A/N: Thanks for all the reviews and sorry for the slow update- I'm leaving for my first year of college next week and life has been UBER hectic. It might be a while before I can write more, sorry…

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I don't sleep anymore. I can't. I won't. Yeah, there are the nightmares, so intense they leave me breathless and gasping for air, a thin film of sweat soaking my entire body. They all start the same, standing on a dark road, grinning with relief as Sam's lanky figure approaches, then running in horror as a dark form slides behind his, as Sam lets out a wrenching cry and falls to his knees. I grab his shoulders, say his name, but he can't keep his head up and the sight of it lolling makes me sick. I bring my hands up, the right one smeared red, hold his head, stare at his face as it stops being Sammy, scream his name.

When I'm lucky, it ends there.

When I'm not, I'm in a dull, dark room with him sprawled lifelessly on the mattress across from me. His eyes snap open, coldly looking at me, gaze accusing and angry.

"Why didn't you save me, Dean? You had one job to do, one damn job. Now look at me, I'm dead Dean. I'm dead and I'm never coming back."

Even if it weren't for the nightmares, I wouldn't sleep. I spend hours just watching him, listening to him breathe. I'm always scared that if I fall asleep, he'll be gone when I wake up, flat on his back, still and pale and dead. The last time I nodded off, I woke up to find Sam sleeping on his back and for a moment, he was lying in a cold lonely room on a cold lonely mattress, and I was sitting by my little brother's dead body and my whole world wavered and collapsed and was over – again.

Because the little brother doesn't die first. That's just not how it works. He's my Sammy, has been my life since before I understood what life is. He's been my sole purpose for waking up in the morning since the first time I held him, tiny and crumpled and squalling, and realized that this was my little brother.

I'm not delusional and I don't have unrealistic expectations. I know that hunting is a dangerous gig, that there's only way for a hunter's life to end, and that's in a hunt- but is it too much to ask that I go first? That I never have to watch him die?

I'm pretty confident that at least now, I've finally taken care of that, got a one-way ticket to Hell to prove it. But, still, I worry that I'm going to wake up and find him dead, and this time, I'll have nothing left to trade.

"Dean?" Sam's voice startles me and I turn quickly to the laptop in an attempt to hide my staring,. I doubt Sam would believe it anyway, but the screen gone black from being dormant so long definitely doesn't help.

"Why are you up?" He sounds suspicious, and way more coherent than I want him to be.

"Couldn't sleep." Nice, honest answer, intentionally vague. He'll see right through it.

"Yeah." He flicks on the small lamp by his bed and for a moment we both blink and squint as our eyes adjust to the sudden brightness. Sam looks at me and mutters something under his breath.

"Crap, Dean, when was the last time you slept?"

"Yesterday," I mumble.

"That was a nap, 45 minutes long. When was the last time you slept? You know, like a normal, six hour sleep?"

I'm a good liar. Always have been. "Couple days ago."

"Bullshit." Sam doesn't buy it. Never has.

"It's been awhile, okay? Get off my back." He gives me the "My-Big-Brother-Is-An-Idiot" Look, followed closely by back to back "Pissed-Off-Sammy" and "Determined-Sammy." Kid's got so many looks he's like frickin' Zoolander.

"Dean." He shifts so that there's room for me next to him on the mattress. His meaning is clear.

Aw, hell no. And that's not a term I use lightly anymore.

"Come on." He's impatient, sitting up and folding his arms, giving every indication that he's in it for the long haul. Damn it. If it'll make him sleep better…

I sigh and trudge to the bed, purposely scuffling my feet on the carpet so he knows exactly how displeased I am. Sam's look doesn't change.

"Sam, this is really-"

"Just shut up, Dean." I lie on my stomach, face buried in the musty mattress. Sam pries an arm out from under my body and guides my hand somewhere. I'm about to give some snide remark when I realize what he's done. My hand is resting on his chest, directly above the familiar, comforting beat of his heart.

"I'm here, Dean, okay? I'm here and I'm not going anywhere, so get some damn sleep." The rise and fall of his chest, the lub-dub of the pulse under my palm- both rhythms conspire to lure me to sleep, and for the first time since, well, since then, I don't fight it.

Sam shifts and moves and in my state of half lucidity I clutch at his T-shirt. One of his hands grasps mine as he rolls over, then a click and we're in darkness. I don't fully relax until my hand is once again settled on Sam's chest. If he ever mentions this, I'll deny everything. For now, though, I'm content to lie in the darkness, listening to our easy breaths and gentle snores.