A series of creaks from the familiar shifting of weight, come from the other side of the room, though Dean keeps his eyes resolutely shut, it had been a long day, and he doesn't want to rouse too far into consciousness now that he's actually in bed. Besides he's pretty sure it's just Sam getting up to the bathroom, though he clutches his knife all the same. He tenses as his covers are pulled back before shuddering as the cool air hits him, screwing his eyes tight shut to keep them from flying open. iThis cannot be happening/i. And he shivers again for a completely different reason, "Sam!" he grumbles, though he immediately regrets it, he knows Sam's finding it hard to adjust with the whole not knowing what he's been up to for the last year and a half. Dean grips on tight to Sam's wrist before he even thinks about leaving.

"Sam," he says more gently and he doesn't even get as far as asking the question.

"I can't sleep," Sam sighs, burying his face into Dean, his arm slipping under Dean's head, Dean closing his hand round Sam's fingers, finding it a little problematic trying to comfort his brother in his current position. He remembers how much simpler it was when they were little and he could just hold Sam. But Sam wasn't little anymore. And Dean doesn't possess the energy to change positions, "Drool on me and I will end you."

"No you won't."

He won't, but he doesn't need to say it, "Night Sammy."

Just like Sam doesn't need to say thanks for Dean to hear it, "Night Dean."