Dean let Sam hold onto his face and Dean made a frustrated noise as he spoke, wishing he could believe Sam. What if they didn't have all night? It was in the back of his mind, a stupid little fear, that if this thing inside Sam was killing him, it could kill him as soon as it wanted, and while he wouldn't voice it he was still determined to cling to his brother's life and make sure he didn't die.
"Just... go to sleep, Sam." He murmured, pulling out of Sam's grasp to lie down beside him, just resting one hand on Sam's stomach. He hated every bit of Sam being ill, because it meant he couldn't fix him, or save him, and it felt like he couldn't ever just watch out for Sammy like he wanted to.