Flicker out in the candlelight

"Come on, Sam."

Silence, that's further accentuated by the lack of following footsteps.

"Sam?"

An exasperated sigh that Dean would recognize in his sleep.

Yes, Dean?

"I said come on."

Silence again.

"Come on man, we've got to check out, and get on the road."

There has to be a point where the silence stops existing, but that moment isn't now, no matter how much Dean wishes it is.

"Sam."

Dean.

"Don't act smart with me Sam. You're the one that found this hunt. Just get your ass over to the Impala already."

And Dean's considering maybe just strangling whoever invented silence.

"Sam?"

I can't.

"You can't what?"

I can't 'get my ass over to the Impala'.

"Why not?"

Sam raises an eyebrow at Dean and looks down pointedly at the thick salt line that's almost broken. Dean swears under his breath, but, of course, Sam hears him. Sam can hear everything now.

Dean…

"Shit Sam, sorry. I thought I broke it."

It's fine, Dean, just break it now.

"Damnit Sam, I should be used to this by now. I should- I just-"

Dean, calm down. It's fine. Just let me out.

Dean flinches at Sam's not-voice. It's too… soft. It's smooth and even and perfect and so cold. It's not Sammy's voice.

Sam's jaw clenches as Dean remains frozen for a second too long, and it's the tensing of Sam's shoulders that jerks Dean back into motion. He nudges the salt line with his toe until it's completely broken, and turns a hopeful gaze back on his brother.

Sam rolls his eyes.

Devil's trap too, moron.

Dean flushes a bright red, before reaching up with his knife and scratching out the sigils carved into the doorframe.

Sam's smiling.

It's not Sammy's smile. It's not open, and soft and full of hope and joy and laughter.

This is another smile. A newer one. One that doesn't reach his eyes. One that is full of hollowness and apathy.

It's a smile that rips Dean apart.

And Sam knows it.

He's smiling, and Dean's breaking, and somehow the world's not ending.

Sam takes a step over the broken salt line, past the scratched out devil's trap, and he winces as they tug at him the slightest bit. Dean takes a step back.

Sam smiles even wider, his teeth glinting in the sunlight.

Dean's eyes widen the slightest bit.

Sam flexes his wrist, and Dean's lifted off his feet and slammed into the wall of the motel. Dean hisses as the bruises on his back hit the concrete. Sam's brow furrows at the sound, and his fingers twitch again. Dean struggles to keep his face emotionless even as blood drips from the invisible blade slicing through his arms. Sam hates it when Dean shows fear or pain.

Sam's pressed up against Dean, his hands tight on Dean's shoulders. His thoughts are loud in Dean's head, the words drip with anger. His eyes are pitch black.

I try, Dean. I really do try. I try to be 'Sammy', to be that brother that you want. I don't kill anybody, I sleep and eat and I put up the whole act. I try.

"I know you do, Sam. I know you do, and I-"

Sam's eyes are a sickly yellow.

But that's not enough for you, is it? You want Sammy. You want that shell of the person I am now. You want to go back. Back to when I was just your little brother, the person you could boss around and never have to hear a single complaint from.

"No, Sam. I don't-"

Sam's eyes are pale white.

Don't lieto me.

"I'm not Sam, I swear I'm not."

Sam's eyes are blood red.

Sammy.

"W- What?"

Sam's eyes are flaring with light.

Call me Sammy.

"I…"

Back to black.

Say it, Dean. Call me Sammy.

"Sam, please."

Yellow again.

Say it.

White obscures his irises.

And Sam's hands are like fire on Dean's shoulders, and he can barely hold in the scream that's begging to be released.

Sam's eyes are fiery rubies.

Dean won't give Sam the satisfaction.

Sam's eyes are pure light.

Dean, say it. Say that I'm your Sammy. Now.

Dean can't look Sam in the eye, but Sam's pulling with his mojo, and it's too strong.

Sam's eyes are hazel.

The moment Dean sees his brother's pleading gaze, no trace of the anger and contempt that's dripping in Sam's screaming thoughts, his resolve breaks.

"You're Sam…my. You're… Sammy. You're Sammy. You're my Sammy."

And, finally, Dean's released. He slumps down onto the ground, and then there's Sam's hand being held out in front of him, and a deep dimpled smile that reaches Sam's eyes. Hazel eyes. Puppy-dog hazel eyes. Sammy's hazel eyes.

Come on Dean. Let's go. We've got a poltergeist to kill.

And for one spilt second, Dean's got his brother back.

Sam pulls Dean to his feet, and brushes his fingertips over the lacerations on Dean's arms, and there's nothing left there but scars. He picks up the duffel bags that Dean had dropped, and walks over to the Impala.

Sam's eyes are hazel when he slides into the passenger seat, and they're hazel when Dean pulls out of the parking lot. They're hazel when Dean belts out a terrible rendition of 'Smoke on the Water', and they're hazel when Sam gives Dean his signature bitchface.

Sam's eyes are hazel when he projects a last thought into Dean's head.

Dean?

"Yeah, Sammy?"

Don't ever forget about the salt again.

And Sam's eyes are Black.

Yellow.

White.

Red.

Light.

Hazel.