Just a bit of fluff...

He was surrounded by flames. They licked at the air, an oven without walls or floor. Metal pierced his flesh. Hooks held him in place. A knife filleted his skin. A rough voice crooned softly with pleasure as he twitched. "You can get off, Dean. You can make all of this stop. You know how."

Moisture spread across his face. It was soft and smelled of…dog. The dream faded, his hands were free, and Dean reached up to catch Sassy by the ears to stop her from licking his face.

"Kansas! We talked about this."

Kansas flicked her tongue, showering his face with more saliva. She huffed, let out a low bark, and pawed at the sheets.

"Hey." Dean scrubbed at his face and sat up, suddenly worried. The room was quiet, too quiet. "What's wrong? Sam?"

On the other bed, Sam was utterly still. His limbs were spread across the mattress, a relaxed pose, and his chest slowly rose and fell. He twitched at the sound of Dean's voice. It wouldn't be hard to rouse him; he always responded to his brother's call. But Dean swallowed his voice. Sam was sleeping quietly. Peacefully. It was a rare sight these days, and Dean had no desire to disturb him.

He turned his attention back to the dog. "What's going on, girl?"

Kansas pressed her nose into his face one more time, then turned herself in a small circle on his bed and collapsed in a heap wedged snugly against Dean's side.

They had talked about this. He had trained her on this her first week. Dogs were allowed on Sam's bed, not Dean's. Kansas had gotten the message quickly. Besides, she knew she was here for Sam. She was always at his side.

Not that he needed her tonight.

Kansas looked up at him with big, dark eyes and let out a low whine. Her muzzle inched up his arm, begging to be petted.

Dean had seen her do it a thousand times with Sam. It was her job. Sam was her job.

What was she doing on Dean's bed?

"I'm not going back to sleep, Kansas. Get off me." Dean gave her a shove, but she didn't move. Now it was his turn to let out a huff. If he pushed the issue, Kansas might start making more noise. That would wake Sam, and Dean was not going to interfere with his brother's good sleep.

Dean was also definitely not going to sleep. Hell didn't haunt his dreams as often as it used to, but it had never really left him. If he closed his eyes again, he'd be right back in the middle of it.

Dean's throat was dry. The night was cool, but he was drenched with sweat and he needed something to whet his whistle. Take the edge off the memory. Keep the world a bit blurry. He reached for the flask on the bedside table, a sure remedy. The burn of the liquor was so unlike the flames of Hell. Self-inflicted damage so much better than being at a demon's mercy. He lifted the flask to his lips.

Kansas set her teeth in his sleeve and tugged. Dean shrugged her away. She lifted her head and let out a warble somewhere between a warning and begging. Dean frowned and pulled his flask close to his chest. Kansas whined and wriggled closer, her nose aimed at the flask.

"What, were you trained by AA too?" Dean held the flask at a safe distance, and caught sight of the beer cans out of the corner of his eyes. There were so many of them littering the table, but the brew within hadn't done its job. Nothing helped much anymore. His brother was broken, the world was about to be eaten, and his best friend was dead.

Kansas reared back, jumping with her front paws to make the mattress bounce. She whined again, as if she had been the one on the rack, not Dean.

"You are supposed to be taking care of him. Not me. I'm fine."

Kansas just stared at him.

"Ok, I'm not fine, but I don't need you." She was Sam's dog. Dean didn't need that kind of help. He looked at the flask again. The dog had a point; that stuff wasn't helping, either. With a sigh, he set the flask back on the bedside table.

"There, are you happy?" Dean picked up the remote instead. Keeping the volume low, he started flipping through channels. "Go back and sleep with Sam, unless you like watching girls in swimsuits…"

Kansas has lowered her head again, and was burrowing under his arm.

"You know, I don't allow dogs on the bed. It's a rule."

Dean's hand landed on Sassy's head, and she leaned into his fingers as she scratched her ears. He felt the tension between his shoulder's ease. His head fell back against the pillow, and Kansas snuggled closer.

It was nice.

No dogs in the car. No dogs on the bed. No dogs in my face. Dean had these rules for a reason. He didn't like the smell of dog breath. He didn't like dog fur on his shirt. None of that had changed, and yet he was ok with this. He needed this. How had this come to pass? Dean was not able to ponder the question.

He was fast asleep.