“Shhh Sammy, here,” Dean says in a whisper, like Dad’s in the next bed, like Sam is twelve and shaking from a bad dream and shouldn’t still need this, like it’s their shameful secret. It’s been too many years to count, but Sam’s mouth is a pink bow that parts just the same, and Dean rests the pad of his thumb there against Sam’s lower lip, waiting.
Wow. This is so tender and full of emotion. I love how Dean's face is so full of concern, and Sam's is on the verge of looking as panicked as one can while sleeping. I love it.