A/N- Hello readers, I'm very sad i didn't get any reviews last chapter :( but i still wanted to give an update to the awesome readers who are following my story 3 I hope you enjoy :)

Disclaimer: Still...I own nothing

Two days earlier

Sam walked into the room that would be the Winchesters home for the next week or two. The room irritated him. It was painted in a vulgar shade of yellow that screamed out from the walls even in the dim illumination from the single light behind him.

The drive had been long and silent. Sam didn't know what job was bringing them to rainy Seattle, Washington. Nor did he know the last one they had come from. Much to his father's dismay, Sam had refused to do any research for him this past week, on account of "not feeling good." He didn't care. He hated hunting. Hated not having a normal life. This had been the cause of his and John's fight they'd had before the long drive here. "His lack of determination". It was bullshit to Sam. Just because he hates hunting does not mean that he does not care about his family. It has nothing to do with that. His father was so stupid. How could he not understand? Even through his father's screaming, Sam stayed as silent as he could. His father's words tore him apart. Sam knew he needed something to change..to do something..Something to make the pain go away.

Even Dean had hurt him. Stood by in silence, not even jumping in once to defend his younger brother against his father's screams. That broke Sam. His dad hated him..at least he could kind of handle that. But Dean not caring..that tore at Sam like a thousand knives.

During the drive here, Sam couldn't help but stare at the weapons his father had lazily thrown of the floor of the backseat. The guns..Knives. He thought of all the ways they could hurt someone. Sam had been before on hunts, but those were out of his control. The thought of having that control somehow felt exhilarating to him..Exciting.

Maybe i should try it..Just once..

He knew it was bad, but try everything once right? Isn't that what normal people do?

He lifted his eyes to look at his father and Dean sitting in silence in the front seat. Slowly, he reached down and pulled a switch blade from a side pocket of the duffel. Carefully, and as quickly as he possibly could be, re raised up his hand and shoved the blade into his front pocket. Then he pulled his shirt down over his jeans to their original location, before he had laid his fate in them.

The door burst open, pulling Sam from his thoughts. His dad and Dean trudged into the mucky room.

"Sam get the rest of the bags from the trunk." His father demands.

Sam would give anything to deny his father's request. To tear everything in this horrid room, all the while screaming at his father that he is not a sooldier..and then leave. But he knows none of that is an option. he could never leave Dean. Even though at the present time he is mad at him.

Sighing, Sam walks out of the short doorway towards Dean's baby. What had his father ever given him? Dean is their dad's perfect soldier.

He forcefully grabs the bags from the Impala's trunk. instinctively, Sam looks up, knowing he would be reprimanded if he was caught showing any kind of disobedience.

Sam couldn't handle anymore yelling. He had, had enough. Has too much pain bottled up inside. Is it really too much to ask for to be happy and normal? He has had enough of smiling through the pain and trying to be perfect for his father. He knows that, that's not how family is supposed to be.

Sam then drags his feet, carrying his family's burdens in his hands.

"What took you so damn long," John questions as soon as he steps foot into the doorway.

Ignoring his father for as long as he possibly can without getting punished, Sam turns and slams the door shut with the force of his hip.

"Sorry.." Sam states bluntly.

"Excuse me?"

"Sorry, Sir," Sam corrects. God, I hate my father sometimes.

Throwing Deans and his bags on their bed, Sam decides its time.

He quickly walks past Dean, who is at the orange dinner table reading up about their latest hunt.

"Sam,"

Fuck.

Dean and I are going to get some food," John states. Perfect.

Sam makes eyes contact for the first time today with his older brother.

"Get me whatever you like." Sam doesn't care about food right now.

This is perfect. Sam knows it will be much easier to do this by himself, rather than when his family is in the next room.

Sam continues his trek into the bathroom and slams the door behind him, locking it. He listens until he finally hears the motel front door close, reassuring him that he is alone.

Sam then sits down on the toilet, slowly pulling the knife from his pocket.

Do I really want to do this? No, I'm not going to think about this. I need something to take the pain away.

Pulling his black sleeve up, he pulls the knife apart and presses the sharp side to the sensitive skin on his wrist. Holding his breath, he slowly makes his first cut. As he pulls the blade across , he smiles to himself at the sight of red trailing behind the blade. Blood immediately pours from his deep cut and Sam stares in a state of shock. He did it. He feels good..happy even. This is great. The pain of his life is now in the back of his mind..Almost lost. All he can focus on is the beautiful red poring from him.

Smiling he makes one more cut right below the first one. This times he winces at the short-lived pain. The pleasure soon follows.

snapping out of his tasty Sam realizes his dad and Dean will return soon. Standing up, he b races himself against the counter feeling light-headed. When he walks back into the yellow room, it looks different; Bigger, brighter, and not so full of pain anymore. His head is clear again. His pain lost. The shadows are gone.

Quickly, Sam walks to the duffel bag in search of the family's first aid kit.

It's not here. It's in the fucking trunk. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

In panic, Sam runs his finger through his shaggy brown hair.

Just think Sam..Think.

Sam runs back into the bathroom and turns on the faucet. He smile at the stinging sensation that runs through his arm when the rush of water hits his wound. He watches in awe as the water turns red. Once the water is clear and his arm partly clean, he uses a tissue to dry the area and clean up any access blood. Pulling down his long sleeve, satisfied, he looks him the mirror and smiles. He feels good..Really good.

OK..act normal.

Sam walks into the bedroom and sits calmly on the flowery mattress.

I can't keep the blade in my pocket anymore. Not after I'm sure i will need to do this again. And if im going to continue doing this, I have to work hard to keep in hidden..can't risk Dean seeing it. But i have to have it on me..I need it. I pull the blade out, pressing it to the tips of my finger. I don't draw blood, but just knowing I can, helps me breathe.

Sam rolls up his pants leg and tugs open his sock. The blade slides in easily and lies flat and warm against him skin. He snaps the sock against his leg and then rolls them back down.

Perfect.