A/N: Okay, so I know I've been gone for a while. I just don't have time to write with what's been going on lately. Or should I say I haven't even had the time or energy to turn on the computer, what with starting the process of getting our house, my husband's cancer surgery and recovery and paying those bills, taking a shift at work that gives me full time employment, but starts at 4 a.m. And…well…just life in general.

Anyway, this little bit is just plot less, pointless maybe. But again, that's what a person needs sometimes. Just to do…something, throw something out there and get back into it. Musically inspired AGAIN, you know me. This time I have to thank Linkin Park and their newest album "A Thousand Suns." Finally caught some early morning T.V. and fell in love with The Catalyst. That, surprisingly isn't the one that inspired this in the middle of a drive to work. Give the album a listen if you haven't already and see if you can figure it out. This is set after Dean's return from hell, that all too brief time where the boys were brothers again.

Revelations in the White Noise

His world went white. Stark, blinding, institutional white. Finally fuzzy edges, still white, came into focus and he found himself sitting in an empty room. White walls, white floor. Ceilings. Even the chair he was in. A hard backed, uncomfortable, white painted chair. His eyes cleared a little more and he found himself looking at a white screen on the wall, nearly covering the entire surface, edged in a white frame that was nearly invisible, just looking like four intersecting straight edges. The screen came to life, buzzing loud and echoing in the room, making him cover his ears to block out the unbearable white noise. The screen darkened, images appearing as if the white fog was lifting and they were becoming clearer, as the noise faded to a mute background hum.

Sam saw himself, hand outstretched, as his fingers slowly clenched, pulling black smoke from the person in front of him and forcing it to the ground, watching as it glowed red hot and caught fire, disappearing into the cracks as it was forced back to hell. He saw his brother's fist flying his way, so fast it was blurred. He jumped as if the screen's image was three dimensional, waiting for the impact against his jaw. It didn't come, instead the images on the screen shifted, changed to something else, another moment in life.

He saw himself again, seemingly from so long ago, talking with Max Miller. He couldn't hear the words but remembered the conversation like it was yesterday. Their mothers meeting the same fate, themselves connected to something sinister. He saw himself kick his way through the door, Max holding a gun on his brother, just in time for him to turn it on himself.

The image shifted again and yet again Sam jumped in the chair when he was met with another swinging fist, this time Gordon Walker. "You're a monster" he said. Sam could read his lips clearly as a face filled with crazed killer instinct filled the white screen. He saw time progress in the images, seeing the same face. Twisted with rage, self loathing and a kind of demented hope. He saw Gordon saying that he could do this last good thing before he killed himself. Sam remembered the man saying his last good deed would be killing Sam himself. Sam saw himself twist the wire around vamped out Gordon's neck, pulling until his hands bled, pulling until head separated from body with a spray of tainted blood.

The screen melted to white again, before another image appeared. A sickeningly familiar face framed with dark hair. Eyes that spoke of something not understood-or ignored- at the tame, but which he now clearly saw as manipulation shining in the brown depths that so easily bled black. He watched himself respond as she climbed on his lap, desperation to feel something- to not be alone- driving him into her twisted embrace. He saw himself cut her, take that first sip that led him down a dark road, before the screen turned white once more, the buzzing kicking up a notch and hurting his ears. He flinched in the hard chair and another image appeared.

This time they were on the shoulder of the road. He saw it as if he were looking through his own eyes and another's at the same time. Seeing himself arguing with his brother. He remembered that. Regretted that. He didn't have to hear the words to know what was said. It sat wrong in the pit of his stomach. Hurt.

"You wanna know why I've been lying to you, Dean? Because of crap like this."

"Like what?"

"The way you talk to me, the way you look at me. Like I'm a freak! Like I don't know the difference between right and wrong."

"Do you know the difference, Sam? Because you been kinda strollin' a dark road lately!"

Sam watched the image change again. He remembered the feeling that washed over him as he watched the screen. He remembered the twisted power. Feeding him, but eating at him at the same time. She was tied down, imprisoned by a Devil's trap. Her scrubs smeared with dirt. Face pale and tear streaked, her dark hair wild, eyes wilder. Sam flicked a hand casually, heedless of the damage to the person, the malevolence boiling in his blood wanting to make the demon within squirm and scream.

Sam felt the woman's reaction. Sam felt her blood, warm and powerful, disgusting. Churning in his stomach and burning through him.

The static crackled and the screen snapped to white so fast Sam jumped. Then another image appeared just as fast. Sam saw himself, face twisted with a rage that shocked him, that he didn't believe he could show. The images rotated and he saw his hands clenched tight just beneath Dean's jaw line. He saw his brother's face, a mottled color, covered in blood and forming bruises, contorted in pain, mouth open as he gasped for breath that Sam so violently denied him. Sam's hands clenched to fists on the sharp cornered arms of the white chair. The static dissolved into a click that ricocheted through his eardrums like someone fired a gun next to him. The screen blanched in the same second and Sam blinked, barely able to find the edges of the thing that seemed to torment him with his own failures, his own hideous memories. Silence reigned save for Sam's breath, harsh in the stillness. He moved briefly, the rustle of his clothing against the wood at his back sounding like sandpaper over stone. He stilled, his breathing ratcheted up a notch when he felt pressure from an invisible source pressing into his upper arms like they were being harshly gripped by nonexistent hands. Tension filled the room as he waited for something.

Sound filled the room again. The same buzz as before, only different. Slightly faraway sounding, muted. It carried a tonal resonance this time. Like muffled, electronic sounding words. A deep voice run through a synthesizer. The pressure on his arms fluctuated, like fingers gripping and releasing. The screen popped and images appeared.

He saw his own smiling face, a seven year old countenance smiling at him, sharing a deep secret of the utmost importance. The view rotated again and he watched his young self help his brother lift the carpet on the floor of their home, revealing the contoured floor of the car. Twin knives dug into the soundproofing material carving initials in blocky, childlike scrawls. He felt his childlike pride at having accomplished something so special with his big brother. He saw himself shove the little green army man deep into the back seat ashtray, anchoring him so that he guarded their backs. Protected them from all that their dad fought in the bedtime stories Dean told him.

The screen faded to muted outlines, the colors not fading completely this time. They seemed to spread, covering more than the screen, moving to the wall beyond the lines, like a pale color wash in beiges and blues, hints of shadowy green. A very familiar color even faded. The screen darkened again, showing a snapped off pine limb, tucked into an ice bucket, hung with pine tree air fresheners and scraps of paper and an old set of half burned out miniature lights salvaged from the neighbors garbage can. He remembered Dean waking him up, happy sounding. Now he realized it was a forced sound, but made genuine when Sam handed him the small newspaper wrapped bundle, and Dean opened the amulet.

The buzzing sounded again, clearer this time, definitely a voice. He couldn't make out the words, but the two syllable sound stirred something inside him. Familiarity and love. He looked at the screen again as colors appeared to darken, blues and greens and pinks and shades of gray with a lively shine streaking over the wall, all blending to look like a sunrise. Far from the stark white that he spent so long watching that these hints of pastel now seemed blinding.

He saw them cruising down the road, Dean's mouth working, hands drumming on the steering wheel. Sam saw himself joining in, head tipping back as he belted out the lyrics, smile tipping his lips and bringing forth an accent that he picked up somewhere, a combination of his entire life in different surroundings, different states every week. He remembered the words, the feeling. The freedom that didn't last.

Another image appeared, this time it was him, shocked as Ruby opened the door to his brother, the brother he thought he'd lost. Shock registered at the sight, and Sam remembered how that felt, to see what he thought could be a ghost, a shifter, no reason to trust him until Bobby said it was okay. Then he remembered throwing his arms around his brother, one of the rare hugs that he can remember being exchanged with the same power that he delivered.

"Sam-my…" The buzzing startled Sam from his feelings as the screen blended in with the wall, now all vibrant blues, greens, reds and oranges. It clarified into his brother's voice, worried, calling to him. Sam felt the pressure on his arms again, now reassuring, pleading. Familiar. "C'mon Sammy, wake up. You been out too long little brother." Sam felt something work its way through him. Awareness. He felt the chair seem to soften, moving behind him in a soothing rhythm. A slight repetitive vibration, a thump, that Sam felt in his shoulder blade. The other movement reminded him oddly of a bellows. In and out. Then he felt the air slide by his ear, the rhythm of a voice again. "That's it Sammy. Wake up." The hands squeezed again as Sam's eyes opened, blue denim, green canvas, brown leather and tan skin filling his vision.

"Mnn…Dean?"

"Yep. Easy, y'hit your head pretty hard. Been out a while." Sam shifted against Dean and his brother slid out from behind him, moving around to lean him back against the wall. Hands squeezed his arms again.

"M'alright."

"Sure ya are." Dean moved to a crouch. "C'mon, let's get ya up and get the hell outta here."

Sam groaned as Dean hefted him to his feet, dizziness hitting and fading as quickly as Dean threw a supporting arm around his shoulders. They walked out of the alley, the colors of sunrise beautiful to Sam as they moved out of the shadows of the buildings. The impala waited for them and Dean eased him into the seat, shutting the door before he circled the front of the car. Sam turned and looked at the floor in the back seat, seeing again those blocky letters he knew were still concealed beneath the carpet. Dean himself had straightened and welded that portion of the floor pan back in after the accident.

Sam smiled, eyes still on the carpet. His brother looked at him. "What?"

"Nothin', man. Weird dream is all." Sam leaned against the seat back and closed his eyes. Images flickered over his mind's eye of swinging fists, shared smiles, musical beats and white screens. Sam's eyes opened and he lifted his head, the slight smile fading as he looked out into the new day, a blurred reflection of his face in the glass reminding him of that first burst of color. That pale sheen against the starkness that reminded him something else existed.

A/N: Thanks for reading.