Sam Winchester was invisible everywhere he went.

When he was in the backseat of the impala:

"Hey Dad, I need-" Sam began but was cut off by his very loud and better liked, by their father, brother. "Dad, did you see that?!" and there goes his chance to get a new coat before the beginning of winter because once his father and brother got talking about whatever really well then everything else was irrelevant. Including Sam.

When he was in the motel room:

"Dean, can you please pass me that pencil?" Sam asked quietly to his brother who was watching TV beside him on the couch. Dean didn't even glance towards his brother, just kept watching TV. Sam sighed quietly and got up to retrieve his pencil that was next to Dean's shoe.

When he was in the passenger seat of his fathers truck:

"Hey dad" Sam greeted his father as he hopped into the car after school, John turned the music up to full volume and tore out of the school parking lot.

The only time and place he wasn't ignored and invisible was at school when he was bullied. No matter what state the Winchesters traveled to, Sam was always bullied; Dean stopped noticing when he turned seven and John never noticed at all. Sam was 14.

Sam had been invisible most of his life although he remembers the day it started.

Sam was six years old when his father came home from a hunt. Sam as usual ran up to his father and tried to hug him but instead of returning the hug John just pushed Sam away and leveled him with a mean glare. "Where's your brother?" he asked, still glaring at young Sammy.

Sam pointed to the kitchen while his lip trembled. When John looked to the kitchen he saw his oldest standing in the doorway and then he marched over and whispered something in his ear.

Whatever John whispered in his eldest ear that day changed everything.

From then on Dean and John ignored Sam, they neglected him sometimes and often made him feel invisible. So no Sam was no stranger to invisibility; it just took him eight years to take advantage of it.

One day we'll have to end him. Don't get attached.

Sam Winchester walked through the doors of his current hell. Highschool. Everywhere he went it seemed someone was either hitting him or glaring at him and it was all because he was too chicken to stand up for himself and dispute any of the rumors going around. Now people were believing the rumors and it certainly showed. Sam got as far as in front of his locker before he was shoved to the floor by some jock who laughed and kept walking. Sam got up and when he reached down to get his bag he was kicked in his knees and fell again. This time it was a cheerleader; he cringed internally. A girl now thought he was an easy target, now that was embarrassing.

Finally, Sam was able to get up off the ground, grab his belongings, and go to his locker but not without heaving a long, heavy sigh.

Lunchtime came around and Sam sat by himself in the lunchroom. Even though he sat all the way in the back next to the trash cans the jocks always found him without fail.

"Hey, ugly mug" a jock mock greeted before grabbing Sam by his hair and making him stand. Sam groaned but didn't fight the hold; he learned years ago that fighting was useless.

Once he was standing the jock punched him square in the face and then in his gut making Sam moan painfully. The jock laughed at Sam's moan before he pushed him to the ground and began kicking him mercilessly, not failing to clip him in the ribs, groin, and face multiple times. Once the jocks were done with their torture they sat there and waited for the conditioning that they instilled to kick in. It was a speech that's what they were waiting for from him and after five beatings he finally had given in and said it so now it was a part of the routine.

Sam sat up and his face scrunched up with the immense pain that his body was in. He sighed and cupped one hand over his groin to help alleviate some pain. "I, Sam Winchester, have been b-beaten and I deserved it. I will be b-beaten again and there's nothing I can do about it. Thank you for b-beating me" Sam's eyes held tears from the pain and his face was red with shame.

The jocks all walked off laughing and shoving each other playfully. As Sam watched them leave he felt so alone. No one wanted to be his friend, no one liked him, and everywhere he went he was ignored; this all included his family and home. Sam decided to get up and with multiple struggles he did, he returned to where he was seated alone to find that someone had mixed his lunch and school supplies together into one big mess.

After the trying last couple minutes he had he decided that it would be best if he just turned around and went home so that's exactly what he did.

Still holding himself, Sam walked through the motel door to see his father and brother at the table. They had been discussing the hunt but now they were staring at him.

"Why are you home?" his father asked but otherwise didn't sound concerned. Dean turned to him and looked him up and down. "What happened to your face and dude why are you holding yourself?" Dean asked, moving from the table to stand in front of Sam with his arms crossed. Sam looked up at him and a few tears rolled down his face, "I got b-beat up. Again."

Dean just nodded and bit his lip before going back to the table.

Sam hiccuped and sighed, "why ask if you don't even care" he mumbled. John raised his eyebrows at this, "Sam, don't mumble, if you have something to say you should speak up" John spoke. Sam nodded and headed to his room where he lay face down, still holding himself.

Later that night at dinner Sam kept shifting around in his chair and groaning, causing the two other occupants at the table to look at him. Sam looked back, "what?"

"Can you please be quiet?" his father asked in a clipped tone. "Your brother and I are trying to have a conversation."

Sam nodded, grabbed his plate, and disposed of it in the kitchen before disappearing into his room where he sobbed all night; his body hurt so bad and there was nothing and no one that could comfort him.

May 2nd

Sam woke up and stretched his back and looked over at his calendar. His birthday was today but he didn't care; just like everybody else.

Sam got out of bed and showered before he headed downstairs for breakfast. Once he fixed himself a bowl of cereal he sat at the table and was surprised to see his brother and father there as well, maybe they remembered?

"Sam, training starts in half an hour. Be ready" was all his father said before getting up and going to put his coffee cup in the sink. Maybe not Sam thought bitterly.

At the end of the day, Sam laid down in his bed and wondered why he lived such a miserable life. A life where his family rarely talked to him or remembered his birthday, a life where he didn't have a single friend, a life where he was bullied every day, and a life where no one loved him. His life sucked and he was really starting to lose the purpose of it all.

"Happy Birthday to me" Sam mumbled before turning over and going to bed.

A month later found Sam behind a gas station buying weed from a cheerleader that had tripped him and slipped a note into his backpack.

"This is a dime bag, when you run out of this comeback, on a Thursday at 5, and I'll give you another one for the same price. Deal?" the cheerleader bargained.

Sam nodded, turned around, and began his walk back home.

In his room Sam opened the dime bag and began to roll up, the cheerleader had taught him how to, before grabbing his lighter and lighting the joint. Once it was lit, Sam didn't hesitate to put his lips to the joint and inhale. He relished in the feeling it gave him like he didn't have a care in the world and like his life didn't absolutely suck.

Halfway through the joint, his room was filled with smoke and he was a laughing, giggling mess; he was also talking to himself.

"God this stuff is amazing. If only dad and Dean could see me now" more giggles, "yeah like they ever see me, I'm practically invisible!" more giggles that were starting to sound like choked off sobs, "maybe they…. h-hate me" sob, "I hate me too…...everyone hates me" sob, "I wish I was worth something...anything" and then he passed out. His room filled with smoke, heart heavy, head filled with depressing thoughts, and tears running unchecked down his cheeks, Sam passed out.

A week later and he was back behind that same gas station with the same cheerleader buying the same dime bag. Another week later and the same thing happened. A month later and the same thing was still happening. It was routine. It was an addiction.

A Year Later

Sam was now sixteen, addicted to weed, and had been for about 2 years. The other two Winchesters were oblivious to all of these facts.

Sam came home from school and walked straight to his room but was stopped before he could get there. Sam looked up at his brother who was standing in front of him with his arms crossed once more.

"What" was all Sam said. He was shaking, tired, and just needed a hit so that he could feel better and maybe sleep. "What's your problem?" Dean said, taken back by the sharpness of Sam's tone.

"I don't have a problem" Sam sidestepped Dean and walked into his room. Dean grabbed Sam's shoulder and turned him around, "Okay Sam whatever is going o-" Sam rolled his eyes, "nothing is wrong. Now get off me and leave me alone!" Sam shouted before pushing Dean back, slamming and locking his door.

Sam breathed heavily as he grabbed a dime bag from his back pocket and began to roll up. The task took an extra five minutes since he was shaking uncontrollably but eventually, the job was done and he was able to take a puff from his joint.

Two puffs later:

The shaking had stopped and now Sam was just giggling uncontrollably.

Two more puffs later:

Sam had rolled off his bed and onto the floor, joint still in hand.

The giggling had yet to stop.

Four puffs later:

Sam's room was filled with smoke and he was having a hard time finding his balance. He couldn't tell what was the floor and what wasn't a pile of rainbow lava.

Six puffs later, his last puff:

Sam was not yet beginning to come back from his euphoric high but he was starting to think; something he did a lot after he got high and it always ended the same way. Him, crying because there was no one to love him, no one to care, and he knew that one day, soon, that he would die and that sad fact would remain.

"No one cares, no one ever did" he mumbled before passing out and hiding in the dark bliss.

The Next Day

A knock on his door woke him up.

Sam lifted his head up off the ground and surveyed his surroundings for a second before sitting up with a groan. He needed a hit and he needed one now. His body felt like it had been beaten to hell more than once, he was shaking, and he had the mother of all headaches. Sam reached for the dime bag in his front pocket when John opened the door.

"Sam-, why are you on the floor?" John questioned, his eyebrows meeting his hairline.

Sam shrugged, "Why do you care?"

John scoffed, "You better watch yourself boy" John challenged.

Sam scoffed back, "Yeah whatever" he just needed a hit, once he got a hit he'd be fine; no attitude, no headache, and no shakiness. Fine.

John began to walk towards Sam when a hand on his shoulder stopped him, "Come on dad the kids just trying to get under your skin" Sam scoffed again. Of course, Dean would assume he was the problem.

Dean turned to him with his hands raised in exasperation once John had nodded and walked out. "Why do you always have to start something with him?" Dean questioned seriously.

Sam shook his head, "Listen you want to take his side all the time, fine, but don't try to make it my issue too" Sam spoke as he got up.

Dean scrunched his face up in confusion, "Sam wha-"

"Don't "Sam what" me. I don't care anymore. Not about you, about dad, or about how everything is my fault! And I certainly don't care about how no one loves or even likes me!" Sam had angry tears in his eyes now and he was breathing heavily.

Dean's face held a look of concern but was masked by his confusion, he tilted his head to the side and spoke softly, his hands raised in a placating gesture. "Sam, are you okay?"

Sam shook his head and put on a bitter smile, tears shining in his eyes. "I'm great but uh quick question" Sam laughed but it sounded more like a choked sob, "How old am I?" Sam shrugged and folded his arms as he waited for Dean to answer.

Dean stared at Sam for a full minute before answering, "15" he nodded his head too, content with his answer.

Sam shook his head and leaned forward, his arms still crossed and a bitter smile masking his hurt. "No Dean, I'm not 15. Good guess though since that's exactly what that was but no sadly I'm not."

Dean was extremely taken back by the bitterness in Sam's tone. "Then how old are you?" Dean knew that he had forgotten a handful of Sam's birthdays but surely the kid couldn't be that old.

"16, Dean I'm sixteen. You know none of my birthdays were worth remembering by you or dad but I always remembered yours and so did dad! I always watched you two, how much love you had for one another, how you would do anything for each other but I never saw any of that directed my way, and yeah it hurts, it hurts so bad!" Sam screamed and more tears began to roll down his face.

Dean flinched. He never knew how much Sam was hurting he just thought that maybe he was quieter than normal but never this. John came to the doorway and he opened his mouth but whatever he was about to say died in his throat when he saw the state his youngest was in.

Sam looked at John, "Oh hey dad let me catch you up real quick" Sam turned and walked to his dresser, "I'm sixteen" Sam picked up his dresser and smashed it against the wall making both his father and brother flinch. "You don't know that because you stopped paying attention to me when I was six!" Sam shouted as he picked up a glass cup off his floor and began smashing it, "And lastly my whole body is shaking, my head is in agony, and I feel like I'm on fire all because I haven't had a hit yet" Sam threw the blankets and pillows off his bed as he spoke before kicking the mattress out of the bed frame.

Sam went to tear the peeling wallpaper off the walls when he felt strong arms wrap around him. He began to protest the hold screaming, shouting, kicking but the hold prevailed and eventually, he came up and began to sob, his knees buckling in the process.

"Shhh, it's okay. Shhhh Sam, shhh" Dean whispered into his brother's ears as his brother cried in his arms.

"Why can't you love me, why can't dad love me?!" Sam sobbed into his brother's chest.

Dean didn't respond, opting to let Sam vent into his chest and eventually pass out.

"I love you guys, why can't you love me? What's wrong with me, why am I not good enough?" Sam mumbled before passing out while Dean rubbed his back.

Dean turned to look at John who was leaning against the doorway.

"What do we do?" Dean whispered.

John looked so lost it was starting to scare Dean, "I don't know" he shook his head while scrubbing a hand down his face.

"What's that smell?" Dean asked after a moment.

John took a whiff and sighed while pinching the bridge of his nose, "It's weed, I think that's what he was referencing to when he said "hit."

"Dad, how do we fix this" then, "What if he's addicted?" Dean practically whispered.

John once again shook his head, "I don't know, son."

Later that day

Sam woke up to find himself on the couch with his father and brother on the loveseat across from him. He groaned and put his arm over his eyes, remembering the events from before he passed out.

Great, I went completely looney.

"Sam?" John questioned while he stared at his youngest.

Sam groaned again before sitting up, looking at his father, and running a hand through his hair, "What?"

"How do you feel?"

Sam bunched up a handful of his hair and put his head down, "like warmed-up crap" he answered honestly.

John nodded before sighing, "are you okay?"

Sam smiled slightly, "yeah, I just need a hit" and then he stood and walked to his room.

"Sam, no" Dean mumbled as he walked after his brother and opened his door.

Sam looked up as he continued to light the joint in his hand, "what" he mumbled around the joint, uninterestedly.

"What are you doing dude?" Dean questioned as he grabbed the joint out of his brother's mouth.

Sam reached for it but Dean held it out of his grasp. "Dean, I really don't want a repeat of before so can you just give it back?" Sam spoke with forced calm.

Dean shook his head, "No, no way. Drugs are never the answer."

Sam just laughed, "Dean that's cute but seriously give me the joint '' Sam said with barely concealed anger as he held his hand out.

"No, Sam, I'm serious, okay? We-we can talk or something but I will not give you this joint" Dean held firm.

Sam nodded his head, "Yeah okay fine let's-" Sam reached for the joint but once again Dean held it out of reach.

Sam growled in frustration. "Sam, you're addicted-" Sam cut him off with a yell, "DON'T YOU THINK I KNOW THAT?!"

Dean flinched but held strong, "your addicted, and depressed and I know that I have everything to do with those things but-"

"Yeah you do," Sam scoffed.

"But, somehow, someway we'll get through this. You don't have to trust me now but just know I won't let you go through any of this alone" Dean opened his arms right as Sam ran into them and cried. John walked in and enveloped both his boys in a hug.

Later that night

Sam got out of bed quietly, opened his bedroom door, and walked to the bathroom; an envelope in hand. Sam placed the envelope on the sink and pulled the razor out of his pocket. He looked at it for a moment before nodding his head and stepping into the tub.

That night the world lost a soul, a heart, a body, and a young man. A family lost their quietest, saddest, and youngest member. The graveyard began to dig a six-foot hole and gained a headstone. The morgue attained another body and used another toe tag. Heaven gained another soul, Hell's doors remained closed to this soul. That night someone died but it wasn't Sam Winchester. No, that night the hospital gained another patient. The heart monitor attained a steady beat. A therapist received another patient. The rehab center reserved a spot. A family, a father, and a son were given another chance. Sam Winchester was saved that night.

I can't act like everything is better now. I can't pretend that years of being invisible didn't leave its mark. I can't feel like I'm loved or cared about just because you say so. I can't say I believe you because I don't. I can't see how things will change because I know they won't. I can't do anything anymore. I have nothing left to give to this world or family and haven't for a long time. I love you guys more than you have ever loved me but I simply can't do this anymore, I can't do life anymore. I've been bullied, beaten up, addicted to drugs and you still didn't notice me or love me so I don't expect you to now that I'm gone but please just don't forget me. I've spent my whole life being invisible to everyone and everything. Please don't let that be the case when I'm gone.

I love you, Dean, I love you, dad, even if you couldn't do that for me

Sam Winchester, 16, May 2nd was my birthday.