A/N: This is my only "Sam" chapter, so I simplified my writing even more than usual to get it to seem more like a kids voice. Still third person. Scared Sam, protective Dean. I toyed with the idea of Sam having premonitions every once and a while without even realizing it at a very young age, but that didn't happen when I wrote it.

Disclaimer: Although I wish to every single god (or God) that has ever appeared in this show that I could do what I please with these characters, I can't. At least, not permenantly. Sam, at least, will be relieved, because I torture him so.

Also, as an addition to my general disclaimer, actual episodes I got ideas from: 1x01 1x04 3x07. Also, if you recognize anything in here that doesn't appear in this disclaimer, it probably belongs to you. Sometimes (and by sometmes, I mean all the time) I am influenced by little things in other peoples brilliant fics and incorporate details into my own. Sorry. Or your welcome. Which ever.

Left Alone

Sam woke up suddenly. He rubbed his eyes groggily. What woke him up? Sam couldn't remember, but looking around the motel, he was suddenly gripped with such terror that he started to cry. He wanted to get out of bed to wake Dean, but he couldn't move, and besides, Dean wouldn't want Sam to bother him so late at nighttime.

So instead, he just sat up in bed, sobbing from a nightmare he could remember, knowing it was vivid and there were monsters. And they were chasing Dean. And Dean was running, running fast. Not away from something, but towards something. Towards the monster? No. Why would he do something like that? He was running towards Sam! And so was something else. The monster? It didn't look like a monster, just a person. But then why was Sam so afraid of him?

He didn't know, but he knew that Dean would protect him. The monster came closer to Sam. Sam whimpered. Where was Dean? Run faster, faster. He called out his brother's name, and Dean called back, "It's all right, Sam." But the monster was closer now it was so close he could feel its breath on his face. He called for Dean again.

And suddenly he was in Dean's arms. Except the monster didn't seem to like being interrupted, so Dean was dragged from Sam's arms. Up, up, up went Dean. Pinned to the ceiling. And Dean was bleeding. Around him, the house began to burn. Flames engulfed his brothers body, and Sam, paralyzed with fear, couldn't move, just watched as his big brother burned. The flames didn't hurt Sam though. But they sure hurt Dean. Dean was dying. But he tried to pretend he wasn't and he smiled bravely at Sam. "It's gonna be all right, Sammy," promised Dean, writhing in pain on the ceiling. "I'm here. You're gonna be all right."

Sam's tears were renewed as the nightmare flooded back to him and he called out for Dean, who was already sitting next to him before Sam had finished yelling Just Dean, no monsters, no fire. Just Dean.

Sam touched Dean's hand softly, just to make sure. He couldn't be to safe. He had to make sure. There could be all kinds of monsters. Ones that could look like Dean. Dean took his other hand and wiped Sam's tears away.

"You okay, Sammy?" he asked.

"I'm scared Dean," he cried. He gripped Dean's thumb. Dean's really thumb. Solid. Warm.

"Of what?" asked Dean.

But Sam didn't answer. Sam was scared of the monsters, but every time Sam said "monsters," Dean threw a tantrum. Like he was angry with Sam for saying so. "Don't be mad, Dean," Sam begged. "Promise."

"I won't," he promised.

"I'm scared of the monsters," whispered Sam, and he felt Dean's hand go all tight. Sam looked up at him. "You're mad."

Dean frowned, then laughed. "No, Sammy," said Dean. "I'm not mad. Promise," he said. "It's all right to be afraid of the monsters, Sammy," he added. "But you just gotta promise me you'll fight back if they come for you." Sam nodded. "And I'll come, Sammy, I promise. I'll come to save you, but you have to hang on." Sam nodded again.

He looked up Dean, so brave, so gentle , so tough, and his lip quivered, remembering broken, defeated, dying Dean from his dream, who still promised Sam that he'd be all right.

"You okay, Sammy?" asked Dean anxiously.

"It killed you," he sniffed. Dean didn't cry. Sam had never seen Dean cry. If Dean didn't cry and that made him brave, then Sam wouldn't cry either. "On the ceiling. You were on the ceiling, and there was a fire."

The corners of Dean's mouth twitched. He didn't say anything, and his quietness scared Sam more than if Dean had been shouting. Or even crying.

"I made you mad," said Sam guiltily.

"N-no, Sammy," stammered Dean. He let go of Sam's hands and pulled him onto his lap, stroking Sam's hair gently. "You didn't. Not you."

And Dean, as Sam knew he only did when he was beside himself with terror, started humming. Some song Sam didn't know the name to, but they'd both heard a thousand times.