Prologue:

The bit before the beginning

He was always there, that man, following Sam around for as long as he could remember. Sam could never forget the disheveled blond hair, the sly grin that made its way on his face the first time he spoke. "Call me Lucifer", those words never left Sam, just like Lucifer never left his side, even if Sam couldn't see him he was there. Even when Sam told Dean about him, all he received was a light chuckle and the same remark, 'he's not real Sammy, just your imagination.' Sam knew he knew Lucifer was real, just like the men with the black eyes and vicious smiles.

Sam warned his father, he warned Dean that they were coming, but they didn't listen. He should have made them listen, he should have done something. It's his fault that his mother is dead, the demons got her and it is his entire fault.

And that little bit after

The morning rays refracted through the cracks in the dirt caked windows, illuminating Dean's sulking figure. The light played against his slender figure, enhancing every curve, dip and definition of muscle that tugged against of the tight sleeve of his shirt. The coruscate glint in his emerald eyes lit up his face; it reminded Sam of a dew-drop sliding down a blade of grass slowly, glimmering in the sunlight. Dean's expression was guarded, obscuring that sadness that reflected off of his face as Sam angrily threw another jumper into his bag trying his hardest to block out his brothers plead.

"Sammy, I know you're pissed…" the only eligible repose Sam was able to coherently get out was an enraged snort. Pissed was an understatement, this was full blown anger. Sam was seeing red, he could feel it radiating off of him, how dare Dean come in and ask, no beg, for him to stay.

If you could see anger it would be swirling around Sam's figure like a hurricane, unpredictable and merciless, coming off of his tall thin figure in waves of heat.

"Yeah I'm pissed Dean! Why don't you go back to dad and your little secret club you're part of?" Sam snapped back, facing Dean now his hands were balled into tight fists.

"Dad and I don't have a secret club, Sam-" Dean was abruptly cut off by a sharp wave of Sam's hand. "Sam please…"

"No Dean! I'm sick of this! You and dad go off on 'work trips' without another word, or decent explanation of your absence. You just pack up and leave! I'm so sick of it!" Spinning around on his heels Sam grabbed his bag and a large wad of cash he had been secretly saving up, and stormed out of the room slamming the motel door behind him.

Dean blinked twice, stunned by Sam's sudden outburst. It'll be ok though, he'll be back. Sammy will come home, he has to… right? He couldn't help feel a pang of guilt but dad was right, there was no way Sammy was getting involved in this hunter business. Dean would do anything to keep his Sammy safe, even if that meant pushing him away more.

Looking wistfully at the door one more time, Dean's mind wandered to what his father would say. Nothing good, that's for sure. It was his fault anyway, it was his fault Sammy left, it was his fault that Dean might never get to see his Sammy again.

The countryside rolled by slowly as Sam pressed his forehead against the window, gazing wistfully as the scenery passed by in a blur of greens, yellows, blues and brown. It had been two days since his last fight with his dad, two days since he walked out, and two days since he last saw Dean. People say it hurts when you walk out on someone you love but no one ever said how much, not one person ever described the heart wrenching pain that came from leaving someone behind. Two days ago Sam left behind a piece of him that he didn't know existed, a void now replaced the little thing that was beating in his chest. Dean stole it years ago and now he was gone.

It was like cutting off the stem of a rose, its beauty radiant but stealing it from its home, taking away what it needs to survive… the rose would die, wilt away till there was nothing left but to fall apart in the wind. Dean was the water that kept the rose alive, beautiful and thriving. Dean was the fire that fuelled Sam, the fire that kept the ice in his heart at bay. Without Dean Sam was nothing but a cold empty shell, awaiting the day when the wind will come and he will cease to exist.

Dean was everything…

Stanford wasn't what Sam originally planned but at the time anywhere was better than home, not that he really had one. The impala was the only thing Sam had that could even resemble a home, its familiarity was always reassuring but that was all over now. It was his past, now all Sam wanted to look forward to, was his future. A Dean-less future, but that's ok because it is the past, right?

Sam glanced through the corner of his eyes and as usual that familiar blond hair and smirk was following him around. It had been a while since his last appearance but it wasn't missed, but there he sat alone at the back, hidden in the shadows. Ignoring his sudden appearance Sam focused on the front of the bus, trying to push the image of the man, the self-proclaimed Lucifer, out of his mind.

"Heya Sammy" Sam grit his teeth, only Dean ever called him that, not some insufferably annoying man that looked like he crawled out of a rubbish tip.

Sam knew ignoring him was a terrible idea but it's not like he had a choice, but that's the thing with annoying men called Lucifer, they stick around till at least one of them is insane. Just a few more days, just a few more days and he'll be gone again.

At that thought Sam felt something hit the back of his head, preceded by something wet. Just a few more days, you can do it. C'mon Sam, pull yourself together,the voice in the back of his head pressed stop pitting yourself, it's not like anyone cares. This is gonna be a long trip

"Hey Sammy, talk to me. I'm bored" Lucifer's drawl sent shivers up Sam's back, why wasn't anyone looking or at least helping him. Why was he so invisible to anyone? Yep, this will defiantly be a very long road trip, but at least his future awaits. Pulling out a pen and paper Sam begins to write. Dear Dean…