Summary: Teenchester. Sam runs away after becoming the target of bullies, leaving John and Dean to try and find him before he lands in trouble.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, it's all owned by Eric Kripke and them at CW. Written for pleasure, not profit.

1

Sam Winchester stood frozen in the dark, eyes watching the shadows that shifted around the trees he was surrounded by, hardly daring to breath encase he missed a noise, a single snap of a twig or the rustle of a leaf, one hand clutching his gun close to his chest, the fingers of the other resting nervously against the frigid metal of the pen knife in his pocket.

Around him the trees shivered with the wind, making him more nervous as his hearing picked up every creak of the branches, and he suddenly shivered himself, his entire body caught by the tremble that caught him as the wind got through the barrier of his clothes, as the cold crept against his skin.

Miserably, he removed his hand from his pocket to chafe at his opposite arm, the aim of creating warmth in his numbing arm only caused to make his hand burn with the cold, and he scowled now, fingers trembling against the gun as a harder shiver shook him and he took another look at the trees around him.

The scrap of material from one of John's old shirts that should have been tied to one of the tree limbs or bushes was still evading his searching gaze, and he sighed, trying to bury himself even further into his thin jacket, leaning into the tree his back was against. He had no doubts that he was lost now, though he knew that he'd followed the trail perfectly.

A low rumble broke the air, and he raised his head towards the night sky, the scowl deepening as water hit his cheek, followed shortly by more hitting his forehead, his nose. It had started to rain. Excellent.

He dropped his head despondently, allowed himself to slide down the rough bark of the tree until he was sitting on the ground, knees pulled up against his chest, one arm curled around his knees to try and stave off the cold, the other hand still tight around the gun, held seemingly relaxed in front of him. Another rumble trembled through the air, making him tremble with it, the rain was getting heavier, starting to soak his hair and jacket rather than just spot down, and he grumbled incoherently into his knees.

He heard another noise over the rain and wind now, and his head jerked up, thudding dully against the tree, though he ignored the sudden shot of pain, fingers tightening convulsively around the gun, trying to pinpoint from where the sound of something moving through the trees was coming from. He knew that John had done research on the woods before they had driven out there, knew that his father wouldn't have set him on this little tracking practise if the woods were obviously dangerous, at least not until John himself had removed any supernatural threat within, but other things could reside in the woods, and it was possible that nothing had been obviously pulled to light in the way of what his father hunted, which is why the gun was a necessary.

The sound of movement through the trees grew louder, and Sam was able to pinpoint its direction to his right, and shifted his body accordingly, gun held steady and ready to fire upon whatever came through the trees. He considered briefly standing up, but he was too cold and wet to move that much, and he was possibly a smaller and less noticeable target as he was on the ground than he was stood up.

Whatever was moving towards him was practically within sight, and Sam's fingers began to curl around the trigger of the gun, whoever it was human, or something supernatural, he could see light moving through the trees, not enough to show him who was closing in on him, but enough for a tiny patch of ground to be illuminated, ensuring the person didn't fall over any roots or into any dips or rabbit holes. It also allowed Sam to roughly make out their position, and his gun rose up, ready to take the shot if they noticed him.

A sudden burst of lightning shattered the dark then, and Sam pressed tighter against the tree, hissing almost silently as the flash ruined his night vision, but then his body relaxed minutely, the gun wavering its position as he saw who was approaching, recognised the person.

"Dean?" he called out tentatively, ready to move if he was wrong. The other person stopped moving

"Sam?" the reply allowed relief to flood through Sam, and the gun dropped from his numbed fingers, the light swung up and around, his brother pinpointing the sound of the fallen gun and Sam gave a small yell as the beam assaulted his vision.

"Ah, hell," he heard his brother say, and heard him move towards him as another rumble of thunder cut through the air. "Sam?" He blinked against the dancing spots in his vision as the light was moved to point at his feet, and then looked up into his brother's concerned face

"Hey Dean," he greeted, pulling in on himself again as he shivered.

Dean saw the move and frowned, crouching down in front of Sam and reaching out, his gun was held in the hand wasn't curled around his maglite, and Sam watched it carefully.

"Shit Sammy," he swore as soon as his hand came into contact with Sam's, and his hand pulled back to stow the gun safely against the small of his back

"Sorry," Sam whispered, head dropping so his forehead rested against his knees "Got lost."

"We guessed as much," Dean replied, and then his tone became gentler, "Dad walked in with me a bit, some of your trail's gone, must've come loose and lost with the wind. It's not your fault." He felt Dean's hands against the tops of his arms and shivered miserably under the pressure, "Come on runt." He pulled Sam to his feet with a soft grunt, and Sam immediately staggered forwards, burying his face into Dean's t-shirt, fingers numbly trying to close around his brother's flannel shirt as he sought heat.

Dean muttered something that was lost to Sam, and the younger Winchester only raised his head when something heavy and warm was dropped around his shoulders, swamping his figure entirely, and one hand closed possessively around the leather, noticing only now that Dean had taken off the jacket

"You'll get cold," Sam said, letting Dean shift him away and pick up the dropped gun and his maglite

"And you'll get sick," he retorted, straightening up and wrapping an arm around Sam's shoulders, pulling him close "Dad's waiting with the car, but it's about a half-hours walk, alright?" there wasn't any other options if it wasn't, and they both knew it, but Sam nodded anyway, now that Dean had found him the headache that had been hounding him for the past half hour came to his attention, but he did his best not to show the pain, he didn't need his brother to worry any more than he already was.

Dean merely frowned down at him, pulling the younger boy even closer to him as he felt Sam's constant shivers. Sam's training had supposedly been an hour and a half affair, John had walked it himself some time that afternoon laying out the trail, though they'd given Sam an extra half hour after he didn't appear encase he was daydreaming, and then John had merely glanced at Dean, and the eldest of the Winchester boys had all but ran into the woods to look for his brother.

Sam was stumbling by the time they broke from the trees to the car park. The rain was coming down in sheets now, Dean as wet as Sam, but nowhere near as cold as the younger, who had been leaning his weight more and more against his brother over the past half an hour, and now Dean was practically dragging him, Sam all but buried into his side.

"Dean!" his head snapped up at the shout, focussing in on John where he stood illuminated in the Impala's headlamps. Their father was just as wet as them, and Dean guessed he had probably been pacing ever since his eldest had disappeared into the woods in search of Sam. He merely gave John a tired smile, fielding Sam towards the car, and dragged his brother into the back seat, pulling off his saturated shirt and removing the leather jacket from around Sam's shoulders.

The door he'd pulled Sam through slammed shut, and they had a moment of silence before John got into the front of the car, slamming his own door shut and twisting to look at his half-drowned sons as Dean brushed Sam's hair from his face, slyly checking his temperature at the same time.

"Sammy?" John questioned

"I'm alright dad," Sam said quietly, trying to push Dean's hand away, but his brother scowled down at him and looked sharply at John

"He's warm dad," he said truthfully "I think he's ill." He gave Sam a look, as though daring him to argue, but the headache that Sam had started with had grown immensely in the last half hour, and he merely buried his head into Dean's arm, trying to block out the worried gazes and voices of his family.

John nodded, studying Sam for a moment more before he turned to face forwards, ratcheting up the heat as he started the car, and pulled off to leave the woods behind them.