Author's Note: And prompts are closed! So, just to answer a quick question, yes, you too can make your own hurt!character collection based off of what I did (i.e. asking for holiday themed prompts and then writing chapters off of them). In fact, I'm pretty sure there are other authors doing collections like that and not just during the Holidays. As long as you don't copy my work, you don't need to ask my permission to do a 25 Days of Hurt!Cas or whatever character you may fancy. The more the merrier, right? Anyways, as for me, I will stick to Hurt!Sam and all the awesome prompts I've received.

Speaking of which, today's prompt comes from NeutralShooter who asked for, "Sam overhears a conversation between Cas and Dean which leads him to believe that he is not wanted. He starts getting more and more detached from them because of this. Dean doesn't notice at first thinking it's just moodiness due to the holidays." One angsty, sad Sam coming up! I set this in early season five. Trigger warning for some self-hate. If that bothers you, please do not read. Please enjoy!

"Oh Santa may have brought you some stars for your shoes

But Santa only brought me the blues

Those brightly packaged tinsel covered Christmas blues."

—Holly Cole Trio, "Christmas Blues"

Sam really should know better.

He isn't a little kid anymore. He really doesn't have an excuse to press his back against the wall and lean dangerously over the crack in the door to try and hear what the hushed voices in the room are trying to discuss. He really shouldn't be eavesdropping.

But how could he resist after Cas started acting so weird?

The angel had shown up agitated, ready to discuss something with the eldest Winchester, only to freeze when he saw Sam in the room. So, Dean, of course, had made up some excuse—C'mon, Sam, it's almost Christmas and it's your turn to go get the chocolate peppermint pie!—and unceremoniously kicked the youngest Winchester out. Sam had gotten the pie, of course, but he'd rushed through it and now, he is sneakily trying to figure out just what secret topic could not be discussed in front of him.

"—a liability, Dean." The angel's voice is tinged with a barely contained fury that made all of the syllables he spoke clear and sharp.

"This is Sam, we're talking about!" Dean retorts, "My brother knows what he's doing."

"Really?" Castiel's voice drops, "And how long do you think Sam can hold out against Lucifer?"

That makes Sam's blood run cold.

He knows that the angel wasn't really a fan of his, but since Cas had rebelled, the younger brother thought they'd been getting closer. But judging from the venom in Castiel's tone, that isn't the case.

"Sam is strong—" Dean interjects.

"Not strong enough," Castiel replies softly, "And we both know that if your life were in danger, he would say yes."

There's a long moment of silence and then a sigh.

"I know," Dean tells him, "And we can't allow that to happen."

"No," The angel concurs, "We cannot."

"But I'm not—"

"Sam needs to go," Castiel states frankly. "He can't stay here."

Sam staggers away from the door and finds the air in the room syrupy. He realizes in that moment that he can't stay there in front of the door. He needs to get out somehow.

He moves outside into the crisp and clear December night. They are in Wyoming of all places and though it was freezing, Sam can't help but notice how bright the stars are. From their perch in the black sky, they are almost as bright as the full moon, which illuminates the nearly deserted parking lot of their motel.

Castiel wants him to go.

Castiel views him as a liability.

And worst of all, Dean agrees with him.

Sam's a screw up after all.

Letting his head fall into his hands, Sam Winchester does his best not to fall apart.

"What's with you?" Dean asks the next morning at breakfast. They're at a diner down the road from their motel and his older brother is, as usual, devouring a hearty and greasy breakfast consisting of eggs, waffles and way too much bacon.

"What do you mean?" Sam, for his part, picks at his scrambled eggs and forces himself to take a bite.

"You haven't said a word since yesterday." Dean points out, almost accusatory.

"So?" The younger brother presses.

"So, penny for your thoughts?" The eldest Winchester asks.

Sam doesn't reply.

"It's almost Christmas." Dean remarks, baiting his brother. After all, it's no secret that they love this time of year. Even when their father would drag them out on hunts, they would always take Christmas off. That was a day to just be with each other and play at being normal.

"Yeah." Sam takes a bite of his eggs. They taste like ash in his mouth.

"What do you want for Christmas?"

Sam shrugs.

"Dude, what is with you?" Dean tries once more, but it's to no avail.

Sam just doesn't answer and they spend the rest of the meal in awkward silence.

Sam finds himself retreating further and further into the dark recesses of his mind. Seeing his older brother with the angel hurts for so many reasons, though mainly, it's because they both think he's a ticking time bomb. And why shouldn't they? When has he ever proved them otherwise?

He really should just go—leave, like Castiel wanted—but he's a coward. He doesn't want to be alone in this cold, dark, scary world. He wants his big brother there to assure him, to guide him.

So, he just withdraws from social interaction in general. He doesn't speak unless spoken to, he doesn't really do things unless asked—he's like a robot on autopilot, he supposes.

"You have the Christmas blues?" Dean means it somewhat as a joke, but Sam's seen the search history. According to Web MD, he could be sporting a case of the so-called "Christmas blues", but it's so much more than that.

"I'm fine."

"Bullshit," Dean calls him on it, "Sam, you can talk to me."

But Sam doesn't feel like talking.

Not anymore.

In fact, Sam just stops speaking.

What does his voice matter? What do his words matter? He knows how Dean and Castiel really feel and he has no right to contradict them. At the end of the day, he is the one responsibly for the coming apocalypse. It's all on his shoulders. It's his burden to bear and frankly, it's crushing him.

But, that's okay. He deserves to be crushed.

Dean, for his part, tries to get Sam to speak. He still pauses in his conversations; still makes eye contact with his brother in the hopes that Sam will say something—anything—but the youngest Winchester knows there's no point.

He's just a liability, after all.

"Sammy, please, talk to me." Dean's begging now and it's funny, the old Sam would've given in immediately upon seeing his older brother in such distress, but it barely fazes this Sam.

"Say something, Sam." Dean continues to urge, gripping his little brother's shoulder.

What should he say though? What would make his brother happy? Sorry that he's not good enough? Sorry that he let the apocalypse happen?

What are the magic words that Dean so desperately wants to hear?

"'Call me a jackass or something!" Dean continues. "Just tell me what's wrong so I can fix it, Sammy, okay?"

But there's nothing to fix.

Sam's is, after all, the problem.

It's Christmas Eve and he's grabbing the last carton of eggnog at the minimart down the way when he sees the gun being pointed at the terrified cashier. A robbery and with his luck, of course he gets caught in the middle of it.

"Please," The cashier, a young woman in her early 20's, is crying now, her mascara running down her face like a river. "Please, I have a family and a—"

"Give me all the money!" The man with the gun growls, though his hand is shaky, his trigger finger tensing unconsciously. He's just as nervous as the cashier and that makes him deadlier than the normal robber.

He really shouldn't get involved. He should call the cops, let them handle this rogue human, but the terror in the cashier's eyes stirs something within him. An emotion he's suppressed for so long—compassion.

And before he knows it, he's stepping in, putting himself in front of the cashier and the robber.

"What the fuck are you doing?" The robber turns the gun on him, but Sam isn't fazed. He nudges the young woman behind him, motions for her to leave.

She flees and Sam glowers at the would-be criminal.

"Fuck you man!"

There's a gunshot and dimly, Sam realizes that he's been shot.

"Oh shit," The robber panics, obviously not having intended to actually hurt someone. "Oh, shit, please don't die!"

There's blood rolling down the front of Sam's shirt and he registers pain as it burns through his skin. Being shot, he realizes, is very painful.

Sirens wail in the distance and Sam slumps to the floor, the room suddenly spinning around him. Funny, he'd never expected this is how he would end. He reaches for the carton of eggnog—the catalyst in all of this—and wonders how Dean will react.

Sam can't even get eggnog properly.

It figures.

"Sorry, Dean." He wheezes and his voice sounds rough even to his own ears. How long has it been since he last spoke? Weeks? Months? But he doesn't have time to dwell on that because the pain is gone and lethargy has taken its place and suddenly, all Sam wants to do is sleep.

So, he shuts his eyes and does.

The first thing he is aware of when he comes to is the steady beeping of the heart rate monitor. That doesn't sound like Hell, he thinks dimly. He begins to survey his surroundings and isn't surprised to find himself lying in a hospital bed. The fact that he's alive; however, is more than a bit surprising. He'd been shot in the chest, pretty close to the heart.

He should be dead right now.

"Sammy?" Dean is sitting in a chair by his bedside, his appearance gaunt, and his face haggard. His clothes are wrinkled, like he slept in them. There are dark circles under his eyes and he's got three o'clock shadow darkening his face.

"D'n." Sam manages to say and Dean beams, like the sun breaking through the sky on a cloudy day.

"I need you to listen to me very closely," His brother grips his wrist, holding firmly. "You are not a liability."

Sam's eyes widen.

"I know you heard what Cas and I were talking about, but Sammy, you need to believe me, I don't want you to go."

"But you said—"

"You didn't hear me finish!" Dean snaps impatiently. "I told Cas to shove it, Sam."

Sam balks at that.

"You are the most important thing to me, you understand? Dean's grip on Sam's wrist increases. "I need you to understand that, okay?"

The youngest Winchester nods.

"All this crap about Lucifer and the apocalypse," Dean plows on, "I don't care about any of it, Sam, not if it means losing you."

He means it, Sam can see that. There's a fire in his older brother's gaze that he hasn't seen since before the apocalypse. Dean is here, asking for Sam to trust him.

"I missed you." Sam says softly and Dean chuckles.

"Missed you too, Sammy," Then, tossing a jello cup at him, he smirks, "Now eat some food, would you?"

And for the time since this ordeal began, Sam laughs.

Sure, there are still unanswered questions and unresolved issues between them. They have to find a way to stop the apocalypse. Sam has to find a way to atone for the mistakes he made while under the influence of demon blood.

But right now, in this moment, he's just a little kid again, laughing at his older brother.

And that . . . that is priceless.

Author's Note: Super happy with how this came out! Hope you are too. Please review if you have a chance! Thanks so much!