Caliente, Nevada

Sam yawned and stretched his back. He glanced at the red glow of the bog standard alarm clock in the corner of the room that pronounced it to be "2.50 a.m." He sighed and looked down at the piles of papers on the table that threatened to fall at any minute. Not that there was any specific filing system or anything, but it would have been a pain in the ass to clean up. The blue flicker on the laptop screen abruptly stopped and informed Sam that his assumption had been correct. The latest victim's body had also disappeared, this time due to a mix up with the coroner. Sam would bet every dollar he had that the body would show up in 2 days time, partially dismembered and sporting no eyes.

The orange light that lit up the practically abandoned motel parking lot began to flicker, casting strange shadows and creating perceived movement. Sam stood, and quickly hurried to the window, peering through a crack in the moth eaten lace curtains. He watched for a moment, hand resting on his gun, waiting. He had learned to trust his instincts and right now they were telling him that it was nothing more than a faulty bulb. Sam exhaled slowly, and decided that he needed to get some sleep.

Across the room, in one of the beds, lay the sleeping form of his brother, Dean. Blankets all drawn up around him, Dean had complained of being cold before finally sleeping. He was always cold lately, Sam thought bitterly. He crossed the room quietly to check on his brother. Dean was sleeping on his back, his breath shallow and uneven. Sam, concerned, stood at the end of bed, hoping that Dean was not going to have another nightmare. Ever since Dean had returned from Hell, his nights, and sometimes Sam wondered about the days too, were plagued by horrible nightmares. In the two months since his return, Sam guessed that Dean had had about 5 nights peaceful sleep.

Dean shifted in his sleep, the blankets falling to one side. Sam could see the bottom of the scar left when Dean had been risen from that God-forsaken place by Cas. What an absolute mess, thought Sam, miserably. He was overjoyed to get his brother back, but it seemed that something bigger was on the horizon, and now there is angels involved?

Sometimes Sam thought about those few years in college that his life was normal. Worrying about exams and hanging out with Jessica and the guys. At the time, he thought he had finally left the family business, and was going to make his own way. Sam felt stupid now, for ever thinking that, and pushed the thought away. That was a lifetime ago, and that life almost certainly didn't belong to him.

Dean twitched his nose in his sleep, and Sam's heart lurched. This was it. The tell. He knew now that Dean was remembering his tenure in Hell. Dean never spoke to Sam about it. Sam didn't know whether it was to spare Sam's feelings or whether Dean was too traumatised to even speak about it. Sam suspected it was the latter, not that Dean would ever say that.

Dean's eyes, though closed, seemed to be tracking something. they moved rapidly, and his breath became shorter. Sam quickly reached forward and plucked the lamp, the glass and the book that were perched on the nightstand, and placed them on the floor. He knew from experience that this would not end well. Dean's eyes flashed open, but Sam knew he was not awake. He knew that Dean was held in whatever nightmare he saw and that Sam could not wake him until it was over. Dean began to cry out.

"No. Please. No. Not that one."

Silence.

"Please."

Silence.

Then the screaming. Dean brought his arms over his head and screamed until his voice became raw. Banging from the room next door ensued. Loud banging. Sam had forgotten that he had not asked for a room away from everyone else when he had checked in earlier today. Shit.

Dean, now mute, but still screaming, and unseeing, flopped back in bed, as Sam raced to the room door, just as the lock turned and the motel owner glared in.

"What the fuck is happening in here?! I'll call the cops!" said the shrivelled old man, teeth stained and yellow. Sam had been reminded of several horror movies had seen when he was a teenager, and this guy fit the "creepy landlord" role to perfection.

"Nothing, sir." Sam said smoothly, partially blocking the view into the room, "My brother has only recently come back from Iraq, and sometimes he has night terrors. I'm sorry if we disturbed anyone."

The old man was silent for a minute, and spat something that instantly congealed on the hard concrete.

"Ok, kid, I won't call the cops. Tonight. But I want you two gone in the morning. I served in the Pacific in the '40s, so I know a bit about what your brother is going through. Tell him that whiskey helps."

Sam nodded, and shut the door. Instantly, he flew to Dean, who was now awake, and staring straight up at the ceiling.

"Hey, man." said Sam, gently, not wanting to startle him. He perched on the edge of the chair closest to the bed. "You ok?"

Dean turned his head to Sam, and Sam saw in the dark that he had been crying. "Yeah, I'm fine, Sammy."

"Y'know you can talk to me. I'm here whenever you need me."

"I said, I'm fine. Goodnight Sam." said Dean, hotly. He twisted over onto his side, away from Sam.

Sam sighed. "Goodnight Dean."