Set the night/morning after All Hell Breaks Loose 2. Sorry, couldn't help myself. You can take it as slash or not.
God, would this night never end? He just wanted to sleep...his body was still sore and exhausted from being stabbed, literally, in the back, and apparently, being brought back to life. Then there was the show-down in the cemetery, and as the sun was creeping it's way over the edges of the horizon, they had holed up in a hotel along their route out of town.
It had been minutes before Dean had fallen asleep, his breaths steady and deep as slumber soothed him. On the other hand; Sam stifled a gasp as he shifted, the fire burning along his spine in a blaze of agony. He clenched his eyes shut, focusing on deep breaths, trying to push the pain to the side. Just as it started to work though, as taut muscles started to slack, a spasm would send them clenching again, and his breath hitched as he bit his lip, drawing his legs up as he curled in on himself. God, but it hurt. There was some Vicodin in the Impala somewhere, but the thought of getting out of bed almost hurt as much as the agony throbbing along his spine.
A warm hand rested knowingly against his back, and he almost sobbed from the pain, burrowing into the warmth in front of him, pressing tight against the shelter of his brother. The heavy thud of Dean's heart skipped a beat before going a bit faster than it had a minute ago, the soft inquiry felt more than actually heard.
"Sam? Hey, what's wrong?" Sleep had roughened the voice, but worry was sharpening the edges of the words.
"hurts." The word was a soft whimper against skin, tears welling behind shut eyes. He felt Dean's slow exhale, and his brother tugged him closer, hand gently rubbing soothing circles against the pain.
"I know. Damned demons. You'd think, with the price of a soul, they could have taken the pain too." The words were soft and distracting, pulling his attention from the tight throb of torture along his spine. "Want some painkillers? I think there might still be some heavy-hitters in the med kit."
Sam shook his head, not trusting his voice to answer, and couldn't help but try to relax into that warm touch of his brother. The rasp of calluses was grounding, the touch steadily deepening from a light warmth to a deeper massage, convincing tight muscles into relaxing.
"You sure? I'll get them for you. You need to sleep Sammy." A soft wry chuckle. "You've had a pretty rough day." Another head shake. "Okay."
Time stretched along, stopping and stuttering as that never-ending warmth eased him, soothed him. After a time, he chanced uncurling, and sighed in relief as the pain slid further away. He slid closer to the warmth beside him, the steady thrum of his brother's heart under his ear, and with a final sigh, let the darkness slid over him, promising him release and relaxation.
Dean froze for a second as Sam's body went abruptly limp, but the soft breath feathering against his skin assured him this was different, sleep instead of death, and he tugged the blankets up further around them before slipping his arm over Sam's body, hugging him closer. He had been so close to losing him, hell, had lost him at one point.
Sam's hand twitched in sleep, and Dean smirked, curving more tightly around the preciousness beside him, and let himself slid again into sleep, one hand pressed reassuringly against the thick scar twisting it's way against Sam's spine, warding off the pain for a few more hours.