A/N: Takes place any time during Season Four

Disclaimer: Not mine

Before

Before Dean went to Hell, I used to wake up in the middle of the night, panicked, because I thought maybe he already was dead and I couldn't do anything about it, and if I had one more day, I might be able to figure out a way out of this.

Before Dean died, he would wake up as soon as I did, and this was the man who could sleep though pretty much anything. But still, he woke up when he heard me doing anything but sleeping.

Before I lost Dean, he'd look at me and grumble, "Go back to sleep, Sammy, everything's all right. I'm right here," and flop back down, but I knew he didn't fall back to sleep until I did.

After Dean went to Hell, I'd still wake up in the middle of the night, begging for one more day.

But after Dean died, he didn't wake up and tell me everything was okay, even though part of me kept expecting him to.

After I lost Dean, sometimes I would forget that he was in Hell, and I'd wake up from a regular sort of nightmare, and I'd expect Dean to be there, and tell me to go back to sleep, because I needed to sleep to watch his delicate ass. He never would though, because he was dead, and I'd cry, because I felt overwhelmingly lonely and a little bit vulnerable without him, and then I'd remember where he was, and that made it worse, because I was lonely but Dean was in Hell. Even worse, Dean was in Hell and it was my fault, and the worse I felt, the more I wanted Dean, and the more I wanted Dean the worse I felt.

It's been months since Dean died. I forget how many, but I woke up tonight, and I was gripped by that overwhelming loneliness and helplessness and uselessness, and all I could think was how much I wanted Dean to be here, but how he never would, and how selfishly I wanted him here, because I wanted him to be anywhere but Hell, but mostly I wanted him here with me. I needed him to tell me everything would be all right. , because when he said it, somehow, he always made it all right.

And Dean would never tell me that again, so maybe nothing would be all right ever again.

And maybe, even if Dean wasn't in Hell, he wouldn't be here anyway, because I couldn't even save him.

I missed him. I missed my big brother. I missed my big brother, and I needed him to be here.

"Sammy?" asked a voice, suddenly. It was groggy, but concerned and I thought it might be Dad's, because who else called me Sammy? But it couldn't be Dad, though, because Dad was dead. Dad was dead. Dean was dead. Mom was dead. Everyone was dead, and I was all alone. "Hey, Sammy," it said again, but I hardly heard the voice this time. "Sam," the voice pressed, and I heard the floorboards creak, until I felt a hand on my shoulder.

I looked at that hand. I couldn't believe it. That was Dean's hand, but Dean was dead. So it couldn't be Dean's hand, but followed that hand up to the face that belonged to my brother. My big brother Dean. Dean, who died, was sitting here, on the bed, his hand on my shoulder, looking at me like he always had his whole life. Just, Dean.

"Dean?" I gasped. Because it couldn't be Dean.

"The one and only," answered Dean. "Sam, are you okay?"

"You're alive," I told him, like he might not know, or maybe not know how amazing that was.

He smiled. "Yeah, Sammy," he agreed. "I'm thrilled too. You're okay, I'm here, you can go back to sleep."

And I did because Dean was there, and Dean was right, nine out of ten times. And it was just like before.