He's Fourteen but in that moment he's twelve, scared, alone and needing the one thing that despite age, always made him better.
His bare feet step softly on the off green carpet. He's holding his breath just in case his father is awake. He remembers the last lecture he got about disturbing his brother.
He makes his way through the room, holding both hands in front of him to feel his way around. He can feel his hands shaking, he's scared.
He can feel the nightmare still-hunting the edges of his mind, he knows his only salvation is when he's got his brother's arms securely wrapped around his waist.
He bumps into a nightstand he didn't realize was there and curses softly. It took him twenty minutes of laying wide awake in bed to work up the courage to even start his journey across the large room. He swallows a mouth full of saliva and rubs at his cheeks, ashamed to feel the tears still running.
He stops when his knees bump into the mattress. He reachs over to pat at the pile of blankets, looking for anything that resembled his brother. When his hand landed on a shoulder he shook it.
"Dean," Sam's shaking voice whispered.
A muffled groan was his only answer.
"Dean?"
Sam watched through the darkness as the sheets lifted, silently allowing him in. Sam smiled gently and got into the bed. Sliding in he felt the sheets drop around him.
"You ok?" From his voice Sam knew his brother wasn't awake, he was running on autopilot.
"Yeah…"Sam answered, he'd wait to tell him of his latest nightmare. "I know dad said I shouldn't-"
"'s Ok, Sammy, just get some sleep." Dean mutters, he body turns to face him. Still asleep, Dean rolls on his side and drops an arm around his younger brother's waist.
Sam exhales, eyes fixed on the darkness that suddenly doesn't seem so scary.
He turns his head into his brother's chest and takes a deep breath. He moves to his side, clutching at Dean's bare chest. Either on impulse or feeling his brother's desire Dean slides both arms around him, pulls him closer then rests his chin on top of Sam's head.
"Thanks," Sam whispers, his mouth moving against Dean's bare flesh.
"Un Uh." Dean mutters.
Sam sighs, closes his eyes and dreams of endlessness, pointless driving, blaring music, vending machine junk food and his brother.
He's Twenty four, and shaking like he did when he was fourteen. His mind is racing with ever-dark image, of every horrible thought. He sees and ; he sees pain and endless hell.
He climbs out of bed, his eyes are sore from trying not to cry, and even if they weren't he still would be blind. Dean had closed the curtains before they went to bed, flooding the room in complete darkness.
And despite the fact that their beds are only mere inches from each other, the journey across is as scary as it ever was. Sam feels his breath quicken, his hands shake harder, his body quivering with fear.
He can barely see in front of him, images of -pain flash in front of him.
He pats the sheets, again looking for his brother's body amidst all the blankets.
"Dean?" He cringes when his voice is as rough as it felt.
Sam's hand landed on the top of his head. He slides his hand down to shake his brother's shoulder.
"Dean?"
And just as before, Dean rolls toward him, lifts the sheets and silently invites him in.
"You Ok?" It's, again, the automatic question.
Sam doesn't bother respond, he just slips under the sheets and with no hesitation or doubt or shame or any fear he curls his body around Dean's. Moving his legs between his brothers, wrapping his arms around his waist, laying his head next to his against the pillow.
"Now I am."
Dean's eyes are still closed but the corners of his lips turn up.
"Good night Sammy."
"Good night Dean,"
And as every night before with his brother there to protect him from even the things only he could see, it actually was just that, a good night.