The ancient alarm clock on Dean's bedside table is ticking away softly, as if to mock him for every second he spends awake, unable to get comfortable on his memory foam mattress. Usually the noise doesn't bother him—he even finds it soothing, a nice stand-in for the sound of Sam's breathing—but tonight it's just distracting. Probably because he's listening so hard for a soft footfall in the hallway outside, the slight swish of his bedroom door opening.
This is the first night since The Cage 2.0 that he hasn't woken to Sam crawling into bed with him, sweaty and trembling, still half in the grip of a nightmare. It's become enough of a routine that Dean hardly rouses anymore, just rolls onto his back and raises his arm so Sam can curl up close and tuck his head against Dean's chest like he's still a little kid and Dean's still the big brother who can protect him from anything. It's not true, of course—never was, even when they both still believed it—but nevertheless, Dean finds it comforting to be able to wrap Sam up tight and pretend.
Which is why, glad as he is that Sam finally seems to be getting a night of solid, undisturbed sleep, Dean can't help listening for his approach with a certain sort of hopefulness.
He flips over restlessly, pushing his head into the pillow in an attempt to block out the clock's ticking. He wishes Cas had come back to the bunker with them, instead of going off to do whatever mysterious angel thing he'd felt was necessary. Then, at least, there would be someone to watch over Sam, someone to alert Dean if his brother needed him and was too stubborn or ashamed or afraid to come to his room. But they haven't heard from Cas since leaving him behind with Crowley and Rowena, and Dean would be worried about him too if he had any worry to spare.
It's just, Dean can't help waiting for everything to fall apart, like it did the last time he got Sam back from the Cage. And sure, this time it wasn't the real Cage, and Lucifer's power was limited, but it makes Dean's chest ache to think of Sam having to endure even a fraction of that horror again. It makes him itch with the kind of murderous rage he hasn't felt since the Mark. It makes him want to put his arms around his little brother and damn well pretend.
And since Cas isn't there, Dean feels he has a pretty good excuse for getting up to check on Sam himself.
He keeps listening as he makes his way down the hallway, alert for any sound from Sam's room, but hears nothing besides the padding of his own footsteps. When he reaches the door, he hesitates for a moment, still listening. The silence is beginning to unnerve him. Holding his breath, he eases Sam's door open just enough to let him slip inside.
Sam is stretched out on his bed; from what Dean can see of him in the dim light, he's sleeping peacefully, his face soft and uncreased, half-obscured by a hank of floppy hair. The sight causes Dean's airway to constrict painfully, as if an invisible monster has its claws around his throat. He drifts closer, unable to tear his eyes away, and, without thinking, sits down on the edge of bed.
He jumps up again almost immediately, realizing his mistake, but the damage is done; Sam's eyes snap open, and blink a few times before focusing on him.
"Dean?" he murmurs, propping himself up on his elbows to peer at him. "What the hell, dude?"
"Sorry," says Dean, already backing towards the door. "I wasn't—I didn't mean to—" He licks his lips, feeling like a complete idiot. "I was just—"
"—checking on me?" Sam yawns. "I know. It's okay."
Dean pauses. "Are you?" he asks.
Sam's lips curl slightly. Dean can't decide if it's a smile or a grimace.
"I just slept for five hours without a nightmare," Sam says. "That's improvement, right?"
"Improvement," Dean echoes, nodding stiffly. "Yeah. 'S good, Sammy. I'm glad…." He trails off, trying to mean it, trying to wrestle down the odd sense of loss rising within him.
Sam startles him out of his internal struggle by pushing his comforter down in a sudden, decisive movement. "Get in," he says.
Dean's first impulse is to refuse. After all, they only sleep together after a nightmare, and neither of them has had a nightmare. Plus, he thinks it might set a bad precedent to give in to Sam's bossy tone in a situation like this. He therefore fully intends to brush Sam off with a Nah, man, I'm going back to my memory foam; but what actually comes out of his mouth is, "Move over, then."
Next thing he knows, Sam is shuffling over to make room, and Dean is stepping back over to the bed, sliding down between the sheets, and Sam is hooking an arm around him and pulling him close, and Dean lets him even though he knows he should be the one comforting Sam, not the other way around.
Sam rubs steady circles on his back, making soft shushing noises, and Dean realizes he's shaking, his breath coming in shallow, shuddering gasps.
"Sorry," he says again, choking it into the crook of Sam's neck, though he's not sure what he's apologizing for.
Sam just keeps rubbing his back, his other arm tightening around Dean's waist. "It's okay, Dean," he answers. "It's okay."
A/N: I have to say, I definitely did not anticipate adding this many chapters to this fic. But the show has provided some great inspiration, and it's been a fun project, so I'd like to try to keep it going. I'm open to suggestions for future installments! And I hope you enjoyed this one. :)