Still don't own Supernatural. Not suing would be appreciated. I have no money, I promise, so please just let me use the brilliant characters.

Thanks for the reviews. Just a warning, Sam swears a lot in this (and probably the next chapter). It's that angry 15 year old boy thing.

Sam is 15, and Dean is 19

-/\-SN-/\-

The two boys stood feet apart in the clearing, nobody dared move.

"Matt." Sam pleaded, determined to save his friend. "I can help you."

Matt couched, ready to spring. Sam felt the blood run down from the throbbing wound at his shoulder. The pain made him feel like vomiting, but he didn't think about that.

John saw the muscles in Matt's legs tighten and he knew what would come next, but Sam was too close for a clear shot.

"Matt." Sam breathed. "Please."

Matt hit Sam's chest so quickly that nobody saw it coming. Sam was on the ground again with the monster on top of him. A shot rang out and Matt flew off. Sam lay gasping on the ground, the air knocked from his lungs.

John rushed to his boy and pulled him to his feet. "Sam, are you okay?"

Sam turned to where Matt lay at the base of a tree, blood ran down his chest. "I have to help him." He tried to pull away.

John held his boy tight, he could feel Sam's shaking. "Sam."

He turned his eyes to his father, they burned with anger. "Let me go." His voice was even.

"It's not safe." John's words were hard. "Dean."

Dean looked from his father to his brother. It took Sam a few seconds to put it together, long enough for Dean to pull the pistol from his jeans and aim.

"No!" Sam ripped himself from John's grasp and fell to the ground.

Without missing a moment, John grabbed his son before Sam could get hurt again. Sam fought with every ounce of him, he didn't care if he hurt his father, he wanted to hurt his father.

"Let me go! I can help him, he asked me to and I said I would." Sam yelled.

"There's nothing you can do." John's voice was too calm, too even.

"You always lie to me!" His voice broke from anger. "Stop lying! You and Dean have all these little secrets, all these inside stories and jokes. I'm sick of it." He tried to pull away.

John wrapped his arm's around Sam, pinning the boy's arms to his sides. "Sam, stop."

"You never cared!" Sam yelled. "Never fucking cared. I hate you! You could save him, but you're going to let him die. What if that was me? He has a family too, you know. A family that loves him a whole hell of a lot more than he'd get in this one!" Sam winced as the pain in his shoulder sharpened. "Let me go, you mother fucking bastard! Let me go."

Dean stood a few feet from his family. He had never heard Sam like that. Sure, he knew that Sam and John rarely stood eye-to-eye any more, but he had never seen his brother hate something so fiercely, never.

"Sam, stop." John asked.

"Let me go! I hate you, I've always hated you. It's all your fault, everything. All the times we moved and everything you wouldn't let me do. What the hell is so important, more important than me?"

"Dean, come on, son." John's voice was calm over Sam's fighting.

He took a breath and walked towards Matt. The boy had returned to his normal appearance, save for the blood that darkened his shirt. He looked up at Dean with quiet desperation. Dean walked towards him and tried to ignore his brother's words.

"Please." Matt whispered, blood bubbled at his mouth. "Just end it."

Sam went still for a second. John's grip slacked slightly and Sam managed to get an arm free. He swung and caught John across the face. Sam ran to Matt's side and knelt at his friend's side.

Matt was pale. "You were my best friend ever, Sam." He whispered between short gasps for breath. "The only person who ever really listened to me."

Dean glanced over at his brother. "Sammy."

Sam shot a glare at his brother that meant death before he turned his attention back to Matt. "We'll get you fixed up."

"I can't live like this, Sam." He paused. "I killed people." His voice was hardly a whisper. "I'm not going to live with that."

It took Sam a second to realize that Matt was gone. He always thought that people closed their eyes when they died, always thought that…. Suddenly he realized how cold he was, how much his shoulder hurt. He staggered to his feet.

He felt John's hand on his shoulder and turned. "Don't touch me." His voice was low, dangerous, angry past yelling.

John helped Sam to his feet.

"I don't want your help." Sam pulled himself away and stumbled.

He wanted to run, but was too weary. The pain sharpened and he stood with his hands braced on his knees. Dean went to his brother's side.

"Sammy?"

He looked over at Dean, his eyes betrayed the anger and pain he was in. "You're always on his side."

"There was nothing we could do." He paused. "I'm sorry, Sam."

"And you're always sorry." He muttered.

Dean grabbed his brother's shoulder. "What do you need me to do, Sammy?"

"Go fuck yourself." He pulled away.

John stood for a few minutes, called the police about a boy who was attacked in the woods and turned to his boys. "Let's go home."

Dean tried to help Sam, but he just ducked away. The trek back through the woods was harder now that they all were exhausted and cold. Sam was glad that it was dark, that his sweatshirt was dark. He didn't want his brother and father to know about the blood that pulsed from his chest, didn't want them to know anything about him.

By the time the three arrived at the car, they were exhausted and half frozen. Sam climbed in back without a word. He sat with his arm folded across his chest and looked at the dark on the other side of the window. John looked in the mirror at his son before he pulled back onto the road.

The ride home was silent. Sam's breaths came in anger and pain restricted gasps. His jaw was set and his eyes were hard. They pulled up in front of the house.

"Dean, give us a few minutes." John said, he sounded tired.

Dean glanced back at Sam and slipped from the car.

Sam didn't move, kept his eyes on the window.

John looked up at his boy in the mirror. "I know you don't want to listen to me and I know you're angry. Sam, I am sorry that we couldn't help Matt."

"Didn't even try." Sam muttered.

"Because there was nothing we could do."

Sam felt tears burn at his eyes, but he forced them back. "I wish it would have been me you had to shoot. Make you understand the difference between doing nothing and not being able to do anything." He pulled open the door and fled from the car.

John took a few seconds to compose himself before he climbed from the car and trudged up the stairs.