Dean is awoken by the sound of sobbing. He had told himself over and over that this might happen, but he still wasn't prepared for the ache in his chest at the sound of his baby brother pleading with some unknown enemy.
"No, please. Not mom. Please, no. Help, Dean, help. Jess, no. Please, Dean. No, help," Sam begs in his sleep. His forehead is slick with sweat and his brow is crinkled in pain. The sheets from his bed are wrapped around his ankles, his pillows on the floor, as he thrashes and fights an invisible force. Tears stream down both sides of his face.
Dean quickly climbs out of his bed and into his brother's. He leans against the headboard and pulls Sam into his lap. It's been years since he's had to save Sam from this particular nightmare. But now it's been a year since Jessica died, the same way their mother died. Six months after Sam's birthday, just like Mom.
"Sammy, wake up. It's a dream, Sammy. Come on, little brother. Wake up." Dean pushes the sweaty hair out of Sam's eyes and then shakes his shoulder. His free arm wraps around Sam's broad back and squeezes. "Sammy, come on. It's okay, wake up, you're dreaming."
Sam's eyelids flutter open slowly. His whole body trembles, still trying to shake off the nightmare. His hands clench into Dean's t-shirt. Sam looks up, meeting Dean's eyes. Dean smiles at him, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes.
"You're okay, Sammy. Just a dream."
Sam nods, but his eyes still look haunted. He starts to pull away, but his eyes meet Dean's, and he doesn't have to ask. Dean nods at him, and Sam curls against Dean's side, his head on Dean's chest, and he sobs openly. Just as he would when he was younger. His tears soak into Dean's shirt. Dean rubs his brother's back and lets him cry himself to sleep before he gently moves Sam back onto a pillow and pulls the blankets over him.
Just like he always has.