This is a little fic I wrote while I was on holiday in Australia. I decided to challenge myself to write a fic from Sam's POV (which I suck at SO HARD) involving Sam comforting Dean and NOT turn it into Wincest. The first half of the fic was fairly easy, 'cos, y'know, they're kids. The second half? Yeah. So NOT easy. But here's the result. :)

Sleepless Nights

Sam wasn't sure what had woken him up while it was still dark. Dad hadn't been banging on the door ordering them to get up and get moving like he sometimes did in the middle of the night. A quick glance at the small clock on the table told Sam that it was barely even four in the morning. He looked around, trying to give his eyes time to adjust to the darkness before he managed to make out the faint outline of the table and chairs in their room. They were all empty. Dad obviously wasn't back yet and even at only five years old, Sam knew that this meant that he probably wouldn't be back any time soon either, but that he'd come staggering in when it was light, grumbling under his breath and snapping at him and Dean to get ready to leave - even though they were both usually ready by the time the sun was fully risen - and growled if either of them dared to try and argue.

Sam sighed and rubbed his eyes with his fists as he suddenly became aware of an urgent need for the bathroom. He groaned a little; he hated having to get up in the night. He knew Dean would go and stand outside the door without a word if Sam asked, but Sam didn't want to do that every time he had to get out of bed. He clenched his jaw a little and crawled out of the blankets, padding over to the bathroom. He was a big boy now, his dad kept saying, not a baby and therefore he could relieve himself alone.

Once he was finished, he meant to go back to bed and try to go to sleep, but a strange sniffling sound stopped him. He doubled back a little, squinting in the near-darkness before he realised that the sounds were coming from the bed next to his. From the bed where Dean was sleeping.

Sam froze, his heart pounding as he panicked. Suddenly, he wished Dad was there with them, and this time, for once, he wished it was as a...whatever it was he did. Dean had been very unhelpful about that, only saying "quit asking, Sammy, you don't want to know" when Sam asked why they kept moving around and why they didn't have a mom. Except that Sam did want to know. He hated being left out of whatever it was that Dad did, whatever it was that Dean knew. It made him feel like he wasn't even a part of the family, even for all Dean kept saying that families should stick with each other because in the end, "family could be all you got left that you can count on."

"Mom..." The sudden broken sob of a whisper jolted Sam out of his thoughts and he turned his attention back to Dean's bed. Now that he was looking properly, he could clearly see the Dean-sized lump on the bed was shaking slightly and the covers were pulled so tightly around him that it looked to Sam as though he was trying to be unseen, in that "if I can't see them, they can't see me" way at least.

Briefly, Sam considered putting the light on and actually going over to confront Dean, but he stopped himself quickly, knowing that his brother wouldn't like that. Instead, he sat down on the floor beside Dean's crumpled shirt and started to think. He remembered the last time he had seen Dean crying - less than a week ago - when he had gone and prayed to the angels Dad had once said were watching over them, asking them to watch his brother and make him smile, because Sam didn't want him to cry any more.

Now, hearing those sad little sounds coming from the bed beside his, Sam hated those angels. He had called on them to help his brother and they had ignored him. He bit his lip and blinked back the tears of anger in his eyes. Perhaps this was what Dad meant when he used phrases like "those sons of bitches" and, if he did, Sam had to say that he had it pretty much right.

"Bunch of dicks," he mumbled, using words he had heard Dean use when he was in a bad mood. Again, he felt that they spelled out his feeling pretty well, though Dean had also added some other words that Sam probably shouldn't even know existed at his age. Scowling up at the ceiling, he stood up and started to go back to his own bed, but something stopped him just as he went to lift the covers. At first, he wondered if Dad was back, but the door hadn't opened and there was no sound of footsteps. Besides, Dad would have put a light on if he'd come back.

"Sammy...Sammy...Mommy..."

Sam turned round so fast he tripped over one of the pillows and had to grab onto the bed to stop himself falling and making a noise. Instead, he turned back towards Dean and instantly knew what it was that had stopped him from going back to his own bed. His brother was hurting. His big brother, who cared for him, looked after him, lovedhim, was scared. Sam knew Dean sometimes had bad dreams - he saw the tiredness on his face in the mornings - but this was the first time he had really realised it, now that he had actually seen it. And now, he found that he knew what he had to do.

Quietly, taking care not to step on the part of the floor that creaked, Sam padded over to sit on Dean's bed. He didn't try to touch him, but instead he lay down beside him, moving as close to him as he could without letting him know he was there. But his breathing must have been louder than he had thought, because his brother suddenly went very still and tense, biting down hard on his lip. Slowly, he turned around, blinking a little, his green eyes sharp in the darkened room.

"Dean, are you okay?" Sam asked, trying hard not to reach out and put his arms around him.

"Yeah." Dean's voice wobbled even as he tried to hide it. "I'm fine, Sammy."

Sam scowled. "No, you're not," he said. "I heard you say Mom's name - and mine." He rested a hand on Dean's back. "Were you having a bad dream?"

Dean stiffened again. "Why?" he asked. "You've never wondered before."

"I never heard you before." Sam poked Dean's shoulder. "And you always take care of me if I have bad dreams."

"That's 'cos I'm your big brother," said Dean. "Dad told me to take care of you."

Sam rolled his eyes a little at that but instead of speaking, he pushed Dean back down on the bed and curled up next to him, wrapping an arm around his waist. "Let's just stay like this for a little bit, 'kay?" he asked sleepily, his eyes now starting to droop closed.

Dean tensed up again for a couple of seconds as though he was thinking about his options. After a minute, he shrugged. "'Kay, Sammy," he muttered, his breath hitching a little. "Now go to sleep."

Sam huffed quietly, but allowed his eyes to slowly fall shut as he draped himself over Dean's body, wrapping his small arms tightly around him. Dean went rigid again for just a minute, but slowly relaxed, even linking his fingers with Sam's as both brothers finally allowed themselves to fall asleep.

17 years later...

As soon as they had left their old home - and God, but it felt weird, wrong even, to think that - Dean had slammed his foot down on the gas pedal and hadn't stopped until they were well away from Lawrence. From the way his hands were clenched so tightly around the steering wheel that his knuckles were white and the sharp clench of his jaw, anyone would have just thought that he was angry. But Sam knew better. Even after four years away at Stanford, he could tell when his brother was angry and when he was scared or upset. And right now, he was definitely feeling all of that, but on a much more extreme level. Dean was nothing short of terrified, not to mention so badly shaken up that he didn't even know what to do.

That realisation scared Sam more than he wanted to admit. He knew his brother wasn't as tough as he liked people to think he was, but Sam was worried, because he had next to no idea what was wrong and even less of an idea of how he could help him. Five years ago, before Stanford, Sam might have known better what he could do. But there were all those years of hurt between then and now, and he couldn't even begin to consider what Dean might have been doing during those years, how long he might have spent thinking about that night that Sam had decided to leave with anger and recrimination and without as much as a goodbye. Had Dean been the one to have left like that, Sam honestly couldn't say that he could have forgiven him for it.

Suddenly, Dean turned sharply and fixed him with a piercing green glare. "Why are you staring at me?" he almost growled.

"Just thinking," Sam answered automatically and then blurted out. "You know, I get what everyone means now, when they talk about you and Mom. You really do look like her."

Whatever reaction he was expecting from his brother, it certainly wasn't the one he got. Dean winced sharply, his eyes flaring briefly with anguish so deep it made Sam recoil. At the same time, he swerved the car so violently, the car behind almost crashed into them. He pulled over and skidded to a stop amidst crowds of horns blaring at them.

"Woah!" Sam grabbed onto the door handle. "Dean, what the hell?"

"Don't," Dean's voice was thick and very strained, "don't say that to me."

Sam blinked. "What? Dean, I just -"

"Don't!" Dean glared at him. "Sam, I just - I don't think I - I just can't..." He worked his mouth a few times before turning back out onto the road and pulling onto the highway. "Just don't ever say that to me again," he choked out, without turning round to look at him.

Sam frowned, his stomach lurching. He hadn't meant to say that, as true as he knew it was. But now he thought about it, Dean had never been especially comfortable with being compared to their mother. It was strange; his brother could charm and flirt with the best of them, but at the same time, he sometimes seemed to be almost self-conscious about his looks, often shying away if someone looked at him too hard or for too long. He sat back and tried to think, but no matter how much it seemed as though the answer was right there in the forefront of his mind, he couldn't quite drag it out to manifest itself into an actual proper thought. All he knew was that Dean was hurting and that he had somethow made things worse.

When they eventually checked into a motel, it was pitch dark and Dean had been driving for the better part of a day and a half. The place was pretty nice, almost homely, especially compared to some of the dumps they had stayed at in the past. But Sam was too lost in thought to take in his surroundings, not that he would have had much time to anyway, because Dean almost instantly fell onto his bed and switched off the lights, leaving Sam with little choice but to do the same.

But sleep did not come easily to him that night, only this time it wasn't because of nightmares of Jessica's death. Normally, he would have been thankful for the respite, but not when his attention was instead focused on his brother like this. He let out an annoyed huff and flopped over onto his side.

"Sam, for God's sake, will you give it a rest and go to sleep?" snapped Dean suddenly. "Or at least...toss and turn a bit quieter?"

Sam snorted. "I don't get the feeling that you're asleep either, Dean," he pointed out.

"Yeah, well, just because I lose sleep it doesn't mean you should," muttered Dean.

Sam had a scathing reply on the tip of his tongue, but he quickly swallowed it when he registered the broken sound of Dean's voice. It sounded as though his brother was on the verge of tears. Once again, that feeling that he was missing something ridiculously obvious struck him, even more strongly than before.

"Dean?" he asked tentatively. "Dean, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, I'm fine."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I'm calling bullcrap," he said. "Dean, what did you mean? Are you not sleeping properly or something?"

"It's nothing," said Dean. "Just keeping watch and making sure nothing happens."

"Yeah, still calling bullcrap." Sam sat up in bed and snapped on the light. "Dean, I know we've had our issues in the past -"

"That's one way of putting it."

"But," Sam continued, "you're still my brother. We're family. I don't like you hiding things from me."

Dean let out a bark of laughter that wasn't at all amused. "What do you think I'm going to do, Sam?" he snarled. "Do you think I'm going to suddenly pour my heart out to you, just because you suddenly came back?" He turned around and Sam winced when he saw the tears on his face. "Well, we both know why you're here and we both know that it's nothing to do with us being family so excuse me if I don't feel like sharing and caring!"

"Don't tell me you didn't want me back," Sam retorted. "You begged me to come with you in the first place."

"Yes, I wanted you to come with me, but not like this!"

"Then how did you want it?"

"I never wanted you to leave in the first place!" shouted Dean. "Don't you get it? I wanted us to do this together, you and me! I know it was difficult being around Dad, but I wanted you to stay with me - hell, with us!"

"What are you saying, Dean?" Sam asked, frowning as that feeling in his mind grew stronger. "You'd rather we stayed together, even though Dad and I were making everything miserable – making you miserable?"

"You didn't make me that miserable. No, listen," Dean added quickly as Sam scoffed. "It sucked listening to you two ripping into each other, I won't pretend it didn't. But at least we had each other. We were together, as a family. A broken family, maybe, but a family. I thought if I could keep us together, things would get better. I thought," he sighed, "I thought I could make things right again."

"You just wanted to save our family," Sam realised. He felt slightly sick at the thought of Dean putting that much responsibility on himself. "That's why you stayed, isn't it? And why you came to get me. You wanted to pick up the pieces and put them together again." He rubbed his head. "But why, Dean? Why are you trying so hard to fix things?"

"Because I thought - I hoped - that this time there might be something I could actually save."

At that moment, Sam's mind almost exploded in a burst of clarity. Dean must have been thinking about their mom and how she had been murdered. Sam knew it had hit his brother hard, but he hadn't truly comprehended just how traumatised he must have been. And then, going back to that house...

Sam suddenly shuddered at the thought of the memories that must have brought back, especially that moment in the kitchen. He had seen Dean's face whiten at the sight, heard his shocked whisper, but he'd had no real idea of how much of a shock it must have been to actually see her again.

Before he could say anything, however, Dean spoke again, and this time his voice broke. "Sam, I know that it's not really the same thing as what you've been through, but I know how much it hurts to lose someone you love."

Sam gasped in shame and quickly jammed his fist into his mouth as there, right at that moment, the full truth of how selfish he had been was laid before him. His brother had never done anything but look after him in every way he could, and he had repaid that by running away from him at the first opportunity, and then, when they had been reunited, he had made it all too clear that Dean wasn't welcome in his new and happy life, even almost going as far as to practically accuse Dean of playing a part in Jessica's death when he came to get him that night.

God, I'm such an asshole, he thought to himself and then, without stopping to think any more, he scrambled out of his bed and crawled in beside Dean, wrapping his arms tightly around him. "Don't," he insisted when his brother tried to pull away. "Not now."

Dean was frowning in confusion. "What - why -?"

"You've always looked out for me, practically since the day I was born," Sam said simply. "It's my turn now; let me look after you." He could still remember the odd occasion when they were kids and he would wake up to hear Dean tossing and turning in his bed. "You trusted me once, Dean," he whispered. "I know I've hurt you, so badly, but please, give me a chance to try and make things right."

Dean cocked his head slightly and shrugged. "Okay," he said. "But you keep your hands above the waist," he added with a tiny smile.

"Yeah, yeah." Sam lay down and switched off the light. "I did regret it sometimes, you know, leaving the way I did. Not because of how things went down with Dad, but because I guess I knew, deep down, how much it had hurt you. I didn't want to admit it, but it was always there, you know? Just no one really forced me to acknowledge it until now, but - yeah, it was a pretty awful thing to do, especially after all you've done for me. So, you know," he bit his lip, "I'm sorry."

"I can't just say that it's all water under the bridge, Sam," admitted Dean. "It's been a very long time and...well, it's not been exactly easy. I mean...I was so proud of you, that you made it like that, but when you left, it just," he paused, thinking, "it hit hard. And then, you know, four years of silence -"

"I thought about calling you sometimes," Sam cut in. "I just wasn't sure you'd answer. After what happened, I figured you'd still be pretty mad at me."

"I was never really mad at you, I was more mad at the way you left," said Dean. "And I would always have answered. I wanted to hear from you. I know I came up to see how you were when I could, but it wasn't the same, being there without you knowing I was there."

Sam wasn't surprised to hear that Dean had made the drive to Stanford to check how he was; clearly, all those years of looking after him couldn't be undone even after he left. "So, why did you never call me?" he couldn't help asking.

"Would you have answered if I had?"

"I -" Sam stopped and actually thought about it. "I don't know," he admitted eventually. "I wanted to see you, but at the same time -"

"You wanted to get away from all this."

"Yeah." Sam didn't really see any point in lying. "But it didn't really occur to me that it wasn't just the hunt that I'd be leaving behind - it was you and Dad as well." He sighed. "I'm not proud of what I did, Dean, but I guess we can't change it now."

"No, we can't," said Dean. "But, we can make the best of what we've got now, I suppose. Now, let's just try and get some sleep before we start growing girl parts." He dropped his head onto the pillow.

Sam was sure he had more that he wanted to say, but even in the darkness, Dean's body language made it very clear that the subject was closed. So, he lay down beside him and let out a deep breath. There was so much history and so much hurt and anger between them, but somehow, Sam knew that they would get through it and things would eventually be right again.

They had to be.

Thanks for reading and, as always, reviews are love! :) Ash xxx