I own nothing but the mistakes (and I know they are numerous).

Set somewhere in Season 3…when Sam was staring at the computer way too much trying to save Dean. That's all I'm saying…

Enjoy…

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He woke up. Just like that in the wee morning hours, with the night still in his eyes and the smell of sleep still in his nose.

"What the…?"

His vision was blurry on one eye, scattered images of shadows and a hint of a shape. A window probably. His other eye was just fine, blinking in confusion at the situation. He pulled his hand from underneath the covers, feeling the cold air in the room hit his warm hand, making the hair on the back stand up and some goosebumps travel up his body.

He raised himself half way and stayed like that, not being able to stand up with the webs of sleep still spread over his mind. So he sat there on the bed, still and blinking into the darkness. His feet were still tangled in the blanket, a gorgeous blue color fabric that smelled of cigarette smoke and beer. If it weren't so cold in the room he would have slept without it, but unfortunately it was that cold.

His left eye hurt, it twitched and stung. In the corner of it there was a pressure so big, he thought his eye would pop out of its socket. He wiped softly over his eye, his hand soft and still warm from hiding under the covers. It came away wet and cold.

He felt the tears run freely, blearing his vision, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to stop their flow. His whole eye was one big teary mess of salty water. His eyelashes were stuck together, the tears unrelenting in their hold on them. He tried to wipe the tears away, and cursed out loud: "Son of a…!" when he used too much pressure and his eye stabbed him back into his brain.

He felt fear in the back of his throat, what the hell's wrong? He tried to get up from the bed, still rubbing at his eye with soft, gentle passing of his hand that only seemed to aggravate his eye more. His cheek was wet, the tears running too quickly to be able to dry themselves in the cold air. He tried to stand up, tried to walk to the bathroom to see what the hell was happening to him, but the fear that was occupying his throat a second ago turned into panic, when he couldn't untangle himself from the covers, when he couldn't stop rubbing at his eye, couldn't stop the tears, couldn't stop the tremble of his hands when he swiped at his eye.

The soft sound of breathing stopped in the bed next to him. He turned his head around, trying to see what happened to his brother, why he stopped breathing…but he couldn't see. Couldn't find the laying form of his brother on the bed, could only see blurred image of something moving. His heart panicked and thumped louder and harder.

"Dean?" his whisper echoed through the room.

"Sam?" the soft hushed sound next to him startled Sam a little, because he didn't see Dean there. Not even with his good eye.

"What's wrong with you?" he felt a hand on his shoulder and through his good eye saw a shape there in the shadows and knew it was Dean. He blinked and more tears run out of his eye and the other one sharpened its picture. Dean was standing before him, with sleepy eyes and hair sticking in all directions. If his eye wasn't sending him into a state of panic, he would have laughed at his brother.

"I ah, I don't know?"

Dean was pretty sure Sam meant that as a statement, but he heard it for what it was…a question and a plea for help.

"Sammy," he choked on the name, he saw the tears coming from Sam's eye, but when Sam spoke he didn't sound like he was crying, "what's wrong?"

He sat down on the bed, nearly missing sitting on Sam's legs and grabbed Sam's chin to raise his head. He inspected Sam's face to see any sign on what the hell's going on, but there was none. Just Sam; blinking rapidly with his right eye, while his left one was a mess of tears, puffed and red.

"Did you have a vision?"

"No, I don't know. My eye just started to water…"

"Ah, Sammy, you cryin'?" he teased knowing full well that Sam would relax with those words.

"No, stupid."

And Dean would have believed him if Sam's eye wasn't watering as if crying, his hands weren't shaking when he was trying to wipe his eye and his voice hadn't sounded like the one of a 5 year old boy. Dean tried to turn on the light but Sam's scream: Dean, ah!", when the light penetrated his sore eye, stopped him and he turned it off as fast as he could.

Sam was scared.

"Sam, stop irritating your eye."

He reached his own hand to grasp at Sam's still rubbing his eye. He held onto Sam's wrist, feeling him tense at the touch, ooookkkkaaayyy and pulled it away. He could feel Sam's heart racing beneath his fingers…Sam was scared of a little case of tired eyes …O.K. this is bad.

"Sammy, listen, leave your eye alone and just give me a sec." he stood up from the bed and Sam's hand itched to touch his eye, to wipe away the excessive tears that were running down his face, neck, all the way down to his shirt. He stared at the bed, at how the covers were slightly raised where he had his knees, how wrinkled the blanket was, and the feeling of something scorching his eye took his attention away from Dean when he sat back down.

"Here, close your eye." he whispered, trying not to let the vibrations of his voice disturb Sam's eye. Sam closed his eye on instinct and reflex all at once.

He felt Dean press something to his closed eye that made him flinch: "What?" He couldn't see what it was, because his good eye was darting all over the place, barely focusing on something white that was on his left eye.

"It's just some toilet paper, the soft one, can you believe it?"

Sam smiled and finally landed his good eye on Dean. The intense gaze Dean put out scared Sam a little but he knew that it was nothing seriously wrong with him or else Dean would wear the gaze of fear.

He reached a hand up to take the paper away from Dean, but landed on Dean's warm hand instead: "I got it."

Their eyes met.

Dean, please…

Sam, just let me…

Sam dropped his hand, sliding it off of Dean's rough one, and tangled his fingers in the sheets.

He would let his big brother take care of him…like always. He felt silly, he felt childish, he wanted to tell Dean to 'let go' but he hadn't had the heart. Dean needed this as much as he needed it. Soon enough…no one will take care of him because Dean would be dead. No, no, no, he won't be, I'll double the hours of research, search every book imaginable…just…

Sam almost sagged at the forgotten feeling of Dean taking care of him like that. The whole situation freaked him out, he was afraid he'll loose an eye, and for him being without one eye would be…death.

Dean felt Sam's fear as it was literally radiating from him.

"Sam, you'll be fine. It's just sore…"

"What? Just one eye?"

"Well you were always weird." Dean chuckled.

"It's sore Sam…" he left the 'because' hanging in the air for Sam to pick it up and not surprisingly, he did.

"Dean I have to…"

"I get that," he gently slid the soft paper over Sam's eye, "I do, but you can't…Sam you force yourself too much."

'You're hurting yourself' was once again left hanging in the stale room air.

Sam averted his good eye down to look at Dean's knees, so much bigger than he remembered them to be…when they were kids Dean's knees were so much smaller, when he sat like this.

He wanted to hide, but he couldn't what with Dean holding his head still and cleaning his sore eye.

"O.K., I think I wiped off everything."

He thought of Sam as a child and all the tears he wiped away with his hand, smile or a candy bar.

He briefly wondered if he should give Sam some Snickers he was hiding in the duffle. Nah, maybe not. He wasn't crying per se, so…no need.

Sam hid himself in the gentle touch of the soft paper that glided over his eye…there was no pain even when Dean pressed the paper harder; there was nothing that existed beyond that feeling of Dean being there, taking care of him. It was like they were kids again, no matter the actual age. There was no deal, no fear, no panic, no demons, nothing. Just his big brother taking care of him; like always. He knew he could do it all by himself, and Dean knew that too, but, hell if he was gonna admit that...even if someone tortures him or something.

It was his fault that Sam was doing this to himself, his fault for Sam not sleeping, his fault Sam's eyes were sore and tired, his fault that Sam was doing everything and more trying to put and end to his mistake…no, no, not a mistake. Never a mistake…he wanted to do that, needed to save Sam, keep him alive, make him alive again…he would never regret that. Ever. But seeing what his 'not-a-mistake' did to Sam…

"Does it hurt?"

He observed his brother, his reaction on the question and prepared himself for a lie that never came.

"Yeah a little, it's like I have pins and needles stuck in it." It was more like thorns started to grow there, making their way out of the inside of his eye.

Dean sighed, a breath of relief at the truth and a breath of worry.

He removed the moist toilet paper and swiped it quickly over Sam's cheek, gathering the tears that smeared the mole right next to his nose.

"O.K. you pansy. You're all set to sleep." He patted Sam's knee and stood up.

"So, Sam here are the doctors orders," he still lingered by the side of the bed, looking at Sam, that was staring back at him with one eye open and the other one closed, "you'll have to rest the eye for a while, so that means," he started counting on his fingers, "no TV, no computer, no reading under the light, and no staying up late…" he got up to 8 fingers before he stopped but all Sam had in his mind was…don't watch, no internet?, no books?, when will I do my research?...you'll die if I stop.

But Dean wasn't having it. The look Sam gave him, the lost puppy eyes, and the teary brown orbs in the dimly light room wasn't going to move him from what he wanted from Sam. Rest and rest alone. In the back of his mind he knew he was signing his death warrant, but...as before…he would rather die than do anything that would hurt Sam.

"Sam you have to lay back for a while," Dean said when he went to throw the paper into the trash can, barely missing a chair in the process, "you can't keep doing this…it's not healthy."

Sam was sitting on the bed, his back hunched, his shoulders slack, eyes closed, head bowed, but Dean still saw the red cheeks and the puffy eye.

"I know, but I can't." he whispered, wanting to speak those words out loud but at the same time he was afraid Dean would hear them.

He heard Dean's feet pounding on the linoleum, the cold excuse for wood, and the bed dipped again.

"Sam, you have to, I swear I'll drug you if I'll have to. I can promise you that."

Sam didn't raise his head when those words were spoken; he just shook her and let his bangs hide his thoughts.

"Sam, this was just a start…if you'll ruin your eyes by staring at the computer the whole time…nothing good will come out of it. And you know that."

"Yeah."

"And I'm sorry."

Sam raised his head then, almost knocked it off of his shoulders. He opened both of his eyes, but closed the sick one immediately when the needles that have settled themselves there started to prick.

"What?"

Dean's soul tore apart, but he held his own.

"I'm sorry that I've pushed you into this."

"What? You didn't push me into anything."

"Sam, if I hadn't made that deal…"

"Are you serious?"

"Sam…"

"Dean…"

It was a battle of the gazes again. Dean had an upper hand, because he could use both of his eyes, but Sam's one eye told more that it should.

"Get some rest, Sam. We'll see what we can do, O.K.?"

"Sure."

"Now, stop your crying and go to sleep."

"Yeah."

He laid back on the bed, and listened for the sound that told him Dean fell asleep. He always knew when his brother fell asleep. It was integrated into him…like everything else Dean does.

He closed his eyes and felt the pins and needles stabbing into his eye and his eyelid. It hurt; it was a weird sensation of something burning in the corner of his eye. One tear slipped out and slide down his cheek and he didn't know if it was because his eyes were watering again or was it something else.

-:-

"Dean, close up your window," Sam yelled over the roar of the Impala, his eye still had needles and pins in it, tearing ever so often, when a breeze passed over it: "it's a draft in here.

"There's Snickers in my duffle."

"Huh?"

Dean closed the window nonetheless.

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The End