"N-no, De, she's-" Sam stopped, drawing in a shuddering breath and curling himself into an impossibly tighter ball against Dean's side. "She's right there, she's-"
"Shhh, baby boy, shhh, it's okay. I've got you. I'm right here. There's no one else in this room right now, okay? Just us, I promise." Dean was fighting tears as he listened to Sam's choked sobbing, knowing if he cried it would only scare Sam more. Sam's hallucinations were nothing new to Dean. They'd been there since he could remember; since Sam had been old enough to crawl into bed with him and whisper, shaking hands balling into fists around Dean's shirt, that Dean had to save him, please, or he was going to get hurt.
They'd never gotten any better. As Sam got older, it seemed to Dean, honestly, that they got gradually worse. Sam would wake up in a cold sweat, eyes blown wide, shaking and panting and Dean would have to run his hands over every inch of skin that he could touch and murmur every soothing (cliche as they all may be) thing that he could think of to get him calm enough to go back to sleep.
But tonight, Jesus, Sam was fighting it. Sometimes he was so afraid to slip back under, because sometimes the hallucinations came from nightmares that he knew would come back. Like, apparently, tonight.
Sam's voice was calmer when he spoke now, but his breathing was still erratic, and he had that wild glint in his eye that let Dean know he wasn't okay - not really. "Sorry. 'M sorry. Didn't mean to wake you up, I just... She... She was right behind you, and her face, Dean, god..."
"Sammy, baby," Dean said gently, thumb stroking Sam's cheek. "Don't apologize. You're safe. You're okay."
Sam shuddered but nodded and made an honest effort to blow out an even breath. "It's okay," he repeated in attempt to force himself to believe it.
"That's right," Dean encouraged, pulling Sam closer and running both hands up and down his back. "You wanna try to go back to sleep?"
Sam's nod was hesitant this time, and when he gave Dean about a quarter of a smile, it was forced. "Yeah. Yeah, we can, uh..."
"Hey, we don't have to," Dean assured him, pushing himself into a partially vertical position. "'F you're not ready, we can stay up for a while. Watch some TV or something."
Sam peeked up through his bangs, lashes fluttering. "Really?"
"Yeah," Dean said, edges of a smile hinting at the corners of his lips. "'Course. Why don't you turn somethin' on? I'm gonna go make us some hot chocolate."
Sam looked up at him, something resembling bewilderment in his expression, and shook his head almost timidly up and down. "Yeah, okay."
Dean slid out of the bed, hand slipping down Sam's arm and across his fingers as he went. "I'm just gonna be right in the kitchen. That okay?"
"Yeah," Sam said, a little more solidly this time. "That's okay. J-just..."
"I'll turn the light on," Dean promised, knowing what Sam wanted before he had time to finish vocalizing the question. "And I'll only be gone for a few minutes. Comin' right back."
Sam didn't respond, knew Dean knew that he'd stop him if he needed him to stay, and squinted against the light when Dean flipped the switch, watching him shuffle into the kitchen.
He sighed and leaned back, grabbing the remote and flicking on the TV. This wasn't a walk in the park, by any means. Never had been. But if there was one thing he was sure of, it was that he'd always come out of it, always eventually be okay as long as Dean was there. And that would have to be enough.