Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. All one-shots take place in any season. Choose your time frame.

Sam bolted upright in bed, his heart pounding with adrenaline. The motel room was dark. Shadows were cast on the far wall whenever a car passed, stretching over the ugly wood paneling. The silhouette of his brother in the next bed, chest slowly rising and falling, was enough to slow his heart rate. But it still didn't explain-

A flash from outside lit up the room for a split second.

Lightning.

It was followed by a BOOM that shook the roof and sent Sam scrambling for the lamp switch.

Damn it.

His upper half already free of the covers, he missed the lamp and fell out of bed, cracking his head against the nightstand. Pain flared over his eyebrow. In the next instant, he was on the floor, staring up at the ceiling fan. One of his ankles still rested against the mattress. The world spun in a dizzying swirl of shadow.

Another deafening rumble was enough to make him dive for Dean's bed with the balance of a drunkard. He was a clumsy mess of palms and knees as he crawled over the form under the covers. There was a pained grunt from Dean before Sam finally settled against the headboard. Knees drawn to his chest, he reached out and shook Dean's shoulder. He was none too gentle about it.

"Dean, wake up! Dean! There's a storm outside, dude…"

Dean hardly stirred, burrowing his head even deeper into the pillow. Sam's eyebrows drew together in confusion before he remembered the late night Dean had at the local bar. No wonder he was sleeping like the dead.

Palms beginning to sweat, Sam blinked hard and tried to control his breathing. He was an adult. He hunted supernatural beings every day. He could handle a little thunder and lightning.

Another flash outside the window was warning enough. Screw dignity. They had to leave the room before the roof collapsed.

Sam ripped the covers from Dean's grasp and threw them to the foot of the bed. It was a dirty move, but he needed his brother to wake up now. Grumbling proceeded a hand blindly reaching for the missing covers. Only when Dean couldn't find them did he finally begin to wake up.

"JESUS!" Dean flung himself backward at the unexpected sight of Sam sitting right beside him. He fell out of bed and hit the ground, limbs flailing.

"Dean!" Sam whispered furiously. "There's a storm-"

"What the hell, Sam?" Dean fumbled for the lamp switch, flooding the room with blinding light. His hair stuck out in all directions as he stood in only a white t-shirt and boxers. "What's wrong with you? Why-"

Another rumble of thunder cut him off. Sam's eyes darted to the ceiling as his feet drew underneath him in a crouch.

"Whoa, there, tiger," Dean tried to soothe him. His hands were out as if trying to calm a wild animal. "Sammy… it's okay. It's just a little weather, dude." Then, "What happened to your head?"

Sam reached up and felt the growing lump over his eye, surprised when his hand came away bloody. "It's just a cut. Listen, Dean, we need to pack it up and get the hell out of here."

Dean's brow wrinkled. "Sammy, come on, man."

He turned and walked to the bags, presumably to grab the first aid kit. Sam leapt from the bed to follow him, uncomfortable with the growing space between them. As soon as his feet touched the floor, however, dizziness assaulted him. He staggered once and nearly fell over.

Dean's head whipped around. He darted forward, hands under Sam's shoulders to keep him from collapsing.

"Alright, just take it easy." Dean's tone was all business now. He sat Sam on the edge of the bed. "How hard did you hit your head, dude?"

Sam groaned in the back of his throat. "The thunder-"

"Don't worry about that now. You seein' stars?"

BOOM.

Sam suddenly locked his arms around Dean's waist, ear pressed against his rib cage. He knew his arms were trembling, but he didn't care. At the moment, he only needed Dean as close as possible. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he tightened his grip.

Damn thunder.

Dean allowed the awkward embrace for a moment, finally clearing his throat. His fingertips brushed Sam's upper arms. "Okay, okay. Sammy?"

He gently gripped Sam's arms and pulled them away. "Need to breathe sometime, dude." Then he knelt down so that Sam was staring directly into his eyes. "We're safe, you hear me? Nothing bad is gonna happen."

Sam nodded slowly as the words sunk in. He felt dazed as Dean patted his shoulder once and rose to grab the first aid kit.

When he returned with gauze and medical tape, Sam shook his head. "It's superficial."

"Just let me take care of you, alright?" Dean's expression was irritated, but it softened when there was another crash of thunder. "Never did much care for storms, did you, Sammy?"

He ripped open the gauze packet and reached up to apply pressure to the cut. Sam couldn't stop himself from flinching away. His eyes felt as big as saucers, but it probably didn't do his fear justice. Dean may have been right in front of him, but just outside that motel door was a storm that could bring the motel down around them, and-

"It's okay. Look at me, Sam. It's okay."

Those two simple words were enough to keep Sam's thoughts from running away with his imagination. He met Dean's eyes and nodded. The gauze was pressed against his forehead, making him suck in air through clenched teeth. Christ, how had he not noticed the cut before? It burned.

"I'm sorry," Sam muttered, staring at the carpet. There was a cigarette burn not far from the bed. "Sorry for waking you. For being afraid."

A hand gripped his shoulder, making Sam look up into his brother's eyes. "Listen to me, Sam. We face a lot of bad mojo, right? Things so evil that we have no choice but to kill them. We face it, do our job, and then go home. And you know how we get through it? Together."

Sam cracked a smile. "That came awfully close to being a chick flick moment."

"Shut up. You know what I mean."

"I'm afraid of thunder, Dean."

Dean pursed his lips, nodding and raising his eyebrows. "And nightmares. And clowns. Gotta hand it to you, Sammy. As far as childhood fears go, you sure pick some doozies."

A clap of thunder cut off Sam's retort, and suddenly he forgot what they were talking about. He scrambled backwards until he was once against the headboard of Dean's bed, burying his face in his knees. The roof vibrated overhead, but he clamped his hands over his ears, determined to drown it out.

They were fine. Everything was fine. With the exception of the fact that the motel was built in the late fifties and probably hadn't had any renovations since-

"Sammy."

The bed dipped beside him.

"Try to calm down, dude. Just take some deep breaths."

Then there was a hand on Sam's back, gently rubbing back and forth. He felt his eyes burn with shame, but he clenched them shut, refusing to let his fear get the best of him. A hand brushed the hair back from his forehead.

Sam uncurled just enough to reach out and wrap his arms around his brother. Dean might kill him for it tomorrow, but morning seemed so far off that he didn't care. If he could only make it through the next few minutes without experiencing a full-blown panic attack, he'd take any crap Dean could dish out.

Panic attacks sucked.

His head rested against Dean's ribs. The steady thump, thump… thump, thump… was enough to make his eyelids droop. It steadied his breathing until he was sure their hearts beat in sync. As comforting as one of those sleep sound machines he used to have in his room as a baby. Dean told him the heartbeat setting always did lull him to sleep right away. He couldn't even hear the thunder anymore.

"Shhh. Relax. Everything's fine, man," Dean whispered. "Shhhh."

A hand gently stroked his hair. The repetitive motion, coupled with Dean's body heat and the steady beat of his heart triggered a yawn from Sam. He burrowed into his brother's shirt, distantly realizing that if he weren't half-asleep, he might have been mortified.

"Dude," he heard. "You can not sleep here." But the words were soft enough that Sam knew they held no real objection behind them. He felt Dean fidget, as if weighing his options. There was the Winchester pride to uphold, after all. Sleep had nearly claimed him when there was a resigned sigh.

"If you drool on me, you are so dead," Dean whispered. He slowly shifted Sam until he was laying flat, his head on a pillow. Then bed covers fell over him. They were tucked around him in a way Dean hadn't done since he was eight years old.

Hands gently probed the cut over Sam's eye, making him grunt and pull away. Enough already, he wanted to mutter.

There was a soft chuckle before a hand patted his shoulder once. "Alright, Sasquatch. Go to sleep."

The bedsprings creaked as Dean made himself comfortable less than a foot away. Then the glow beyond Sam's eyelids faded to darkness and he fell into a peaceful sleep.