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"Sam…Sam, I don't know what to do."
He can tell how much it hurts Dean to say it, even through the haze of his own pain. Dean's voice breaks and Sam shifts on the sheets again, each movement an agony, to twine his fingers in Dean's sleeve.
Poisoned. Not fatally, probably. Probably. But badly enough to make every moment a struggle not to scream. "I'll…I'll be okay," Sam says, through numb but burning lips, even though it feels like a lie. "I just…need to sleep."
Dean nods and starts to draw away. Though it hurts him, Sam tightens his fingers and holds Dean there. "Dean—" It comes out so breathless, so strangled. Sam clears his throat and tries again. "Would you…? Would you play? Help me sleep?"
Dean looks startled but he nods and Sam lets him go. Dean goes and gets his guitar from the corner of the room, his fingers fiddling with the pegs and strings as he settles again on the bed's edge.
"Dean."
Dean looks a little glassy-eyed as he looks at Sam.
"It'll be okay. I'm okay."
Dean nods jerkily and starts to play. Sam closes his eyes.