Title: Taking Turns

Summary:"When I was broken up, you were there for me. Well, I'm here for you now." Protective!Dean. BigBro!Dean. Hurt/Comfort. Brother Feels. Coda to 13x11 "Breakdown".

Warnings: Rated T for bad language, graphic descriptions of violence, night terrors, mentions of torture and depression. Spoilers up to 13x11.

Disclaimer: The boys are not mine. Sadly… I don't own anything.

The thing he was most aware of, was the unmistakable scent of blood. It filled his nostrils and lungs like tar, threatening to suffocate him. The dirty tiles around him were coated with blood like someone had tried to paint the entire room a dark shade of crimson.

Sam flexed his arms and legs, squirming against the cot, but there was no point trying to escape. The leather straps were secured tightly around his wrists and legs, holding him captive.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we interrupt your regularly scheduled program to bring you something truly special – a new auction. Introducing Mr. Sam Winchester!"

The fed's face was hidden by a creepy mask, his voice echoing off the walls as Sam curled his fingers into fists. All around him was this terrible stench of blood and beneath that, the acrid scent of death and decay – more prove to the heinous crimes that had taken place here. Dozens of innocents who had gotten sliced up 'SAW'-style and sold off to the highest bidder.

Suddenly Sam was free and walking. His bare feet squelched against unseen puddles of gore as he tried to run and escape. Around him, a whole ocean of innards, of rotten flesh and bloated carcasses, lifeless eyes staring up at him accusingly as Clegg grabbed his gun and flicked back the safety. Sam's breathing picked up, he didn't want to die. Not like this, not at the hands of this… this sick freak. His feet squelched through the puddles of gore as he picked up pace, but then a half-rotten hand shot out from between the lifeless bodies, grappling for his ankle, tripping him.

Sam went down hard, breath knocked from his lungs and that was it, game over.

"Sam… Sam look at me," a soft voice called out. Sam was about to scream, about to yank himself free when he saw her… there, in the center of it all was Jess' mangled body, dark blood trickling from the ragged hole in her forehead. Blood welled from it, trickling down between her eyebrows and over her lips. "You killed me," she spat out, her eyes narrowing to slits, the love in them morphing into hatred. "You've killed all of us."

Sam shook his head. No. NO.

"I didn't—" His voice caught in his throat when the click of a gun's safety echoed through the room.

Clegg had caught up with him, the muzzle of a '45 pressed firmly against the back of Sam's head.

"Quick and dirty!" Clegg laughed. "Since Dean's out there…"

Dean.

Quick and dirty.

Dean.

Jess.

DEAN!

"Sam!"

"No, please. No."

"Sam!" A gruff voice broke through the fog in Sam's voice. Sam recognized it as something familiar, but he didn't want to follow it. Not yet. He had to help Jess. Madison. Sarah… god there were so many of them, they were all dead, all looking for revenge. "Sammy?"

"I didn't mean to… I didn't—" The blood-spattered images of Jess were burned into his mind; the way she had looked at him with so much distain.

"Sammy, open your goddam eyes and look at me!" Dean's voice came from somewhere deep within his chest and was laced with the kind of authority their dad used on them whenever it was needed. It a tone that Sam couldn't help but react to. A tone he couldn't help but obey to. "You need to snap out of this, you hear me, Sam? It was just a dream. None of it's real."

Sam was breathing heavily, eyes blinking rapidly as he tried to clear his vision. Suddenly the blood-spattered tiles vanished and morphed into the dusty furniture of the bunker, Dean's worried frown slowly coming into focus. Sam jerked upright in bed, bile rising in the back of his throat. He felt sick. He was going to be sick. Lightning-quick Sam clambered out from beneath sweat-soaked sheets and curled over the edge of his mattress, before retching.

"Shit. Okay… okay, easy does it." Dean's voice was low and comforting, his hands warm as they slowly traced down his spine, guiding Sam forward as he heaved. "Keep breathing, Sam."

Worry was thickly lacing Dean's tone and Sam could feel the minor tremble in his hands where they rubbed soothing circles into his back. "You're okay. You're save. That bastard didn't get you," Dean gently reassured, fingers curling protectively around the base of Sam's neck and squeezing the tense muscle there. "I gotcha, brother."

Sam gave a jerky nod, more to reassure Dean than himself. He shrugged off Dean's hand, feeling a bit more grounded now that he knew he'd been dreaming and not making eye contact. His cheeks were flushed and it was only partially due to the nightmare he'd had. He wished Dean would go. That his brother wasn't here to witness this.

"You uhm… you want me to—"

"I'm fine." Sam swallowed convulsively. He wiped his sweaty forehead with the sleeve of his threadbare shirt and inched away from Dean, letting his coltish legs hang off the mattress. "I—" he cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. "You can go back to sleep. I'm fine."

"You were having a nightmare," Dean said slowly, his intent gaze fixed on Sam. He was talking to his brother like to a spooked animal, like Sam had lost his freaking marbles and didn't know how to spell his own damn name. "You called out for me."

Listening to the steady sound of Dean's breathing next to him, Sam felt his own heartbeat starting to slow down and his stomach began to settle. He wiped a shaky hand across his mouth, sweat and tears mingling under his palm. "Fuck," he mumbled into his hand, acutely aware of the way Dean hovered close, just in case he was needed. Just close enough for Sam to touch him if needed – far enough to give him space if he'd rather be on his own.

"I… I saw Jess."

Dean didn't say anything for a beat or two. He just looked at Sam with that soulful expression, the one that said so much without saying anything at all. His eyes were bright green, even in the dark and Sam remembered the insurmountable wave of relief that had overcome him upon seeing those eyes earlier tonight, when Dean had come to his rescue. He remembered thinking he was going to die – waiting to hear the gun shot that was going to end his life – waiting to feel the pain, and then looking up to find Dean in the doorway instead, a smoking gun in his hands.

"I don't know what's going on with me," Sam admitted in a whisper.

Dean was quiet, again, giving Sam the chance to elaborate.

When Sam's throat closed up on him and a tear slipped free from his eyes, Dean eventually sat down on the mattress next to Sam and gently squeezed Sam's shoulder. This time, Sam didn't move away.

"I know this life- what we do- it can tear you down, sometimes," Dean said. "But I'm gonna need you to remember that it's worth it. Every shitty thing that happens, everyone we lose… it's all part of a bigger scheme, of something we have no influence over. It's gonna be worth it, in the end."

"I don't care," Sam ground out, more tears slipping free. "I don't think I can do this anymore, Dean. I can't keep going like this."

"You're gonna go as far as you can, okay?" Dean gave him a hopeful twitch of his lips before pulling Sam in for a hug. "And I'll carry you the rest of the way."

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