Sammy, it's okay, I'm here.
Chapter 1
Sam woke up with a start. He sat up and looked around the small hotel room. His dad was still passed out on the couch, and Dean, his older brother, was asleep on the other bed. The nightmare still remained carved in the back of his eyes, and tears streamed down his cheeks. Pulling the covers away, Sam got up and tip toed over to Dean's bed. He reached out a hand and shook his brother's shoulder.
"Dean," said Sam as Dean rolled over onto his back and looked up at Sam.
"Sammy, what's wrong?" asked Dean, slightly annoyed to be woken up.
"I had a nightmare," said Sam.
"What about?"
Sam shook his head as tears forcefully poured down his face. Dean pulled the covers up and beckoned Sam to climb in next to him. Sam took the offer and curled up beside Dean. Dean pulled his arms around Sam and whispered in his ear, "It's okay, Sammy. It's okay. I'm here. It was just a nightmare. It's over now." Sam melted into Dean and fell asleep as Dean whispered in his ear and rubbed his back in a soothing motion.
The next morning…
John woke up with a headache, and it only worsen when he sat up. He looked over to the clock on the wall, 5 am. The empty whiskey bottle fell to the floor as he stood up to go to the bathroom. As he stumbled across the room, he looked over to his sons. However, Sam wasn't in his bed. He was in Dean's bed with Dean's arms wrapped tightly around him. "They're too old for this," thought John.
He slowly staggered to Dean and Sam and reached a calloused hand out to Sam's shoulder. He shook Sam aggressively until Sam jumped up and jolted in bed. Dean woke up, and he stared down John as his father gripped Sam's arm and pulled him out of bed.
"What are you doing in Dean's bed?" shouted John.
Sam bowed his head and mumbled, "I had a nightmare."
John pulled on Sam's arm to make him look up. "So?"
Teary-eyed, Sam answered quietly, "I was scared."
"You're nine years old, Sam. Too damn old to sleep in your brother's bed!"
By then, Dean had gotten out of bed, and he stood beside Sam. "Dad, he was scared."
John slowly turned his head to Dean and stared him down with dark eyes. "I don't care if he was scared. He is nine years old. He needs to grow up and learn how not to be scared."
"Dad, he is nine years old! Every nine year old has nightmares. He was scared!" shouted Dean, stepping between Sam and John.
"Don't you yell at me! You are going to show me some respect." yelled John.
Dean shook his head and took a step forward. "I'll show you some when you stop yelling at him!"
John cocked his hand back, but he stopped when he glanced behind Dean and noticed Sam was on the floor in fetal position. "Sam get up! Stop your crying, you b-"
"Leave him ALONE!" screamed Dean. He turned and dropped beside Sam. His brother was shaking, his chest was rising and falling far too fast, and sweat dripped from his hairline. Sam gulped for air, but he wasn't able to fill his lungs. His breathing was quick and shallow.
"Sam? Sammy?" asked Dean. "Sammy."
"Can't b-breathed," whimpered Sam. "De-"
John took a step forward. "What's wrong with him?"
"He's having a panic attack, I think." John took another step closer, but Dean raised his hand. "No, get away from him. Just, just get out."
With dark anger in his eyes, John turned and stumbled out the door, slamming the door on the way out. Dean turned his attention back to Sam. "Sammy, listen to me. You got to breath."
"I c-can't, Dean." whispered Sam between useless gasps for air. "Hurts."
Dean rubbed Sam's back with one hand and put another hand on Sam's chest. "I know it hurts, but you have to calm down." Sam gasped, and a single tear rode down his face. Dean laid down next to Sam with his chest pressed against Sam's back. "Feel me breath, Sam? Breath like me, okay."
"De."
"Sam, you got to breath with me. In and out." Sam's breathing slowed, and his chest began to rise and fall like Dean's. "There you go, kiddo. You're doing good." Sam finally began to breath normally as he leaned into Dean's chest. Dean rubbed Sam's chest and pulled him close.
"You okay now, Sammy?"
Another tear rode its way down Sam's cheek as he made a sad attempt to laugh. "Yeah."
"You sure?" asked Dean.
Sam giggled. "Yeah, I'm sure."
"Ready to get up?"
"Yeah." Dean rose and helped Sam to his feet. Sam let Dean hold him up under the arm even though it hurt his aching ribs. Getting into his bed, Sam pulled the blanket over him and looked up at Dean and then to the small living space in the tiny hotel room. "Where's Dad?"
Dean's eyes darkened. "He left."
"Where?"
"I don't know, Sammy," said Dean harshly. Sam's eyes began to water with the fact that it was his fault his dad had left, and now, Dean was mad. "I"m sorry, Sam. I didn't mean to get mad. I don't know where Dad went. I told him to get lost."
"Really?" asked Sam.
"Really. Now go back to bed."
"Okay, Dean." Sam rolled over onto his side and pulled the blanket to his chin. Dean walked over to his own bed and climbed in. As he lay in silence, Dean thought about how fragile Sam was. Yes, he was a growing kid that seemed to grow by the day, but he was tenderhearted and so innocent. Dean knew this life of moving around was hard on Sam, especially when you throw in a drunk father and a couple of bad nightmares. In that moment, Dean vowed to protect his little brother, no matter the cost. He was always going to be there.