It isn't his brother – he can see that – but it still hurts.

When Lucifer comes closer (he has to think of him as Lucifer – if he thinks of him as Sam – he is doomed) he can smell his brother's cologne, the same soap he has used since he was a child, the mint of his toothpaste.

He can see the corpse of his future in a heap in the corner of his vision but he feels nothing, nothing but a desperate need to hold his brother again, a desperate need to talk to Sam - and he wonders – yeah – he wonders if Sam is still in there somewhere, still holding on.

That smile – those dimples – so familiar and yet so different.

The eyes – deep and compassionate – now seem slanted and evil – the light in them no longer a twinkle but a spark of madness, of ego, the thing inside his brother so sure that he is right – so right.

He sees the white suit, the primped hair and he wants to laugh, hysteria gripping him. Sam would never – never dress like that. Sam chose hoodies and faded jeans, shirts that hid his body, boots that were shabby but serviceable. Sam didn't worry about his looks – he was too busy worrying about demon blood and his destiny and now look – all of Sam's worse nightmares have come true and Dean – fuck – even if he had the colt he still couldn't put a bullet in his brother's brain.

Instead he stares at Lucifer and tries to see his brother.

Sammy – following him with eager eyes and eager steps. Sammy, crying at the nightmares that plagued him. Sammy falling on his knees and clinging to his big brother for comfort.

Dean looks hard and deep, a big brother searching for the little brother he lost, the little brother he turned away yesterday, the little brother who finally bowed under the weight he was carrying and let someone else take the burden.

Dean has lost his brother; probably lost him a long time ago, but he is determined now to get him back.

No one takes what belongs to Dean.

And Lucifer is no exception.

End