Dean was dying. He was watching Dean die and there was nothing he could do.

Sitting alone at the table in the darkened motel room, Sam scrolled through the pictures on his computer screen, the collection of every picture of him and Dean that he'd saved through the years. Funny, serious, caught off guard - when sleep wouldn't come tonight, he'd put them into a slide show on continuous loop and sat up watching them. He'd been watching them an hour or more now.

Dean was dying. He was watching Dean die and there was nothing he could do.

The witches and the memory spell were thirteen hours behind them. Dean'd pulled into a motel just after nightfall and fallen asleep just as soon as he went to bed, but Sam hadn't even tried to go to sleep.

Dean was dying. He was watching Dean die and there was nothing he could do.

Dean had made a joke of it, of course, of almost dying, 'who's the hippie?' and everything was back to normal. Except, Sam realized, watching Dean dying was his normal. The electrocution that destroyed Dean's heart and the truck that destroyed the Impala, Dean dying over and over at the Mystery Spot and hell and the ghost sickness and Stull and the vampire and Metatron and the Mark and Amara and the deal to get out of isolation and – and - now this -

Dean was dying. He was watching Dean die and there was nothing he could do.

Over on his bed in the dark room, Dean sat up like he'd been chased awake. He reached for the light but stopped when he saw Sam. "What are you doing up?"

"What are you doing up?" Sam asked back.

"I asked first."

"Yeah, but I was awake first."

Dean glared at him. "That makes no sense, you know. You all right?"

"Yeah. Just –" Sam shrugged one shoulder and casually pushed closed his laptop " - couldn't sleep. You?"

"Same. Maybe we should've just driven through to home."

"You needed to sleep."

"Apparently not." Dean left the light off and crossed the room to the mini fridge. He took out two bottles of beer, set one near Sam's hand then sat across from him. "So, why can't you sleep?"

Dean was dying. He was watching Dean die and there was nothing he could do.

"Wired, I guess. You?"

Dean shrugged and opened his beer and looked around as he took a sip. All signs, Sam knew, that he didn't want to answer.

"I dreamed I shot you," Dean finally said. "I dreamed that the witch said he was my brother and you were the witch and I shot you."

Sam cracked his beer and had a sip and shook his head. "You wouldn't have shot me. Even if he had said that. You knew, deep down, you knew me."

"Uh – no – I didn't. I couldn't even remember my own name."

"There's a difference between knowing and remembering. You knew how to use the gun, didn't you? How to load the bullets, how to aim and fire. You knew witches were bad. You knew how to read the post-it notes. Maybe you didn't remember my name but you knew me."

Dean shrugged again and rolled his eyes and drank more beer. "Well, anyway, thanks for saving me. I know I gave you crap for calling in Rowena, but it worked. You got it done."

Sam made himself smile ~ Dean was dying. He was watching Dean die and there was nothing he could do ~ "You're welcome"

"All right, I'm going to try this again." Dean finished his beer and got back in bed. "I gotta tell you, Sammy," he said before he fell asleep. "I don't know how you managed to stay so calm through it all."

"Ha," Sam chuckled for Dean's sake and lifted his beer bottle for another sip.

Dean was dying. He was watching Dean die and there was nothing he could do.

"Practice I guess," he whispered.

The End.