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Sam is tired, exhausted, wiped even.
This hunt has been particularly hard and he's starting to fall apart, but they just got the monster and Baby is still out of sight right now, so he can't regress yet. And that's not even the worst; he can see —feel— how much his brother needs to switch too, which rarely ever happens at the same time.
It's far from shocking though, when Sam thinks about it; it's been a while since the last time they both felt that need and this past month, they lived a horrible hunt: the fucker has held Dean captive basically from the start, playing with him and doing who knows what to him, so Sam was left alone to find how to get his brother back and kill the monster. With everyone gone for years, he couldn't even get help or try to nap while someone else carried the torch, only sleeping when his body failed him and he passed out. The positive point in all that is that he learned a whole lot more than he would have in less time than he usually needs to.
Anyway, when he could finally free his brother, they had to wait for the next day to strike. Then, he was used as bait himself for Dean to take the last swing— he could never ask his brother to go back and get captured again, not when he saw how bad Dean was after his time there. He quickly learned why, since the barely three hours of his own were awful enough that he can't even imagine what his brother endured for weeks. He's not even talking about Dean's time in Hell; awful is still awful, Hell's knowledge or not.
“Just a little more, Sammy, just a little more…”
Dean's voice shakes him up to the present and Sam realizes that they're on the road now. Still too close to the cave, but putting distance between them fast enough that he sighs heavily, already slipping. He tries not to however, it's too early for that.
“Dee… Dean. I'm—”
“Yeah. It'll be fine, just— Hold on, okay?”
“Yeah,” he says, hands balled into fists on his knees, “yeah, okay.”
Dean's own hands are tight around the steering wheel, knuckles white from the tension, so Sam draws a little closer and, almost shy now, takes the pan of his brother's shirt with trembling fingers.
“Sammy. Sam. No, stay—”
“I'm still— I'm not— Dean, you—”
“I know.” Dean scrubs a hand over his face, visibly trying to hold it all together as well. “It's fine. Just let me focus on the road, yeah? I need—”
“I'm sorry. I don't know how— but I can cope, I'll—”
“No.” Dean shakes his head, tightens his hold on the steering wheel. “No, I got it. I'll be fine. Just— home. Safer.”
“Home. I can do that.”
Sam crumples his brother's shirt more to try and anchor himself, focusing on the road and the feeling of Dean's warmth against him.
*
They almost leave Baby in a rush, needing to physically feel safer still, and it's only when they step into the living room that Dean turns around, arms open and urgent smile on his face.
“Come here, baby boy,” he calls, and Sam is reduced to a little boy running into his big brother's hug. “God, it was awful. I'm so sorry, Sammy.”
“Dee… Can we—”
“Cuddle, yeah, sounds perfect. Let's go.”
Dean maneuvers them to the couch, laying Sam against the backrest and fitting his own long body onto the leftover place, Sam crowding him with an arm and leg thrown over his shoulders and waist. They sigh in unison, eyes closed and faces into necks, once they're settled.
“Dee…?” Sam whispers after a little while and only continues when he receives an affirmative murmur, “I— I could use a plushie…”
Usually, it meant that Sam wanted to cuddle his teddy bear, the one hidden into his closet for occasions like this, but Dean understands the obvious underlying meaning, thanks to a part of his adult-self that Sam put into his voice. Trust him to care about his big brother too much to refuse to fully indulge into his own recovery…
“Sammy, you're not in a good shape to—”
“Please? I'm big enough to take care of a plushie. I want a plushie…”
Dean really needs to regress too and Sam's plea is tugging at his ropes. They're safe here, he reasons, so it shouldn't be a bad idea…
“I'm cold,” is what he says in a small enough voice that made Sam coos at him.
“My big brother taught me how to care for others. Let me help?”
“Okay…”
Dean sighs contentedly and snuggles closer into Sam's neck, feeling his brother's hands traveling on his arms and back in a soothing move.
They both fall asleep like that, with the lull of their now peaceful breathing.
*
It's not even an hour later when they wake up. Sam is the one being cuddled now, head on Dean's chest, as they shifted during their welcomed nap.
He slowly looks up, seeing Dean's face smoothed out from any concern, and feels relief wash over him. He can't help but smile then.
His brother's breathing is calm but he knows that he's awake despite his still closed eyes. “Hi…” he says tentatively, not knowing where they both stand. Dean doesn't answer but his lips turn up tiredly before he blindly nuzzles his cheek. “Dinner on the couch and movie?”
“Hmm… Okay…”
Looks like Dean hasn't quite grown up back then, but Sam himself doesn't feel plainly adult yet either.
“Dee?”
“Sammy… Less talking, more cuddling.” He pouts and that alone shows how little Dean still is.
Sam struggles out of his brother's arms anyway, giggling as he does. “I need to take care of you, remember? My big brother showed me how to cook a simple dish once, I can try that again.”
That makes Dean open his eyes and Sam refrains from rolling his own.
“You're too young for that,” he frowns, trying to look stern even though he's still feeling too little for it to be effective, “let me help you.”
Sam whines, “You're my teddy bear, Dee…”
“Yeah but a magic one.” He pouts once again, adds, “I can do things on my own too. And I'm older than you. Come on, baby boy.”
Sam's groan is childish but he goes with him easily, always failing at hiding how much of a little octopus he is when he's regressed. Even being little himself, Dean would never change that anyway.
*
They're back on the couch, their plates on the low table and Dean fiddling with the remote, while Sam is drowning the both of them with thick fluffy blankets that they bought a few months ago for the next time one of them would need to feel extra safe; today for example.
“Everything okay?” Dean asks as he puts Sam's plate on his lap before taking his own and leaning heavily on his brother. Only when he nods does he fully relax again and start eating.
They don't really watch the movie, preferring to focus on the other's breathing pattern. The evening passes slowly, without any more words from either of them, and soon, the brothers fall asleep again, their empty plates forgotten at their feet.
The TV screen lights their entangled forms for a big portion of the night before Dean stirs awake again and he helps a sleepy Sam to go share the first bed they can find on the way to their bedrooms.