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. Sam's still angry and hurt, the next chapter should be the end, just a little more trauma and maybe an argument/discussion between Sam and John yet to come.

Sam is 15, and Dean is 19

-/\-SN-/\-

Sam woke to dark and Dean's breathing from across the room. His shoulder throbbed with pain close to what it felt like when the injury was only hours old. He shifted and tried to find a comfortable position, but the movement only made the pain worse. For a second, he thought about waking his brother, but pushed that thought aside. He was fifteen, he could take care of himself.

Slowly he pushed his battered body from the mattress and sat up. The room spun lazily around him and he gripped the edge to keep from falling. His jaw was clenched in an attempt to keep the pain back. His breath caught and he closed his eyes for a moment. With a groan he pushed himself to his feet and aimed towards the door. He gripped the doorframe to keep from falling. He paused as he tried to remember where the pain pills were; bathroom or kitchen. The bathroom was a hell of a lot closer than the kitchen was.

He paused in the bathroom doorway and didn't see the bottle lying out, it would still be out on the counter. Nobody in their family was much for putting things away, their style was more to leave things in the open so they could be easily grabbed. It would have been so much easier to be in the bathroom. Sam took a breath and hoped he would survive the trip to the kitchen.

By the time he sunk into a chair, the room was spinning with the persistence of a carnival ride and the pain in his shoulder was blinding. He gripped the edge of the table as he tried to focus the pain away. His knuckles were white from the effort. He saw the bottle of pills on the counter, but the effort of standing and walking to them seemed too much. He was so focused on the pain, on controlling the pain that he didn't hear his father's footsteps behind him.

John filled a glass of water and grabbed the bottle of pills from the counter. He sat down across from his son in the dark kitchen.

He dumped out a pill and slid it and the water to his boy. "You should have woken Dean."

Sam looked at the pill on the table. "I can take care of myself." The words were harder than Sam intended.

"I know, but help is all right too."

Sam took the pill and slowly drank the water. "Can we move?"

John had never heard his son ask to move, never. He had asked, begged, bargained to stay, but never to leave.

"Sure, Sammy."

Sam traced the pattern in the fake wood top of the table. "Tomorrow?" He looked up and met his dad's eyes for the first time in longer than John cared to recall.

"You still need time to rest." John glanced back at the bottle of pills. "You can hardly make it to the kitchen on your own."

"Well, I'm not the one driving." He muttered, his eyes back on the table. "So you don't have to worry about me screwing that up."

"Sam, you didn't-"

He looked up, his eyes smoldered with anger, hurt. "I don't want to live here any more. So either we leave, or I leave."

"You can't run from things, Sam."

Sam stood suddenly, his hands flat on the table. "Don't tell me what I need to do. I'm not your brainwashed soldier, I'm not Dean and I'm not like you." He winced, nearly fell.

John stood cautiously, ready to catch Sam if it should come to that. "Okay. We'll pack in the morning, be on the road by noon."

Sam nodded, suddenly weary as the medication and his own exhaustion. He felt his knees give and John reached forward and caught his son under the arms. Sam sucked in breath as his shoulder was moved, black spots of pain danced across his vision. John felt the slight heat of Sam's fever still, but knew his boy would hold true to his threat. He'd rather be with his son than have Sam hitchhiking hurt and sick.

"You're going to be okay, Sam." John kept his voice low as he guided his son back to the room.

"Hurts." He winced. He wasn't sure if he was talking about his shoulder or about what happened.

"I know." John eased Sam back into bed. "But that will get better, too. Get some sleep."

John stayed at his son's side until Sam's eyes closed heavy with sleep.

--

John woke Dean not long after seven. Sam was still asleep with the help of the pills, the blanket twisted around his legs and his hair damp with sweat. Dean sat up and automatically looked over at his brother.

"Dean, pack your things." John kept his voice low to keep from waking Sam.

"What?" He shoved the blankets back and grabbed a shirt off the floor.

John met Dean's eyes. "We're heading out today."

Dean glanced from John to Sam. "Want me to wake him?"

He turned to his son. "Not yet."

"I'm going to grab a shower."

John nodded and left the room. Dean looked over at Sam. On his way from the room he brushed his hand across his younger brother's forehead, still felt the fever and wondered what their dad was thinking.

John and Dean spent the day packing up the things they needed, it never took very long. Neither cared much for folding clothes and other than clothes and a few books, they didn't have much else to pack.

"I'm going to take these bags down to the car, get your brother ready." John grabbed a few of the bags that waited by the door.

Dean slipped back into his room. Most everything had been stripped from the bed, the walls, the drawers. A pair of well warn jeans, a button front shirt and a zip front sweatshirt sat on Dean's empty bed for Sam.

He sat on the edge of Sam's bed. "Sam, Sammy." He gently touched his brother's shoulder.

Sam's eyes blinked open, still blurred with pain and drugs. He looked around the room. "Time to go?"

"Yeah." Dean stood and grabbed the clothes. "You need me to help you get changed?"

Sam shook his head and painfully sat up. Dean paused and left the room. He stood in the hall, the bedroom door still open in case Sam still needed him. Sam slowly stood and slipped out of the sweatpants. The effort made him dizzy as he pulled on the jeans. Using his arm cause pain to shoot through his chest and he hoped his dad hadn't packed up the pills. He slipped on the button shirt and didn't bother with the buttons.

Dean glanced back in the room. Sam sat heavily on the edge of the bed, his face pale and his hair damp with sweat.

"Could you, could you get the buttons?" He asked in a low voice.

Dean buttoned his brother's shirt and brushed back the memory of a younger Sam that surfaced. He smiled a little to himself and helped Sam into the sweatshirt.

"It's cold out. Here." Dean held out a pill and a glass of water.

"Thanks." Sam took the pill and swallowed it with a small sip of water.

"You need to drink more."

Sam shook his head. Dean shoved the sweatpants into the top of a full duffel and tugged the zipper shut. He hoisted it over his shoulder.

Dean looked at his brother and knew his brother well. "You don't feel well enough to travel, do you?"

"I'll sleep in the car." He tried to stand.

Dean took his brother's arm and helped him. "That didn't answer my question."

"If I drink more water I'll puke in the car, you know that as well as I do." Sam met his brother's eyes as he was led down the hall.

By the time Sam had slumped into the backseat he was exhausted and his shoulder throbbed. Dean tossed a blanket and pillow in the back with his brother and climbed in the front seat. John slammed the trunk closed and climbed behind the wheel.