Today was a good day.

On days like these, Sam liked to think he was getting better. The food tasted better, there would be no visitors today and he hadn't had any episodes in a while. The voice in his head had been quiet. In fact, it hadn't spoken or bullied him at all since the last sunrise.

But he wasn't getting better. There probably was no 'getting better' in this type of situation. He needed to learn how to deal with it, on his own, so that maybe one day he could function in society again.

The devil on his shoulder was quiet. It usually meant he was up to something big, something Sam could not ignore. This devil probably needed time to set his plan for today into motion, so Sam could at least try to get some sleep now.

When he woke up again, the sun had already set. Refreshed after some of the best sleep he's had in a while, he turned on the tv. Maybe the news would encourage his devil to start his plan sooner, but Sam wanted to take that chance. He was going to enjoy one of the only forms of entertainment he had, even though it sometimes worked him up so much he had to turn the tv off again.

The current news item, which concerned angel on angel murders, was interrupted by breaking news. A reporter was shooting live footage and informed the audience of what was going on. the news lady had told the audience the angels found one of the resistance's strongholds and that it was under attack. The reporter was risking his life, then, to show this footage. It was a dark area and not very well-lit, but Sam still recognized the immediate area. He'd been there long enough to see it.

"Oh, dear. They found the bunker."

Not now… Sam turned his head and there he stood – the personification of all of his problems, the devil on his shoulder. Except this devil was life-size and a real pain in the ass. The worst part was that Sam couldn't just make the guy disappear.

"Not now?" the devil asked. He sat down on Sam's bed and made himself comfortable. "I think this is a perfect time. I mean, look at that." He pointed at the tv. According to the reporter, there had to be more than a hundred casualties, though hard numbers had not yet been provided. "They found the one place they shouldn't find. Do you think your brother could be one of those casualties? It is possible."

Sam refused to believe it. It would take more than that to kill Dean. Besides, those were provisory numbers – there may currently be ten, or twenty. Anything could still happen.

"You know, I wonder what would've happened if you were there?"

Stop it. Sam didn't want to imagine it. He knew what he was capable of – he never wanted to be in that kind of position again.

"You know I'm right," the devil continued. "If you were there, you could've easily killed everyone."

Everyone. His devil did not specify that he could've killed the intruders, the enemy. If Sam was set loose, he could have wiped everyone, friend and foe, off the face of the earth. And his mind wandered back to the place where it began.

No. Not now! Any other time was better than now.

But his mind insisted, with a little pushing from the devil. It had been so long since he returned there mentally. Everything was stressful now, he was feeling a lot of feelings, and he could no longer turn his back on this day.

Sam led a small expedition, consisting of himself, Cole Trenton, and Jo and Ellen Harvelle, to what the resistance believed to be a small angel depository that was no longer in use. The depository was located on the outskirts of the city – just far enough so the people wouldn't come too close and close enough for the angels to still control its surroundings. On the outside, it was run-down, has looked like it would collapse for the past ten years, and it is said there's a horrible stench. Yet that was where Sam and his team were going.

It was only a recon mission – go to the building, explore it, don't touch anything, and come back and report on anything of notice. It would only take a day, maximum two days, to complete these relatively simple tasks. They were qualified enough to go and didn't have too many other current responsibilities; if something did come up, Dean would take care of it.

Since the run-down house was not connected to the electricity grids, there was no warmth and no light. No way of seeing any possible boobytraps or angels that lingered around. Still, through the natural light, they noticed the inside was well taken care of. It was immaculate, and not a bigger difference with the outside shell could exist. Despite this pristine state, there was nothing of value, monetary or else. They found old tech, old designs for the angel blades, and nothing new. After a quick look around, they determined nothing could help the resistance in any way, so they decided to go back to the bunker.

Cole accidentally broke an old vase-like box. If it was a box; Sam never saw it when it was whole, but the sound reminded him of a breaking vase. The four turned to the shards as it shattered and saw a shockwave being released from its center. It knocked them off their feet and threw them to the ground. Sam got up first, and black smoke rising from the shards passed through him.

He still could not understand what exactly had happened, or what the purpose of the case was, or how all of this even was possible. He just knew that vase was his Pandora's box. A strange force, a warm feeling took over his body. Sam lost control; Cole and Ellen stood up, he killed them. He strangled Ellen. He smote Cole – the first sign that he was no longer human. Jo surprised him, but he got her, too. Her worst nightmares danced in the forefront of her mind and knocked her out. Sam would have killed her, too, if he hadn't been able to regain control.

He stayed at the house, remained in shock for at least half an hour. He stared at his hands and the result of his actions. A shadow was just out of sight, ever-present, a shadow he didn't want to pay attention, too.

Dean called. There had come no update, he was worried. It snapped Sam out of the daze and he told Dean what happened. To keep Dean and Bobby at the bunker in case of an emergency, Sam went home. He carried the bodies to the truck they'd taken; Jo lay on the backseat. Sam drove to the bunker, with the shadow on the seat next to him.

Nobody but Dean and Bobby knew what happened; there were rumors, but the truth remained hidden. Bobby worried about the powers Sam had displayed – Cole's burned-out eyes confirmed as much – and Dean showed only support, though he too worried. The decision to go to the hospital came from Sam, not even a month later.

The downwards spiral came gradually. It started with normalizing the shadow's presence. It continued with strange visions. Sam brushed it off as his conscience being hard on him and his paranoia being permanently turned up to eleven. At that time, Sam believed an angel had been there and did his evil deeds. The angel had altered his memory, he believed. But more strange things happened around him and Sam's paranoia shone through the cracks. Dean became increasingly concerned as Sam slept less and less, as he was slowly losing his mind and normalized his situation. As if it had never been different.

Leaving was better for everyone – he nearly killed someone he believed to be an angel (they weren't) with his newfound abilities. Sam left the resistance and Dean told the members Sam had quit for the sake of his sanity. Since the mission, he dared not to call himself sane and neither would the people he used to work with.

His mind could not be trusted. Whatever truly happened that night, the result now glared at him and grinned widely at the news the resistance was done for.

"You've got to realize, Sammy," he said, "they really could have used your help."

Ignoring him as Sam's go-to method. It usually worked. Unfortunately, when he was in this kind of turmoil, it was harder to ignore his devil;

"You know, you could still help them," he continued. "Your brother's in there. He could still be alive. Or not. But can you live with yourself knowing you had the power to help and chose not to do anything?"

One of the worst parts of this devil being around was that he usually spoke the truth and the darker thoughts that sprung from Sam's mind. They were his inspiration, or he planted them in Sam's mind. Either way, they were connected and the devil used it against Sam whenever he could.

Sam looked at the screen, not even glancing away. The devil goaded him from behind, whining and nagging to the breaking point. There already were cracks; his annoying voice in combination with the news report and all those implications (only the worst) ere enough in his state of distress. Control slipped away.

Sam breathed in – energy gathered within him. He breathed out – the energy set itself in him. It nestled in his body, ready for release. It was not building because Sam wanted it; Sam didn't want it to be released. The last time that energy got free, he burned Cole's eyes and maybe soul out of his body. But Sam couldn't stop it; that was something he was not in control of.

The devil stood just within his line of sight, in the corner of his eye. He'd folded his arms and smiled approvingly. it was disgusting how delighted he was with the pure, nearly uncontrollable power.

"What are you holding back for?" The devil said. "Let it go and do it."

Do it.

No. he was not going to le the devil control him. He wouldn't let the devil get his way.

Sam relaxed his body and lay down in the bed, staring at the ceiling. The thought of Dean and Bobby and their fear of his powers was enough. Even if it wasn't, he would make it work. The energy did subside, could not act upon its destructive powers. It was nauseating when the energy wasn't released, but Sam preferred nausea over losing control.

The devil shook his head in genuine disappointment. "I really thought you'd do it this time. Oh well." He shrugged and sighed. "Next time, though. I bet you'll give in next time."

"Shut up," Sam whispered between gritted teeth.

His devil shut up. He had granted Sam some peace, but Sam couldn't tell whether he'd listened or just shut up and left on its own accord.

Sam used the moment to crawl under the sheets. He was not sleepy; he'd just woken up again. Dinner was supposed to come soon; or not – sometimes, they saw him sleep and left the meal for when he had woken up again. If Sam slept, it meant he was having a good day and since he didn't sleep all that much to begin with, they just let him be.