Sam wasn't sick of Dean, maybe irritated with the attitude, a little put off that apparently, his brother would be able to guess how he felt so much easier than normal, not to mention other things...

And it was his luck that even though he wanted to kind of escape thinking about Dean and thought sleep would be the easiest way... that his dreams would feature the jerk.

Not in the ways he was used to either. Ways that left him aching and hard despite the twist of shame that settled in whenever he forced himself awake... even if he knew it wasn't exactly his fault for the dreams.

By the time Dean finally decided to show--and he hated that he'd actually been worried somewhere in all the other crap, he just let out a troubled little groan and rolled to his stomach, covers tugged tight around him.

At least Dean had come back, that eased any worry he'd had on the matter.

And maybe he could ask Dean what the hell was up with him tonight... well, if he could meet his eyes without getting embarrassed over stupid, ridiculous dreams.