Hope to post another chapter of WIT at the end of the week

Till then, here's this which was longer a LOT more serious than I originally intended.

Again, taking requests and prompts for this series if any one has any.

I do not own nor am I affiliated with Supernatural, WB, CW, Kripke Enterprises, actors, or other affiliates there of. No profit is being made from this.

Sam was fiddling with Dean's amulet again.

It was the end of another long day. The sun hadn't even fully set when they tumbled into bed after dinner. That's not to say they exactly went to sleep then. They never really kissed each other goodnight, they usually made out with each other goodnight. Tonight had been no exception, kissing until it was fully dark. They were too tired to take it further though, even Sam's dog Kodak was already conked out in his dog bed that Sam had insisted on keeping in the bedroom.

Right now, they just lay in bed, shirtless, Dean on his back, Sam on his side, resting his head on Dean's outstretched arm and just . . . messing with the amulet.

He did that a lot. Mostly he did it after a particularly awful nightmare, then for a few days after.

For some reason, tonight, Dean asked, "Why do you do that?"

"Hm?" Sam hummed drowsily.

"Why are you always playing with that thing?" Dean asked, gently tugging on a chunk of Sam's hair.

Sam shrugged with a sigh, "Dunno . . . just like it, I guess."

There was a beat of silence before Sam added, "Like that you have it again."

Dean's throat tightened painfully, still, he forced out, "A totally dick move to throw it away in the first place."

He felt Sam nod against his arm, "A totally dick move not to look for you in purgatory, so I guess we're even."

"Sam . . ." Dean started.

Sam abandoned the amulet and rested his hand over the anti-possession tattoo on Dean's chest.

"It's okay," he whispered, "that's all over and done with."

It was quiet for a few minutes, then Sam said quietly, "Sometimes, I dream about it."

Dean frowned, "About me throwing it away?"

"About when it happened," Dean felt Sam nod again, "and when it happened . . . after."

"After?" Dean asked in confusion.

Sam fell silent, Dean almost thought he wasn't going to answer but then he heard Sam whisper, almost inaudibly, "When it would happen in the cage."

Sam rolled over to his other side, away from Dean.

Dean swallowed hard, then moved over and curled his body around Sam. Sort of difficult when Sam had three inches height on him but manageable. He encircled Sam in his arms, rested on had on Sam's stomach, the other, on his chest.

"You can tell me about it," Dean whispered, dropping a kiss on Sam's shoulder. "You know that, right?"

Sam let out a long sigh, "I know."

Dean's heart clenched. Sam never talked about his time in the cage, not ever. Even when he was seeing Lucifer daily, hourly, Sam wouldn't talk about that either. It seemed strange to Dean that Sam wouldn't talk about those things when he'd always push Dean to talk. Dean hadn't wanted to talk to Sam about hell but he made a mistake when he lied about remembering.

Dean could never lie to Sam.

Not for long, anyway.

So eventually he broke down and told Sam he remember. Then broke down some more and told him what happened. Then broke even further, confessing what he'd done while he was there.

It . . . hurt that Sam wouldn't confide in him what happened.

Dean knew that Sam's hell was worse, so much worse than his own. Sam had no chance to get out of torture. Dean was certain it was daily and constant. Dean was in hell for four months, which meant forty years. He couldn't imagine almost a year and half, nearly two centuries of pain and every kind of abuse there was.

Every kind.

It's not like Dean wanted to know about the horrors of the cage. He just didn't want Sam to think that he couldn't talk about it if he wanted to, if he had to.

"I don't like to think about it," Sam said quietly, as though he could hear Dean's internal musings. "That's why I don't talk about it. Also because I know you, Dean. If I tell you about what happened, then it's going to be a part of you too, you'll think about it and it will hurt you too, they'll become part of your nightmares too. I know, you need to protect me, always. I could maybe be okay with it if you just wanted to share the burden but you don't. You want to take it all, to save me, to protect me, to keep me safe. In the end, it'll just hurt us both."

Sam's hand slid over Dean's on his stomach and he laced their fingers together, like he wanted to make sure Dean wouldn't pull away. Of course, that was exactly what Dean felt like doing. Through recent years though, they had learned that it was easiest to talk like this. They never did look at each other before when they had to talk about things that were painful. This was even better, in the dark, Sam facing away. So Dean didn't try to stop him. At least Sam was talking.

"It' okay, Dean." Sam assured him. "It's a part of who you are. I know we've always been a part of each other. I finally realized though, that I'm a bigger part of you than I ever knew. I'm grateful for that, grateful for you, I just wish you didn't feel like you had to be responsible for my life so much."

There was another long silence. Dean struggled for something to say, he needed to say something but he didn't know how to express so many things at once.

All he could do was whisper, "Sammy . . ." into the back of his brother's neck.

That action said, I want you to be happy. I don't want you to hurt.

"It's okay, Dean." Sam repeated, squeezing his hand.

That said, I know. I'm okay, I am happy . . . I'm with you.

Sam scooted back, so he was more firmly against Dean, "I'll tell you someday . . . just . . . I can't now."

Dean nodded.

As he drifted to sleep, he murmured, "Bitch."

Love you.

He heard the smile in Sam's voice as he mumbled, "Jerk."

Love you, too.