Dean wakes with a start to find a darkened figure leaning over him. His chest heaves, heart pounding like it's trying to pneumatic drill right through his sternum as sweat clings to his skin. The cold terror in his veins doesn't let up until he's had time to process, recognise those eyes staring concernedly down above him. A warm hand rests protectively on his shoulder.

"Dean, you're okay. It's just a dream."

Sam's voice is a welcome comfort as he sits tense in the bed. His eyes dart round as he takes in the shadowy, unfamiliar surroundings, then eventually calms as he recalls the motel room from the night before. Dean finds himself staring at his brother's chest through the dimness, feeling his breathing begin to even out as he convinces himself there's no blood: Sam is real, alive, and whole.

He lets out a breath and the tension seeps from his muscles as he collapses back onto the bed. "Yeah, I know. Must be the burrito I ate before bed. Should have known I was gonna pay for that."

Even in the dark, Dean sees Sam raise a sceptical eyebrow. "Really? You're gonna blame bad dreams on snacking late?" Sam's tone seems as though he's half going along with it to appease him, but half very much still full of concern.

"Yeah…I dunno. Don't worry about it, Sam." Dean rolls over in the bed and tries to pull the sticky sheets up higher again, not looking at his brother if only to hide the panic he's sure is still showing on his face. "Go back to sleep. You're keeping me from getting some shut-eye, here."

That concerned hand is still lingering on his shoulder, and some small part of Dean has to admit that he wants it to stay. "You're sure?" Sam's voice is soft, careful. "I mean, there's nothing you want to talk about?"

Dean looks back at him then, tempted to finally open up and tell his brother everything, but he swallows it down. "You said it yourself, Sam. It's just a dream."

A heartbeat passes in silence. Sam looks down at his brother, brow furrowed, and then purses his lips. The hand on Dean's shoulder drops to his chest, at first intended as just a pat of reassurance, but then lingers. Dean knows Sam felt it. His heart's still racing.

There's a fleeting moment of awkwardness before Sam pulls his hand away without comment, returning to his own bed. "Alright. But, just so you know, I'll be right here," he says as he crawls back under the sheets.

"Yeah, I know. Where else would you be?" It comes out harsh, and Dean feels a stab of guilt as he wonders if hiding the truth was worth it. There's another pause, waiting for Sam to press it further, but he doesn't.

"Okay," Sam says instead, voice full of patience and concern Dean doesn't even think he deserves. "Goodnight, jerk."

That warms Dean's heart enough to calm its pounding a little. "Night, bitch." He closes his eyes again, keeping his face turned away, but immediately the image of a bloodied Sam holding out his own still-beating heart towards him invades his imagination. His pulse seems to taunt him where he hears the blood in his ear pressed against the pillow. It's too much. Dean's eyes fly open again.

There's several minutes of fighting with himself before he has to check, just for reassurance, and rolls back over in the bed to look in Sam's direction…

…only to find his brother staring wide eyed at Dean across the gap between them.

There's a brief moment where they both stare, each having caught the other out, and then Sam's eyes flicker down in embarrassment. He rolls onto his back and lets his eyes slip shut, and Dean does the same, the both of them trying to pretend that never happened and make it through 'til morning.