Dean had grown up quickly when his mom was murdered. His dad tried to hold it together, but failed miserably. He became a helpless drunk about a month after the funeral. He became an abusive bastard not much of a year after. Dean tried getting money any way he could, which was tough for a toddler.
They lived in a small house close to the docks, Dean's father had given him a boat he owned, given to him as a payment for his time as a captain in the navy.
Whenever John had a glimpse of soberness, or his best friend, and former secondmate, Bobby, came to visit, Dean would ask to go on the boat.
Bobby would smile and watch as an exited Dean ran off towards the boat and happily jumped on board. Bobby would often teach Dean how to steer and navigate, it was the most fun Dean ever had.
John would usually sneer, just getting over a hangover, reaching for another bottle of nasty smelling liquid and nod, thinking the boat could do with a good cleaning.
Dean couldn't afford school, he needed that time to look for jobs. Once his little brother Sam started school Dean was 8. Sammy would always tell Dean all about his day when they got home. Deans only sort of school education came from Sam.
Dean finally snapped at John once, he yelled at him, called him out on being worse than his father who had abandoned him when John was no older than 9. John was holding a smashed liquid bottle in his hands. He lunged for Dean, who almost got out of the way, a shard of the bottle sliced Deans side. It was a long cut, but it didn't hurt half as bad as it should've, it also wasn't as deep as either of them would've thought.
Dean ran to his and Sammys room and closed the door, he told Sammy to barricade it and then sat on his bed. Sam pushed their small wooden desk in front of the door and sat on his bed, opposite of Deans. Dean rolled his bloody shirt up to try and assess the wound.
It wasn't as bad as Dean had imagined it was. After getting a rag and cleaning away the dried blood it looked rather manageable. Dean ordered Sam to go and get him the stitching supplies.
Sam walked to the dresser and opens the top left drawer, after digging a few seconds he finds the needle and thread under the shirts. Sam gingerly handed the items to Dean and promptly turned around, he couldn't handle watching his brother sew himself up.
Deans wound scarred better than he had originally hoped, just a thin line from his ribs to his back, blending right in with the other assortment of cuts that coated his body.