The House that Sam Built

[Timestamp] Nights Like This We Cannot Sleep

Sometimes Dean woke suddenly in the middle of the night, grasping the bed covers and looking wildly around the room. His teeth would be bared in a snarl and his entire body would be tense, flight or fight mode (fight more than flight).

Sam knew this because sometimes Dean would slide into his bed in the middle of the night. Sometimes he would lie at the edge of the bed, not touching Sam, eyes on the ceiling and arms pillowing his head. Sometimes he would push up close to Sam and throw an arm around his waist or rest his head against Sam's shoulder.

Sam would shoot him a sleepy smile, or even pretend to be asleep (though they both knew he wasn't), but he never protested, never tried to reclaim his space. He was just fine with Dean lying near him or even holding onto him, because he remembered the nightmares he had when Dean was gone for a year. He remembered the aching loneliness and sometimes the fear, and the overwhelming need to be close to his brother.

Sam had lost his brother, but Dean and Cas had been trapped in Purgatory. He imagined Dean's nightmares were worse than his had been.

When Dean woke, snarling silently and fists clenched, eyes searching the room for threats, Sam would speak his name softly or reach out and lightly touch his arm or his back. Dean would tense even more for a second, startled, before realizing it was his little brother and relaxing a bit. Eventually he would lie back on the bed again, and Sam would scoot closer, trying to comfort with his presence.

Every now and again Dean would reach out, almost hesitant, and brush a fingertip against the soulmark on Sam's shoulder, the one that matched his own. Reassuring himself, perhaps, that the other was still present, the soulmark still there. Sam knew that feeling; his had faded when Dean was in Purgatory, and it had been heartbreaking. A sign that piece of him was missing, that his brother was gone. He allowed Dean's touch, smiling a little when he saw the tension ease out of the other a bit.

Sometimes they would be lying in the bed barely big enough for both of them, and a shadow would appear in the doorway. Quiet like the dark around him, rarely saying anything. Sam wasn't certain if Castiel was checking to make certain they were alright, or still present, or if he was searching for comfort himself. Regardless, on those nights he appeared, Sam - or sometimes even Dean - would raise a hand and motion to him. The angel would cross the room as they scooted in the bed to create a space for him. He hesitated for a second, every time, as if fearing he was intruding, or maybe wondering if the bed was big enough for the three of them. It was a snug fit, but when he slipped beneath the blanket (and he always did), it seemed to Sam like it was just right.

The first couple of nights it happened, Castiel would stare up at the ceiling with his hands clasped on his stomach. One night, Dean had crawled in next to the wall - unusual for him, he usually slept on the outside of the bed. When Castiel joined them a bit later, Sam had slipped an arm around the angel's waist and tugged him close. Even in the dark the startled blue eyes were obvious.

"S'okay to need this, Cas," Sam had murmured sleepily as his brother threw an arm over his waist and cuddled close behind him. The angel had blinked at him before noticeably relaxing and scooting a bit closer.

When he joined them now, Sam would pull him close, or Dean would, offering comfort and quiet and, simply put, love. The angel had mentioned several times over the years that he didn't require sleep, but on those nights he would close his eyes and appear to do just that.

Then there were the nights Sam woke with his own nightmares. Monsters or demons or losing his brother again. He would wake with a startled cry, or Dean's name sounding from his lips, and his brother would rush into the room. Upon finding there was no physical threat, Dean would cross to the bed and pull him into a hug, murmuring "It's okay Sammy, it's okay." He hadn't been quite so huggy before Purgatory, and rarely would he have crawled into Sam's bed after one of them had a bad dream, but Sam wasn't complaining about the far-more-frequent hugs and offers of comfort he received now. Dean would hold him until he was able to relax and let the nightmare go, and sometimes would crawl into the bed next to him with a murmur of "Don't worry, Sammy. I got you."

He supposed they were all pretty messed up in their ways, but they had each other, and that was enough to keep loosen the hold the nightmares once held.