AN: Parts in italics are dreams. Thanks to Colby's Girl, Dargur, scootersmom and iwokeuponthewrongsideoflife for thier reviews. It's so meaningful to get feedback from my readers!

Nightmare

Sam had finished explaining how he'd frankensteined together a way to counteract the curse. Right now, the geek was in the shower and Dean had a few minutes to himself to think. He wasn't so sure he was okay with Sam fooling around with Rowena's magic. On one hand, he was incredibly proud of Sam. And if the kid hadn't gotten creative and pulled this spell out of his hat, Dean probably would be a goner. On the other hand, it was a fine line to walk between practical magic and some of the darker stuff. A line that Sammy had been pushed over before. He never wanted to be the reason Sam lost his way again. Luckily, this time he was still around to keep an eye on his brother.

He rolled his shoulders. Dean would love a nice hot shower of his own, but even the idea of standing long enough to do it was exhausting. It was already morning, but the room was paid for another few days and Miracle was safely with the dog sitter, so they'd decided to catch up on their sleep before heading home. He'd shower when he woke. Dean spent the last of his energy crawling under the covers and was drifting in the hazy zone between waking and sleeping.

Sam stepped out of the bathroom with damp hair, dressed in his sleep clothes. Dean watched while he closed the curtains and climbed into the other bed. Clicking off the lamp between them, the last thing he heard was Sam's "g'night Dean" before he let himself slip into slumberland.

He couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't scream. Pain beyond his imagination coursed through every nerve in his body. Hot blood pooled in the hollow of his throat and his back arched involuntarily against the cold metal rack. Alastair's face loomed over him. Dean would have begged to close his eyes, but the demon had long ago cut out his tongue and removed his eyelids.

"You see Dean, if you, uh carve just right…" Alistair twisted the blade deep inside of Dean's side and a new flare of anguish surged through him. "Just like that, and you can cause the most delicious torment." The knife slid out and Hell's torturer tapped the bloody weapon against his chin absentmindedly. "But you're a hard case, aren't you? Dean, Dean, Dean," he shook his head in mock pity. "You're still trying not to scream. Silly boy." He laid the knife aside on a nearby table and Dean gasped a few shallow breaths in the slight reprieve.

"I think we're not getting deep enough." Alistair picked up an ewer from the table and caressed it. "Now this might do the trick." The demon's lips curved with malicious pleasure and he held the pitcher above Dean's torn torso. Hopelessly tugging against his restraints made Alistair laugh. When the first drop of acid blistered and melted his skin, Dean's ability to comprehend anything other than the searing agony disappeared into screaming.

"Dean! Dean!"

He was shaking. No, wait, someone was shaking him. Dean jerked his eyes open expecting to see Alistair, but it was Sam's face that swam in and out of focus. His brother looked alarmed, but Dean couldn't remember why. A fiery spike was jammed between his temples and thousands of razor blades were trying to burst from his skin. It wasn't until the feeling started to ebb that Dean was able to make sense of his surroundings. Slowly the motel room came into existence around them. Regular morning sounds filtered through the thin walls from outside. People packing their cars, birds chirping, the distant sound of traffic.

In contrast the room itself was uniquely quiet except for his own ragged breathing. Dean was sitting in bed, the covers tangled around his legs. Sam was holding him up, one hand on his shoulder and the other resting against his neck. The pain was receding, and Dean automatically felt calmer with his little brother within arm's reach.

"What's going on?" He could barely get the raspy words out. His throat felt like he'd swallowed sandpaper after a three-day bender.

"You were dreaming." Sam's thumb pressed against his cheek, turning Dean's head slightly so Sam could peer into his face. "Are you with me now?"

He blinked sweat out of his eyes. "I think so," Dean said. Sam's hold on him was grounding, soothing, but now that the horror of his nightmare had receded, he felt stupid. Dean tried to pull out of Sam's grip, but his brother's fingers tightened a little against his skin.

"Give it a minute. That was pretty intense."

Dean could only nod, embarrassed, but he did as Sammy asked. This wasn't the first time he'd screamed his throat raw in his nightmares, but usually it happened where his brother couldn't hear it, or at least at home in the bunker where they could both ignore it the next morning. With Sam sitting so close Dean was very aware of those big hazel eyes of his, watching and assessing him. It made him feel both exposed and comforted. A million years ago, when they were younger, he'd have been terrified to let Sam see him this vulnerable, but life and loss had changed them both. Sam was the only person Dean could truly be himself around, but it still wasn't in his nature to let his brother take care of him or let down his guard.

"I thought that spell of yours was a cure," he said, not to accuse, but to fill the silence. Sam frowned.

"Yeah, I thought so too. I'll have to do some more research. Maybe I did something wrong."

Dean could see the gears working as Sam mulled over the problem. He could also see the dark shadows under Sam's eyes and the pinched look he got whenever he was overtired. When Sammy was a little boy, it was kinda cute when he was sleepy, but today he looked old and worn. The kid needed rest, not to fret about another predicament Dean had brought on himself. He pulled away from Sam's hand. Although he immediately missed the warmth and stability of his grip, Dean was desperate to wash the terror and sweat from his skin. His flannel shirt was damp and clammy against him and he needed a few minutes to regroup in privacy.

"It's fine Sam. We'll figure it out. I'm gonna grab a shower, and you should try and get some more sleep." Sam nodded but instead of going to his own bed, he headed towards the table and his laptop. Dean snagged his wrist before he'd gone more than a step.

"Seriously. I'm good for now, but you're beat. Get some rest," Dean ordered, softening the command with a tug on Sam's arm. He used Sam's bicep to leverage himself out of the bed, wobbling a bit before finding his feet. Apparently, he was more wrung out than he thought.

"I need to look into how long this temporary cure lasts. What if the pain comes back?" Sam asked. The sunshine that leaked through the shabby curtains had him rubbing his droopy eyes with the back of his hand like a sleepy toddler.

"I'll wake you up if I need you. I promise." Dean patted Sam's shoulder and moved past him into the bathroom.

xxxxxx

Two hours later Dean was showered, clean-shaven, dressed and lounging against the headboard watching TV. Sam was asleep, so he kept the volume low. He felt a little more human, although he was jonesing for some coffee. The sleeping giant in the next bed had drunk everything in the room. Dean considered leaving in search of some caffeine and food, but he didn't want to leave Sam alone. Besides, not only was he still feeling weak, but the pain had started to slowly seep back into his consciousness again.

At first it was simply a vague sensation he could ignore, kind of like the slight achy-ness you got from sleeping on the ground. Then it was sore muscles reminiscent of post-workout stiffness. By the time another hour had passed, it had become a low throb settled beneath his temples, accompanied by tight, prickly skin. Dean guessed he had another hour or so before it got bad, and after that it was only a matter of time before the real agony was sure to follow. Looking at his watch, he set a mental timer. No way was he spending the rest of his life having to be felt up by Sam just to function. If he could determine how long he could go before he needed Sam's magic touch, maybe they could figure this out. Already he was like a restless dog on a leash.