Note: Thanks to __fallen for beta!
Sam watched the green light of the motel alarm clock tick over to 3:33. "Three thirty-three, make a wish," he said under his breath, and instantly regretted it when he felt Dean shift beside him. It was a king-size bed, at least, and a hell of a lot nicer than some of the dives they'd crashed at for the night, but he could still feel every movement of his brother's body shudder through the worn out mattress.
He wasn't really surprised when Dean's hand landed soft and warm on his shoulder blade. "Go to sleep," Dean muttered, and that was a good one because Sam knew damned well that Dean was only managing the lightest catnaps himself.
He rolled over on his back, took a deep breath, and released it slowly. He took another breath and felt Dean roll over onto his back, too, matching him breath for breath. They'd done this as kids, lying on the floor while their dad counted slowly "In, two-three-four-five-six. Out, two-three-four-five-six." Relax, relax. They each could slip into a meditative state this way without even thinking about it, thanks to all the training. Sam could find the point of clarity, get himself grounded, restore the defensive integrity of his aura. Most of all, he could rest, and getting a full night's sleep out of an hour of deep meditation had always been a cool trick, especially back when he'd been cramming for the LSAT and finishing his pre-law degree.
It didn't much work anymore, though.
Blood dripping. The old bedroom glowing with unearthly light. Jess pinned to the ceiling. Jess screaming and flailing. Jess bursting into flame. The bed bursting into flame with him in it. Sometimes in the nightmares, her eyes glowed red as she pinned him down and they burned to death together.
He shook himself to clear his head and realized he was gasping for air. Then he realized Dean was up on an elbow saying, "Hey, hey! Sam, it's okay. Breathe, okay? Breathe."
Sam groaned and folded his arms over his face. After a minute, he had his breathing under control again. He still felt Dean's eyes on him, though, as he stretched his shoulders and let his arms fall.
"You okay?" Dean asked.
Sam huffed. "Yeah, peachy."
"You know, after Mom died, Dad had nightmares for ages. He wouldn't let you or me out of his sight. In the new apartment, he even put us all in the same room. Your crib, my little racecar bed, and his bed. He woke up screaming all the time."
"You remember this? I thought you didn't remember anything from back then."
"I blocked it out for a long time. I mean, I didn't see what happened to Mom. I was in my room and I only woke up because of all the screaming, but…" Dean trailed off, and Sam watched him chew his lip in the dim light that bled through the curtains.
"You were only five," Sam said with a shrug.
Dean shifted a little on his side of the bed and kicked his feet free of the sheets. "It's weird, though, you know? You saw Jess. Dad saw Mom…."
"Don't tell me you're jealous that you're the only one of us who hasn't lost the woman he loved," Sam snapped, and he was all of a sudden really, really pissed off.
"Dude, that's not what I meant at all, and you know it."
Sam lay there for a minute, not looking at Dean, and then it was like a frickin light came on in his head. "Holy shit," he said.
"Hmm?"
"That's what all your little one-time hook-ups are about."
"What?"
"Why you never would date, even when we managed to stay in the same place for a while."
"I thought we were talking about you."
"Uh, no, I think we really were talking about you."
Dean shoved the covers back and sat up. "Actually, I was thinking about what kind of connection you and Dad have that I don't that this happened to both of you, but not to me."
"Yeah, and I found it," Sam shot back as he rolled up to sit on his heels. "You've never been in love!"
"Sam—"
"I wanted to spend the rest of my life with Jess—that was the plan. She was my happily ever after, damn it."
Dean caught a glimpse of Sam's face and looked away. A moment later, he jerked his chin at the door and said, "And just like with Dad, this thing takes all that away."
"Yeah," Sam said, and he hadn't really intended it, but the word came out loaded with all the pent-up bitterness and rage he'd never been free to express to the regular people who used to populate his life.
"Come here," Dean said, and dragged Sam over into a hard hug.
"Dude, what—"
"Oh, get over yourself. Dad hugged us all the time." Dean coughed and mumbled into Sam's shoulder, "I kind of miss it."
And at that, Sam was laughing despite himself, and then Dean was laughing, too, rocking them back and forth as they shook with what might have been nervous hysteria, maybe, but god, did it ever feel good.
A few minutes later, they'd fallen back on the bed, still wiping tears. New rounds of subdued chuckling still erupted after every tenth or twelfth breath. They were almost calm again when, smirking broadly, Sam reached over to where Dean's shirt had rucked up and poked him in the ribs.
Dean let out a little shriek. "Bitch, no tickling!" he yelled, as he grabbed Sam's wrist and twisted once before letting go. "Besides, it's past your bedtime, young man."
"Oh, funny ha-ha," Sam said, valiantly biting back another round of laughter.
"I mean it, go to sleep."
"You, too."
"Yup," Dean answered, pulling the blankets closer around himself. "Sleep now. Laugh more later."
Sam snickered back at him. He could save the tickling 'til after sunrise.