Et Tu, Sam?

When Sam came back hours later, Dean was still asleep. But his cheeks were wet, he was still curled in a ball, mumbling and whimpering and his shirt was soaked in a cold sweat.

A wave of guilt washed over him as he looked at his tormented brother. He gently touched the back of his head, wincing. Dean was trembling.

"Sam…" Dean croaked, cringing and burying his face deeper into his pillow.

"It's okay, Dean," Sam assured, gently rubbing the back of his head. "It's okay. It's alright. Shh…" Dean sat up, gasping and sobbing in relief. He collapsed in Sam's arms, so worn, so scared, so tired.

"Sammy, Sammy…"

"Shh, it's okay. I'm here, I'm here, Dean," Dean looked at him, his eyes haunted and innocent.

"Sammy, don't leave me. Please, don't leave me again," he begged.

"I won't, Dean," Sam said, hugging his weary big brother. Dean buried his face in Sam's shirt, wanting desperately to get the images out of his head and stop shaking in fear.

"Promise?" He whimpered. Sam didn't answer. Dean started crying again. "Sammy?" He choked, his lips trembling. Sam remained silent, holding his broken brother.

The sink dripped on.


--Aw, suckish. Feedback, plz!--