It's Sam

Disclaimer: I own nothing!

A/N: So Reichenbach was heart-wrenching, as expected; but it was a seemingly-innocuous moment that absolutely killed me, and that was when Dean greeted his little brother with a calm "Hiya Sam" rather than the expected "Heya Sammy."

Judging by Sam's face, I wasn't the only one.

It started off as nothing more than a nickname—a four-year-old's version of his baby brother's name, probably started by their parents.

"Goodnight, Sammy."

Sam had grown up hearing it, honestly unaware for the longest time that his name was anything but his brother's moniker.

"Here you go, Sammy."

"Eat up, Sammy."

"Merry Christmas, Sammy!"

"Sammy?"

"Sammy!"

Sometime as a preteen, the little brother himself had added a retort that stuck almost as well as the nickname.

"Morning, Sammy."

"It's Sam. And good morning."

Dean would just give him that crooked grin, never correct himself, and call him Sammy again without hesitation.

"Come on, Sammy, let's go!"

"It's Sam."

As they got older, Sam made his own self sick of the response and replaced it with a bitch face or an eye roll.

"Sammy?"

-Audible sigh-

But at some point, Sam wasn't really sure when, he stopped minding. He often gave the expected riposte, be it statement ("It's Sam, Dean.") or sigh or eye roll, but it was more in the interest of completing the unspoken ritual than any sort of real contempt for the nickname.

Dean's 'Sammy' spoke volumes, things his brother wouldn't be caught dead actually saying aloud. It spoke of the protectiveness of an eldest brother; the concern of one who had raised him; affection that Dean was unsure how to show; companionship with one who'd been there through basically everything; of love.

"Rise and shine, Sammy!"

You matter to me.

"It's okay, Sammy."

I forgive you.

"I'm here, Sammy."

I'm not going to leave you.

"Heya, Sammy."

I came back for you.

"Sammy!"

I love you.

Sam wasn't sure when he started expecting to hear it, when it started mattering to him, when he figured out everything Dean was trying to say with those extra two letters at the end of his name; but now he stood in the empty bar watching his brother at the piano, holding his breath for it, for some sign that Dean was somehow still…Dean.

"Hiya, Sam."

Sam felt like all the oxygen had been sucked from the room. His brother's face, calm and expressionless; those green eyes that usually spoke so much more than his voice said outright, now completely impassive, as if he couldn't care less about…anything.

It was so very wrong, and not Dean at all.

And Sam tried so very hard not to let his face betray just how badly it broke his heart.

It's Sam.