Sam rolled over and looked at the clock. He found that it had been less than an hour since the last time he looked at the clock. At least, it was getting closer to daylight.

He rolled back over and pulled up the covers. He soon realized this was useless.

It had been a fitful sleep. Spurts filled with fearful thoughts and images.

The words, hateful and hurtful, remembered all too clearly. They were spinning around in his head like so many flashcards. Each with its own picture of that demon with the black eyes wearing Dean's face.

Sam understood it was Dean, all Dean, But that hatred, he could only accept that as an expression of his brother's pain. It didn't make it easier just palatable.

But now, Dean was back, his brother Dean with all his imperfections. Instead of the creature that he had to trap and chain like an animal. The one that almost bit his head off, literally.

Sam had no regrets about anything he had done to get Dean back, to save him. He owed his brother everything.

All those years of being responsible, thinking he was obliged to carry it all and save everyone else from the burden, especially Sam.

Sam threw off the blankets.

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He crossed the hall and slowly opened Dean's bedroom door. He peeked in and saw that his brother was still asleep. Sam walked in to collect the sweatshirt and book he had left behind.

He stood for several minutes, fighting the urge to wake his brother, just to assure himself that this was real. He was in this room yesterday, for hours until he had fallen asleep, long after Dean had dropped off.

Dean shifted, wrapping himself tighter in his blankets. The movement caused Sam to start, as if he, himself, had been awakened. Then he quietly left the room.

He slipped on the hoodie to start his day; he would get his energy from his morning run and make his plans. His watch told him it was 5:17 am.

It had been a long and difficult night. Sam feared it would be a long day as well.

Sam took a detour to the kitchen, with no conscious thought. He paused in the doorway before entering the room. He mindlessly handled the book he was still carrying before placing it on the table.

He believed he had picked up the book at random, just something to keep his mind occupied while he sat with his brother. But he found, as he read, that the Longfellow poetry had become a comfort, almost a guide helping him let go of his own fear and worry.

It was at this point that Sam knew what he wanted to do.

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The coffee aroma did much to stimulate Sam's senses. He knew things were said, some truly felt perhaps, that would need to be addressed. But these were not important things, not at this time, not to Sam. His priority was to make Dean feel like himself again.

Sam re-entered his brother's room to find that Dean was still sleeping. He placed the travel mug, filled with coffee, on the bedside table.

He left as quietly as he had entered.