Author's Note: Just a quick story to ring in the New Year! And yes, updates are coming for my other stories. Please be patient. This is set season 1. Please enjoy!

"I love sleep. My life has a tendency to fall apart when I'm awake, you know?"

—Ernest Hemingway

Sleep and Sam have never really been on good terms.

When Sam had been a child, he'd been plagued by nightmares that Dean had been able to soothe with a comforting touch and reassuring word. As a teen, his sleep had been interrupted by midnight training exercises and three in the morning hunts. Now, Sam slaves away over trying to find their missing father and stares at a laptop screen until he's as pale as the artificial light. He does everything in his power to avoid sleep. He sees Jessica burning and on some nights, he sees people dying in other states and there isn't much Dean can do to help. Dean hates being helpless, especially when it comes to Sam's wellbeing so he tries other methods—crushed sleeping pills in his food, calming girly teas, anything that could possibly help—yet, the bags under Sam's eyes get darker and darker.

It's when they're tracking down a witch in Oregon that it happens.

"I wish I could sleep." Sam mumbles with a yawn and Dean nods in agreement. Sam is swaying where he stands, functioning on just two hours. They've been looking for hours, but there's no sign of the woman responsible for the mutilated corpses of three women and two men. Dean opens his mouth to suggest they turn back when there's a flash of light and a blonde haired, blue eyed, gorgeous woman appears before them, ruby red lips titled up in a devious smile.

"Wish granted."

Sam glances down at his hand and Dean can see a shallow cut bleeding sluggishly. He's about to say something, but barely has any warning before Sam's knees buckle and he goes down.

Sam sleeps now.

It's been a week since the witch—that's who the woman had to be—appeared; then subsequently disappeared, and Sam hasn't had one nightmare since then.

He gets his full eight hours—sometimes more—free of nightmares and visions. He wakes up fully refreshed and Dean can't help but feel grateful to the witch for doing whatever magic she did to Sam. Even Sam seems happy, though he still wants to track down the witch and get her to undo her spell.

"It's not natural, Dean," Sam protests, half-heartedly. "Her other victims all died. I mean, they looked like they had been in one hell of a fight, but still."

"Maybe they all pissed her off—" It's a weak defense and Dean knows it, but dammit, Sam doesn't look so sickly anymore and he doesn't want it to go back to the way it was. He wants his baby brother to rest easy and be free of the real life nightmares they deal with lately.

"Dean." Sam's puppy dog eyes are out full force now and the eldest Winchester caves.

"Okay," He mumbles. "We'll start tracking her down again tomorrow."

"And who did you say you were?" The elderly woman eyes them oddly, but Sam shoots her a reassuring grin.

"Agents Hagar and—" His voice abruptly stops and Dean's eyes dart to his baby brother's direction. Sam, for his part, seems perplexed at this latest development and he opens his mouth to speak, only for his eyes to roll back and then shut. Dean grabs him just in time and eases his brother down to the ground, calling his name and ignoring the woman's shriek.

"Sam!" He barks, quickly checking for a pulse. It's normal and as the eldest Winchester brother checks for hidden injuries, he's confused when he comes up with nothing. It's almost as if Sam just fell asleep—

Shit.

Somehow, he manages to give a fake story to the older woman before half carrying, half dragging his baby brother to the Impala and then flooring it back to the motel room.

Sam sleeps for four hours before he finally stirs.

Dean's been frantically scanning their father's journal during that time, looking for something that could explain what kind of curse that bitch of a witch put on him. He comes up with nothing, but when Sam finally opens his eyes, Dean breathes for the first time since this incident began.

"Hey there, Sammy," He greets with a tired grin. "How you doing?" Sam sits up and appears to be just as bewildered as he had been during the interview. His hands check himself for injuries, but finding none he lets his hazel eyes drift to his older brother's.

"What happened?"

"Honestly?" Dean shrugs. "I'm not sure. One minute you were talking and then the next, you were out for the count." Sam nods his head at this, but his eyes still flash with that odd look of confusion mixed with fear.

"You think the witch—?" Sam begins to ask and Dean nods his head. Then in a weak, defeated voice, his little brother adds, "Told you."

Dean doesn't have the heart to contradict him.

The next morning, Sam sleeps in and Dean tries not to worry over it. After all, Sam might've been tired from yesterday or maybe he was coming down with something? They're bullshit excuses, but they give Dean enough hope and strength to prevent him from running over to his little brother and shaking him awake. When Sam does wake up—finally—the two get back to work. Sam works on researching whether the witch did put some sort of curse on him while Dean goes on the interviews, trying to track down where their witch went.

It's at the end of the day—with no new leads on the witch or spell front—that they get the phone call from Bobby.

"Wendigo is causing folks loads of trouble about 20 miles from you two," Their family friend informs them. "Can you look into it?"

And as soon as the words are out of the gruff hunter's mouth, the boys' decision is already made. This is their job—saving people, hunting things—and with their witch MIA and Sam's life not in any immediate danger, the choice becomes clear. Dean's uneasy about doing the job, but Sam tells him that too much sleep was never a bad thing and yeah, the fainting thing was weird, but maybe it was a one time thing.

"We have to help them, Dean." Sam says softly.

Dean knows that.

He just wishes that someone would help them out once in awhile.

The hunt for the Wendigo is a simple one really and it's when they're about to fire off their flare guns, that it happens.

Sam freezes, just like he did during that interview.

Suddenly, he's down for the count, flare gun flying across the forested area and Dean curses loud as he fires off his own gun. The Wendigo backs off, but it seems to know that it has the advantage now and moves towards Sam. Dean sprints and with a low growl, perches himself between the monster and his little brother.

"Don't even fucking think about it." He hisses, voice deadly and he fires off the gun. The Wendigo retreats and Dean knows he should go after it, but Sam is down for the count and Dean won't leave him.

They escape back to the Impala.

Sam won't wake up.

It's been a full 24 hours since Sam went down and he hasn't so much as stirred, let alone opened his eyes. His heart rate is normal, his respiration is fine—the only problem is that he is asleep.

Sleep has always been Sam's problem.

"Bobby, Sam's been cursed by some witch," Dean tells their gruff family friend quickly, checking his little brother's heart rate again. "He won't wake up." His voice breaks, but if Bobby notices, he doesn't comment on it.

"I'll be there in an hour."

Dean hangs up and tries to keep himself together.

Sam will wake up.

He has to wake up.

It's as Bobby is walking in the door that Sam's eyes open and without even greeting the older hunter, Dean is by his brother's side, a relieved grin spread out on his lips.

"Jesus, Sam," He breathes. "Scared the shit out of me, dude." Sam opens his mouth to speak, but his eyelids droop shut. Dean's hand darts out; gripping Sam's arm and the flash of pain from his strong grip jolts some awareness back into his baby brother's system.

"D'n," Sam slurs, sounding like he hasn't slept in years. "So tired."

"Just hang in there, okay?" The older Winchester pleads softly. "Just stay awake, alright? Bobby and I are going to figure this out." Sam nods, though his movements are slow and slightly jerky. Still, trooper that he is, Sam keeps his murky hazel eyes locked on his brother's gaze.

"Hurts." He whimpers quietly and murderous rage fills Dean. What he would give to get his hands on that stupid witch! Bobby steps towards Sam and assesses him with a critical eye. He's dealt with witches more extensively than the two Winchester brothers and he has more years of experience being on the job than they do. If anyone can figure out what the hell is going on here, it's Bobby.

"Sam," The hazel eyes slowly, but surely move from Dean to Bobby. "You did good, son. You can rest now." Dean opens his mouth to protest, but Sam's eyelids have already fallen shut and before he knows it, Sam is already lost to the realm of sleep. Dean spins around the face the older hunter.

"So?" Bobby's expression is grim and it scares Dean to his very core. Bobby never looks like that, so hopeless and resigned to something.

"Sit down, Dean."

Sam is going to die.

Dean sits at Sam's beside, one of his calloused hands holding his brother's limp one. Bobby is outside, making calls to other hunters, but the older Winchester brother knows that the gruff hunter is sure that no one will know anything. It's a formality really, a sign of respect from one hunter to another. Hunters never gave up on each other and even when all hope was lost, the charade was always maintained.

Still, the charade doesn't change anything for Dean.

His baby brother is slowly, but surely slipping away and there's not a goddamned thing he can do to stop it.

It's a strong curse, one that I've only seen once or twice before. The witch draws blood from her victim and then is able to harness life energy from them from anywhere in the world. Some witches use the energy to give them stronger powers; others use it to keep themselves young and beautiful. The victim's body tries to fix this lack of energy problem by having the person sleep more and more to try and replenish the energy that was lost. In the end though—

A silent tear snakes its way down Dean's cheek and falls upon Sam's hand and for a brief second, he imagines Sam waking up to bitch about that or to tease him about being such a girl.

In the end, the victim falls into a coma and slips away.

Bobby told him they have about three days—four at max—before Sam's heart gives out.

"Please." He whispers, though he's not sure if it's directed towards Sam or to a God that he never believed in. Dean doesn't care—if it wakes up Sam, that's what matters.

But, Sam sleeps on.

And Dean wonders how the hell he thought this was a blessing in disguise.

"Dad," He says quietly into the phone later that night. He's standing outside the motel room, the wind biting into him, but he can't really feel it—can't really feel anything since Sam fell asleep—and his tone comes across as tired. "Sam's . . ." He chuckles bitterly, wondering how to phrase this to a father that probably won't get this message until it's too late. "Sammy's cursed. It's bad, Dad. If you get this message . . ." His voice trails off and he lets the message end because what's the point?

He hangs up and tries to figure out how he's supposed to go on now.

Sam wakes up once more that night, though drowsiness has a clear claim over him.

"D'n?" He whispers, voice thick with exhaustion.

"Hey there, Sammy," Dean drawls, trying to keep himself together. He won't break down in front of Sam—he needs to be strong for his brother. "How you feeling?"

"M'tired."

"Yeah, kiddo, I bet you are," He mutters, feeling Bobby's gaze on the back of his head, knowing the older hunter is ready to explain the situation to Sam if Dean is unable to. "Listen, Sam?"

The hazel eyes remain focused on him and Dean is reminded of a younger Sam, waking up from a nap. Those eyes always would meet his first, even if their dad had been the one to wake him up. Those eyes have shed tears over stray cats, have lit up with joy over getting a new book, and have flashed with murderous intent during hunts. Those eyes were going to close soon and never open again.

"D'n?" Sam prompts and he's trying to push himself up now, as if he knows something is wrong. He probably does.

"Sammy, you've been cursed," Dean explains, pushing his brother back down. Comprehension dawns in his baby brother's eyes and Sam nods his head. He seems resigned to his fate and that infuriates Dean. Why the hell was everyone so calm about this? "But, I'm going to get you out of this." Then, the resignation in his eyes gives way to a flicker of hope.

"Kay." He slurs and then he's asleep once more.

"You're going after her?" Bobby questions, expression guarded, as if he's gauging Dean's reaction.

"I can't just sit here and watch him die, Bobby!" Dean shouts, feeling the need to destroy something—anything.

"You know where she is then?" Bobby asks and Dean shakes his head. "Then, we'd better start looking." With that, their family friend sits down and begins leafing his way through the various books they own.

And for the first time since this whole mess began, the eldest Winchester brother begins to feel like all is not lost.

The next morning, Dean's phone beeps.

45°31′12″N

122°40′55″W

End this.

"Those are the coordinates for Portland." Bobby explains. "That's about, what, six hours away?" Dean nods his head as he stares at the phone in his hand. "You think it has to do with the witch?" The text is from their father; of that he's sure of, and the uncharacteristic message attached with it, gives Dean hope. John somehow found the witch, but for whatever reason couldn't kill it and left it to his eldest to take care of. Not that Dean minded; he wanted revenge on the bitch for cursing his brother to begin with. After all, no one messed with Sam and got away with it.

No one.

"You shouldn't go by yourself—" Bobby grumbles as Dean finishes loading the rest of his weapons into his duffel. He's not going to take any risks on this one—not with Sam's life on the line.

"There's no time to wait for someone," Dean replies calmly, eyes checking to make sure he did pack everything he needs. "Besides, you need to stay with Sam."

"But Dean—"

"Please, Bobby." He whispers and the gruff hunter nods his head, giving up on this crusade.

"Fine," The older hunter mumbles. "Just don't let her cut you, you hear me?"

"Yeah."

"I mean it, Dean," Bobby insists. "She cuts you and that's—"

"Game over, I got it." He zips up his duffel and faces his brother, sleeping peacefully on the bed. It's really ingenious, if you think about it. The witch kills her victims and keeps their energy, while leaving the loved ones in the dark about what is going on. If it hadn't been for the violent corpses of the witch's last few victims, he and Sam would've never come to investigate this.

Sam would've never been hurt.

"I'll look after him." Bobby assures him quietly and Dean shoots him a grateful, small smile. Slowly, he steps to his brother's bedside and gently moves some of Sam's hair out of his eyes. It's an uncharacteristically gentle gesture, one that few ever saw.

"I'll be back, Sammy." His baby brother leans into Dean's touch and it gives Dean the strength to turn his back and walk out the door.

He will save Sam.

The moment he steps foot in her apartment, he hears her voice.

"Well, well," The witch materializes before him, still as drop dead gorgeous as she was the first time he saw her. Still, any feelings of lust were crushed the moment he found out that she was feeding off of Sam. "Didn't like my gift?" He points his gun at her, aimed perfectly at her heart.

You need to get her to undo her bond with Sam. If she dies, Sam will too. You have to get her to break the curse.

"Let my brother go." Every fiber of his being wants to kill this witch, to break her bones and snap her neck for the pain she inflicted on Sam, but he doesn't do so. Working with her is the only way to save his brother.

"And why would I do that?" Her luscious locks kiss her pale skin and her eyes light up with amusement.

"I'll kill you if you don't."

"You're bluffing!" She exclaims, her laughter filling the ensuing silence.

"Please." He's not above begging if that's what it requires. He would do anything to save Sam's life. Her eyes soften a bit.

"How do I know that you won't kill me the moment I free him?" Her expression is guarded, as if she's afraid to give anything away, but it's an opening and one that Dean intends to take.

"You don't." He answers honestly. It's probably not the best thing to say, but he heard somewhere that the truth could set you free and he sure hopes it will now. The witch eyes him carefully, as if she's searching him for some sort of answer. He keeps the gun trained on her, ready to take action at a moment's notice.

"I will release him," She begins carefully. "If you swear that you will never attempt to hunt me again."

"I promise." He says hastily. She chuckles dryly.

"You really think I'll take your word for it?" She waves her hand and what looks like to be a red string appears in her palm. "This is my bond to your brother. I want you to swear on it that you won't come after me."

"And if I don't?" He questions.

"I will keep feeding off of him, until he perishes." She replies calmly.

"And if I do?" Dean presses, forcing himself to remain in place because yes, the solution to his problem is right there but he can't risk grabbing it. Who knew what would happen to Sam?

"I will free your brother and return the energy I have been taking from him," Her eyes flash dangerously. "Should you come after me again; however, your brother will die immediately. Have I made myself clear?"

"Crystal." He replies and she nods.

"Give me your word." He hesitates, wonders if he's doing the right thing here, but Sam's running out of time and Dean doesn't have any other options.

"I swear."

She nods and then cuts the red piece of string. A blinding light engulfs the room and Dean forces himself to look away. When it finally dies down, the witch is nowhere to be found.

Sam is awake when he returns.

"Dean? Man, what happened—?" But he doesn't get to finish his sentence because Dean's hugging him so tight that he can barely breathe. It was too close and judging from Bobby's relieved expression, things had come down to the wire when Dean was gone.

"Glad to have you back, Sammy." He tells his brother, voice thick with emotion as he lets his brother go. Sam just nods his head.

"Someone want to tell me what happened?" Sam asks and the two other hunters shake their head.

"Tomorrow," Bobby answers and Dean shakes his head in agreement. "I'll just go get myself a room."

And with that, he's out the door.

That night, Sam wakes at two in the morning from a nightmare. He gasps and breaks the eerily silence of the motel room and for once, Dean is glad. He rises from his own bed, sits on his brother's and places a comforting hand on Sam's shoulder.

"It's gonna be okay, Sammy." He assures his little brother.

And maybe this won't chase away the nightmares like it used to, but at least Sam is here, alive and breathing. Tortured sleep is better than watching him drift away peacefully.

"Thanks Dean." Sam whispers, resting his head on Dean's shoulder, something he hasn't done in years.

And in record time, Sam is asleep next to him. Dean grins to himself.

Maybe Sam and sleep haven't been on the best terms, but Dean? He's always been able to help his brother rest.

He lets his own eyes fall close and the steady breathing of his little brother lulls him to sleep.

Author's Note: This turned out to be much longer than I anticipated and I honestly don't know where it came from. Still, I love it all the same. I actually like stories written in this style and I might write some more stories like this soon. Anyways, please let me know what you thought if you have a second! Thanks!