John Winchester thinks Sam is beautiful.

It's an errant thought that suddenly blooms in his mind and John is struck to the bone with a sudden clarity. He stands in a crappy motel with peeling walls and stained carpets, the colours all merging together to form a sickly grey and stares at his youngest. His kid, who amongst all the grey and washed out bleakness of the room is almost technicolour. His messy dark hair falls into eyes, messy because Sam can't help but run his hands through it whenever he's even the slightest bit emotional and his eyes are just so goddamn bright and full of fire. Sam's eyes have always fascinated John, they change colour quicker than the kid changes mood and John can go from staring into soft brown eyes to being pierced by a greyish green gaze. Sam's eyes are narrowed now with his brows furrowed and he glares defiantly at John, his eyes practically glowing and his cheeks flushed.

Sam and John are fighting because lately all they can do is fight. Raised voices, harsh words and rough touches, that's their relationship now. And John sees what he's doing, he still sees more than anyone thinks, he sees how much he's hurting Sam but he can't stop because Sam won't listen.

Dean has put himself between them again, worried punches will get thrown. He stands next to brother, his stance fierce and protective. John taught him that. Taught him to look after his little brother always. Except, Sam wasn't little anymore, he was taller than both John and Dean. He was just as much a man as they were, John knew that, John could see that. But John could also see his little boy, his baby, his fucking baby who wanted to leave.

When John had started to see, really see his boys and know what they were doing, what they're relationship had become, he had been terrified. Terrified because Sam had just been a boy, his head barely grazing John's shoulder, and Dean had been more than a boy, Dean was grown up and Sam wasn't. On the nights when John drank more than he should have he would worry, worry that Dean would hurt Sam. Dean could be too rough with him or grow bored or do something and it would break Sam. He never worried about Sam hurting Dean. Sam was just a kid with wide eyes and innocence. There were times, after too much whisky, that John would spill his fears to Bobby. His friend would sit and listen and tell him everything would be okay - "He won't hurt Sam. Not on our watch" - and in the morning they would both pretend the conversation never happened and when Sam walked in with a bruise forming on his pale neck they both turned away.

John had been prepared for Dean hurting Sam. And Dean knew the consequences of hurting his brother, John trusted his eldest with his kid and prayed that he was doing the right thing. John hadn't prepared for this, hadn't seen that Sam would want to leave. John stared at his youngest, his beautiful kid amidst the ugly room. Sam was beautiful and even surrounded by all the grey he shone brighter than ever. John was torn between pride for his boy and fear. He couldn't let Sam walk out that door, his boys were all he had and he couldn't lose them. John knew that if he lost Sam, he'd lose Dean too. He had lost Mary, he wasn't losing all he had left of her.

Mary, god, baby, what have I done?

John sees more than his boys think and he sees the pain in both of his son's eyes. Dean's eyes are glassy and void, the vibrant green dulled. Dean's hurting, hurting because of Sam. John wants to shake Sam, wants to grab him by his shoulders and scream "Look at what you're doing, look at your brother, you're killing him" but Sam was standing tall, his gaze unwavering. John looks at his boy and he sees now, really sees, he doesn't need to worry about losing Sam, he's already lost him.

Dean continues to stand protectively in front of his brother and John sees the ways Sam's hands shoot forward by an inch as if reaching out to Dean but he stops himself and clenches them tight. Sam is long gone now, maybe he had been lost for a long time. Dean is staring at John, begging him to do something, his eyes are watering and his hands are shaking. Goddamnit, Sam! Look at him, this is you, this is all you.

John should never have worried about Dean hurting Sam. He should have seen that Sam would leave, Sam was better than this life but he wasn't better than his brother. John had sworn to himself, to Mary, that if Dean ever hurt Sam then Dean would feel just as much pain and it was only fair for the same rule to apply to Sam.

John stares at Sam and his heart breaks. He can't let Sam go, can't let him get hurt. Dean is speaking to Sam now, speaking to him a way John has never actually witnessed, only ever heard through too thin walls in the dead of night. "Sammy, please, don't do this, baby, I need you, please". John thinks that if anyone can make Sam stay it's Dean. Sam's eyes drop to the floor and his shoulders slump, John tries to quell the hope bubbling in his chest. Stay, Sam. Stay for Dean. Sam takes a step back from his brother and lifts his head, his eyes are wet but determined and John actually feels his heart break when Sam shakes his head no. He's leaving. John's knows that the pain he feels is amplified by ten for Dean, can see it in his son's face when Dean lets out a pained sound. The tears he had kept back slip down his face, Dean is crying and Sam is still leaving.

John feels himself breaking, looks at his eldest and sees him falling apart, sees the light go out of his eyes. Sam's eyes are still glowing, his cheeks still flushed and his hair still messy and John thinks Sam is beautiful and a spark of colour in an otherwise grey world.

John Winchester thinks Sam is beautiful even as he tells him to leave and never come back.