Author's Note: Apologies for the delay. I've been finishing work up before the holiday break. Here's a request from enigmalynne who asked for, "Set to post-Lucifer rising but maybe after the boys get back together? They get into a fight about something on Christmas Eve, and Sam storms out of the hotel room. He's hurting and angry... and doesn't notice it until after it's already too late. When he wakes up, he has no idea where he is. All he knows is he has been stripped down to his undershirt and jeans, he's freezing, and he isn't alone. "Merry Christmas, Devil Boy," a voice says. "You're brother ain't gonna get you out of this one." He has enough time to think about how his brother probably gave up on him again and he's on his own anyway before the first blow connects." Thanks so much for this request! I had a blast writing it.

TW: for torture, suicidal ideation.

"Isn't funny that at Christmas something in you gets so lonely for I don't know what exactly, but it's something that you don't mind so much not having at other times."

—Kate L. Bosworth

It had been a stupid fight, one that Sam regretted in hindsight. A dumb fight about nothing important that tore their fragile bond apart once again. Dean had said some things, he'd shouted some back and before Sam knew it, he was gone, leaving his furious brother behind in their shared hotel room.

You're sorry you started Armageddon? This kind of thing don't get forgiven, boy. If by some miracle, we pull this off, I want you to lose my number. You understand me?

Sam hated himself. He woke up every day wishing he had just stayed dead three years ago. John had taught them, "What's dead stays dead" for a reason. Why had Dean abandoned that mantra just for his sake?

I just don't... I don't think that we can ever be what we were. You know? I just don't think I can trust you.

If there were a way for Sam to stop all of this, he would. If he wasn't sure that Lucifer would bring him back, he would've blown his brains out months ago—that being said, Sam had tried a few things, but Lucifer's laughter rang in his ears whenever he woke up in the aftermath of whatever attempt he made.

And now, it was Christmas Eve and all the blissful families unaware of their fate would gather around for what could be their last Christmas.

It was Sam's fault.

All of it.

Same song, different verse. Things are never gonna change with you. Never.

So, what did it all add up to? One self-hating Winchester out in the cold on Christmas Eve.

"Damn." He sighed, raggedly, running a hand through his hair. He'd been walking for about twenty minutes, down the dirt road that led away from the motel. Turning on his heel, the youngest Winchester decided to slowly make his way back toward his brother, hoping the time apart would've cooled Dean's head as well.

"Got you."

And that's the last thing Sam heard before the blast of pain that exploded across his temple.

"Ah, Sam, what a pickle you've got yourself in now," Lucifer sighed dramatically, smirking as he met the youngest Winchester's gaze, "Wouldn't it be easier if you just gave up the charade."

Sam glared at the devil, "Get out of my head."

"All in due time, but to tell the truth, you're not gonna like what's happening to you out there." He cocked his head to the side, the smirk never fading.

"Fuck you."

Lucifer just laughed, warm and bright, "Have fun then, Sam."

And Sam awakened to searing pain.

The cuts to his arms were superficial, but they still hurt like a bitch. Crimson blood dribbled down his arm, collecting into a puddle below. He was restrained by chains doused in holy water, a demon proofing sigil below him. Two grizzled hunters regard him—who else would know who he was?—and one of them smiles sinisterly.

"Merry Christmas, Devil Boy," he chuckled "You're brother ain't gonna get you out of this one."

Sam knew that Dean wouldn't come. Given their history, Dean would think Sam had just bailed on him once more, chalk it all up to his previous bad choices and move on. And maybe, deep down, that was what Sam really wanted—to be forgotten by his brother, to know that Dean would not make the same mistake he made when he chose his baby brother's life over his own three years ago.

"What? He ain't gonna talk?" The other hunter questions sharply.

The first, the bearded one with hazel eyes shrugs, "Who cares. We're doing the Lord's work here."

"Fuck the Lord," the other hissed, "I don't give a damn about that. I want the bounty."

Sam pulled against the chains—tight and unyielding. His captors noticed his vain struggle and the first laughed, "Boy, you're gonna die here."

And then he plunged the knife into Sam's shoulder.

Sam stood in the middle of a field, the wind blowing on his face, an ever-blue sky stretching above him endlessly.

"Blacked out, huh, Sam?" Lucifer sat next to him, the devil idly picking at some grass.

"Why can't you just let me die?" The words came out as an agonized whisper and for one second, Sam swore he could see pity flash across the devil's face.

"Why couldn't God just accept me?" Lucifer shrugged, "We both got screwed by fate, Sam. Sooner you realize that, the better you'll be."

Sam shook his head, one syllable falling from his lips, "No."

Lucifer just sighed, "Glutton for punishment then."

He snapped his fingers.

Sam was woozy from the blood loss, his under shirt wet and sticky from a combination of sweat and blood coating his chest. He felt cold, almost numb even and can barely make out what the two hunters were saying.

"Son of a bitch is still alive."

"He's the fucking devil, you really thought it would be that easy?"

A gun was placed to his temple, cool metal that reminded him of childhood days, of a brown leather jacket that smelled like gunpowder that he used as a blanket, of a soft voice that told him, "I've got you, Sammy."

Those days were gone.

Gone forever.

"Kill me," He managed to say through cracked lips, "Just do it already."

Maybe—maybe if he wasn't the one pulling the trigger—he would stay dead.

A flutter of wings interrupted his thought and he heard two thuds. The chains were released and he sunk forward, warm hands catching him.

"Sam." Castiel seemed almost worried, those cerulean eyes sparkling with emotion.

"Cas." He huffed out a laugh that dissolved into a wet cough, blood coming to his lips.

"You're hurt," the angel lowered him down gently to the floor, leaning him against the chair, "You were . . . tortured?"

Sam tried to shrug, but his body was floating and he feared the motion was too sloppy for Cas to understand.

"Let me die," He whispered, "Go." He shoved the angel, though it was pathetic really since he had the current strength of a three-day kitten.

Cas shook his head, "Sam, you don't—"

"Don't tell me I don't mean it!" If there was one thing Sam had clarity in regards to, it was this. The world would be a lot better without Sam Winchester in it. He mustered up a smile, "Dean won't do it. But, you can, Cas."

Castiel said nothing for a moment.

"Sam Winchester," He growled, "You are my friend. You've taught me that you don't give up on those you care for," He touched Sam's forehead, a bit of grace patching up some of the biggest wounds, "And I will not forsake you. Nor will Dean or Bobby."

"Cas—"

"I will hear no more of this foolishness," Castiel lifted him to his feet, supporting the tall man, "You need medical attention."

Sam takes that as his cue to pass out.

He awakened later in a spare bedroom at Bobby's.

"Sammy?" Dean appeared haggard, a five o'clock shadow on his face, "You with me?"

His head ached, the ceiling spinning a bit as he turned, his eyes resting on his brother's face, "D'n?"

Dean leaned over him, a hand tenderly pressed on his baby brother's cheek, "Jesus Christ, Sammy."

"Cas?"

"He told me," Dean confessed, "Sam, when you're better, we're gonna talk."

Sam was too tired to protest. He knew there would be more arguments, more feelings of guilt and self-loathing, but for now, he has his brother by his side, Bobby in the other room and Castiel standing guard somewhere.

"Okay," Sam breathed, "Okay."

Things wouldn't be fixed tomorrow or the next day. But as he fell asleep, faded Christmas music on the radio, he wondered if maybe they would find a way to pull this off.

Lucifer cackled in his dreams, "Merry Christmas, Sam."