This is my first story uploaded on here, I'm gonna upload the rest of my stories from archive of our own onto , for more chapters of this visit my ao3 account: 1Nerd

And for updates and memes follow my Instagram: a_singular_nerd

Thanks for reading and leave a prompt!

Aw come on Sam!" Lucifer whined from his perch on the opposite bed. "I'm bored!"

Sam kept his eyes carefully trained away from the hallucination. It only got worse if he responded. Dean was out getting food, probably from the greasiest, most unhealthy place in town, not that there were that many choices. Batchelor Springs, a small town in Oklahoma, was just that, a small town. "Probably less than 1000 people," Dean had muttered as they drove to the only motel within forty miles.

"Sam. Sam! Sam!"

"What!?" Sam yelled back at the now smirking Lucifer. He (it, Sam insisted to himself. It's not real nor a human.) had moved to the floor, laying on his (its) stomach, swinging Nick's legs behind him.

"I'm bored." Lucifer replied in a voice that didn't even try to hide his amusement in Sam's anger.

"I'm so sorry about that," Sam said dryly. "Can you leave me alone for, like, five minutes?"

"Wellllllll…" Lucifer drawled, "I could, but that wouldn't be fun. Come on, Sammy, engage!"

"No! No, no, no! You're not real! I'm not talking to a- a hallucination! I'm not that crazy." As he spoke, Sam realized the irony. In saying those words, he was engaging, playing right into Lucifer's game.

"Fine, you don't wanna have fun, I'll entertain myself!" Lucifer pouted. "Remember that time when you almost got Dean sliced and diced? Well, one of those times. I bet you can't even remember all the times you've let him down. They probably seep together."

Sam's eye twitched, but he still ignored him, focusing on the newspapers he was looking through in hopes of finding a job Dean would allow them to go on. Then the cheap paper burst into flames. Sam yelped, practically throwing himself off the bed. He grunted as his humerus slammed on the rough carpet. Lucifer was crouching beside him almost instantly, smirking

sadistically. "Dean-o would be better off without you, don't you think, Sammy?"

"N-no, Dean loves me…" Sam replied, joints cracking as he pulled himself off the stained carpet. Sam sank heavily onto the queen mattress, his elbows on his knees with his pounding head resting on his hands, trying to block out Lucifer coming to sit once again on the opposite bed, leaning towards Sam till Sam could feel his icy breath on his hands.

"You sure about that? Let's look at Sammy's greatest hits, see if Dean thinks you're still his innocent little brother," Lucifer said in a deep raspy voice.

Suddenly the cheap motel room seemed to vanish, and in its place was a dark Forest, Sam whirled around looking frantically, for what Sam wasn't sure, maybe Dean or even Lucifer.

"Sam! Sammy!" Sam heard Dean yell from somewhere deeper in the forest to the left.

"Dean? Dean! I'm over here!" Sam shouted, walking towards Dean's voice.

Suddenly a loud BANG echoed through the trees. 'A gunshot,' Sam thought as he began running in the direction of the sound, praying Dean was okay. "Dean!"

Sam gasped as he saw a younger version of Dean and himself. Younger-Sam was leaning against a tree, nose bleeding heavily, but what was even worse was Young-Dean. He was pinned on the ground by a hairy creature.

'Werewolf,' Sam identified.

"S-shoot it, Sammy!" Dean grunted as he fought the evil beast trying to rip his throat out.

Young-Sam hesitated. The werewolf was a human, a young man not much older than Dean. In that moment of hesitation, the werewolf managed to pin Dean's arms and bite at his shoulder, just above his right collarbone. Dean screamed.

"DEAN!" Young-Sam and Old-Sam shouted at the same time, then another shot rang out. Both Sams turned. John Winchester lowered the gun, rushing to his eldest son.

The forest faded out into a dirty room. Sam blinked tears from his eyes, the image of Dean on the ground screaming still playing in his mind's eyes. Sam watched as an 18-year-old version of himself walked into the room, holding a navy blue duffle bag and a frayed backpack tossed over his free arm's shoulder. Sam suddenly recognized the room. It was the last house he and his family stayed in before he left for Stanford.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Sam and younger Sam jumped. Neither had noticed the eldest Winchester standing, arms crossed, in the doorway leading to the living room.

"Oh! Um….I-I got-a-full-ride-scholarship-and-I'm-going-to-Stanford," Young-Sam rushed out in one breath.

John narrowed his eyes. "No."

"W-what?" Young-Sam asked, eyes widening. Sam just stood there. He already knew what happened next. Sam bowed his head. He knew now that going to Stanford was a mistake.

"You're not going. You're going to stay here, with your family!" John yelled, glaring at his younger son. He couldn't fathom why Sam would want to leave his family, leave the hunt for his mother's killer!

"Dad, I'm sorry, but this is what I'm doing. If mom were he—" Young-Sam was cut off by Dean entering the small room.

"Sammy? Dad? What's going on?" Dean asked, confused, then noticed Sam's bag. "Where're you going?"

Young-Sam bowed his head in the same manner as present day Sam.

"I'm leaving, Dean. I'm going to college. I applied for a scholarship, and I got a full ride to Stanford. It's in California! I'll still visit, I promise, and we can hunt together on summer break, too. I'll make it work, I swear." Sam rambled. He checked his watch, cursing under his breath at the time displayed on the clock face. The last bus for San Francisco left in twenty minutes, and it would take around fifteen minutes to run to the station. Sam needed to leave, now. Young-Sam lifted his gaze to Dean. "I- I have to go now, the last bus leaves soon…" Sam spoke softly. He turned, opened the door, and walked out, praying subconsciously that Dean would come running out the door and come with him. But he didn't. Sam took a deep breath, glanced one last time at the house that looked like it should have been bulldozed years ago, then started off at a jog towards the bus station.

Suddenly, Sam was back inside the room of the house, viewing the scene from another angle. He quickly realized he was seeing it as his older brother. Sam felt his emotions. Some he didn't understand, such as the rage, the guilt, and the shame. Others Sam recognized as directed at younger Sam: pain, anger, abandonment, and worst of all, disappointment. Dean, his older brother, was disappointed in him. Dean felt abandoned. He thought Sam was leaving to get away from his family. Sam felt his heart break. Dean thought it was his fault!

The room morphed into a dirty warehouse.

Sam watched as yet another younger version of himself came into view. He was fighting a man, a demon, Sam realized when he saw the man's eyes flash black. Younger Sam grunted as he got the upper hand. The blood streaming from its neck, too beautiful to resist. It had been what seemed like forever since Sam last had met up with Ruby. He quickly drank, gulping blood up hungrily, so relieved and energized he didn't notice Dean and Jimmy's family entering.

Sam looked up at the noise of a gasp, seeing Dean standing in the doorway with a shocked look. Sam pulled his mouth away, piercing the demon's chest with Ruby's demon killing blade. The demon shouted, it's face lighting up orange as the demon inside the man died. Sam stood, wiping his mouth of the excess blood. Jimmy's wife had her hands covering her mouth, looking like she wanted to vomit. Jimmy's daughter's face was stoic, the angel inside of her showing no emotion to the newly revealed revelation. Again, with no warning, Sam was overcome with emotion, almost breaking down at the feelings of shock, anger, disappointment and, for the first time, disgust.

The warehouse faded into a broken motel room, a slightly younger Sam choking Dean out.

"Let him go! Stop it!" Present day Sam yelled. He tried to run to help his brother, but found himself frozen in place. Young-Sam let go of Dean's neck, standing up, breathing heavily.

"You don't know me," he growled. "You never did, and you never will." He turned, limping slightly, and walked to the door of the motel room.

"You walk out that door, don't you ever come back!" Dean rasped from his place on the ground. Sam stilled for a moment, then walked out the door. Suddenly, present day Sam felt a rush of emotions. He sobbed, pain, fear, guilt, and even more disappointment then last time swept over him, overwhelming his already frayed nerves. Sam sunk to the ground, leaning back against the wall. Please, he begged, stop this, please! Sam sobbed, wishing for this all to end.

A glint caught Sam's eye, a large shard of glass less than a foot away shining in the dim light. Sam drew in a deep breath, reaching over, his hand closing over the glass, cutting his palm.

Sam choked out a sob. He quickly pierced the beginning of his wrist, slicing down with a wince, drawing a deep, long line reaching from his wrist to his elbow. He did the same on his other arm. The blood ran freely down his arms, streaming onto the floor, the illusion of his memory fading, the room Sam and Dean had checked into that same day came back into view as the pain drew Sam back into reality.

Sam's vision started to waver, blood loss drawing him closer to unconsciousness, closer to the end. Sam started slightly when he heard the Impala pull up outside the room. Sam's breathing was slowing, his organs shutting down, the motel room door handle rattled, Sam gasped, lungs no longer working correctly. The door opened, Sam closed his eyes, the last thing Sam heard before falling into oblivion was a take out bag hitting the dirty carpet and Dean shouting his name. Sam just let go.