Dean woke up with a soft but heavy weight pushing into his shoulder. He twisted, hissing as his ribs gave a painful gasp. The sight he saw made his smile. Sam's head was buried in Dean's jacket, his floppy hair spread out over the pillow and his arm thrown around Dean. His legs were scrunched up, this being the smaller of the two beds, to make room for the rest of his body plus Dean.

As a morning light was cast through the window, Dean could see his brother in full detail. He was so young but so old, a life of potential had been stolen from him. These sacrifices had left their marks. Up close, Dean could see the bags under his eyes and the softest of imprints of lines across his face. Dean felt his heart twist. "Hey," he whispered, nudging Sam. "Wake up."

Sam scooted closer to Dean, muttering something about 'warm' and 'tired.'

"Hey! I'm gonna cut your hair if you don't wake up." Dean gently pulled a lock of Sam's hair. "I'm gonna shave it all off."

Sam sleepy batted Deans hand away. "No," he grunted, blinking up at his brother. "If you do that I will kill you."

"Sure," Dean said, smirking. "So when did you crawl in here?" They hadn't slept in the same bed in years. The last time was when Dean was sixteen and they had lost a family to a werewolf pack. The whole family. They had had a little boy too, about Sam's age. Every time Dean had closed his eyes, he saw that poor kid being ripped to shreds by the pack alpha. Sam had heard him and slithered up next to him, reassuring him that he was alive and well.

"What do you remember?" Sam asked.

"I had a nightmare," Dean admitted. "About Amara, you, Cas."

"Yeah," he said. "I know. You were screaming so I slept here. It seemed to have helped."

Dean was silent, he remembered his dream vividly.

Amara was standing in the centre of a completely white room. Her black dress was as daringly low cut as ever, her sharp eyes seemed to undress Dean the second he entered the room. "Dean," she said, her voice a seductive and low rumble. "It's been too long."

Dean opened his mouth and for a second no words came out. "I," he managed. "I know you have Lucifer and Cas. I need him back."

Amara clicked her tongue. "Not even a hello." She strode over to him and put a hand on his shoulder. "What's that angel worth to you?"

What was Cas to him? Dean thought. A soldier, a soulless warrior. Angels couldn't love. Sam had been lying, Cas didn't love him. Amara's eyes consumed him, blaring into his soul, his being. She was the only thing left in this whole world. Then...

I always come when you call.

We're family. We need you. I need you.

I did not leave you!

Hello Dean.

Dean and I do share a more profound bond.

"No," Dean ripped away from her. "Where's Cas?" he shouted.

"Do you really want to know?" she asked.

"You bitch. Where is the angel?" he demanded. "Tell me!"

"Dead." She said it with such simplicity, and such finality. "He's gone. Dead."

Dean felt his world begin to collapse around him. Cas, with his blue eyes and soft smiles. The furious devotion to the Winchester, his chosen family. "This is a dream," he hissed. "You're not real."

Amara's smile was almost pitying. "Then this shouldn't hurt." She snapped her fingers and a door opened. In walked a bloody, bruised, and beaten Sam. His face was covered in blood and grime, his shirt ripped open to expose wounds across his abdominal.

"Sam!" Dean lurched forward but there were suddenly chains binding him. "Sammy!"

Dream-Sam looked up at him. His hazel eyes were empty. "You chose her," he howled and spat 'her' out. "You chose her over me, your blood, and Cas! How could you?" His eyes filled with hate. "Cas is dead because of you! You deserve to rot in Hell, no angel can save you now."

Amara flicked her wrist and Sam collapsed, his eyes staring at the ceiling, frozen with death. "Well then-" she began but Dean cut her off.

"Sammy no! You bitch," he snarled at Amara. "You sadistic bitch! How could you-?" Tears streaked down his face.

"Oh Dean," she whispered, stroking his cheek. "Sadness just doesn't suit you."

The room began to grow lighter, blindingly white. And he woke up.

"Dean?"

"Huh?"

"You with me?"

Dean blinked, looked around. "Oh. Yeah, I'm good."

Sam nodded slowly. "Sure Dean, whatever you say." A pause. "It was Cas, wasn't it?"

"Yeah. But not just him. Sammy, I watched Amara kill you, and I know it was a dream but it was so...I don't know, real? And you said I chose her, I chose her over you and Cas and that," Dean stumbled over his words. "That I deserved to rot in hell because no angel would ever save me."

"Come here," Sam said, his eyes filled with pity and pain.

"Dude," Dean began but Sam pulled him against him. Dean blinked hard, letting himself get lost in Sam's warmth, the rhythm of his heartbeat.

"It wasn't real," Sam whispered. "You love Cas, you love me. I know you do, we're blood Dean. You're strong enough to resist her. Love makes you stronger."

"You're such a fucking girl Sammy," Dean said softly.

"At least I'm not so emotionally constipated I can't tell my own brother that I love him."

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

Sam released Dean. For a second they stared at each other, then Sam said, in a voice filled with so many emotions Dean couldn't begin to name them, said, "we'll get him back."

"I know."

They slipped upstairs, careful not to disturb Jody or her girls. Sam looked around the kitchen, taking in the feel of a functional home. The clock read five forty seven am. He crossed the room and carefully opened a drawer, from there he pulled out a purple sticky note and pen.

Dear Jody,

I cannot thank you enough for your hospitality, especially when Dean was injured like that. We will not be visiting again until we are certain that everything is wrapped up and shoved back in a cage- hey, maybe Cas will come along. If by chance, we or I die attempting to shove Amara down the hole she came from or taking care of Lucifer, please make sure Dean is okay, especially if he looses both me and Cas. I'm not asking you to adopt him or anything but call him and if he disconnects himself from the world, find him or call another hunter. Thank you again.

-Sam Winchester

Sam handed Dean a separate sticky note and the pen. He then folded his up, meeting his brothers eye as they formed an unspoken understanding that neither could read the others note. Dean hesitated for a second, then began to write. His hands were shaking when he folded his note up and set it next to Sam's.

"Let's go," he whispered, turning to his brother who was making coffee. "Really?"

"She has one of the super quiet ones. Besides, it's all the thanks we can really give right now."

"Whatever Sammy, let's go."

Careful not to wake anyone, they slipped out the door, started the Impala, and drove off into a crisp morning light.