Dean carefully slipped his knife blade into the crevice between the top and bottom halves of the window, easily turning the latch. He climbed in quietly, closing and locking the window behind him, wedging the piece of board back into place to keep anyone else from forcing the window open.

He tiptoed into the living room, and then the kitchen, checking that the booby traps he had placed at the front and back doors were still in place.

He then slid his shoes off, walked down the hall, and pushed open the bedroom door. Sammy didn't stir, just continued to snore softly.

The kid was sprawled across the center of the bed again. Dean momentarily thought of sleeping in Dad's bed, knowing John wouldn't be home tonight, but if Sammy woke up alone, he would be frightened.

Dean stripped down to his t-shirt and boxers, before pulling back the covers and pushing Sam over to his own side of the double bed.

The child woke with a start, his hand scrambling for the knife on the nightstand.

"Shhhhh." Dean whispered. "It's just me, Sammy. You can't have the whole bed, dude."

Sammy obediently scooted over, waiting for Dean to climb in bed beside him, then shifted closer to Dean's back, as he did every night. Within minutes, the warm comfort of Sammy's slow steady breathing and the pleasant lingering buzz from the alcohol lulled Dean into a peaceful sleep.

Dean wasn't sure what he had been dreaming, but he was aware it changed. In the new dream he was with Teri/Keri/Sheri/WhateverTheHellHerNameWas from earlier this evening. Her delicate little hands moved hesitantly down his chest, gingerly touching him through his jeans. She had looked up at him wide eyed, afraid she was doing something wrong.

"You're doing fine." He assured the preacher's daughter, telling himself that if he wasn't the one to give her experience, someone else would.

Emboldened, her hand crept into his boxers (when had he lost his jeans?) and Dean shuddered at the skin to skin contact.

"Yes, baby, keep doing that."

She pulled his boxers down to his thighs, and he could feel her soft breath on his skin, making him impossibly harder. His big, calloused hand closed over her small, soft one, showing her how to swirl over the tip, gathering his pre-come to slick over the shaft and make her hand glide more smoothly.

"Yes," he breathed.

Then he felt her warm breath ghosting over him, sending delicious shivers through him a moment before she took him into her mouth.

He decided that he liked the instant replay much better than the first time around, as he wasn't having to coax or cajole every little bit of progress from her slowly. She was taking the initiative in his dream.

His hand moved down to tangle in her hair, and he knew instantly something was wrong. This hair was thick, soft, and wavy, not board straight and nearly crisp from too much styling product.

And the sound of surprise she made was way too familiar.

Dean's eyes flew open as he scrambled backwards on the bed in shock and horror.

"Sammy?"

Dean pulled his boxers back up and then pulled a pillow across his lap.

"What the hell were you doing?"

Sammy burst into tears. "I'm sorry Dean. Please don't be mad."

Dean took several deep breaths, forcing his breathing and pulse to slow from his father's training. He opened and closed his mouth twice before he found his voice. "I'm not mad Sammy."

"I'll make you feel good, like those girls do." Sammy pleaded. "I promise. I'll make you happy. I'll love you better than they do."

"Sammy, that's not what brothers do." Dean raked one hand over his face, the other still firmly holding the pillow over his lap. "Why would you do that? Did I say or do something when I was drinking to make you think I wanted you to do that?"

"You leave me here." Sam answered softly. "You go out and find girls and let them do that for you. One day you're going to find a girl that you love better than me and you won't come back."

Sammy's little face crumpled into fresh sobbing.

"Sammy, no!" Dean drew Sam into his lap, pressing his brother's face against his neck. "You're my brother. I'll always love you better than any girl. I won't ever leave you." He pulled Sammy back, holding the younger boy's cheeks in both hands, forcing him to meet Dean's eyes. "That stuff I do with girls, you'll understand it when you get older. But it's just a temporary thing. You're my brother forever, Sammy. Nothing will ever change that. And I won't ever leave you, especially not for some girl. When you're my age, you'll probably wish I would. But I won't."

Dean laid down on his side, cradling Sammy against his chest like they used to do when Sammy was little and had nightmares. "I'll always be here. I'll always take care of you, Sammy."

Sammy cried himself to sleep, soaking the front of Dean's t-shirt. Dean didn't complain. He just held Sammy and stroked his hair and whispered that everything was gonna be okay, like he had done all of their lives.

The next morning, they argued over the first shower and the last bowl of cereal, and life went on like the night before never happened.

It was never mentioned again.