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As soon as they get back home, Sam can feel his stomach turn, all he can hear is the screams and all he can see are the bodies and all he can smell is blood. He barely hears what Cas is saying about him, but he knows that it's about the stupid spell he was under because Dean's chuckling and looking at him in that particular 'big brother' way.
Finally, Cas retires to see Jack, and Sam smiles to himself and shakes his head at the angel's admission to Dean. Anything to seem like he's normal, to be normal.
Dean's laughing and Sam zooms in on the sound to drown out everything else, it's hearty and loud and all Dean. Personally he doesn't find the situation that amusing. It's not even that he didn't necessarily want Dean to know, he just knew that especially if it came from someone else, Sam would never hear the end of it.
When he picks his head back up to look at Dean, his brother's face is serious now, "Really happy, huh?" he reiterates incredulously. Like he can't believe that Sam could be happy with the 'apple pie' life, as if he hadn't tried it out twice now.
He won't say that though, he knows it and Dean knows it too or else he wouldn't have said anything. So he chuckles to himself instead, playing it off as if it was a joke, "I mean, I guess I was happy, but— It wasn't real, you know? Just—" he trails off. It doesn't need to be said, they've talked about it enough. At least Sam thinks so.
Dean thinks differently.
"Well, not a lot of happy goin' on around here." The comment hangs heavy in the air, dragging on them both before Sam speaks again.
"I hate this place right now. I hate it. Everywhere I look, I see them. I see Maggie. I guess that's why, uh— why I was so desperate to get out of here, why I kept running us ragged. But I got to stop that. I-I can't keep running. I— This is my home. This is our home," Sam can feel the tears welling up in his eyes, threatening to spill, but he stops himself, takes a breath, "Dean, I think I just need some time."
Brown hair falls in front of his eyes as Sam ducks his head again, he can feel the hunter-shaped hole in the universe pulling at him like a black hole, working with gravity to claim him as it's own. And without a hunt to chase, he can feel his body letting it take him.
Dean seems to feel it too, and pushes the oppressive force back with a clap of his hand against Sam's broad shoulder, "Okay." It drags him back to the bunker, back home, and he watches Dean walk away, presumably to his room, and Sam does the same.
He follows his nightly routine to a tee, shower, pajamas, brush teeth, bed, even with the weight pushing him down, he keeps going. Finally, the back of his head hits the pillow and the world falls away, and even if only for a moment, so does the weight on his chest.
Sleep isn't the escape Sam wants it to be though, and he can see the whole thing being played out again, the hunter's deaths, Maggie's death, Michael and his anger against Dean, Cas and himself. Sam jolts back up, breathing like he just ran a marathon, reminding himself that it was just a nightmare. It's over. Michael's dead.
He tosses and turns, listening to the incessant drone of the air conditioning, to the settling of the bunker, and finally gets comfortable enough to fall back asleep. Except it's the same nightmare playing out again, Maggie and Michael and Sam's hopelessness, leading him to sit back up less than an hour later, drenched in sweat.
This time, when he lays his head back down, sleep doesn't come. He doesn't allow it, scared of the nightmares that will come and kicking himself for acting like a child, for not asking Dean for more help like he should have. Sam had faced things so much scarier and traumatizing than a couple nightmares, so the fact that he couldn't move past this was ridiculous in his opinion.
But even he needed sleep, and he knew the perfect solution to his problem, even if it unfortunately meant admitting defeat. Sam knew if he crawled into Dean's bed like a little kid, he'd never hear the end of it; he knew that it would lead to other things that they'd both put on hold for a while. It's hard enough trying to have some fucked up semblance of a relationship with your blood brother, but with the ever present loom of yet another apocalypse, it was impossible.
After another hour of laying in bed contemplating his course of action, tossing and turning and staring at the ceiling, the weight heavy on his chest, Sam gave in; pulling himself out of bed, slid on the stupid pink slippers that Dean had gotten for him and quietly padding down the hall to his brother's room. The hallway was quiet tonight, no Castiel or Jack roaming around like usual.
The door to Dean's room was slightly ajar and Sam peered in to see his older brother asleep, facing away from him. Sam carefully stepped into the dark room, closing the door behind him before shuffling over to the bed. The biggest hurdle was being able to lay down without disturbing Dean, they were both big guys and the bunker's beds were barely doubles. Sam stood there, planning out how to attack it, looking more and more creepy by the moment.
Finally, he pulls the covers back enough so that he can sit down on the mattress, kicks off his slippers, and gets himself fully laying down under the comforter. He was careful not to touch Dean under the covers, and this worked for a little while, at least until Dean started moving around, rotating to lay on his other side. His feet brushed Sam's and their eyes met in the dark, green boring into hazel.
"Sammy?" Dean asked quietly, sleep coating his voice. He'd been caught. Despite this, as soon as they touched, the darkness he was shrouded in and the weight pushing down on him lifted, Dean's eyes, his voice, his touch, was the light leading him out of the darkness. Sam felt normal, or at least the closest thing to it, for the first time in a long time.
"Yeah it's just me. Didn't mean to wake you," Sam said sheepishly, face heating up, suddenly shy around his big brother. Dean just closed his eyes in reply, grabbing onto his shoulder, silently pulling Sam into his body. He let himself be led into Dean's strong arms, the ones that carried him as a baby, the ones that hold onto him tight now.
After a couple minutes, Sam's heart rate started to slow and even out. He went to speak, to thank Dean for everything he does, for not pushing him away, but Dean just shushed him and kissed the top of his head. At first it was just the one, but a moment passed and Dean kept kissing him; soft, pink lips pressing into his hair, on his forehead and cheeks, and finally his lips.
It had been months since Dean had fully kissed him and it took him aback. Sam's brother wasn't the type of guy to show his love like this. Usually it was rough: shoving him up against the wall with his knee pressed into Sam's crotch, grinding against him and holding onto him like Sam would disappear. It was never soft and caring and sweet like this.
Sam relished the kiss, basking in the glow of his big brother's love. This kind of love Sam knows he can't get anywhere else, and honestly, he didn't want it from anywhere, from anyone else. This was where he belongs, in the warm embrace of Dean's arms, in his bed, in their house.
Fortunately, it didn't take much longer for Sam to fall asleep once he was with Dean. It wasn't a fitful sleep either, no interruptions or disturbances, and when Sam woke up the following morning, he felt fully rested, something that hadn't happened in at least a couple years if he had to guess. If he was being fully honest, it was probably more.
Dean was still there, surrounding him, his nose tucked into Sam's hair. They were in nearly the exact same position they were when they fell asleep last night. It felt so right to be here like this, and Dean seemed to think so too, as when Sam tried to pull away from the older man, he grumbled something that Sam couldn't make out and held onto him tighter than before, not allowing for any movement whatsoever.
"De, c'mon, I'm hungry," the nickname slipped out, the 'e' exaggerated, long drawn out; the petulant, grossly needy teenager he used to be creeping back into him like a bad habit.
Dean chuckled lowly, still tired and bogged down with sleep, "When was the last time I got to lay with you in bed like this? Let me enjoy it, you little shit," there was no bite behind his words, they were only there to tease and taunt. Sam merely rolled his eyes at his big brother, not pressing any further.
He leaned back into Dean's chest instead, listening to the thrum of his pulse under his skin. There was a small smile creeping onto his face, warmth blooming through him and only one thought in his mind: he wouldn't trade this for the world. Nothing at this moments matters more than the two of them being here together, happy.