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 reading and reviewing. I hope this upheld the weighty category standards of Sam angst. 

Sam is 15, and Dean is 19

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Dean tossed a bottle of water in the backseat next to Sam. He leaned against the window, his arm held protectively across his chest, his eyes blearily focused on the houses and yards the they drove past. Every now and then, John would glance up in the mirror at his youngest.

They pulled into a gas station. John opened his door. "I need coffee. You boys need anything?"

Sam didn't answer and Dean suggested something for breakfast. John glanced back at his sons before he went into the convince store. Sam sighed and looked out the window. It took him a few seconds to realize what was happening across the street.

He pushed open the door and climbed from the car.

"Sam?" Dean was out of the car and around to his brother in the time that it took Sam to climb out and close the door. "Sam."

Sam swallowed, his eyes fixed on the event across the street. Dean turned and for a second his breath caught in his lungs. Across the street was a cemetery and under the hundred-year-old oaks and between perfect lines of headstones, was the funeral of Matthew Olsen.

Dean turned to his brother. Sam's face was white, his hands shook at his sides as he leaned against the car, his eyes were fixed on the small gathering.

He swallowed and glanced over at his older brother. "I wonder what his mom's thinking." Sam's voice was husky and quiet.

"It wasn't your fault."

"You didn't answer my question." Sam whispered.

Dean almost smiled a little. "I don't know what she's thinking, but I know it isn't your fault, none of it."

"I know." He didn't sound believable.

Dean slipped his arm around his brother's shoulders and felt him shiver slightly. Sam leaned against him and closed his eyes for a moment. John came back to the car and saw his boys. Dean glanced over at him.

"Dean, climb in." John passed him the coffee and donuts.

"I don't want to talk to you." Sam muttered as Dean walked to the other side of the car.

"Maybe not, but I want to talk to you." John rested his hand on Sam's shoulder.

Sam didn't duck away like John expected.

"I did what I did because I couldn't stand to lose you, or your brother."

Sam looked up at him. "So, letting another parent lose her son is okay, as long as it's not yours." The words were bitter, hard.

"No, but you are always my first priority."

"Why are you telling me this?" He ducked from under John's hand and winced as the pain flared again. "It doesn't mean anything."

"You need to hear it." He paused. "Almost as much as you need to get in the car."

Sam scoffed a little. "And we're back to orders. Get in the car, take point, kill your friend." His voice broke on the last word.

"Sam."

He pulled open the door, ignored the pain that ripped across his chest and climbed into the car. He tugged the blanket up to try and stop his shivering and leaned against the window.

Dean turned. "Sammy."

"I'm tired, Dean."

John climbed into the car and they pulled away. Sam kept his eyes on Matt's mom until they turned towards the highway and he lost sight of her. It didn't take long for the combination of the car on the highway and the medication to pull him into sleep.

"Just give him space, dad." Dean glanced back at his brother.

John sighed. "And then he disappears, more than he already has."

"He's just trying to find his own way, like always."

"I know that, but it doesn't help me or him." John glanced at Sam.

"How far are we going?" Dean changed the direction of the conversation.

"Probably look for a motel around five or so. Find a place for a few days, let him rest."

"He'll be okay."

John looked over at Dean. "I hope so."

Sam muttered something in his sleep and pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders. He slept for most of the drive aside for the few minutes he was awake when Dean force-fed him pain pills, water and a quarter of a sandwich.

John pulled into the space in front of a faded, blue motel door. It had become clear that even though Sam was asleep, he was exhausted from traveling. John climbed out and opened the trunk for the bags they needed. Dean opened Sam's door and gently woke his brother. Sam's eyes drifted open, he was still out of it from the last dose a few hours ago. Dean carefully slid his arm under Sam's and helped his brother from the car.

"Dean?" The word was soft, slurred.

"Yeah, Sammy."

"Where's dad?"

John came to Sam's other side. "I'm right here, Sammy."

Dean slid his arm out as John took Sam's weight. Dean grabbed the bag and headed for the room.

"Here tonight?" Sam asked.

"For a few days."

Sam blinked, tried to make sense of it as he was guided towards the room. "New job?" His shoulder hurt.

"Not yet, haven't even looked." John eased Sam onto a bed and leaned him back into the pillows.

"Why?"

Dean sat at Sam's side and slipped off his shoes. "For being so smart, you sure are asking a lot of dumb questions."

Sam held up three fingers. "Read between the lines, Dean."

John ran his fingers through Sam's hair, felt for fever. "Just rest, Sam."

Sam couldn't have kept his eyes open if he wanted to. Once he was asleep, John checked the bandages and dabbed peroxide over the stitches. Sam shifted slightly, his brow furrowed as it stung. Dean took his brother's hand as John bandaged the wounds again.

"I think his fever broke." Dean looked up at his father.

John nodded. "That's good." He stood. "I'll bring back something for dinner." And then he left.

Sam rolled to his side, drew his knees in towards his chest. Dean pulled the blanket over his brother and sat next to him on the bed. John dropped off dinner for Dean, and Sam if he was awake and hungry, before he mentioned something about a job or a bar, Dean was a little fuzzy on the details. It didn't really matter which, he knew that John needed time to straighten everything out so that when Sam started to ask the questions coherently, he'd have an answer, even if it wasn't the right one, it'd be one he could defend.

Dean had flipped through the limited channels a handful of times before he stopped on some lame, made-for-tv, horror movie. He kept the volume low. Sam shifted and muttered something in a dream, which sounded more like a nightmare to Dean so he rested his hand on his brother's arm.

"Dean?" It was tentative, unsure.

He switched off the movie. "Yeah, Sammy."

Sam carefully rolled to his back and pushed himself up against the pillows.

"Your shoulder okay?"

Sam nodded, his eyes focused somewhere past the end of the bed. "I can't make it stop." He whispered.

"Make what stop?"

Sam looked away, his jaw set.

"Sammy?"

His breath hitched followed by an almost choked back sob.

Dean put his arm around Sam's shoulder. "Hey, you're all right."

"I keep seeing him die." He whispered between shaky breaths. "And I think I should have done something more. Research or something, anything. I did nothing and it killed him. I killed him."

"No, you didn't. You wouldn't." Dean closed his eyes for a second before he pulled Sam closer. "And I don't believe that you did for a second."

"I'm sorry." His words soft, sorry for everything he had ever done.

"I know you are, Sammy. I know."

"If I had seen it sooner, put it together…I didn't want to." Sam leaned his head against Dean's shoulder. "I wanted everything to be okay and it never is."

"I know." Dean wished there was something else, anything else that he could say, but there wasn't. None of his big brother wisdom could fix this.

They stayed that way for a while, Sam under the protection of Dean's arms as he tried to choke back tears. Finally Sam pushed away, his eyes weary and empty, ashamed.

"How about some dinner, then we'll drug you up good, and try to find something worth watching on one of the crap channels."

Sam almost smiled, maybe, and nodded. Dean glanced over at him before he found half a peanut butter sandwich and a Styrofoam cup of chicken broth. Sam ate most of it, more than he had in a few days and Dean traded him for a glass of water and a pain pill.

Dean leaned back against the headboard, Sam next to him, slouched down so his head was resting against his older brother's shoulder. Dean found a movie that wasn't half bad, like he promised.

"Hey, Sam?" He was seeing if his kid brother was still awake.

"Yeah?" He was almost asleep.

"You know tomorrow's gonna be better, right?"

Sam shifted, his breath caught as he moved his shoulder too much. "Really?" He was asking honestly.

"Yeah, at least a little."

"Okay." Sam believed him, he had to if he was going to keep going.

John came back about an hour after Sam had fallen asleep. He looked at his boys, his eyes lingered on Sam. Dean carefully slid out from under his brother and eased him onto a pillow. Sam shifted, but didn't wake. Dean went over to John.

"How's he doing?" John went to the bar, only had one drink and spent the rest of the time walking, thinking, trying to figure it out, trying to remember how to be the dad that used to make Sam smile again.

"Better." Dean glanced back. "He is going to be okay."

"You'd tell me if he wasn't."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, but he will be."

John walked over and gently sat next to Sam on the bed, Dean on the other side and Sam between them. He carefully brushed Sam's hair away from his face. "Then maybe we all will be." He whispered, mostly to Sam. He knew it couldn't ever be like it was when both boys were younger, innocent, unaware. He knew that he and Sam wouldn't ever be like he and Dean, and that worried him.

But just as long as Sam was all right, Sam and Dean, that's all that really mattered in the end.