There’s a sharp gasp that cuts through blood. Taloned hands and bitter words echo through Sam’s skull. He chokes. Sobs. Sat upright, each shadow is another dark grin, twisted grace. Sam holds up his hands, looks at his knuckles. He tries to concentrate. They won’t stop shaking.
"It’s. I’m fine. Just. Go back to sleep."
The motel is too hot. Blankets cling to Sam’s skin, the mix of sweat and fear enough to make him worry over saltlines, glad to hear Dean’s voice, know that he’s alive.
"Yeah, well, that’s bullshit."
"What? No. Really. I’m fine."
"And I’m a freakin’ werewolf. C’mon."
"I really don’t wanna have to go over there and drag you, man."
Unsure, Sam climbs out, his legs unsteady. He sits on the edge of Dean’s mattress, frowns when he watches Dean arch away. It’s another nightmare, Dean will leave him, Dean won’t touch him—
The covers are pulled back and a hand grabs his arm.
"Sam, dude. You know how a bed works, law-boy."
He lies down. Dean wraps him up and his hand finds Sam’s shoulder, tugs at it until he moves. Tense, his cheek ends pressed to Dean’s chest, and that hand finds his hair, teases fingers through the strands.
"Mom’d do this for you."
Sam looks up. He finds a smile across Dean’s face, small and sad.
"Dean, you don’t have to—"
"Shut up," he says. "You’d cry all the freakin’ time. Hated bein’ left alone, you know that?"
"Yeah. You’d be stuck right on her hip whenever she had to do somethin’. Only one other time that’d ever get you calmed down."
"Dad couldn’t do it. So Mom showed me. And, I dunno, man. Damnedest thing. You’d never cry when you were right here."
Sam’s laugh is soft. “Must’ve realised I was safe with you.”
"Yeah, Sammy. Always will be."
asfsjhdashgdshdgs this is so sweet and lovely and fluffy it might make me cry if I re-read it! <3