A/N: I haven't actually done a Supernatural story in a while, and after the feels that the mid-season finale provided, now seemed like a good idea to write again.

Warnings: Some mild language, but hey, it's Dean…I don't own anything

Never

Sleep wasn't something that came easily to a Winchester on a normal night. Thanks to a combination of Hell, death, guilt and a tale that would land them in a mental ward in 3 seconds flat, night times hadn't been what you'd call 'peaceful'.

He may have told the others that he was going to bed, but Dean had been lying awake for the past few hours staring up at the ceiling. He knew his friends were worried for him, and he appreciated it, but he couldn't face either Cas nor Sam after today's events. He just couldn't.

The final words of Cain were haunting his every thought, making rest a near impossibility. The thought of having to kill your little brother and your best friend weren't exactly thoughts that would invoke pleasant dreams, and Dean didn't particularly want to try.

Sighing, he finally sat up, and left the comfort of his bed. He had heard Sam hit the hay a little while ago, and Cas was god knows where, so he knew he wouldn't bump into either of them. He really couldn't bring himself to face their concerned stares. He left his room with the intention to go down to the kitchen, but apparently his brain had other ideas.

Across the hall, Sam's door was half-closed and the lights were out. This was usually the norm, since neither of them was used to sleeping alone after decades of living out of each other's pockets. Right now, however, the door seemed more like an invitation, and Dean found his body move of its own accord towards it.

Slowly edging around the door, Dean whispered his brother's name. Hearing no reply, he stood in the doorway, as his eyes found his Sasquatch of a kid facing the wall where he was standing, lying under the covers. One glimpse of the steady rise and fall of Sam's chest told Dean that he was genuinely asleep. Good, he thought. It didn't take a genius to spot that the youngest Winchester hadn't been sleeping well for the past couple of weeks, and Dean felt another pang of guilt. He knew the reason why Sam hadn't been resting, hell, he was the reason.

Usually, he would've poked a head around to make sure Sam was at least in bed, before heading to his own room across the hall, but not tonight. Tonight, Cain's words of warning were spinning around in his head, and Dean could tell it was gonna be one of those nights. Walking quietly forward, he stood awkwardly beside the bed, before sitting down by his brother's hip and watched him sleep.

Watched him breathe.

Was it creepy? Possibly. But this wasn't the first time that Dean had sat by Sam's bedside whilst the latter was unaware, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. Knowing the kid, Sam had probably done it too. If it was anyone else, his hunter instincts would have the younger awake and reaching for the nearest weapon within a few seconds. But after years of being looked after by his big brother, his subconscious could tell that he wasn't under threat. Even whilst sleeping. Their father had always said it was some 'sibling thing', but Dean had a feeling it was something deeper than that.

He carefully reached out to brush a stray lock of too long hair out of Sam's face, and ran his thumb over the younger man's forehead. He couldn't supress his smile or the rush of fondness he felt as Sam turned into the touch.

In that moment, he was thrown back to a time when they were both kids; young, naïve kids who didn't have the entire world depending on them every other week. He recalled those moments that he would never forget. The ones that could never fail to make him smile, filling him with the strongest feeling of love.

There was the day that they met. It was still strange to think that he'd spent 4 years an only child, and he'd been cautious when his parents had sat him down and given him the obligatory 'we won't love you any less' speech. All his worries had vanished the second he'd sat on Mary's hospital bad and was handed a small bundle of blankets and brother.

He remembered holding his baby brother as if he would break at any moment, and he'd watched in fascination as a small fist reached out and wrapped itself around his index finger with an iron grip. His younger self had simply giggled, and said "Hiya, Sammy. I'm your big brother, Dean." Looking up at his Mother, he'd proudly announced that he and Sammy were gonna be best friends, as she smiled and held them both close.

Then there was Sam's first word. They'd stopped in a motel for a week, probably somewhere in Ohio. John had left to buy dinner, leaving Dean watching cartoons, and Sam playing in his playpen. He couldn't recall what he'd been watching, but he did remember watching a pacifier land at his feet. He looked over at Sam, who was clapping his hands and babbling, clearly feeling that his big brother wasn't paying him enough attention.

Dean had picked the dummy up, brushed the dirt off it, and walked over to the crib. No sooner had he put it back into Sam's mouth, the kid had yanked it out again. Reaching up towards Dean with grabby hands, he stared up with a huge gummy grin and shouted "De!". Laughing, Dean had unhooked the latch on the fence, and had given the baby the biggest hug he could, whilst Sam kept repeating his new-favorite phrase over and over again.

It wasn't long after that before Sam began to walk. Another nameless motel in another nameless town. Their father was pouring over research, whilst his sons played on the carpet. Their current game was pass, although it was closer to fetch, as Dean would roll the small ball towards Sam, who would crawl after it and bring it back. After one particularly forceful roll, Sam had ended up on the other side of the room, clutching his prize tightly.

Judging the situation with as much logic that a baby could have, Sam came to the conclusion that crawling wasn't the best way to get back to his brother. Instead, he gripped the nearest table leg with his free hand and pulled himself up onto uneasy feet, looking down at his sudden height gain with awe. Catching on, Dean sat up tall on his knees and called his name, causing a shaggy head to look up at him and smile. He held his arms out, and watched as Sam slowly toddled towards him, tongue sticking out in concentration. Eventually, Sammy was falling into his brother's arms and waving the toy in the air. Dean had felt a rush of pride very few children of that age ever felt, as he held on tightly and listened to his sibling's laughter.

There were so many other memories that Dean could've lost himself in: teaching Sam to read and spell, making forts out of bed sheets, comforting Sam after a nightmare, sitting in the back of the Impala together, nursing him when he was sick. Tiny details that had all helped him raise the man who was sleeping before him now.

Snapping back to the present, Dean had no idea how long he'd been sitting on his brother's bed, or how long he'd been running his thumb along Sam's brow. While he could lose himself in more memories of days gone by, he knew that if he sat here long enough Sam would wake up, and he couldn't face the conversation that he knew they had to have. Not yet.

"And then comes the murder you'd never survive, the murder that would make you just as savage as me. Your brother, Sam."

This wasn't the first time he'd been told to end Sam's life, but the threat of the Mark and its pervious owner's story had him more scared than he'd ever been. What had once been an incomprehensible thought was now suddenly a very-real threat, and deep deep down, he feared he already knew how this fight was going to end.

He promptly told that part of his brain to zip it. He'd always threatened to rip out the lungs of anyone who tried to hurt his baby brother, and Dean wasn't afraid to place himself on that long list if need be. He thought back to his fight in the barn, as he stopped the motions of his thumb.

"Never." He whispered fiercely to the quiet room.

Knees cracking, he stood. Not before leaning over and placing a feather-light kiss onto Sam's temple. (He'd already used up his chick-flick quota for the next year, so one more thing couldn't hurt) Adjusting the blanket, he allowed his hand to rest on his kid's side for a few moments before slowly drawing back, and heading out of the room.

Grabbing onto the frame, he looked back over his shoulder. He'd told Sam that he was ready to stop looking for a cure, that he was going to try and live with the curse.

Yeah, screw that.

Cain may have somehow killed his own brother, but Dean knew that he wasn't going to stand by as 'destiny' tried to tear them apart again. If they could defy the friggin Devil himself, then there was no way in hell some tattoo was going to be their downfall.

In the morning, Dean would tell Sam everything that had happened. He hadn't asked, but those damn puppy eyes spoke louder than words ever could. Sam would be worried for him, the selfless moron, but then they'd be able to come up with a plan about fixing this. Together.

But for now, his brother needed to rest. They both did, if they stood any chance of beating this thing.

"G'night Sammy."

A/N: I had a terrible feeling ever since Dean first got the Blade in s9 that this would happen, and damn it I hate being right sometimes. I know there's still a chance to stop it happening, but come on, as soon as Dean said he'd never hurt Sam, we all started digging that boy a grave…
Thanks for reading, and I apologise for any spelling mistakes. Leave me a review telling me what you thought :3 Until next time guys