A/N: Just a little one-shot that wouldn't leave me alone, because little Sam and Dean are too good. Unbeta'd. Leave me a review or something, I'd love to hear your thoughts. :)

"Dean?"

Dean sighed and shifted, rolling over to face his little brother's face. "What?" he hissed into the dark.

"I can't sleep."

Sighing again, Dean squinted across the motel room to look at the alarm clock set on the nightstand. A set of glowing numbers informed him that it was one thirty-four in the morning. He scrunched up his face and wriggled around. He had been having such a good dream, too. There had been zombies.

"Dean." Sam was more insistent this time.

"What?" Dean screwed his eyes closed, trying to return to the dream Sam had just woken him from. He had just lopped the head off of a particularly bloodthirsty zombie and was using said zombie's arm to bludgeon the others to death...

"I can't sleep," Sam whispered again.

Sharing a bed with his seven-year-old brother really sucked. There was only one bed in this motel room, though, and it had been the only one left. Dad had the sofa and although he was on a hunt right now, Dean didn't really fancy his chances sleeping on that thing. There were springs everywhere.

"Well, what do you want me to do about it?"

Sam shrugged, making the covers shift. There was a brief moment of cold as Dean's leg was exposed to the air before he yanked the sheets back. "I dunno." Sam wriggled around and Dean glared at him, although it didn't do much good in the dark.

"Don't do that. Your feet are cold."

"It's not my fault." Sam shifted again, just to be contrary, and Dean pulled his legs away from the blocks of ice that were Sam's feet.

"Whatever. Just go to sleep, dork." He closed his eyes again, trying to return to his dream. After all, kicking zombie ass was much more fun than listening to Sam whine.

"I can't." Sam had abandoned all attempts of speaking quietly by now.

Dean muffled a groan in the pillow before propping himself up on one elbow to face Sam. "Try... I dunno, counting sheep or something."

"Why would I count sheep?"

Frustrated, Dean flopped back down onto the thin mattress. "So you can get to sleep."

There was a moment of blissful silence as Sam mulled that over. "How does that help me sleep?"

The sofa was starting to seem like a really good idea right about now. "I don't know," he hissed, eyes stubbornly closed. "It just does."

"Okay." Sam fell silent, trusting in his brother's word and probably testing it out right now. Dean left him to it, hoping he could fall back to sleep before Sam came up with anything else to say.

"One... two... three..."

Son of a bitch. "What are you doing?" demanded Dean, his eyes flying open as he cut off his brother's whispered counting.

Sam blinked, wide eyes glinting in the darkness. "Counting sheep," he replied softly, as if it should have been obvious.

Dean sighed. "Count in your head," he ordered through clenched teeth.

"Okay," Sam said again and went back to it.

Hoping he could finally get back to slaughtering zombies, Dean screwed his eyes closed and tried to go back to sleep. He was almost there, machete in hand and possibly with several adoring fans watching from the sidelines and-

"Dean?"

-and Sam still hadn't gone to sleep. Maybe if he ignored him, the dork would shut up already. Sam wasn't to be deterred, though. There was a rustling sound as Sam wriggled again, and Dean clung to the sheets tightly.

"I lost a sheep."

Taken off-guard, Dean couldn't stop himself from responding. "You what?"

"I lost a sheep," repeated Sam forlornly.

"How could you lose a sheep?" Sometimes Sam really confused him. Actually, most of the time Sam really confused him. He was a great kid – when he wasn't whining or asking annoying questions – but he was seriously confusing. Dean was certain he had never been like that at Sam's age. That was little kids for you, he supposed.

"An alien took it."

Dean groaned into his pillow again and watched as his zombie dream slipped further and further away. Outside, the occasional car roared past the window. One of them would be Dad, soon. Maybe if he got back soon Dean could get him to stop Sam being stupid.

Until then, he'd just have to deal. "What d'you mean, an alien took it?"

"I was counting the sheep and then an alien swooped in with a flying saucer and it just stole one of my sheep," Sam reported, indignant. "It just took it. It had a huge big ray gun."

Sam was really lucky that Dean was too tired to hit him. "It happened in your head, Sam. You shoulda stopped it."

That was the wrong thing to say.

Sam sat up, wide-eyed, and Dean gave up all hope of ever returning to his awesome dream. "Maybe the alien got inside my head an' that's why I couldn't stop it." He wrapped his arms around himself like they would protect him from the aliens. "Dean, there's an alien inside my head!"

Incredulous, Dean struggled into an upright position. "Dude, there's no such thing as aliens."

Sam looked at him speculatively. "They prob'ly got to you, too," he announced at last. "They wiped your memories so that we wouldn't suspect anything."

"There's no such thing as aliens, Sam! They aren't real!" Dean snapped. Sam stared at him like a puppy that had just been kicked, and Dean deflated. "Just... go to sleep, alright?"

"I can't."

And they were right back where they started. This was going to be a long night.

"Try counting sheep again," Dean said, moving to lie down once more.

Sam shook his head firmly. "No. The aliens might come back."

"Oh, for-!" Dean stretched an arm to the side and clumsily switched on the lamp beside their bed. "Sam, aliens don't exist."

Sam glared at him, dark curls clinging to his head. "How d'you know? You haven't been to Mars."

"Yeah, I have," Dean said confidently, deciding the best way to continue with his journey to sleep was to end this conversation as quickly as possible.

"Really?" Sam bounced a little on the mattress, staring at Dean with huge eyes. "What's it like?"

"Big," Dean said evasively. "And red. It's classified information, not to be given to dorky little brothers."

"'M not a dork," Sam argued, rubbing one eye with the heel of his hand.

"Sure," Dean agreed, rolling his eyes. "Now go to sleep."

Sam huffed out a sigh. "I can't. There's an alien in my head."

Increasingly frustrated, Dean snapped, "There's not an alien in your head, Sam! Just go. To. Sleep."

There was a pause before Sam finally slid back down under the covers, tentatively shutting his eyes. Revelling in the silence, Dean switched off the lamp and prepared to finally, finally, go back to sleep.

"Dean."

He wasn't going to reply. He was going to sleep. He was going to dream about kicking zombie ass.

"Dean."

Nope. Not happening. Absolutely not.

"Dean!"

"What?"

"What if the alien climbs out of my head and eats you?"

"Then I'll kick its ass," Dean replied, refusing to open his eyes.

"But-"

"Look." Dean sat up again, flicked the light back on and clung to the last threads of patience. "I'll make you warm milk or something, okay? Aliens hate warm milk."

"Really?"

"Yeah." Dean was really glad Sam trusted him. It would make it so much easier and then maybe he'd actually get back to sleep tonight. "It makes them shrivel up and die." He swung his legs over the side of the bed, hopping down. "C'mon."

Sam trailed after Dean towards the cramped kitchen unit. "Dean?"

Dean opened the fridge, rummaging around for the milk. "Mmhm?" He grabbed the carton and closed the fridge behind him.

"What if it's got a family?"

Not for the first time, Dean worried about Sam's sanity. "What?" He set about warming up the milk.

"What if it's got a family? The alien, I mean. I don't wanna kill it if it has kids or somethin'."

"It doesn't have a family," Dean said. "I promise."

Sam looked at him for a moment. "Okay." He settled himself at the table, swinging his legs and watching Dean. Then:

"Dean?"

Gritting his teeth, Dean turned to face his brother. "Yeah?"

"How did they discover milk?"

"What d'you mean, how did they discover it? They just did. It comes from cows, dumbass."

Sam frowned at him. "I know that. I'm not stupid." Dean opened his mouth to comment on that but Sam wasn't finished. "I mean, how did they actually figure it out? That it comes from cows?"

Dean groaned, coming to sit at the table too. He had never asked as many questions as Sam. "I dunno, Sammy."

"'Cos it comes from their udders, doesn't it?" Sam asked. Dean was fairly sure Sam didn't even know what udders were, but he nodded anyway. "So what were they doin' to the cow?"

Taken by surprise, Dean laughed. "I dunno," he said again but this time he was grinning. "Prob'ly don't wanna know."

Sam nodded, wisely. "Prob'ly for the best," he declared, pillowing his head in his arms. Within minutes, he was asleep. Dean stared at him in amazement. All of that effort, for Sam to fall asleep at the kitchen table. He yawned widely as he watched his brother, trying to muster up the energy to move because he should really get up and turn the stove off.

He would do it in a minute. All he needed was a few moments to rest his eyes. Just a few moments.

When John returned, hours later, he found Sam and Dean snoring at the kitchen table and a saucepan full of burnt milk on the stove. Then, when the boys woke up even later and started talking about aliens and cows, John decided it was probably better not to know.