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 in this (and probably the next chapter or two). It's that angry 15 year old boy thing.

Sam is 15, and Dean is 19

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Dean had fallen asleep in the chair, he didn't intend to. John had eased back in the chair with his arms folded across his chest, his eyes on his son. Sam shifted and the blanket slid to the floor. John leaned forward and tucked it back around his boy's shoulders.

"How's he doing?" Dean sat forward.

John glanced over. "He'll be okay."

Sam shifted again and moaned slightly. The first thing he noticed was pain, tight across his chest. Both John and Dean's full attention was on Sam. His eyes slowly blinked open, his gaze still blurry from pills and pain. His head hurt from the whisky last night and he had lost enough blood that it would mess with him for a few days, he didn't realize that lying down though.

John stood and passed Dean. "Keep an eye on your brother." He muttered as he passed.

Dean moved to the chair that John had occupied. "How do you feel, Sammy?"

"Not so good." His words still slurred a little. "Dad?"

"Probably getting some sleep. He stayed up all night with you."

Sam painfully pushed himself up. Dizziness washed over him and he nearly blacked out.

Dean was at his side in a second to help. "Where are you going?"

He swallowed, the urge to vomit stronger now that he was sitting. "Bathroom."

Sam stood, pushed aside Dean's hand to help and slowly trudged down the hall. Dean heard the bathroom door slam and knew that Sam meant to slam it harder.

Sam leaned on the counter for a few seconds. He tried to swallow back the nausea, but ultimately failed. He dove for the toilet and felt the pain flair across his chest. He vomited and gripped the rim with sweat-slick hands. He was dizzy and pain consumed him. He stayed that way, trying to purge everything from his body, for close to an hour. Dean waited patiently outside the door and resisted the urge to go to his brother.

John came down the hall and saw Dean. "He okay?"

"Puked his guts out for the last hour."

John closed his eyes for a moment. "Make sure he drinks something."

Dean nodded.

He passed a bottle of pills to Dean. "Get him to take one of those."

"I will." Dean glanced over at him. "Get some sleep."

John rested his hand on his son's shoulder. "Let me know if anything happens." He passed Dean and stretched out on the couch. He could hear if Sam needed anything better from the living room.

Sam opened the door and leaned heavily on the doorframe. He was pale and shook. Dean went over and helped him into their room. John had spread a towel over Sam's pillow and moved the waist basket next to the bed. Sam sunk into the bed and tried to ignore the steady throb in his shoulder that tried to steal his breath.

"Here." Dean's voice was soft.

He opened his eyes and saw Dean hold out a glass of water and something else in his cupped palm. Sam did as he was told and hoped that the pill and water would stay down.

"Are we moving soon?" Sam's words were quiet and his eyes closed.

"Dad hasn't said anything. Why?"

Sam looked over at Dean. "I don't want to go back to that school." He whispered.

Dean sat on the edge of Sam's bed and gripped his little brother's shoulder. "You probably won't have to."

He nodded slightly and felt the pills start to take hold again.

"Before you sleep, drink some more." Dean pressed the glass into Sam's hand.

He took a few slow sips before Dean would take the glass back. He winced as he slid down in bed and sighed. Everything blurred and softened on the edges, he felt heavier and the pain faded some. Dean watched his brother's eyes drift shut and his breathing even in sleep.

Dean checked Sam's bandages and saw the bleeding had stopped and it didn't look infected. Sam shifted under the touch and Dean pulled the blanket up. He carefully moved to his bed and pulled out a classic car magazine to pass the time with.

Sam woke a few hours later. It took him a few seconds to remember where he was and why he felt like he did. He shifted and sat up a little.

"You okay, Sammy?"

He looked over at Dean and shrugged. Dean went to his brother's side. Sam was still pale, but his eyes were a little glassy. Dean wasn't sure if that was pain pills or something else. Sam pulled away from the hand that his brother rested on his forehead.

"Seem a little warm there, Sammy."

He shrugged. "I'm fine, and it's Sam." He muttered.

"Still." Dean looked at his brother for a moment before he left the room.

Sam pressed his hand to his forehead and didn't think he felt warm, though it would explain why the room seemed unusually cold. He tugged the blankets up higher and slumped back into the pillow. The pills were still making him feel tired and like everything was in slow motion in a thick fog. The hangover, well it felt like a hangover. Dean returned with the thermometer and handed it to his brother. Sam shot him a look, but placed it under his tongue anyway. Dean kept one eye on his brother and one on his watch. After a few minutes he took the thermometer and read the number.

"Well?" Sam was too tired to try and read the expression in Dean's eyes.

"High enough that I'm going to make you take something for it, not high enough to worry."

He nodded, took the pills Dean handed him and let himself drift back to sleep. Sam slept most of the day and he was pretty much okay with that. The only problem was the time or two that he woke from a nightmare, always the same one, always with Matt dying in front of him.

It was from that nightmare that woke him again. He expected Dean to be there, like he had been all day, but John sat at the bedside instead. Sam glanced over and immediately his jaw was set in anger. Without a word John handed his son a glass of water and a small handful of pills. Sam had half a mind not to take them, but the sharp pain in his shoulder and the aches from his fever told him otherwise.

They both just sat there in silence for a while. Sam fought against the pull of the medication as it tried to drag him back into sleep.

"We need to have a talk, Sam." John's tone wasn't anything other than sorry.

"No, we don't." Sam muttered.

John took a breath and leaned forward in the chair. "I want you to understand something, Sammy."

Sam turned away, tried to focus his gaze on the ceiling.

"If there was any other way to help Matt, I would have in a second. You have to believe me on that. I know it doesn't seem right or fair, but-"

Sam cut him off, his words hard. "You're damn right it isn't fair." He turned to his dad, angry tears threatened in his fevered eyes. "What about all the time that he was just like me? Doesn't that count for anything? You condemn him to death for one night that he can't do anything about."

"I know, Sam."

"No, you don't know. You never bothered to know. He was just another thing that needed to be killed. I was going to help him, but you never gave me the chance, never game him the chance." His words slurred some as the medication took a stronger hold. "You killed him, didn't even try…" He swallowed.

"I did try." John met his son's eyes. "But that all changed when he was going to kill you."

"He wasn't going to kill me." Sam knew he was wrong, but he didn't want to admit that. Not even to himself.

John rested his hand on Sam's arm. "I've been doing this a long time, Sammy, I know when I can help things and when I can't. I never wanted to hurt that boy, I don't care if you believe me, but I just wanted you to know."

"Don't believe you." Sam was fighting sleep with everything in him.

"It doesn't matter." John gently squeezed Sam's arm. "You know, and that's enough."

Sam's eyes slipped closed. "Still hate you." He whispered before he sunk back into sleep.

John sighed and leaned back in the chair.

"You ever going to try and talk to him when he isn't drugged?" Dean smirked from the doorway.

"Right now, I think that's the only way we can." John watched his youngest sleep.