Strike Three...

Summary: Sam is having trouble dealing with the powers that were bestowed on him. Dean tries to help, but seems to be hurting Sam more than helping him. Finally Sam has enough of Dean's shit, and takes off to clear his head. Little does he know that what dad always taught him, should have come in handy, he should have paid attention to what goes bump in the night.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, Jensen Ackles, or Jared Padelecki... I own the plot, but I make no money on this story, only pleasure in my sadistic ways.

Warning: There is violence, though not in this chapter, and this story has self-harm... If you do not like, please don't read! For those who can handle this story, please review and tell me what you think.

Chapter 1: Beware of Thyself...

Sam's eyes shot open and he gasped. That was the third time in as many nights that he had woken up sweating and gasping from nightmares about what his powers could do to other people. He scrubbed his face with his hands, wiping away the sweat and the resulting fogginess of just waking up.

Sam swept out of his bed silently and walked to the bathroom, dressed only in track pants. He turned the light on and locked the door behind him. Turning on the water in the shower so Dean couldn't hear anything, Sam reached under the sink where he had placed the knife his father had given him when he had turned fifteen; and grabbed the blade, the weight reassuring in his palm.

He looked in the mirror, still holding the knife in his hand and sighed at what he saw looking back at him. There were circles under his eyes, which looked haunted in and of themselves. His hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, and he had lost weight. It had been this way ever since Max had killed himself, Sam felt as if Max had taken a part of him when he had pulled the trigger, and the sense of lose was only getting worse with time.

It was his fault that everyone was either gone or dead, and he knew that Dean only stayed with him because he felt he had an obligation as an older brother to. Max had killed himself because he couldn't deal with the pain that had been bestowed upon him at a young age, and Sam had only deepened the pain when he told him that the same thing had happened to his mother, but he had a loving father and brother; not monsters for a father and uncle.

His mom had been trying to protect him when she had died, killing off a part of Dean and his father in the process. He had left Jessica alone after having dreamt about her dying in exact detail to help Dean, who had basically shunned him when he had left for college. She had ended up with her stomach slashed, and plastered to the ceiling engulfed in flames, because she had loved him, and for no other reason than that.

His father had left Dean alone for a hunt, and had never returned, so Dean had come and gotten Sam from Stanford. The one time he had seen his father since they had been tracking him and the thing that had killed his mother and Jessica; Sam had told him that he had missed him, and that he was sorry, but Sam hadn't explained why he was sorry, that everything was his fault... His father would have only denied it, because he was a good father and Sam had walked out on him, just so he could be "normal."

What the fuck was normal anyway? If normal was what every other suburban family was, then Sam had never been normal, and there was no way that he could ever be. He wasn't normal in his family's thinking either. His family were hunters, and Sam had turned away from that lifestyle, because he had wanted to be a lawyer. Well being a lawyer really didn't matter right now, did it?

Sam clenched the knife in his hand, and brought his wrist up to the sink. He watched fascinated as the metal glinted when he moved it under the light, and it hovered over his wrist for a moment before sweeping down, and digging into the skin of his right wrist. He hissed as the blade sliced his skin, but he smiled non the less, the pain in his wrist taking away from the pain in his mind and heart.

Sam continued the motions until there were six fine cuts on his arm. He washed the blood from the cuts and then from the knife. He replaced the knife, and turned off the shower. He opened the door and was happy to see that Dean was still asleep. He rummaged in his duffle bag for a minute and pulled out a tee-shirt, jeans, and a sweatshirt. He put them on, and was happy that he didn't need excuses to wear the sweatshirt. It was really cool in the mountains of New Hampshire.

Sam wrote Dean a note, stating that he was going to take a walk and that he would arm himself, so the older brother didn't need to worry. Sam took the revolver and a couple of each kind of bullets. He also took a hunting knife from the Impala and started to walk through the woods, marking a path, so he could get back if he needed to.

They were in the small town of Hebron checking out a possible werewolf. A young couple had been hiking and they had disappeared, only to be found a week later, the man's body mangled, and the girl had just been hanging on to life by a thread. She had told them it was a werewolf, but the police and doctors had concluded that she had a psychotic break, and that it was probably a bear.

Sam continued to walk, completely lost in thought, and looked down at his watch. He was surprised that he had been walking for over an hour. He decided to head back, so Dean wouldn't worry, still confused how all that time had passed without him noticing. Sam had just been listening to the birds, and watching the forest as it was lighted up in the early morning Sun; making everything glow. Sam followed the trail he had made more than an hour earlier, unaware of the set of eyes following his every move.


A/N: I know that it was short especially compared to what I usually write, and I know that it went slow... So sorry, but there will be more action and angst soon!

Please Review, it's the only reason I write.