Summary: Sam's struggling to deal with the mess of his mind and Dean feels helpless. Dean's ready to grab onto anything that can alleviate his brother's pain, even if it's imperfect and only temporary.

Author's Notes: Biting my nails over last week's twist ending. Poor Dean's starting to crack in an entirely different way than Sam, but no less heartbreaking. *Cries* So I'm just gonna focus on the brotherly love until they decide to hammer us with more angst. Enjoy!

Sounds That Keeps Me Here

Dean woke to the sound of the television, volume almost loud enough to start worrying about complaints from the two rooms flanking their own. He pushed himself up and in one sweep, registered Sam's empty bed and his little brother's new position not a foot from the television.

It reminded Dean of waking up when the sun had barely risen on a Saturday morning to find Sammy entranced by brightly colored early morning cartoons. He looked much the same to Dean in many ways despite the years between then and now.

But young Sammy had never been haunted like this.

"Sam? What're you doing?"

No response as Sam just kept his eyes on the random infomercial. Dean was seriously starting to consider taking out George Forman just to stop those freakin' grill commercials. He didn't rush, didn't leap out of bed and vault over to Sam like he wanted to. Sam usually reacted better when Dean was calmer. He didn't want to startle Sammy, but he really didn't want to deal with anyone banging on the walls or calling management either.

Keeping his little brother out of sight and earshot of people while he was noticeably unstable was a new past time that Dean loathed. But it was necessary. He wouldn't risk Sam getting taken away from him just because of a little psychotic break.

Padding over to where Sam was cross-legged on the cold floor, he called out again.

"Sam."

He started to reach out when Sam's voice stopped him. His brother didn't turn his head, seeming to, instead, lean even closer to the speaker on the TV.

"It helps. It's the…" Sam swallowed, clearly trying to ground himself and straining to hear more of the random words from the screen. "I think it's the noise. Drowns them out a little."

Dean didn't really understand how adding even more annoying voices to the ones already whispering conspiratorially in one's head could help, but he didn't question it. If it helped, he'd be thrilled and may even consider sending the Forman family a gift basket instead of murdering them messily. His cares about noise complaints dropped too. He'd fend them all off if it meant giving Sammy just a little relief.

His brother looked…well, he didn't look good these days. Dark circles under his eyes and starting to lean toward the wrong side of thin. Sam was always covered in bruises and abrasions from a fall or seizure or a Cage induced freak-out that would inevitably send him crashing into something in a mad attempt to get away. The marks began to stand out more and more against increasingly pale skin as the days went on. They made his Terminator brother seem fragile in a way that tore something apart in Dean. So, yeah, he'd take anything that seemed to help Sam.

"Yeah? It's better?"

Sam's nod is careful.

"I think so. For right now, anyway."

A knot of tension unfurled along Dean's shoulders. He went over to Sam's duffle and threw a lump of cloth at him.

"Put on some socks before you get pneumonia." He grumbled, just the same as he had on those winter cold, cartoon-watching days.

No matter how spaced Sam was acting, Dean thought this had to be an improvement as he let his eyes drift to the burns on Sam's arm, courtesy of the small gas stove in the room. He shuddered as he thought of that morning, waking up to the smell of burnt flesh.

Dean was across the room and had an unresisting Sam pinned to the ground in a heartbeat. He thought he might have been the one who looked insane in that moment, anger and worry and outrage in his eyes as he shook Sam by the scruff of his shirt.

"What the hell are you doing?" Sam only stared up at him, no discernable expression on his face, just watching his brother, then beginning to stare past him, further and further away with every moment. And Dean hit the wall, face crumbling and voice breaking as he failed, once again, to protect his brother. "Why? Sammy, why?"

Dean bent low till his head rested on Sam's collar bone, body shaking with soundless sobs he didn't have it in him to stop, so he didn't try.

When he pulled himself back together again sometime later, it was to Sam's voice, to his little brother's arms around him, voice shaky but soothing.

"S'okay Dean. Shh…Sorry, sorry. It's okay."

Sam was a wreck. A hallucinating, seizure-prone, mental case with the Devil in his head. But he could pull himself back when he had to. When Dean needed him. That show of devotion, the proof that Dean wasn't alone, was enough for Dean to nod, dust himself off, and try again.

Sam put his socks on, but he wouldn't budge from the frigid floor.

Careful of being too invasive of Sam's space, Dean moved back. Returning to his own bed, he threw his pillow to the foot and crawled under the reversed sheets. He could see Sam this way, reach out to grab him if he needed to.

"Night, Sammy."

The shaggy head bobbed to acknowledge him, but didn't turn away from the screen. Dean watched him until he was lulled back to sleep by the shrieking television.

Dean had thought it may have been a one-time thing, but a few days on and Sam was still pressing his ear to the speakers. He wasn't sleeping at night, but he wasn't screaming either and Dean took what he could get.

Their stash of supplies has dwindled. It lasted longer than usual though, with Dean the only one to really eat anything apart from what he could occasionally coax into Sam's hands. That was becoming an issue though. The insomnia was only making the nausea worse and Sam could barely handle solid food as it was.

Dean tried to persuade, cajole, and bribe Sam to get back in the freakin' bed and at least try to sleep, but he wouldn't.

"It's too far away."

"You can still hear the TV, Sam. You need to sleep."

"The distance…other things sneak in between the sounds. It's too far away."

Dean would eventually give up and let Sam be, his brother pressing closer and closer to the backlit images.

Dean was beyond reluctant to leave Sam on his own, but he couldn't take Sam out like this and they needed food.

"I'll be right back, Sam." Sam nodded, but that wasn't good enough. Dean grasped his chin gently and turned till their eyes met. "I will be right back. Don't move till then, okay?"

"Okay, Dean."

Sam tried to smile reassuringly and Dean matched him. Even when they were falling apart, they both always put the other's peace of mind first.

"Right back." Dean reiterated and made himself walk out the door.

Sometime later, Sam heard the door open and close, but didn't turn. The instinct to make sure it was Dean was there, but really, he knew he could see Dean and have it not be him. Or it could be Dean but not look like him. It was better just not to see.

His eyes were not to be trusted.

Sam jolted a bit as a bag was thrown on his lap. He looked at it and then up to see Dean watching him appraisingly, a little self-satisfied smile on his face.

"Open it."

Sam frowned in confusion, but did as asked. A set of headphones and an Ipod greeted him.

"Your old one got trashed, right?" Dean's sat down next to him, pulling the gift from his lax hands and opened the packaging. "Thought you could use a new one."

Sam wasn't comprehending, too many lost nights of sleep making his mind slow. He knew he was useless for a hunt right now, but he hadn't thought he'd diminished to the point where it was hard to understand conversation. Must've happened while he wasn't looking.

Headphones were placed over his ears and Dean's voice was severely muffled.

"If it's noise that helps, it should at least be portable." Dean was still smiling softly and Sam found himself returning the gesture. Dean smiled so rarely and Sam treasured it when he did. "It's got a radio tuner and a battery backup too in case it runs out of charge."

Dean kept talking, a habit he'd always had when he was nervous or worried, particularly over Sam. Sam just kept smiling softly at Dean, always slightly amazed that, no matter what roads they took, Dean always came right back around to being the protective big brother.

Where Sam had once bristled and rebelled against the care, taking it as constant scrutiny, he now let himself feel comforted with it, loved and looked after. Dean gave Sam a ragged little corner of their monster-filled world that he could let his guard down in, that he could crawl into and lick his wounds, try to heal.

As battered as his big brother was himself, he was always Sam's shield and Sam thought that was nothing less than amazing.

"…Thank you."

Sam traded the heavy duty headphones in for ear buds most of the time. He kept the volume relatively low, the sounds dull but successfully masking the ones that were there even when the player was off. He could hear Dean just fine like this. His brother's voice had always been distinguishable from the rest of the cacophony in his head; distinct even from Lucifer's.

He could sleep like this. He could hunt like this. He could deal. Most of the time, anyway.

Sam was no fool, neither was Dean. Sam wasn't getting better and it may have been a fool's hope that he wouldn't get any worse. They both knew it even if they didn't say it. But this was…not good, but better. They were learning how to cope, how to function.

When it got really bad and Sam switched to the noise-canceling headphones, Dean settled in front of him or beside him, depending on if Sam was seeing things too or not; if Dean needed to block the view.

Dean would just talk even though Sam couldn't make out most of the words, only watching his lips move. Dean cautiously, always cautiously, reached out to wrap his hand around Sam's wrist, thumb circling over the knob of bone soothingly, grounding him more. They were learning how to deal.