Sam is 5, Dean is 9

Something tickled Dean's forearm and he twitched to get rid of it, sleep clouding his thoughts. His eyes were heavy with a dreamless slumber and it was too warm, too comfortable, too perfect to wake up. He felt something brush against his arm once more, and, eyes still firmly shut, he used his other hand to brush off whatever it was. His fingers, expecting to find a fly or the corner of a blanket, touched another hand. It was small and cold. Dean's eyes flew open.

"Sammy?"

Sam was standing by his brother's bed in his blue stripy pajamas. His curly hair stuck to his chubby face and stuck out at odd angles at the back. His feet were bare and he was shivering.

"Sammy what's wrong?"

His brother stood there silently, his small frame trembling. Without a word, Dean pulled back the covers and patted the space next to him. Sam climbed in, huddling next to Dean's warm body. The boy was freezing. He must have been trying to wake Dean for ages. Dean cursed himself for not waking up sooner as he wrapped his arms around his little brother. Sam relaxed at his touch and snuggled into his brother's embrace, resting his head on Dean's shoulder and breathing deeply into the crook of his neck.

"It's okay Sammy." Dean whispered, feeling himself slipping back into sleep.

"Want to talk about it?" He said, his voice getting quieter with every word. Sam felt heavy in his arms.

"Sam?" The name was almost inaudible, whispered into Sam's thick hair. There was no reply. Sammy was already asleep.