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When Sam regained his memories, it was every night that he lay awake and clung to Dean, sweat dampening his skin. He would dig his nails into the clothed shoulder of his big brother, sobbing his name and pleading for it to stop.
“You’re right here with me, Sam, there’s no one else here,” Dean says, trying to comfort his brother even with the pain in his chest seeing Sam like that. This is the fifth night in a row that Sam has started crying as Dean holds him, and he can only imagine what is going on in his little brother’s head.
Sam is shaking, whole body trembles that make Dean’s heart hurt. Dean has a hand in Sam’s hair and is petting him gently, cautiously as though petting a skittish, wild animal. As though Sam is going to rear his head up and bite Dean, or as though he is going to wither in Dean’s grasp if Dean touches him too firmly. In this state, both seemed probable.
“Dean,” Sam whimpers again, and Dean holds him tighter. “You don’t know what happened down there.” Dean is caught off guard by Sam speaking in sentences, talking like he’s gonna tell Dean about what happened in the Cage.
“I don’t,” Dean replies quietly, not wanting to prod Sam unless it was warranted. Sam looks up at Dean, his eyes glinting with pain so raw it forms a lump in Dean’s throat. He looks like he is going to speak, his lips parted, but all that comes out is another choked sob that brings Dean’s hand back to rubbing circles into his sweat-dampened back. “It’s okay, Sam.”
“‘S not,” Sam chokes out, his voice wavering as he put his head back up to Dean’s chest. “Can you,” Sam begins to ask but is interrupted by another sob, crying uncontrollably though quietly, “lay on your back?”
“Alright, Sammy,” Dean says softly. Before he can move, he has to pull Sam off of him and it almost feels cruel to get out of his little brother’s vice grip, though he knows he’ll soon be in it once more. Sam parts from him with a whimper and Dean lays on his back like Sam had asked him to. Sam breathes slowly before turning on the bed, clinging to Dean like a koala to a branch.
“Thank you,” Sam mumbles, his voice hoarse. Dean cards his fingers through Sam’s hair, soft where it wasn’t damp at the roots from sweat. Sam’s listening to his heartbeat and Dean knows it because their breathing becomes synced, and their hearts seem to beat together like this. With each pump of his heart, he gives Sam’s body fresh blood to course through its veins, to power him to breathe and speak and wrap his gangly limbs around Dean as he does.
“There you go, Sam,” Dean’s words are distant and he knows it, but it’s hard to put much feeling into his words when he’s numbed himself about half an hour ago now. It was what he had to do to care for Sam properly sometimes, too much feeling for his brother hindering his ability to make Sam feel better. Sam seems to take comfort in what he does nonetheless, and Dean doesn’t find this surprising; he can only imagine how Sam feels and he’d take anything he can get from that position, too.
“Dean,” Sam says suddenly, his eyes watery but determined when he cranes his neck up to look at Dean. It’s surprising he’s even managed to curl himself around Dean in the first place.
“What is it, Sam?” Dean’s hand stalls in Sam’s hair.
“Can I kiss you?” Sam asks, his voice giving out into a whisper. Dean’s heart sinks a little at his words and he wants to say no. He wants to because he knows Sam is vulnerable like this, or maybe he’s confused, or some other excuse Dean can tell himself. But tonight, he’s weak, weaker than he usually is, and he’s sure there’s Hell to pay for it, and yet without care, he nods his head.
“Yeah,” he answers like his nod wasn’t enough for Sam to lean forward and part his lips. He has to force his own eyes shut and presses his lips to Sam’s, who whimpers into their kiss. He keeps petting Sam’s hair as Sam kisses him, soft and chaste, and then his little brother pulls away.
“Something’s wrong with me, Dean,” he mutters against Dean’s lips, his eyes still closed.
“How’s that?” Dean’s got his eyes on Sam, dancing over his features as they have been since they’d stopped kissing.
“Impure,” Sam says vaguely, his forehead pressed against Dean’s. Dean looks at Sam’s lips, parted like he has more words, but he doesn’t speak again, so Dean takes the opportunity to kiss him again. He’s kissing him harder this time and Sam mirrors his passion, his hand tightening where it gripped Dean’s side. Sam is kissing him with all the fervor of a teenager who had never felt this warmth before, and Dean knows he’s doing the same.
“You’re not impure, or any of that bullshit,” Dean tells Sam when they part, feeling a little more like himself with his brother breathing life into him. “You’re good, Sam. So good. That much I can promise you.”
“Do you really think that?” Sam asks, his eyebrows knitting together with worry. “I sometimes think this is what I deserve.”
“I do, Sam,” Dean answers, holding Sam close and continuing to pet him when he puts his head over Dean’s heart again. “You don’t deserve this. Not one bit of it.”
“Then why,” Sam whispers, and Dean knows it’s a rhetorical question, one that they’ve both been asking either to themselves or aloud for all of their lives.
“I don’t know, Sam,” Dean whispers back, straining his head down to press a kiss to Sam’s head. He wished he could always guard Sam with his own body, or better yet, store him in his own flesh, keep him safe and warm. "But it’ll be alright. I’ll protect you, okay Sammy? Like I always do.”
“Yeah,” Sam agrees, his breathing slow and deliberate. Dean shushes him gently, to which Sam whimpers and clings tighter before quieting again, continuing his efforts to take deep breaths.
“It’s gonna be alright, Sam,” Dean comforts, and Sam didn’t reply, his breaths deep and slow. Dean figures it safe to assume his little brother was drifting off to sleep now, and he allows his hand to cease movement and he relaxes into the bed, taking a few breaths himself to relax fully. He looks down at Sam before closing his eyes and whispering to deaf ears, “I’ve got you”.