Dean was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling like he did most nights. It's been about four years since he'd been pulled from the pit, but he still had trouble sleeping.
For a brief moment he missed the comfort Sam would give him when they were younger. He'd awake from a nightmare about a burning house with a cold sweat and a scream just barely caught on the tip of his tongue. By the time he would come to his senses and realize he was safe in a motel somewhere Sam would've already crawled into his bed, holding onto his big brother tightly.
Sometimes Sam would be the one with nightmares. He'd catch a glimpse of something Dad was hunting, or he'd see a scary movie on tv, and Dean would be the one to crawl into his baby brother's bed to offer him whatever comfort he could.
After Dean turned twelve they'd stopped, Dean claiming that only sissies were scared of their nightmares. But now that they both have their separate times in the pit to dream about, Dean would take it back in a heartbeat.
At least Sam was able to sleep, Dean thought to himself as he began counting ceiling tiles. Their last motel room had had a hundred and twenty six, and the one before that had an even one thirty.
He got to sixty-two when he heard Sam moan, a low and deep moan filled with pain. He looked over at his brother's bed where Sam was tossing and turning, eyes shut tight. Dean had done that enough times himself that he knew Sam was dreaming about the pit.
"Sam," he said, hoping his brother would hear him and wake up, but all he got in response was another moan. Dean hadn't expected to get any sleep that night, but with a sigh he realized there wasn't a chance of it happening with Sam thrashing around like that. So he let his brotherly instincts take over.
Dean got out of his bed and climbed into Sam's before he could think himself out of it. He slid in behind his brother, using one hand to pull his brother closer and the other to pet Sam's hair reassuringly.
"Shh…" Dean whispered, running his fingers through Sam's soft hair. "It's ok." Sam quieted and went still, nightmares chased away by his big brother. The act of comforting his brother seemed to comfort Dean too and he drifted to sleep, fingers still curled through Sam's hair. They say old habits die hard, but sometimes they don't die at all.