Sam and Dean came into the motel room, exhausted from their latest hunt which, by the way, hadn't brought them any closer to finding their dad.
Walking to the nightstand between the two beds, Sam felt like his knees were going to give out; he was so tired. But I'm not gonna fall asleep, he told himself. I can't. For days he hadn't slept; his dreams ravaged by Jessica's death and the horrors of hunting. He sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled out his dad's notebook, sifting through for something interesting enough to keep him awake. But no matter how much he tried, he could feel his eyelids drooping and his head nodding. He ended up reading the same sentence over and over again; reading without actually processing what it said. And before he knew it, he'd drifted off into the inviting, though dark, realm of sleep.
Dean came out of the motel room bathroom to find Sam hunched over on the edge of the bed reading their dad's notebook. "What're you looking at?" he asked, glancing over at him as he pulled his boots off. "Find something useful?" he probed when he didn't get an answer. "Sam?" He walked over and bent down in front of Sam's face. "Finally fell asleep, huh Sammy?"
A slight smile crept onto his face. He knew that his brother had been fighting sleep for days, and it had only been a matter of time before he couldn't hold it off any longer. Looking at his younger brother's innocent, sleeping face brought Dean back to when they were little. When he'd be left in charge of watching his little brother while their dad was out on hunts.
"Alright, Sammy. Let's get you to bed." Dean carefully pried the leather-bound book out of Sam's hands and set it on the nightstand. Then, he slipped his brother's arms out of his jacket and tossed it onto the chair by the door. Keeping one hand firmly on Sam's chest to keep him from falling over, Dean pulled the blankets out from under his brother and down to the foot of the bed. He then lay Sam gently on his side. One at a time, he tugged Sam's boots off his feet and lifted each leg up to rest on the bed. Dean grabbed ahold of the blankets at the end of the bed and pulled them up so they were covering Sam, leaving one hand to rest on Sam's shoulder.
He looked at his brother then. For the first time since he'd picked him up from Stanford, he really looked at Sam. His features had sharpened, making him look more grown-up than Dean remembered. But underneath the man he had become, Dean could still see the sweet face of his baby brother. And knowing that any moment now, that baby brother might wake up sweaty and scared from a nightmare still ached at his heart.
"I'm sorry, Sammy," he whispered. "I'm sorry I dragged you back into this."
Sam stirred slightly in his sleep, and Dean let his hand drop from his shoulder.
"Good night, Sam."
Flames. Everywhere. Scorching, fiery tendrils reaching out for him. He opened his mouth, but he couldn't scream. He couldn't move. All he could do is lay there and watch as Jessica, as his mom, burned right in front of him. And soon the fire would reach him, too. Consume him. And he was helpless.
A gasp tore from his throat as his eyes shot open. Sam was laying in bed, the motel room lit up by bright sunlight filtering through the window. For a minute he just lay there, letting himself take a moment to catch his breath and recover from the nightmare. That's weird, he thought. I don't remember going to bed last night.
Just then, Dean walked into the room from outside, holding a paper bag. "Hey, Sammy," he said brightly. "How'd you sleep?"
Still groggy, Sam looked at Dean with what must have been a confused expression on his face.
"That great, huh?" Dean reached into the paper bag. "Donut?"