Sam wipes the tears from his brother's cheek, but it's really no use. They just keep streaming down his face in an uninterrupted waterfall. Sam pulls him closer, pressing their foreheads together. "What can I do, baby? How can I help you feel better? I hate this."
Dean shakes his head against Sam's, a broken, tormented laugh emitting itself from low in his chest. "You could not hate me," he mutters, more to himself than to Sam. "If I told you how I felt out there in the real world you could not hate me and that would make me feel a hell of a lot better.
Sam pulls back, holding either side of Dean's face and looking directly into his eyes. "What do you mean the real world, De? You're scaring me."
A sad grin creeps into the corner of Dean's mouth. It didn't take him long to realize that once you intentionally kept going back to the djinn for a fix, you started remembering immediately after you went under that it wasn't real. The delusions, however, remain hellbent on keeping up the charade in the beginning.
Dean decides to humor the replica of Sam, placing on hand on either side of his waist and whispering with a hitch in his voice, "Nothin', baby boy. Just you bein' here's more than I could ask for."
Sam looks sympathetic an confused, just like he should, and leans in to press their mouths together.
This part always brings Dean's tears on harder but he kisses back as fiercely as he can, tangling his fingers in Sam's hair. "I have to go," he breathes when he pulls way, brushing his lips against Sam's forehead.
The ends of their meetings have actually become fairly routine for the two of them by now. Sam drops the facade, rather than trying to convince Dean to stay or saying he doesn't understand, and simply asks, "When will you be back?"
"Soon," Dean promises, then snaps himself out of the trance with perfectly mastered skill, still tasting his brother on his lips.