Dean grimaced and his breath hitched at the sight of his brother through the window. Sam hadn't seen him; he was hunched over in bed, idly bending his elbow where it was probably still sore from the IV. Never in his life had Dean seen Sam wear all white - it was clearly the pajama uniform he'd been fitted in upon admittance to the psych ward.

So this is what it boils down to, thought Dean, my little brother, the man who sacrificed his soul for seven billion, wearing white pajamas in a psych ward.

Dean took a breath. So be it.

He opened the door and Sam jerked his head at the sound.

"S'just me," Dean assured softly. The room echoed his steps, a faint whirring sound of circulating air in the background. As quickly as Sam's fear disappeared, shame took its place. He bowed his head down lower and Dean watched as he pulled in and away from him as Dean approached. Sam's heels pushed up against the mattress, trying to lift his knees closer to his body. Dean looked down and noticed the restraints. They pulled against Sam's ankles and wrists, effectively keeping him laid out on the bed despite his best efforts to pull himself in.

"The hell is this-" Dean murmured in surprised anger. Sam winced and looked away as Dean landed his hand on his wrist and started removing the restraint. "Sam," Dean whispered, working with the strap. Sam sniffed and kept his face turned from Dean.

"I don't know. I don't remember," Sam whispered weakly. Dean moved down to Sam's ankle.

"You okay?" Dean gave Sam a meaningful glance, but Sam's hair covered his face.

"No," Sam breathed. Dean moved to Sam's other foot.

"Doctors said they drugged you," Dean tried to remind Sam. Sam gave a slight nod.

"You're still awake."

Sam nodded again and lifted his free hand to wipe his face. Dean moved up to Sam's other hand and unfastened the restraint. Sam shifted in Dean's presence, trying to turn his body the other direction. Dean watched, pained to see his brother angle away from him. Dean slowly reached over and placed his hand over Sam's. Sam's eyes closed, trying to get his breathing under control as Lucifer, sitting along the wall playing cat's cradle, mocked Dean's touch.

"Sammy-?" Dean whispered as he turned Sam's hand over and rubbed its scarred palm. Sam found it soothing, but that was all.

"Doesn't work anymore," Sam whispered, still turned away from Dean.

"What?"

Sam pushed himself up along the headboard and pulled his hand away from Dean. He didn't want to, but he didn't feel like he deserved very much comfort at the moment.

"I let Lucifer in - pressing on my hand doesn't work anymore," Sam whispered, his words slurred together. "He won't leave me. He won't leave until I'm dead," Sam said exhaustedly, his voice laced with the tone of surrender.

Dean stared at his brother, uncertain about what to say in reply. Sam's words started to sink in, though, and Dean pushed himself a little further onto Sam's bed - further up to Sam's downturned head.

"Sam. Hey Sammy, look at me," Dean said as he reached out to touch Sam's shoulder. Sam trembled under his hand and Dean grasped him tighter and moved closer.

"Sam can you look at me?" Dean coaxed, bringing his other hand around Sam's waist. At the touch, Sam's body cringed away. Dean felt it and spread his hand wide and open to pull on Sam's side, trying to get Sam to turn into him.

"C'mon Sam, c'mon," Dean whispered, his hand on Sam's shoulder moving under Sam's arm to reach his back and neck. Sam shrank under Dean's touch, lowering himself against the headboard and trembling. Dean found himself nearly holding Sam's head and neck up. Exhaustion, anxiety, and fear had overtaken him. Sam was more vulnerable and small than Dean had ever seen him.

When Sam had been a kid, he'd always turned to Dean. Not this time, though. As Dean held on to Sam, something was keeping him distant - keeping him from reaching out to Dean. Dean moved up again, keeping his grasp on his shaking little brother and bumping his waist against Sam's. He leaned down close to Sam's ear and whispered delicately, choosing his words carefully.

"Sammy, whatever Lucifer's saying right now, ignore it," Dean said, pressing his hands and arms around Sam's body comfortingly, hopefully making Sam feel as if Dean was covering him. "Ignore it. I've got you, Sam," Dean added, hugging his wrap around Sam. "It's not real. I'm real, Sam, I'm real," he said softly, determined, as he tried pulling Sam's waist again to angle towards him.

Suddenly he felt Sam jolt under him and release a bitter sob at the floor he'd been facing.

"Sam?!" Dean gripped Sam's body, halfway fearful that Sam would topple off the bed.

Sam's body wracked under Dean's hold in grief as another sob followed. Dean felt Sam's muscles go limp and Dean seized the opportunity. He grabbed Sam, pushed him over and tilted him into his arms.

"Dean," Sam cried, burrowing his head in shame against Dean's neck.

"It's okay," Dean reassured, pushing himself up against the bedpost, trying to make sure that he wouldn't be straining Sam as the kid started to give in to the embrace.

"I'm sorry," Sam sobbed, the full weight of his apology coming through in just those two words. Sam felt like he'd let Dean down. If only he hadn't allowed Lucifer in when Dean had been missing...

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean whispered again, struggling to grasp and hold Sam - to cover him entirely. It was irrational, but Dean felt like maybe if Sam could just be so focused on Dean's presence, be so convinced that Dean was the only one in his world, perhaps Lucifer would leave him alone for just a few minutes.

Dean picked up his legs, clad in heavy denim jeans, and spread them out along the length of the twin bed. He pushed Sam - almost rolled him - over one of them and lifted his knees up, effectively creating a barrier on both sides of Sam's body. He kept Sam's body still to lie against Dean's chest, Sam's head remained in the crook of Dean's shoulder, just like when he was a child.

In the detached recesses of his mind, Dean noticed that Sam's white pajamas were soft cotton - undoubtedly comfortable and entirely suitable for sleeping. If only Sam could make it there. Dean's clothes were rough and worn; dirty and dark in the midst of this clinical environment. Sam didn't seem to mind, though. He shivered against Dean, becoming increasingly desperate to grasp his big brother as waves of grief and guilt ebbed and flowed through him. Dean did his best to absorb it, smoothing Sam's back and shoulders and hair with his hands. He wanted to keep Sam aware, consistently, that he was in Dean's arms.

"I got you, Sam, I got you," Dean said, knowing his voice was a soft lullaby to his brother - the voice Sam heard before going to sleep in his childhood. The voice that made unbreakable promises of safety in its presence. "Nothing's going to happen. You're not gonna die in here. You're gonna stay with me."

Sam grasped Dean tighter and Dean felt Sam nod against his shoulder. Dean reached up to card his fingers through Sam's hair.

"I'm the only one in here, Sam. It's just you and me. We're gonna stay here. You're gonna sleep for me, now, okay?" Dean knew he was taking a gamble, but he had been feeling Sam's heartbeat and breathing leveling off. Sam was starting to sync with him. It was a good start.

"Relax," Dean breathed slowly into Sam's ear. "Relax with me. Tune everything out except my voice, Sam," Dean instructed, feeling Sam's muscles start to take the order. "Good job, Sammy, good job," Dean praised softly, pushing and rubbing his hands around Sam's back - up and down his spine, around his shoulders, up to the back of his neck, then his head. He repeated the routine, leaning his knees further in towards Sam to cover him up even more. Sam's legs curled around Dean's feet and Dean felt locked in position. Dean smiled with affection - Sam was doing what he wanted. Sam was completely and tightly secured around Dean. Dean was banking on this. Dean hoped Sam was so exhausted - so destroyed - that he was regressing to the belief that Dean had the power to protect and shield him. That belief was so ingrained in Sam, Dean knew, that it had a shot at trumping the devil.

"Nothing's gonna happen. I've got you," Dean reiterated, "You're safe. You're safe with me." It was becoming a chant, his voice steady and calm and peaceful. For a fleeting second, he thought maybe he was enjoying this moment too much - finding too much peace from it himself. The thought was quickly dashed when he felt the smallest of movement against his back of Sam scratching him with his fingers. Dean tilted his head to the side to look at Sam's face against his neck. Sam's face was pale and gaunt, his closed eyes were still visibly red and sore from tears. Dean realized he'd stopped talking - that Sam was weakly scratching him to get him to keep talking to him.

Dean smiled again. Sam had several inches on him, but right now the height disparity didn't exist. With Sam tucked against Dean's neck and his body curled around Dean; with his legs wrapped around Dean's bent ones, Sam appeared small and easily wrapped inside his brother's embrace.

It wasn't really news to Dean, though. Sam would always be little to Dean. Always.

"You're doing so good, Sammy," Dean whispered encouragement and continued his litany, trying to get Sam's consciousness down to the dullest roar. He was pretty sure it was working, as Sam was beyond responding with much more than weak grasps around his body. "Good job, Sammy. Clear your mind. I'm right here. I won't let anything happen," Dean promised, stroking Sam's hair, rubbing the back of his neck, and realizing, slightly, that he was putting himself to sleep, too. Figures, Dean thought. I'm so good at this I even put myself to sleep.

Dean closed his eyes but continued his movements around Sam until he could feel Sam's breath against his neck - slow, regular, unconscious breaths. Dean closed his eyes and sighed with relief, but he knew this was not over. Not by a long shot. Sam would wake up and this would start all over again. Dean wasn't against cuddling, per se, if it got his brother to go to sleep like this. But it was a temporary solution. Dean swallowed his fears and, with his eyes still closed, he whispered to Sam.

"I'm gonna get you help, Sammy. We'll fix this. We always do."

Writer's Note: This was very short, I know. But I haven't written in awhile and this was really just to grind the gears, so to speak, in prep for continuing Clean Slate and A Change of Plans. Hope you enjoyed - please comment/review: it's always incredibly appreciated. Thank you! ~ Alex