Okay, this is just a oneshot about Sam's thoughts when he was fifteen. No slash, just brotherly love. Please R&R!!!

Once again Sam, Dean and supernatural are sadly not mine.

Fifteen.

For God's sake he was fifteen; he didn't need his brother's help to get to sleep.

So why wasn't he sleeping?

Well for one there's the ever rumbling washers and dryers of the laundry room on the floor directly below them.

Seriously, who the fuck does their laundry in the middle of the night?

Oh, stupid question, their father does, along with a couple of other freaks who choose the a.m. to use those stupid washers that make the whole fucking building shake.

But that really wasn't the point; the point was he didn't need Dean's help to fall asleep. He didn't. Really.

Dean was only like four feet away. So therefore it shouldn't make a difference that Sam couldn't hear him breathing. He could see him breathing, his chest rising and falling, just because he couldn't hear his brother's rhythmic breathing shouldn't mean he can't sleep.

Hell, even if the washers weren't shaking the building down the rain would drown out any sound. To say it was raining wasn't accurate. To say it was fucking pouring down was more suitable. God! And their crazy fuck of a father wanted them to hunt in this shitty weather? Unless the rain let up within less then twenty-four hours this is what they would be hunting in. Fuck. And to think Dean still thought their father had an ounce of sanity in him.

He had a test. He had an important test. A test he needed to pass. And he couldn't possibly pass the Goddamn test if he didn't fucking sleep! And he sure as hell didn't need his big brother to hold him and sing him a fucking lullaby!

Which is why he should be asleep now. Asleep and not awake. He needed to be asleep if he was going to pass his test then go fucking hunting, in the rain, in the middle of the fucking night.

God! None of this would be like this if Dean hadn't broken his leg. This wouldn't have been the place they had stayed the longest in this year if Dean hadn't got his nineteen year old ass totally kicked and broken his leg. It was a fucking poltergeist for God's sake! You'd think he would have learned to duck when a fucking piano comes flying his way! But he was slow, too fucking slow, and it wasn't his fault. It was the fucking werewolf's fault, and it was their fucking father's fault for pushing them into a new hunt so soon after the werewolf nearly tore them to shreds.

So Dean had broken his leg, and they were stuck in this fucking hell hole, and he wasn't the only one who thought so. Dean was being even more overprotective then usual. Dean walked him to class. Dean walked him home. Except for classes Dean didn't let him out of his line of sight. Why? You might ask. Because it was possibly the lowest, most dangerous, fucked up place they had ever lived in.

Hell, even now he could faintly hear people shouting, cars backfiring, and the other night he swore he heard a couple gun shots. It was a fucking dangerous street and he didn't blame Dean for worrying, except for their Dad, who the hell wouldn't?

But he had gone completely off point again. And the point was he didn't need to feel Dean's heart beat to reassure himself that Dean would be okay. He didn't. Dean's leg was nearly completely healed, still a little stiff but Dad had okayed him for the hunt after inspecting the leg and Dean's repeated insertions of "I'm fine, let me hunt." Of course Dean had been saying this since straight after he broke his leg.

Dean was gonna be fine, a little slower then usual, but fine. Fine to hunt in the fucking rain, in the middle of the night, because he was nine-fucking-teen, he came home smelling of either sweat and sex or blood, sweat and sulphur.

Not that it mattered. Not since Dean didn't want to do anything with his life other then hunt, even when he broke his fucking leg. But anyway, Dean would be fine; it was him that he had to be worrying about, him and his test then this hunt. In which Dean would do fine. So there's really no point in worrying. Really.

Everything would be fine and normal in their fucked up little world. So he shouldn't worry about his brother. Because Dean would be fine, he wouldn't be too slow again, in the rain, in the cold, in the middle of the fucking night.

They would be fine. They were always fine. They had to be fine. They had to be so Dean would be fine and their whole fucked up little family would be fine, because if they couldn't even bother pretending to be fine then things were seriously fucked and things were fucked enough as it was. You would think things couldn't in fact get more fucked but Sam knew better, knew things could get a hell of a lot more fucked, like if Dean was too slow again, and died, then things would be well and truly fucked. But Dean would be fine, he wouldn't be too slow again, couldn't be. And if Dean was fine, the Winchester version of fine anyway, then him and Dad would be fine too, the Winchester version of fine at least.

Dean would be fine, wouldn't be dead, and they would finally leave this Godforsaken place soon. That was the sweet thought, hope even, that got him through the day, but it didn't help him sleep at night no matter how hard he tried. God! He was gonna fail his test then get them all killed on the hunt! Joy! How wonderful tomorrow promised to be!

Bang!

Unsteady footsteps,

Smack!

Loud groaning,

Cursing as chair is moved out of the way of leg,

Yay, more joy, loud drunken father has returned home to add to Sam's sleepless problems.

Dean barely stirs, too used to the sounds, familiar, safe, sounds of Dad not drunk enough to be a nuisance but drunk enough to not be able to negotiate the living room furniture.

It's probably Sam's own fault too. For digging at him again today about how it was still too soon for this hunt, and how unfair it was, how unfair everything was, including putting them through all this, this life, because of Mom, and all the normal argument crap. He knew that would come around to bite him in the ass, their Dad didn't normally drink the night before a hunt, he understood how important it is to be sharp and on top of your game whatever you're hunting. And now Sam had a guilt trip dumped on top of his already sleepless night. Great! It almost couldn't get any better but he wouldn't say that out loud because he knows it could. Fuck.

'Fuck, fuck, fuck. I can't do this,' he thinks, 'Dean obviously can. I can't.'

'I can't live this way. I can't be this way.' Fuck.

But that's an issue for another time, a time when he didn't need to be sleeping.

"Crap." He mutters quietly, to top matters off he can feel water building in his eyes and all this worrying shit has made him nauseous.

He wasn't going to cry, he couldn't cry, that would be pathetic.

And he was pathetic, he was pathetic because he was crying and nauseous and wanting his life to be so different and missing a brother who was only four feet away.

God! He couldn't even begin to think about how pathetic that was.

He was fifteen for fuck's sake! Fif-fucking-teen! He hadn't slept in the same bed as his brother in over a year and that had only been because the damn motel only had two beds! This was fucking ridiculous!

This was fucking ridiculous, he had reached sobbing point now, and that's when he gave up the pretence that he was any sort of man at all or could do any single thing for himself and pulled himself out of bed and walked the four feet to Dean's bed.

One,

Creak.

Two,

Creak.

Three,

Creak.

Four,

Creak.

He received a muffled groan from Dean as he poked him slightly to make him move.

"What the… Sammy?" Green, sleep filled eyes stared up at him with sudden concern. "Are you okay? What's wrong?" Dean started shifting slightly, moving his elbows underneath him to leaver himself up so he was faintly sitting and staring at Sam's tear stained face intensely.

"I- Uh… Nothing." He said, regretting abandoning his bed. "It's nothing. Go back to sleep. Sorry." He started moving away, planning to quickly retreat to his bed and turn his back to his brother, pretending he hadn't been as stupid as to come over to Dean in the first place.

But Dean was having none of that, he grabbed hold of Sam's retreating arm and pulled him back saying, "Wait- No! What- Sammy… what is it?" His voice went from alarm in the first few words to soft and caring once he reached 'Sammy' with concern practically spilling out his eyes that were reflecting softly in the dark room.

Of course Sam completely crumbled then, knowing that the pure concern for him was just so 'Dean' and it was exactly what he needed and he didn't know what he would do if Dean ever wasn't there.

Seeing tears begin pouring down his little brother's face at an alarming rate as Sam started sobbing Dean pulled his brother closer in to him and started making hushing sounds and rubbing his back at a complete loss as to why Sam was upset while saying, "Hey buddy, its okay! Its okay, it's okay, shh, I'm here, its okay…" But that didn't help much; in fact when he said 'I'm here' Sam made a funny hiccupping sound as he took too deep a breath and began sobbing worse.

Tired and confused Dean just lay back down pulling Sam with him and hugging his little brother close, not letting himself fall back to sleep until the crying stop and his little brother's breathing had slowly evened out.

Sam was completely unhesitant as his brother lay them both down on his bed and pulled him even closer, Sam just sobbed onto his brother's chest until he couldn't anymore.

This is what he needed; Dean was what he needed, and right then, in Dean's arms he almost felt that if he didn't let go that they could just stay like that forever and nothing bad would ever take his brother away from him.

He was still worried about the coming day, terrified, but he had Dean right then, he had his brother, and that was all that mattered to him at that moment.

Dean and him, if he had Dean, he would be alright.

He was fifteen and he still needed his brother more then anything else in the world, but maybe that was okay.

-Supernatural-