Author's Note: I would just like to take a moment to thank all of you who review day after day. It never fails to make me smile. Today's prompt comes from slyvia37 who requested, "Sam and Dean are at Bobby's and decide to decorate and have a real Christmas. Jody is coming and Castiel could show up. Sam finds some old Christmas lights and . . ." And does not get electrocuted! Sorry, I've just written so many stories where Sam gets shocked by old Christmas lights that I'm quite tired of it. Thank you for giving me a chance to write whatever springs to mind! I hope you enjoy. Let's set this in early season 7. Please note that this chapter deals with self-hate and attempted suicide. If this bothers you, please do not read.

"Deck the halls with boughs of holly,

Fa la la la la, la la la la.

Tis' the season to be jolly,

Fa la la la la, la la la la."

—Tenth Avenue North, "Deck the Halls"

Sam has gotten quite used to ignoring things.

Ignoring, for example, Lucifer's off-key singing as the Devil picks up various Christmas decorations and grins maliciously at him. Paying no attention to the way the room sometimes will grow burning, fire almost consuming his skin. In fact, Sam does his best not to notice anything out of the ordinary, relying on pressing his scar to give him relief.

"You know what I want for Christmas, Sammy?" Lucifer smiles lazily as he lounges on the couch, tossing a gold ornament up and down.

Don't look at him. Don't act like he's real because he is not real.

"I want you to give up this whole charade." Lucifer sits up now, sighing dramatically. "I want you to realize that you never left the Cage."

Sam doesn't say anything and Lucifer gets up, coming towards him. An ice-cold hand touches his shoulder and the youngest Winchester shudders. The Devil laughs and placing his mouth by Sam's mouth, he whispers, "You and me against the world, Sammy."

Sam does his best not to fall apart right there.

"How bad is it?" Dean questions softly as Sam folds the spare blanket into a perfect square.

"Yeah, Sammy, how bad is it?" Lucifer parrots from his perch on the bed, swinging his legs back and forth, like a petulant child on time out.

"It's nothing." Sam dismisses.

"Liar." Lucifer retorts.

"Liar." Dean echoes and Sam does his best not to laugh at the absurdity of it all. He's a mess, really. He might be living out a fake dream in the Cage or he could be back in the real world and be insane.

"Not really any good choices there." Lucifer comments.

"Sam," Dean presses, his brother's brows knitting in concern, "Tell me what's going on."

"Yeah!" Lucifer chirps, clapping his hands together, "Let's get some Dr. Phil action going on here. You tell him how you feel, I'll tell you how I feel and—"

Sam digs his thumb into his scar, the pain blissfully making the vision of the Devil waver.

"He's here, isn't he?" His older brother states because he's knows the answer.

"I've got it under control." Sam grits his teeth, feeling wet liquid coating his fingernail as the blood spills out.

Dean grabs his hand, taking his injured one in his grasp with the gentlest of touches.

"This isn't under control." His brother contradicts softly, grimacing somewhat. He pulls out a towel from the pile of laundry on the bed and wraps it around Sam's palm. He squeezes it and Sam hisses somewhat as the pain flares up.

"I'm trying." Sam whispers, ashamed, angry with himself for being so weak. He shouldn't be falling apart. He should be stronger, should be better—

"Sam."

He glances up and meets his brother's piercing gaze.

"It's okay to not be okay."

Sam huffs out a broken, bitter laugh.

"I mean it, Sam," Dean insists fiercely, a grin tugging at his lips, "We all have our bad days—"

"Except my bad days are me seeing the Devil in Bobby's living room." Sam scoffs, running his uninjured hand through his hair. "Dean, I'm a mess."

"You're the man who saved the world," Dean tells him sharply. "And you're my brother. You're not crazy."

This is just the price he pays for saving the world, the burden he carries that no one will ever know about aside from those closest to him.

"I'm sorry, Dean."

Sorry that he can't believe what his brother is telling him, sorry that he's bringing Dean down and sorry that he's crazy.

But Dean just keeps on surprising him.

"It's okay, Sam."

Dean envelops him in a hug and if Sam closes his eyes he can almost pretend that he isn't crazy.

Almost.

"You sure you want to decorate?" Bobby questions gruffly as Sam pulls out the dusty boxes of Christmas decorations from the older hunter's closet.

"Sure," Sam says with an easygoing grin. "Jody is coming to visit, right? It would be nice to show her something other than whatever monster we're hunting."

Bobby chuckles at that, "I guess that's true."

Sam pulls out a few strands of garland and puts them aside.

"You going to get the tree?" Sam questions and Bobby nods his head.

"You sure you don't want any help?" The surrogate father figure asks and Sam shakes his head.

"Nah, I've got it." The youngest Winchester answers, grinning as he pulls out a few ornaments.

"Okay, then," Bobby pulls out his truck keys and moves towards the front door. "Dean and I will be back soon."

"Got it."

The door slams shut behind him and Sam hums Christmas carols under his breath, filling the silence. Reaching into the box, he pulls out the string of Christmas lights, multi-colored light bulbs glistening. He places them in his hand, turning them over, looking for cracks. A red one, bright and brilliant, seemingly glows.

Like Hellfire.

"Hiya Sammy." Lucifer coos and Sam shudders as the temperature in the room plunges.

"You're not real." Sam hisses, but the Devil laughs, loud and boisterous.

"I am real, Sammy," Lucifer insists. "And you're in Hell." The Devil takes the lights from Sam's grasp and wraps it around the youngest Winchester's neck.

He can't breathe as the lights bite into his flesh.

That's when the fire appears, burning his skin, the flames engulfing him as he bites on his lip, preventing a shriek from escaping his mouth.

"Let's play, Sam."

That's when Sam breaks.

In Hell, there was no sense of time.

Time didn't exist in a realm where all Sam knew was pain and agony. From the wrathful beatings of Michael to Lucifer's deliberate torture sessions, Sam didn't know if it had been days or years since he sacrificed himself.

What got him through it, what gave him solace, was thinking of Dean.

Dean living his life with Lisa, being a father to Ben, being happy and safe.

That's how he got through Hell, how he managed to not break down completely.

"Sammy."

He opens his eyes and gasps as he sits up much too fast. The room spins around him and he grimaces as he places a hand to head.

"Take it easy." Dean coaches softly as he places a hand on Sam's back, rubbing those familiar circles that he used to do when Sam had been a little kid.

"He okay?" Bobby questions, voice low and tinged with concern. There's a bag of groceries in their surrogate father's grasp and Sam shakes his head, trying to lift the fog from his mind.

"I'm fine." He forces his voice to come out strong and confident, even though, deep down, he's shaken. He instantly reaches for his neck but his skin is unbroken.

It hadn't been real then.

"You want to share with the class?" Dean is kneeling in front of him now, those green eyes sparkling with worry and a bit of fear, though he's trying really hard not to convey that. Sam knows him too well though—he'll never be able to hide anything from him.

"I just . . ." He swallows hard, thinking about the pain and how real it felt. It couldn't have all been in his head, could it?

"You saw him." Bobby concludes solemnly. "Damn it, kid."

Sam glances away, ashamed. He's useless like this. He can barely function like this. What good is he to them—to anyone—if he was prone to psychotic breaks like this?

Or maybe they weren't break with reality.

Maybe this—Dean, Bobby, the house, everything—maybe this was a break from the torture.

Did he get out of the Cage?

"You got out." Dean interrupts sharply, forcing his face into Sam's line of vision. "We got you out, Sammy."

Lucifer smirks for the edge of his vision and Sam grits his teeth and looks away.

"Run, run, run, as fast as you can," Lucifer sings off-key, sinisterly. "You can't stop me, I'm the Devil." He chuckles. "It doesn't rhyme as well, does it?"

"Is he here?" Dean questions insistently.

"Sam, look at us." Bobby commands sharply.

"Yeah, Sam, let them look at you!" Lucifer shouts, excited. "Let them see how much of a freak you really are!"

It's his breaking point.

Sam simply gets up, walks out the door, gets into the Impala and drives away.

It must take twenty seconds in all for him to leave Singer Salvage behind him.

"Well, well," Lucifer coos from the shotgun seat, "I'm liking this side of you, Sammy. Let's go!"

Sam just floors it.

He disables his GPS on his phone and ditches it on the highway. He doesn't know where he's going, but he also doesn't care. He just needs to get away from their concerned glances and their platitudes.

They couldn't fix him—no one could.

"Glad you finally see it my way," Lucifer chuckles. "So, you finally done playing? Ready to get out of here?"

Sam ignores him.

"Cause all it would take is one bullet, Sammy."

His grip tightens on the steering wheel.

"Just think about it, would you?"

Sam keeps driving.

He stops in some no-name town, four hours west of Bobby's and checks into a motel room. He should ditch the Impala—it was too distinct of a car to go unnoticed and he was sure Dean had been in contact with Jody who would have an APB out on him—but part of him is comforted by the car's presence. She was as much of a home to him as anything else and he couldn't forsake her.

"So, Sammy," Lucifer flops on the bed, arms outstretched. "You finally going to end this charade?"

Sam knew the moment he got into the Impala that this is what it would lead to.

He's going to kill himself.

He's going to break free of this illusion, if he is in one. Or, if not, he will at least be saving Bobby and Dean from having to deal with him and his fucked up mental state. He couldn't let his family go through this. He's a mess and he has to stop himself from hurting anyone else.

"I like this new side of you, Sam," Lucifer chirps. "Strong and silent, it's a good look for you."

Sam takes out the handgun that they kept in the Impala's trunk and places it on the bed. The glint of the metal in the light is reassuring to him. He can finally do something right. By taking himself out of the equation, Dean and Bobby could finally move on.

It's the best course of action.

He loads the gun with deliberateness and then sits on the bed. He undoes the safety and places the gun to his head. He closes his eyes, blocks out Lucifer's laughs and tries to think of that night so many years ago, when he and Dean had just sat on the Impala's hood and watched the stars.

In that moment, they hadn't been hunters.

They'd just been brothers.

He's about to pull the trigger when the door bursts open.

"Sammy!"

Dean is there because, of course, Dean would find him, Dean always finds him, and while it usually reassures him, tonight, he's tired of it.

He just wants it all to be over.

"Killjoy!" Lucifer shouts, sticking his tongue out at Dean.

"Take it easy, Sam," Dean has his arms out, nonthreatening, and his voice is soft. "You wanna tell me why you're doing this?"

"Because I'm no good to you." He states quietly and Dean's eyes widen ever so slightly.

"No good?" He repeats, turning over the words in his mind. "Who told you that? The Devil?" Dean takes a step closer to him. "Because he's not here, Sam, and I need you to believe me when I say that."

Sam huffs out a laugh.

"So, what?" He retorts.

"So what?" Dean echoes, perplexed.

"So, what if he's not real, Dean?" Sam is shouting now, his voice loud and full of frustration. "You think I can help you and Bobby when I'm like this? You think I can hunt? I can barely keep it together! I'm dragging you two down!"

"No, you aren't—" Dean insists sharply.

"I can't keep letting you two down. How much longer will it be until I screw up, Dean? A week, a month, maybe?"

"You are not a screw up—!" Dean snaps now, almost offended by the notion.

"You want to know what I saw while you and Bobby were gone?" He taunts. "Lucifer strangled me with Christmas lights. Merry fucking Christmas, right?"

"I'm sorry, Sammy." Dean tells him softly, taking another measured step towards his brother. "But you need to trust me. We got you out. Whatever he's telling you, whatever you're seeing—it's not real."

Dean is inches apart from him now.

"Just let me go." Sam begs, his finger tightening on the trigger.

"I can't, Sammy." Dean manages a smile and it reminds Sam of days spent playing hide and sick in the salvage yard, of sing-a-longs in the Impala, and of successful hunts.

"I'm broken, Dean." Sam whimpers.

"No, you're not," Dean insists. "You're my brother and we'll figure this thing out, just like we always do."

Sam wants to believe him so badly but—

"Give me the gun, Sam."

Sam does.

The tears consume him then as the grief of what he is going through—of what he tried to hide—consumes him. A sob wracks through him and his knees buckle, but Dean's strong arms brace him and together, they both sink to the floor.

"It's going to be okay, Sammy." Dean assures him. "You're not broken."

For once, Lucifer says nothing and as Sam clings to his brother, he starts to believe that he has a chance.

Maybe, he could piece himself back together again.

Author's Note: My favorite chapter so far! I really loved writing it! I hope you enjoyed it. Please review if you have a moment. Thanks!