AN: I'm not yet sure how much I should add each time I update because I tend to read fics from a couple of years ago (I can't tell if they ever add multiple chapters or parts). SO I thought I'd add a bit more. I'm drawing close to the end of my 'collection' and I'm going back to school on Wednesday *most sarcastic voice ever* 'YAY' so updates may take a while cos I need to get back into a routine. Going to bed at 5 in the morning and waking up at 1pm is unfortunately no longer an option...life perks...or not. SO I hope you enjoy this next bit and pity me at school. I almost forgot what I set out to say. Anything in italics is normal emphasised or a dream, hallucination or a memory...I'll leave you to figure out which. Another note before I begin (sorry, I promise I'll go back to writing after) I apologise for any mistakes in American words/phrases and objects, in the fic - depending on perspective - I try to maintain certain things eg. I put realization (not realisation) or parking lot (not carpark) or color (not colour) but sometimes I make mistakes or get confused, so sorry.

The ground was cold. But not an angry cold, more of a warm, bubbly cold.

Wait no, that doesn't make sense! Sam thought as he ran his fingers through the grass. It was a habit that he'd picked up as child, it was sort of like he was checking that the ground was here, that it was reliable – dependable – making sure that it would always be here.

Huh, maybe he wasn't just thinking about the ground.

"Sammy! Sam, hurry up with that won't you, we want to be finished before the end of next week." Dean moaned. Dean snapped Sam out of his thoughts. Suddenly he wasn't sat on the grass anymore but on a metal chair leaning against a desk in a library.

"Yeah well by the looks of this we don't have till the end of today never mind next week." Sam said looking up from the book. The words had fallen off the tip of his tongue and seemed to be something along the lines of what his brother expected.

"That's just not good enough Sam!" his father's gruff voice echoed throughout the room. It was darker now, just like the mood.

"Bu-"

"Dean." His father warned glaring in the opposite direction.

"Dad I-" Sam's voice was rough and vulnerable.

"Sam, you could've found that out five days ago if you hadn't of being doing revision for that stupid exam! You know that lives depend on it; your mother's life depended on it. What's more important to you, saving lives, hunting things or one exam after another that leads to a dead end job and a dead end life!" John roared. This was what Sam hated, the dark side of his family that came hand in hand with the 'family business' as his brother so gladly called it.

"Dad this is the life that I want, the life I've always wanted. I'm sorry that I'm not what you want, what you need. I'm sorry that I'm not Dean!" Salty tears burned Sam's eyes as he stared down the raging mess that was his father. He could see Dean within him, and himself but most of all he saw pure resentment.

"Oh Sam,"

They were gone.

"I never wanted this for you."

There was a blonde woman.

"I'm sorry Sammy…"

Her voice trailed off into a forlorn whisper.

"This never should've been your life."

Her speech was cut out by a sudden scream.

She was on the ceiling, her hair was whipping around her face as her eyes flooded with realization. This was it. She was going to die. Suddenly the room was on fire around him. Flames licked his skin and the pale wallpaper. The fire shredded it like a tiger – caged and showing no mercy. As the fire died down into blackness he let out a final sentence.

"Mom?"

It had been a damn long time since John had picked up his youngest boy. Ten years at least and the last two had been the hardest. John had deeply missed Sammy as any father would do but his knowledge the evil out there only increased his absence. The loss of his youngest son had been a blow that hit him much harder than he believed was possible.

"What's the matter with him?" Dean asked clearing the bed.

"He hasn't got any injuries." Dean answered himself.

"I think it's exhaustion and he looks like he's lost a lot of weight, maybe malnutrition" John said after briefly observing his youngest. Sam had barely entered the motel before an argument had erupted and it had obviously expended more energy than he was used to. John was alarmed by how much weight his youngest had lost. The boy in his arms weighed the same as the one who once reached for his father's arms for comfort and love.

It had been a long time.

John set Sam down on the bed and stroked a hand through his tawny hair. It was darker than Dean's but lighter than his own. Perhaps there was more of himself in him than Mary. Although the passion for knowledge was definitely hers. A shiver ran through Sam and John realized how cold it was in the room. He had not noticed under his thick plaid shirt but Sam had goosebumps under his thin t-shirt. As he leaned for his coat to cover Sam in he wondered just how much Sam had had to give up and why on earth he had ever let him go.