A/N: A bit of h/c fluff--blame the muse if you must.

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Sam cried out. He sat bolt-right up in bed, his breath coming quickly—too quickly. Another nightmare, images from that single, most traumatic moment of his life flooding back over him, drowning him. He had tried to forget, to block Jess's death from his mind, but still it loomed over him, haunting him every time he closed his eyes.

"Sammy," Dean's voice, Dean's hand firmly gripping his shoulder. Sam tried to respond, to tell his brother he was alright, but the panic still gripped him like a vice, his rapid shallow breathing driving his towards hyperventilation. "Deep breaths, Sam—slow, deep breaths, c'mon," Dean spoke soothingly, tightening his hold on Sam's shoulder.

"Dean..." And suddenly, the tears started. Sam swiped at them with the back of his hand, but they just kept coming. So much for Sam's attempt to appear alright. "I'm sorry," he whispered huskily, "I didn't mean to wake you..."

"C'mere," Dean said. Sam's eyes bulged slightly as his big brother suddenly pulled him into an embrace. "It's okay," the older man continued, "I've gotcha." He held his younger sibling tightly, murmuring softly. After a moment, Sam returned the hug, trembling with heart-broken sobs in his brother's arms.

Sam woke up late the next morning. Dean had always been more of a morning person, but this was ridiculous. He sat up on the edge of the bed as the elder Winchester emerged from the bathroom.

Dean regarded him for a moment, his green eyes soft with concern. Then, he spoke. "Dude, you look like crap."

Sam scowled at him, which did nothing for the havoc wrought by the tears the night before. "Jerk," he declared.

"Bitch," Dean grinned. Yeah—he was sure of it, now. Somehow, Sam would be alright.

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End.