Sensitive Chapter 1, a supernatural fanfic

I had to put this up. Had to. It's not finished yet, but if I'm gonna dwell on this some more, I'm gonna loose my mind. So, coughs, this is that last wee!chester fic, well teen!chester fic I promised. I swear I will finish it, I have the second chapter all done, sort of, but I had to put this up, I need to stop thinking about this part, I have to put my mind into the second part. And putting this up on the site…then I know that I can not change what I wrote and that I have to write the second chapter soon.

Anyway…as usual, nothing has changed, I still don't own the boys, but the mistakes…sadly…yeah I own them.

And I am still working on that hurt!Dean fic…it's gonna be, hmmm 'lovely' evil smile. But doing that…I wrote the first chapter yesterday (don't worry, I have several chapters already written) and I spooked myself so bad. Creepy. So I just needed to hurt Sam here, you know, so that I won't loose my touch and to 'uncreep' myself.

Wow, was that a long a/n or what. Sorry.

Enjoy…

The night sky was clear because the afternoon wind threatened the clouds…eventually they dispersed and left nothing behind but high, wide planes of the dark sky.

The Impala stopped in a clearing, abruptly but still with such ease that it didn't even make a sound. Its brakes stopped their mission right next to a tall, skinny tree that was probably a spruce tree, although none of the occupants of the big, black car cared much. They were in a forest, and a forest has trees. It's how it is, no need to concern yourself with that. But those trees, that mass of trees held a thing… their next hunt.

"We're here, boys."

His father's voice put Sam's sleepy brain on alert like pulling a switch. He was laying down on the backseat, drooling over his arm he held under his head. He blinked twice to clear his vision when he was hit with a bright light coming from the front seat.

"Get that," slur, "off my face, you jerk." He slurred out the words, sucking in the drool as he raised himself from his position. But some of it remained on his cheek and he efficiently wiped it off. Kind of…he could still feel some of it crusting on his cheek…fun.

Dean smirked: "We're here, drool boy."

"Idiot." the irritation in his voice was thick enough to cut it with a knife.

"I'm not the one drooling all over the place. Now, come on."

He pointed the flashlight at Sam's chest, but the light spread to Sam's face, illuminating his moist eyes.

Dean looked at Sam, with criss-cross patterns on his face, the deepest cutting a straight line from his mouth to his left eye, dividing his mole in two. His long, brown hair was falling in his eyes again and Dean got this sudden urge to pick up a pair of scissors and just go at it.

"What?" he picked something crunchy from the corner of his eye and looked at Dean…his brother with a weird grin on his face.

Dean was just a big muddy figure over the bright light of the flashlight but the unmistakable stare, the look…burned into Sam. Always did, always will.

"Come on, get your gun, Sammy."

"It's Sam."

"Gun, now. Sammy."

Sam rolled his eyes.

They both exited the car, the barely audible noise the doors made alerted John that his boys were up and ready.

"Here you are Dean, this one is yours and Sam." John pushed a .45 into Sam's bony hand.

Sam swallowed…no matter how many times he held the gun it still felt wrong somehow.

"O.K, Sam, go in the car." He tucked the gun behind his waist and started walking towards the woods.

"Wha…?" he was sure his Dad was joking.

I mean he has to be kidding right?

"Sam, stay in the car."

"Dad." Whiny, but he didn't care.

"Sam, in the car!" he pointed his hand towards the Impala that was waiting patiently for Sam to sit in.

"Dad, I'm not a child anymore!"

Dean watched the whole thing happening, it was like a maze of words spoken but he couldn't grasp the meaning behind them. All he could do was to listen to voices that were raised a little too high and he knew that everything was going into flames. Only ashes would remain if he won't intervene…he knew that.

"Sam, get your ass in the god damned car, or I swear I'll drag you in myself!"

He heard his Dad's rough, deep voice yell at Sam who was standing still in front of the Impala, twitching muscles and tight jaw.

"Dad."

He had to say something, had to make this right. Sam had to stay here, he was too young to go on this hunt, too young to see…

"Sam."

His brothers voice penetrated his mind, and he looked at Dean standing a little behind his Dad and saw him tilting his head. Sam knew what that meant: 'go in the car and don't piss Dad off.'

The wind was picking up speed, rustling the leaves on the nearby trees, needles falling into Sam's hair and little bugs that didn't quite wanna go to sleep yet; those were the only things that were keeping Sam company as he watched his Dad and brother walk deeper into the forest.

The stars were flickering and bickering with the old moon that chased the sun throughout the day finally overtaking the rule on the almost pitch black void. He looked up at them, wondering if there is someone else in this fucked up world that's in the same shoes as he is. He looked down on the floor, observing his dirty, worn out sneakers and snorted: "Yeah, probably."

The small creek somewhere behind the Impala heard his sigh as he sat down on the backseat, holding the gun in his hand like a child holds a teddy bear. Something to have, something to chase away the fear…the darkness. But a gun isn't soft and warm; it's hard, cold and dangerous.

The summer heat was still holding onto the edges of the night, not wanting to give cold a chance…and it was hot, sweat inducing hot, that a night just shouldn't be. He was sweating, his T-shirt becoming his second skin, but he couldn't risk taking it off. Mosquitoes and flies were there, just waiting for some of his sweet blood. He waved his hand in the air, efficiently swatting a fly away, but in mere seconds a mosquito came.

"Hate the woods."

And he was bitten; he killed the mosquito, but the itch was there. He wiped the bloody, little body into his jeans and scratched at the bite.

"Awesome, just…" he scratched at the red bump again, knowing he shouldn't, but shit, if it didn't itch.

He was making small talk with himself, nothing wrong with that. It was just that…silence was all he heard, all there was…and that silence was breaking his soul. There was that annoying sound of the creek, but all that did was sparked a need to piss. He tried to ignore it, tried to focus his mind, ears to something else, but there was only silence. Amongst the noises of the forest, all he could hear was silence. No Dean and no Dad.

Every little noise that was heard, every little noise that broke the silence was unnerving. His eyes kept darting left to right, up and down, his little hands clenching the gun like it was his lifeline. Without Dean there…

The moon was low, he could almost see the blue, almost gray craters on it, and a blue circle of mist around her: "Something bad 's gonna happen." He whispered to his safety blanket that was tucked neatly in his arms…the gun.

Another rustle in the nearby bushes almost stopped his heart. His breathing picked up speed, it hurt to expand his chest like that, it hurt to know he was left alone…it hurt to be alone.

It hurt so bad…he could cry…but he was a big boy. At fifteen, you don't cry. You clench your jaw and tense your muscles and suck it up. But fear? That is what cripples you, that is the thing that makes you soft and sensitive to everything and everyone. Especially when your soul is just that…sensitive.

He held his gun in his hand, pointing it straight at the tree Dean passed by. That tree was his focus point…that tree was the only thing keeping his mind from walking away.

He could feel his heartbeat pounding in his temples, so fast, too fast…blood rushing in his veins, fear almost crippling him. He swallowed, and breathed again, clenching the gun in his hands…and his gaze never wavered from the tree. It had leaves on it, leaves that rustled almost too quietly for him to hear, but the sound was there. That fainted shhhhhh of them swinging in the wind.

He breathed, he can not stop breathing…he can not give in to the night, to the silence, to the noises…keep breathing.

Another rustle on his left and he squirmed in the leather seat, trying somehow to make himself small, and yet tall. Tall enough to scare off any creature that might come his way and small enough not to be seen. Harder to do then to say.

An animal cried out and he almost pulled the trigger.

Jumpy much, Sammy? His brain asked him.

"No…" he whispered out, colliding with the squeak of two trunks grazing each other.

When he thought he couldn't take this any more…

The sound of a gun…made his blood boil…his breath hitch…his eyes close…his fingers squeeze.

"They'll be back soon." He whispered to the Impala, to himself, to the tree. Breathe.

Another sound of a gun…made his eyes water…made his heart stop beating…made his stomach roll…made him grab his flashlight…made his feet hit the ground and run. Breathe.

He passed by the tree…oak tree…scary old man with branches stretching down to the floor…almost grazing the floor, grazing Sam's head as he ran towards the gun shot.

His mind was blank; the only thing that occupied his mind was: Dean, Dad, Dean, Dad, Dean, Dad!! Run faster.

There was nothing there but shortness of breath, scratches on his arms, when he ran through the bushes, to close to branches, to oblivious to the roots on the floor, not paying attention to rocks, hidden traps beneath the leaf covered floor. His sneakers were breaking twigs and crunching leaves, kicking rocks and jumping over roots…some, but not all.

He fell once, twice, when his foot got stuck on a tree root: "Aww, Hell!"

He scraped his palms, catching his weight on his hands like that, it hurt, yeah, but he'll live. It burned and it itched. He scraped skin of his knee too, that hurt, but…

Dean, Dad!! Dean, Dad!! Dean, Dad!! Dean, Dad!! Dean, Dad!! Run faster.

He pulled himself up again and ran…faster. He could feel the soft ground underneath his shoes, he could feel his knee burning, when he straightened his leg, feel branches scraping his hands, his cheeks…blood began to ooze down his arms, but…