Well, here's another one shot. I can't seem to make these short! But I like it so it's cool. It was supposed to be like three or four chapters, but sinceI finished this all in like four hours (yeah, I just get that kind of time on Fridays!) thanI figured I should put this all out there.

BTW, nobody may care but I'm so proud of myslef, this is my seventh story! SEVEN! Wow, I think I'm getting Good. :)

Anyway, here's my next little creation. And I've noticed soething: I seemed to like the boys young and the brotherly moments. So here's a double wammy! And no angst! Wow, now that's a first for me!

Happy Reading!


Safety in Your Arms Tonight

By: chocolate rules

Disclaimer: I own them, and they say hi...lol...thanks to the WB!


Fine! Just fine! He'd have no fun what so ever for as all as he lived! He didn't have to go out, he could have just as much - no more! -more fun than anything he could possibly be doing out there!

Sam huffed his way down the hallway to his room and slammed the door shut. He had gotten in a fight with his father and, again, had come out in the bitter end.

"Hey! Don't go slamming doors either!" his father yelled out.

"Agggggg!" Sam yelled through gritted teeth. He was really trying to control himself. Lately, he had started having these all out wars with his father. He hoped it was his whole 'becoming a teenager' stage because he feared that if he took it too far, he'd get more than just grounded.

So what if he wanted to go to that guy's party? So what he had decided to skip out on training after school today so he could play some soccer? So what if he preferred to do his science research paper instead of melting those stupid bullets? None of it mattered!

That's what his father had snapped at - the thought that Sam had that none of it mattered. "Stupid bullets?" John had yelled back at him, holding up some new shiny silver bullets. "These bullets have gotten your brother and myself out of so many tight spots and have killed so many creatures, that if it weren't for these stupid bullets, Samuel, you'd be an orphaned only child. So, you're going to stay home all this weekend and make this stupid bullets and be grateful for them. And you will do that every weekend for a month until you value them."

The adolescent stretched himself out on his bed. Okay, so maybe he had gotten a little carried away with his ranting. He knew what those bullets meant, just like he knew why his father insisted that he and his brother practiced so much. But was it so hard for his father to understand why he wanted to do normal, kid things. Where was it written that because he had to go around and hunt things he wasn't allowed to do anything else?

Sam lied quietly on his bed, thinking - or rather wondering - how different his life would be if his mother was still alive. Tears swelled into his eyes. He hated thinking about what he couldn't have. Hated that he wasn't even allowed to think about all those things he missed out on. He cried himself to sleep wishing that his mother could just come and wrap her arms around him. He could almost hear her telling him that everything would be alright. That his whole life was just a terrible nightmare and that all he needed to do was wake up.


Dean wandered into his little temporary home. He had been out, again, that night on one of his father's 'watches'. He wasn't even sure what he was watching for. His father would just tell him that he needed to go to a certain person's house and make sure nothing happened to them. Thanks for the specifics, Dad. Dean thought. He was remembering how the pizza delivery guy had had quite a scare just moments earlier as Dean, who had almost fallen asleep, had ran and tackled him, briefly spraying holy water on the boy.

"Dude, what the fuck!" the kid had yelled at him. When Dean had realized what had happened, he did what he knew to do best. He played it off with a lie.

"Oh, man. Sorry. I thought you were my buddy, Mark. I haven't seen him in a while, and when I saw you I thought I'd give him a surprise." Dean said with a laugh as he rose to his feet. He stretched his hand to the boy, to help him up. The boy looked at it skeptically before sighing and taking the help.

"Yeah, this guy I know, Sean, he's the kind of guy who'd do that kind of shit too. I actually thought you were him for a moment."

"No hard feelings?" asked Dean with a shrug.

"Naw, man." the guy said, picking up the pizza carrying case. "As long as this shit's fine." he added.

Dean hadn't exactly had the greatest of weeks. Heck, this whole month had been really crappy. His father had made him sit in front of a different house everyday that week. Every damn day. Sure, it wasn't like he was about to use that time to do homework or something, but he sure as hell wouldn't mind a break. He had started off the month finally being off punishment after he had decided that he was in fact old enough to go hustling himself. His father had the unfortunate idea of going to the same bar, yeah bar, that Dean was trying his best to work over. When his father had seen him, it took all in him not to grab him and shake the stupidity out of him. He was after all, just seventeen and under no circumstances was he to be in a bar. Hustling would be for later, when he got older. Later, when he was actually allowed in a bar. Later meant forever to Dean.

But he had his car back now and so his father sent him on these errands. But since he wasn't directly involved in that hunt, his father wouldn't tell him anything about it. As they had grown older, his father had confided more and more on the boys the turmoils that the supernatural world held, he wasn't keen in telling them 'more than what they needed to know'. Dean apparently didn't need to know what it was he was watching out for.

As Dean entered the house, he was by no means surprised to find his father crouched over their laptop, researching whatever the hell it was that they were supposed to be after in this town. Though Dean wished his dad would just find the damn thing and kill it, he hated the thought of having to move again. They had been there three months, the longest they'd stayed someplace in a while. Dean had his small group of friends and he knew for sure that Sam had found some friends. The kid was just too damn friendly. The next move would be extra hard on the both of them.

"Hey, Dean." John said looking up as Dean opened the door. "What are you doing back so early?" he asked, looking down now at his watch.

"I tackled a pizza guy. Thought I could, you know, take a break." Dean said sourly, closing the door. He dumped all his things, his book bag, weapons bag, and coat, by the door. John eyed the items. "I'll get them in a minute, promise. I just have no energy to drag them to my room now.

"Fine, but do so." John said firmly looking back at his research.

"Yes sir." Dean said automatically as he dragged his feet to the kitchen.

"Can't you walk?"

"Tired, remember?" Dean said coolly back. He normally didn't respond his father with smart remarks, he was just exhausted and the words were coming out before he could process them. He hoped he wouldn't soon say something that would jeopardize him again.

Dean opened the fridge and frowned at the lack of food. He'd have to go shopping tomorrow. He knew his father wouldn't bother to until he realized he himself was hungry. The bad thing about that was that John Winchester could and had gone days without eating. Sam wouldn't realize he was hungry until he was presented with a plate. Not Dean. He needed to eat on a regular basis. Not like a schedule or something, he just liked to make sure he ate at least four meals a day. Maybe he should order pizza.

Dean made his way back to the dinning/living room to ask his father for some money for pizza, Sammy would like the change from always having hamburgers. Dean froze just as he entered the room. He looked around and noted halfheartedly that something was missing.

"Dad?" Dean said, trying to keep the worry out of his voice.

"Yeah," John replied not looking up from the laptop.

"Where's Sammy?"

"In his room, where else." John said coldly. Then, after jotting something down, John gathered his things up and closed the laptop. Dean could tell by his father's tone that he and his little brother had gotten in another fight. He didn't understand how they could argue so much. What was there to argue about? Just do as your told, the faster you're finished the more time you have for yourself.

"Well, I'll see you boys tomorrow mourning." John said, grabbing his coat and placing his journal and laptop in his bag.

"You're leaving?" Dean asked.

"Yeah. What, did you need something?" John asked coldly. Dean looked down. His father had left right after he'd gotten home everyday that week. But, Dean had figured that since he'd gotten home early…but he should have known better.

"Can I have some money to order some food?" Dean asked, still looking down. He could picture John's face, the realization that his sons had yet to of eaten. He didn't like seeing the face that came across his father so often. He liked to think that they were always in his father's mind, that he cared about them too. Sometimes, lately after talking with Sammy, he'd get the feeling that his father cared more for the people they saved than for them. That he cared more for his search for their mother's killer than for her sons.

"Uh, yeah…here's thirty…five…thirty-five dollars. Try not to use it all. And make sure Sam eats." John said, handing Dean the money. Dean nodded and stuffed the bills in his pocket. "Now, I've got to get going. Take care of your brother, Dean."

"How long has he been in there?" Dean asked, suddenly curious again.

John, who had gotten to the front door hand already on the knob paused. He looked quizzingly at his son, decided it was faster just to answer. He looked down to his watch and said, "Close to two hours now I guess. Later, son."

Two hours! Dean thought, as he locked the door behind his father. His brother had been alone, in his room for two hours! Didn't his father know how badly Sam felt after their fights. How close to tears the kid got. Mentally kicking himself, Dean sped over to the little boys room. Of course his father knew nothing about Sam's terrors. That would involve Sam showing weakness around the man. No one could show weakness around John, it angered him. It was like John thought that until they saw their wife on the ceiling burn to death that no one understood pain. The last time Dean had showed pain, he was four, and the last time Sammy had showed their father pained he was nine. A lot can happen in three years.

Dean opened the door to Sam's room. It was all dark, something that usual didn't happen where Sam slept. Sam hated the dark. Ever since he was nine and his father had confirmed that everything he thought were legends and fairy tales was true. If Sam was sleeping alone, he'd have a nightlight on. The only reason their father allowed it was because he figured that with the light Sam would be able to see any monster before they attacked him. Sam had hoped that the light would ward off the monsters.

Dean entered the room and sat on the edge of Sammy's bed. He couldn't really see the boy's face, but he could picture the dried streaks left behind by the tears that Dean knew the boy had shed. He was just a little kid, he didn't deserve to hurt like that. He didn't deserve to have to think that his father didn't care about him. He wished he could give the boy the comfort he had once felt around the man. He wished he could show the boy that the man had a caring side. But that side existed long ago, when Mary was still around. Most of john had died with Mary that night. Dean had concluded that long ago. His father wasn't the same man after that night. Poor Sammy never got to meet the man that Dean really admired. He had never met their mother or felt that kind of love either. The poor boy had no idea what love was.

Dean sat on the bed, watching Sam and wondering how different their lives would be had their mother not died. He wished she was with them at that moment. Wished that she could whisk them back to that night, so they could kill whatever the hell the monster was that had killed their mother. Maybe then, his father could be happy. Maybe then they could lead a normal life. Tears swelled up in his eyes as he watched Sam shift in his sleep. He deserved their mother. He didn't deserve to have all the memories of her alone. Dean closed his eyes, allowing one single tear to fall. He wished his mother could come and tell him that everything would be okay. That Sammy would be okay. He leaned over, softly kissing Sam's forehead, and whispered, "You deserve better than this, Sammy. I wish I could give you Mom back. I wish I could make everything better for you."

Dean headed out the room ad towards his own. He no longer felt the need for pizza, or any food for that matter. He went over and lied down on his stomach on his bed. He let the memories of the woman he loved overflow him and guide him into tear inducing dreams.


Sam shifted again in his sleep. He hated this dream. He knew it was a nightmare, he knew every time that it started that it was a nightmare. But part of him wanted it to end differently. Parts of him wanted the dream to continue, at least continue the good parts.

But that never happened.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Sam yelled into the night. He sat up and found himself in a dark room. Where was he? It took Sam a few seconds before he realized he was in his room, it had just gotten darker. He hadn't seen his room this way before, he'd always had a nightlight on throughout the night. This new dark room scared him.

Dean heard his brother's cries from the other room. Instantly awake and aware, Dean ran to his brother's side.

Dean quickly opened the door and was overflowed with Sam's heavy breathing. He turned the light switch on to find his brother in cold sweat on his bed. Sam was staring straight across at the closet door. Dean wondered if he'd seen something in there again, but decided that it was better to just get a response from Sam.

"Sam?" Dean asked walking into the room. Sam turned to face him, eyes still wide and blinking at the light. "You okay?"

"Dean?" Sam's soft voice cried. Dean nodded, not that the boy needed the reassurance. He went over and sat again on the edge of Sam's bed.

"You okay, buddy?" Sam nodded slowly. Before he knew it, the little boy started to cry. He wasn't sobbing yet, but the tears were flowing none the less. Dean immediately knew what had happened. A nightmare. Sammy got a lot of nightmares and Dean had grown to hate them as much as the monster that caused them himself. Was his brother never to have a break?

"Oh, Sam." Dean said quietly to the tear-filled eyes. He placed his hand on his brother's shoulder, trying to offer some comfort. "Another nightmare." he stated rater than asked.

Sam nodded. He sniffed as he said, "Yeah, a pretty bad one."

"Same one as before?" Again, Sam nodded. Tears starting up again.

Dean edged over and pulled Sammy into a tight, protective hug. The boy quickly responded wrapping his arms around the elder. He gripped at Dean's shirt as he openly allowed for the tears to go.

"It's just a dream. You've got to remember that. It's not real."

"I wish it was, though…some of it. And that's what's scaring." Dean nodded. He had heard the terrors before, he knew. He patted Sam's head as he tried soothing his brother's back.

"Don't worry Sammy. You know that could never happen." he hated saying those words. He hated having to admit that the happier parts of Sam's dreams could never come true.

"I know." Sam's muffled voice said after a second. He knew that it could never happen. He knew that his mother couldn't be taken away from him twice. And knowing this made the boy cry more.

Knowing that this nightmare wasn't the type that could be resolved with a, "We've already killed that monster, Sammy' or a 'Well, if anything does happen, here's you .45 and yell for help.' He never understood how those words leaving his father's lips had comforted him. When he had said it to Sam, years ago, he knew they were pointless. If anything does happen yeah that's safety for you. 'Well, if anything happens to come after you in the middle of the night, don't worry, just shoot it!'

"Want to sleep in my room tonight?" Dean asked him. Sam instantly nodded, just as Dean knew he would.

Dean picked up the small child and headed to his room. He paused at the door, and holding Sam with one arm turned the light switch off. Sam whimpered at the near darkness and clung harder to Dean's neck. Dean headed over to his room, light pouring from underneath the doorframe. He kicked the door open and they were blanketed by the gentle glow from the lamp.

Dean shifted the boy in is arms again as he pulled the covers back. He had fallen asleep on top of them as he had been thinking about his mother. He lied Sam down, covering him once again. He tucked him in tightly smiling at the boy all along.

"Want the nightlight, too?" Sam nodded. Dean made his way over to the outlet and flicked the nightlight on. There was always one in his room, when he didn't share with Sam, because Sam had the tendency to end up sleeping with him any way.

Dean walked over to the door and softly closed it. Then, he turned the lights off and looked at Sam with his biggest smile. "Better than the dark, right?" Sam nodded. Dean walked over to the chair by his desk and pulled off Sam's coat. Sam's things were littered all on the desk. Sam's room was too small to fit a desk, so Sam used the one in Dean's room to do his home work. Dean never really used it since he didn't really do his homework, but he liked having Sammy there. It was easier to look after Sam when he was close by.

"Aren't you going to sleep with me?" Sam asked from the bed. He had turned to face Dean and a worried glance had strayed into his eyes.

"Aren't you getting a little too old to be sleeping with your older brother?" Dean asked with a fake accusing smile. But the terror was still present in Sam's eyes.

"No. I'm only twelve." Dean chuckled some.

"As I remember correctly, twelve and ten months. Which, as you so love to put it, almost makes you a teenager, which practically makes you a man."

"What do I know?" Sam said softly, he tried to play it off like Dean was. "I'm twelve." Again Dean laughed, but the worry still remained in Sam's eyes. "So? Are you sleeping with me or not?"

"Yeah, bozo. I mean, I'm not going to willingly just hand you my bed." Dean said. He picked up Sam's coat again and placed it on the chair. Then he removed his sweater and T-shirt and placed them too on the chair.

"Good," Sam said. He breathed a sigh of relief and wiggled himself out of the tight tucking.

"And where are you going?" Dean asked him. He was kicking his shoes off as he worked on unzipping his jeans.

"Nowhere," Sam replied. A few wiggles late and Sam was free. He pulled his arms out from under the sheets and stretched them. Dean watched the boy cheer his victory quietly as he pulled off his jeans. Then, Sam pulled back some of the covers, motioning for Dean to get in.

"Oh, I see." Dean said with a small smile. He loved how quickly things could change for the small boy when he was around. Like his very presence gave the boy confidence and trust. At times, this complete confidence and trust thing worried Dean a little. He wanted Sammy to be able to take care of himself, too. He didn't want to have to worry about him if he was ever caught up in something and didn't have the time to save him. But, mostly, he liked being able to place some sort of security into Sam. He needed to feel needed and Sam needed to feel safe. Safety was the only way Dean had know to show his love for Sam. But as Sam grew older, the boy seemed to understand more and safety wasn't the only way to show he cared, he could just tell him he cared. But those were for really desperate, need to be heard moments.

"Nope." Dean said. "If you're feeling that much better…"

"I'm not!" Sam cut in quickly. "Really. I don't want to go back to my room." Dean nodded.

"I know. That's not what I was going to say. If only you would listen, Sammy, you would know that." Dean walked over to his dresser. He pulled out a long T-shirt and looked back at Sam. "What I was going to say was that if you're feeling that much better," Dean walked over to where Sam was lying. He held out the T-shirt within Sam's reach. "then you can change out of your clothes. I don't plan on having your jeans scratch me up all night."

Sam jumped out of the bed, grabbing the shirt as he went. He was happy at not having to go back to his room. He hated being alone, especially at night. He was too quick to try and pull his own sweatshirt off and got it stuck in his head, in tangled with his undershirt.

Dean reached out and pulled the sweatshirt free from Sammy's head. "Almost and twelve and can't even undress yourself, tsk tsk." Dean said with a smile. Sam softly glared at him. Dean then pulled the undershirt off the boy and motioned for Sam to put on the shirt he'd given him. Sam did so and then jumped out of his own jeans. He dived into the bed once more in the oversized ACDC shirt that came to his mid-thigh.

"Now, you get in." Sam said, motioning again to where he had pulled the covers back for Dean. Dean went around the bed and eased into the warmth of the sheets. He then covered him and Sammy. He started to tuck the boy in, but was instead met with a whine.

"What?" he said trying to sound angry. Sam pushed Dean's hands away from the covers and looking back at Dean gave him an 'as if you didn't know' look. He then pulled Dean's arm around him and rested him head on his brother's chest. He listened to the heartbeat that told him there still was something left for him to love in this world. Something that still loved him back. He edged closer to Dean, practically lying on top of him.

"Comfy?" Dean asked sarcastically.

"Yes, I am. Thanks for asking." Sam said, eyes closed as he remained in position. Dean ruffled his hair saying "Smart ass." before he rested the arm around Sam again. He pulled him in tighter and yawned.

"Comfy?" Sam asked looking up at Dean. Dean, who already closed his eyes, smiled and said, "Yeah, thanks for asking."

After a few seconds, Dean monitoring Sam's breathing and knowing he wasn't asleep, asked "How you feeling?"

"Safe." Sam said. This time yawning himself. Dean brought him in tighter and muttered, "Good." before they both almost simultaneously feel asleep.


Epilogue:

Dean watched as Sam rummaged through his bag. He was muttering something about how Dean should really fold their clothes instead of shoving them in to the bags after they were washed.

"Fine! Just turn the damn light off!" Dean said. He was lying on one of the twin beds in yet another motel room. Sam, however, was pulling each and every item out of the bag and folding it before placing it into either his or Dean's bag and selecting another item.

"Maybe this will teach you to do it yourself." Sam said, showing no sign of stopping of turning the lights off.

'Or, maybe, it'll teach you that I can't do the laundry."

"Nice try, Dean. I know very well that you can fold your clothes. If Dad saw how you throw your clothes all over the place, he'd teach you for sure. Again."

"Fine! So I know how to do it. I just don't want to."

"Then deal with it!"

"Then you deal with me bitching about it!"

Sam heaved a sigh and stopped the ongoing argument. Nothing would change Dean. Ten minutes later, most of which because he wanted to really piss Dean off and had taken to getting everything not only folded but folded perfectly.

"There! I'm Done." Sam said to the pissy figure trying to shield himself with a pillow.

""Bout fucking time!" Dean said as he pulled the pillow off and put it over the one his head rested on. "Now turn the lights off so I can sleep."

"Nope, I have to change first. Might even take a shower." Sam said smiling evilly.

"Don't you even dare. You go anywhere near that shower and you might just tempt me to get off this bed and place you in yours."

"Fine," Sam said rummaging now through his clean, folded clothes in his bag.

"Now what!" Dean said watching him again.

"I need something to change into, Damn!"

"It's sleep gear, Sam, anything will do." Dean said. "Now turn the damn lights off!"

Sam smiled at the whining Dean. He knew Dean didn't need the darkness to sleep. He had slept plenty of times through car rides and his nightlight. He was just keeping an eye on Sam. He hated that Dean thought he even needed looking after to fold their laundry, but it felt good to be looked after. It was nice to be cared for, like he'd been as a child. He knew now how difficult it really was for Dean to of raised him, but he was still the little brother. Being the little brother meant he had to take times like this and really stretch his annoying presence.

"Sam, hurry the hell up, man!" Sam looked at him evilly again, but decided he did need to get some rest. He knew that he'd pay for all this in the morning, so it was best not to tempt him. Looking into his bag, he noticed an old T-shirt. He pulled it out and after pulling off his shirt put it on. Instantly smiling, he placed the bags by the table and pulled off his shoes and jeans.

"Finally!" Dean proclaimed as Sam sat on the other bed. "Sleep, here I come." But Sam just stared at him. Dean looked back at him, wondering what he had said now. Then he noticed it and had to stop himself from smiling.

"Isn't that my shirt?"

"Nope, not anymore." Sam said, not moving. "You gave it to me a long time ago, remember?"

"Yeah, Sammy. I remember. Can we go down memory lane in the morning. I promise I might even tune into what you're saying." Sam ignored him and continued.

"You know, for someone who says he hates 'chick-flick' moments, you sure do start a lot of them."

"Never."

"Yeah, you do. Like that night, you pulled me into your room…"

"Fine, I'm sorry. Can we go to sleep, now?" Sam smiled and lied down in his bed. He didn't however, turn the lights off. Instead he turned toward Dean, who was looking back at him expectantly and slowly smiled shaking his head as he knew his brother would continue.

"You know, Jess hated the shirt."

"Then, why didn't you get rid of it?" Sam shrugged.

"She didn't pick out the clothes for me to wear, Dean. She kind of just hated the group in general.."

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that." Sam laughed.

"Know what I told her?" Dean shook his head. "Told her she had no idea how good they were. I don't know why I said that. Guess you had started rubbing off on my, or something."

"No, Sam. They're just good."

"Well, I kept it, didn't I."

"Yep. And you grew into it, too." Dean said closing his eyes.

"Ten years can do that to you." Sam said. Dean laughed softly. He heard Sam rise and walk over to the light switch.

Moments later the lights went off and Dean sighed a thank you to which Sam responded by sitting on the edge of his bed.

"What now, boy!" Dean said in as much anger as his tired self would master.

"Thanks Dean." Sam said simply.

"For?"

"Everything." Sam said with a small shrug.

"No problem kid. Now, go to bed." Sam nodded and raised from his side. Dean heard him enter and settle in the bed. He monitored Sam's breathing and knew he wasn't yet sleeping. "How you feeling?" Dean said out of nowhere.

"Safe." Sam replied.

"Good." Dean said back. He mentally wished for Sam to have a good night and they both simultaneously drifted off to sleep.


So? What you think? You like it.. You hate it? You think I'm smoking that pot? lol (I'm not) Well, review me and i shall find out!

Thanks! Love ya guys and thanks to all of you, and it should be all off you lol, that will review. ;)