AN: Some fun brotherly hurt/comfort for you all!! Woohoo. As always many mucho thanks goes out to the lovely Ms. Moogs, who betas these stories with firm kindness

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Spoilers: Up to Born Under a Bad Sign

Sometimes Sam wondered why he bothered getting up in the morning. Sometimes it seemed like he would be doing the world a favor if he collapsed in a heap and never got back up.

After he went back to his apartment to find Jess burning on the ceiling, Sam almost didn't get up. He would have stayed there to burn if Dean hadn't dragged him out. There were many times after that he considered just throwing in the towel.

That week they spent at Stanford looking for clues was little more than a blur to him now. It was like grasping at memories from his early childhood. He vaguely remembered tears, voices, smells…and Dean. His brother was foremost in all of those childhood flashes and in the ones from that week as well. Sam was sure he would have died along with Jess that day if it hadn't have been for Dean, even if the fire never touched him.

After that the nightmares kept him from really sleeping for weeks. He stayed out of bed as much as possible so getting up wasn't an issue. He was always up. Because if he didn't sleep he didn't dream, and if he didn't sit he didn't think. If he didn't think he could keep moving. Normally this worked well…at least it did when they had cases. But there was always that time between cases, and inevitably it would happen. Sam would stop moving for a minute, and everything in him would want to curl up inside himself and never get up. It was those moments Dean would hover over him.

Sam, wanna grab a beer?

Hey you hungry, 'cause I'm starved.

Hey geekboy, I think the original Star Wars movies are playing tonight.

It didn't matter what Dean said, just that he was always there to say it. Always there to make sure Sam got back on his feet, whether he was weighed down by injury or something much deeper in his soul.

It was a year later when Sam and Dean finally began to truly heal, to become comfortable in their skin. That was before John died. That was before deals with demons became a present part of their life. Before vampires. Before broken Impalas. Before untrustworthy hunters. Before words like Croatoan and epidemic made the Winchester's cringe.

Before Dean had to aim a gun at his brother.

Now there they were, six day out from resting up at Bobby's after Meg possessed the youngest Winchester; and Sam yet again wondered why he ever bothered to wake up in the morning.

Sam's hazel eyes traveled to his brother, laying there on the other bed. Dean was entirely unafraid of him, even after everything that happened. The older brother rubbed his arm absently. A reminder of Dean getting shot by him. Because of him, but also for him.

It hurt to think of everything that had happened, and it hurt worse when Sam chanced a guess at what was to come. Sometimes he was sure it would be a heck of a lot easier if he went to sleep and never woke up.

Dean seemed to notice the scrutiny and turned enough to meet Sam's gaze. The older Winchester gave his best encouraging grin. It looked pathetic, but it did the trick anyway.

"Wanna grab some lunch? I'm starved and that waitress…" Dean filled in the blank with a suggestive whistle.

Sam rolled his eyes, but found himself agreeing anyway.

Sometimes Sam wondered why he bothered to wake up in the morning, but sometimes he knew exactly why.