Disclaimer: Supernatural does not belong to me. The Buffy quote mentioned (and in the title) is also not mine.

Written and set after 1x14 - Nightmare. This is my first Supernatural fanfiction and I was so nervous about posting this. :S I think it's a bit rambling and might be OOC and I'm sure scenes like this have been done to death, but I'm rather happy with it for a first attempt. Contains a bit of foreshadowing for future episodes, but I hope you enjoy anyway and please be kind and review. :)

The Hardest Thing in This World...

"DEAN!"

Sam Winchester sat bolt upright in his bed, his brother's name still echoing on his lips.

"Sam?" Two metres away, Dean Winchester lurched up, brandishing a knife in front of him. Still drowsy, he looked stricken as he glanced around the darkened room, his eyes finally coming to rest on his brother. "Sammy?"

Sam groaned and placed his head in his hands. Bringing his knees up to his chest, he suppressed the urge to sob uncontrollably. Quickly he wiped away the wetness of tears on his cheeks; the room was still in shadows, but he didn't want to risk looking weak in front of his older brother.

"You alright?"

Sam ignored him and concentrated on his breathing. In, out. In, out. He wished his heart would stop thumping so hard and so loud. It was hard to believe the nightmares had such physical effects on him. And yet every night was the same. For weeks the programmed nightmare played out in his head and each time he was just as helpless...

"Dean? Where are you? Fuck, Dean! Answer me!"

He's running. Or trying to run.

There is a distance scream. Dean. Dean is in trouble. In danger. But the layout of the house makes no sense. No matter which way he turns, he cannot find his brother.

"Dean!"

"Sam! I'm here Sam! Help me!" Dean!

And Sam's never been so helpless. He's proved himself so many times, but when it matters he cannot help. Following his brother's pained voice leads him in circles.

And then he turns a corner he's definitely been around before and suddenly Dean is there. He's tied to a chair, bloodied and pale. But, the relief on his face is overwhelming for them both. It's ever so fleeting.

Something materialises. It doesn't matter who or what. The figure is always shadowy and faceless. But it's there and it has a gun. The barrel is pointed at him and he waits for death.

"No!"

Dean is somehow no longer tied to the chair. He leaps and pushes Sam out of the way. He sees the bullet miraculously pass straight through his brother's head, blood splatters on the wall behind them; the red contrasting horridly with the white. Dean is dead before he hits the ground.

"NO! DEAN!" And It doesn't matter how loud he roars with grief. It changes nothing.

The worst is that he knows Dean would do this in real life. And knowing that hurts more than any torture in the world. Then the unknown figure leaves him alive, as though it knows Dean's death will be punishment enough. And it is.

"DEAN!"

"Hey, Sammy. Look at me." Startled, Sam looked up at his brother. Dean's face was a frightening mixture of concern and fear. If he noticed Sam's tear stained cheeks, red-raw eyes and sweat soaked shirt, he said nothing... at least not yet.

"It's ok," Sam forced a smile. "Go back to sleep."

"No," Dean said flatly. Twisting he placed his knife on the bedside table before flicking on the lamp. They both shrunk back from the brightness automatically.

"Dean..." Sam said, wearily. "It was just-"

"No," Dean repeated. "It's not just anything, man. We're going to talk about this."

"What? So I have to talk about my problems, but you get a free pass?"

"Listen to me, Sam," the worry in his eyes matched his voice. "For weeks I have laid awake listening to you toss and turn and moan my name. Now either you're having some seriously X-Rated dreams about me or you're having nightmares again. I'd vote for the latter."

"X-Rated dreams?" Sam screwed up his face in disgust and shock, the horror of the idea (and the resulting mental image) was enough to break through his previously depressed and sombre mood. "Erh! Dean, how could you even-"

"So that's two votes for nightmares." His voice then softened and the room took on a sudden heavy feel. "Tell me about them."

"Dean, I can't," Sam's voice broke and he tore his gaze from his brother.

"Sammy..." he trailed off, hurt.

"It's not as if they're premonitions or anything. It honestly doesn't matter."

"You've always sucked at lying," Dean said offhandedly and despite the situation Sam shot him a glare. It faded into saddened blankness almost instantly, though. "It does matter."

"I'm sorry, but I just can't. I don't want you to think..."

"I don't care," Dean said firmly. "I won't think any different of you and I don't care that they're not premonitions or whatever. Sammy, you're my little brother. You're worrying and scaring me. You've gotta tell me what's going on."

Sam didn't reply. They locked eyes for what seemed an age. Dean's eyes sparkled with unshed tears while Sam's remained raw from too many tears. Sam could instantly see the sincerity in his brother. He was worried and he was scared. And Sam nearly smiled; his fleeting emotions seemed to be yo-yoing all over the place. He knew that deep down, behind the tough-guy act and the emotionless determination was a brother who was just as vulnerable and scared. Sam inwardly frowned - had it really taken this long for him to realise that? Surely not.

Conflicted, Sam looked away from Dean again. He couldn't tell him. Dean would think him weak. He'd ensure Sam got the less risky jobs, where he'd be in less danger. And it would fall apart because that was the last thing Sam wanted. He wanted to protect Dean for once. That was what the dream was about. He wanted Dean to be safe. He didn't want to lose his big brother all over again.

"You're not weak," Dean suddenly said, as though reading Sam's mind. In a somewhat disjointed movement, he stood and closed the metre between them, sitting on the edge of Sam's bed instead of his own. "Sammy, you are not weak and you can tell me."

The genuine worry and need, such that Sam had rarely seen, was enough. In embarrassed, breathy tones he relayed the nightmares to Dean, not meeting his eyes. For once Dean didn't interrupt and for that Sam was grateful. "And every night it's the same thing," he finished, looking up just in time to see Dean brush a tear off his cheek.

"Every night you see me die..."

"Yes. And there is nothing I can do about it," Sam said in anguish and Dean suddenly looked very tired.

"When did they start?"

"Ever since Max... that kid who was like me."

"He wasn't like you! He killed innocent people!"

"They weren't innocent to him," Sam said and Dean's face screwed up in anger for a moment before he wiped it calm again.

"Why?"

"I had a real premonition back then of you... being shot." Looking heartbroken he locked eyes with his brother. "Straight through the head and there was nothing I could do about it."

"That's how you found the strength to move the wardrobe, isn't it?" Dean said seriously and Sam nodded. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Why d'you think, Dean? Don't you see? I'm helpless. I'm useless," and suddenly Sam's words were coming out short and panicked. "Every night since then you sacrifice yourself for me. And it terrifies me because I know you'd do the same in real life and I'm still helpless. You're my weakness and it tears me up." He paused, looking wild-eyed and scared at his brother. "The hardest thing in this world is to live in it and I don't want to live in it without you. I don't want to lose you...I can't."

Dean smiled slightly at him and squeezed Sam's arm in comfort. "Hey, I'm not going anywhere. And besides, you're definitely not helpless or useless," he gave a weak chuckle. "Hell, I'd certainly be dead if you hadn't been there to cover my ass these past months."

Sam flinched at that and Dean muttered a quick apology, his eyes filling with worry again. "But I can't deny the rest. You know I will always be there to protect you. And you know I'm always going to sacrifice myself for you." Sam's face fell a little, but Dean continued, explaining. "You're my little brother, Sammy. I've got to look out for you."

"But-"

But Dean cut him off, desperate. "No, Sammy. You're all I've got. You and Dad and that's it. And I don't want to be the one burying you. Your life will always be worth more than mine."

"No," Sam's voice raised an octave.

"Yes." Dean's voice was so stern that it was almost inviting Sam to argue.

"No!" Sam yelled, taking the bait and wrenching out of his brother's grasp. Ignoring the fresh tears as they sped down his cheeks, he choked back an angry sob. "That's not true. You are not worth less than me. Don't you dare think that, because I do not want to be the one burying you!"

Slowly, Dean hung his head, tearing his gaze from his brother's stubborn face. Quietly he said, "the hardest thing in this world is to live in it."

"Hey, don't quote my quotes back at me!"

"Dude, it's Buffy," Dean said, incredulously raising an eyebrow. For a millisecond the tension was broken.

"Doesn't mean it's not true."

Dean gave a shrug as if to say 'fair point'. They lapsed into silence then, each wrapped up in their own thoughts that for a while they forgot to speak. Dean eventually broke the silence. "I've had similar nightmares," he finally admitted, looking up to meet Sam's unreadable eyes.

"What? When? Dean, why didn't you tell-"

Dean silenced him with a look. "Sam, I worry about you more than you can imagine. I just hide it better than you do." Sam pulled a face, but Dean ignored it. "I need you Sam. More than you need me... without you I'm..." he paused, unsure of how to continue. Sam gazed at him with sympathetic, doleful eyes. But then Dean swore. "Hell, I am so not going to make this clichéd."

Sam smiled fondly, despite himself as Dean ducked his head, clearly embarrassed. "Listen, Sammy. We have to stick together on this. What we do is dangerous enough, without worrying about each other. And I don't care if I'm your weakness, 'cause you're mine too. And you know what, that's what makes us stronger. If anything happens, we'll deal with it then." He reached up and briefly clasped his brother's cheek. "I don't want you worrying or losing any more sleep over this."

"Same goes for you then, ok?" Sam said, lifted his head out of Dean's reach.

"Promise," Dean nodded.

Sam returned the nod. "Thank you," he whispered it so quietly that if Dean had been any further away he would have missed it.

"Ah, come here," Dean leapt off the bed with surprising agility for someone who had been seated for so long. Standing, he pulled Sam up with him and then into a tight embracing hug. Not even shocked at this sudden, uncharacteristic display of affection, Sam hugged fiercely back, bending slightly to bury his face into the shorter man's shoulder. Impulsively, he sniffled and choked back a sob.

Dean instantly pushed him off. "Hey, no snuggling into my shoulder!" Sam grinned widely and a few seconds later Dean returned it. The older brother then leaned forward again and punched Sam lightly in the shoulder. "Let's get some sleep now, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"And if you have this dream again, just fuck it and imagine yourself with plenty of guns." He gave a casual shrug. "Always works for me." They climbed into their respective beds and Sam laughed lightly.

"Sure thing, Dean."

Dean shot his brother one last smile before he switched off the light and the room was thrown into darkness again. "I don't think you'll be having this dream any more, anyway."

"Reassuring."

"I'm serious," Dean said.

"I know," Sam replied, equally serious. "Thanks."

They lay in silence for a few moments later before Dean spoke again, "And Sammy?"

"Yeah Dean?"

"I'm always gunna be here for you, Sammy. I'm not going anywhere."

"I know," Sam repeated. "I'm not going anywhere either." And even in the darkness they knew they were smiling at each other across the room.

They both slept soundly that night, unplagued by nightmares or worry. But as Sam drifted off to sleep again, he somehow knew this wasn't over. And Dean's death would come back to haunt him all too soon.