The shout from downstairs startled the blonde, and he quickly buttoned the sleeves on his shirt, no need making a big deal out of this.
He trooped downstairs to see John standing at the base, holding Sam by the collar.
“How many times do I have to tell you to keep an eye on your brother?”
“Sorry, Sir,” Dean grabbed his brother by the wrist – not missing the cut over his eye that was most definitely not there this morning – all but pulling him into the banister.
“I was in the middle of a fucking important job! Y’know, the kind that puts food on the table for your sorry asses!”
“It won’t happen again,” Dean roughly shoved his brother up the stairs, behind him.
“It better not,” the brunette turned on his heel, picking the half-drunk bottle of Jameson up from the coffee table, “He better have that homework done by the time I finish.”
“Yes, Sir,” Dean watched as his father collapsed on the couch before he turned back up the stairs, following his brother. Once they were in the privacy of their bedroom, he turned to his brother, “What happened?”
Sam sighed, deflating as he sat on his bed, “I was just trying to go out for a run,” he ran a hand through his hair, sleeve pulling down revealing his own red string, it was glowing too, “I didn’t turn the light on because I didn’t want to wake him. I got all the way to the door when I accidentally kicked over some empty bottles.”
The blonde let out a breath, running a hand through his hair as he swallowed down the lump in his throat, “They weren’t at the curb?”
“He said he needed to save them for a ‘project’,” he gave his brother a pointed look before flopping backward onto the bed, shirt lifting slightly revealing angry, red lines across his too-thin hips, those look fresh, “How much longer?”
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