 5:30. Shit. They were late, Dean hadn't realized that it had taken them that long to get home from the café. Dean looked over to find John sitting in his recliner, hell blazing in his eyes.

"Where the hell were you?" He yelled, standing up from his seat. Dean immediately shrank into himself, his posture becoming slouched and tense, making himself look small before his father.

"It was really important," Dean mumbled, looking down towards the floor, finding it hard to look his father in his eyes.

"As important as your curfew?" He snapped, voice booming through the room and bouncing off the walls, vibrating Dean's eardrums. The boy flinched and debated whether he should tell him the truth or not. But he was already late, he didn't want to seem stupid, too.

"Dad it was," Sam protested from behind Dean. His voice was low and small. John had a tendency to make everyone feel that way. "Unless you didn't listen and schedueled your job early so you can't make me my fucking dinner it wasn't!" John yelled even more agrivated.

"Sammy, shut up. Just go into the room and do not come out," Dean ordered, voice stern.

Sam looked up at him and nodded solemnly—he knew the routine. He ran to their bedroom and locked the door behind him.

Dean was relieved, at least Sam was out of the way. Now if only he could think of a way to placate his father...

"Listen, Sir. W—" His sentence was cut short by a blow to the gut. Dean doubled over in pain, clutching his stomach and gasping for breath. Too late for talking. Before he could catch his breath, John grabbed him by the shirt and roughly pinned him against the wall.

"Look at the filth all over my house! I come home after a long day of work and expect at least one good thing coming out of you! All I ask for is a clean house, some dinner, and some quiet and you can't even do that!"

It didn't last long, ten seconds at most—an obvious show of strength, to show Dean that he shouldn't even think about fighting back—then John threw Dean down to the floor, kicking and punching him.

Dean could do nothing but curl up on the floor and try his best not to vomit. He considered trying to get up and drag himself to his room, but then he remembered Sam (who was was most likely sitting on his bed red-faced and covering his ears) had locked it. No escape. So he just... lied there. Waiting for it to be over and... trying not to feel.

Eventually, it ended, an unknown amount of time passing for Dean, and he crawled to his feet. He walked to their bedroom, holding his gut as he did so, and lightly knocked on the door. Sam let him in.

"You can't let him do this to you forever," Sam told him softly after Dean had lied down on his bed. He whispered it, knowing their father had not gone to sleep yet.

Dean didn't respond immediately, taking this time to actually rest. Sam frowned but said nothing as he went to lie on his own bed, the two falling into a silence.

Dean knew Sam was right, though, but the only reason he endured the abuse was because of Sam. He knew that if he wasn't here for his father to smack around, he'd go straight for Sam. Even if Dean stood up to him or left, John would still have custody of Sam.

Dean would have no money, no house, and he couldn't let Sam get filed into the system and be forgotten about due to the needs of the younger children. He just couldn't tell Sam he puts up with it all for him.

"It's nothing, Sammy," Dean started after a while. "Just make sure you stay out of it. Focus on your studies and let me handle everything else. Once I'm eighteen we can get out of here. Okay?" Sam just nodded and stood up.

"Do you think he would have stopped if he knew why you were out?" Sam asked climbing onto Dean's bed, making sure his brother was okay. Dean just shook his head, not bothering with what ifs. He stopped doing that years ago.

"He'll never miss out on an opportunity," Dean said with a sigh. "Just make sure that you're never an option." With that he fell silent again, heading back out of the room to clean and make dinner.

He made himself dinner this time to sense he didn't have barley anything to eat. Dean set the plate down for John at the table before packing up Sam's and his lunches.

Dean put his lunch in his bag and handed the other one to Sam. Then Dean headed to the car with Sam following. Sam ate in the car and so did Dean.

Dean headed to the arcade first. Dean was glad his brother found a different place to hangout instead of the bar where he works. He only had to go to the bar again because he starts work at Bobby's sometime next week.

Dean dropped Sam off before driving away with a smirk seeing his little brother full of joy. Dean then worked for what fell like a long time. He was glad no one questioned him of the noticeable bruises that were on his face. Dean seemed like the type to get into a fight.

Dean finished work, picked Sammy up, and headed home. The two of them headed straight for the bedroom, Dean's body weak and crying for rest.