Just a little thing, my mind would not let go of- literally glued itself to. I've been writing real dark stuff latley, and...in a play we did for our drama exam, Vinegar Tom- dark crazy stuff...picture the grudge and those things that lived in the coal schute in 'Family Remains'. And it kinda made us all bit mental after a few weeks of it- so basing my crazy side and getting all my crazies out- this was ...erm...mutatedly born.

Summary: A smoking gun had never made him feel so...much...before. Season 5.

Warning: I am...actually...insane. Or does it just look that way?

Disclaimer: Answer the following question truthfully. Can you fly using two spoons and a cat? No...nope nah...I occasionally use my cat to dust the tv though-it works. What?!...

"I'll kill myself before I let you take me." Says the youngest Winchester, defiantly.

Lucifer shrugged, nothing new, nothing he couldn't handle.

"I'll just bring you back..." Red flashed in his eyes. "Wake up Sammy." he hushed.

Sam sat bolt up, Dean was sleeping just a metre away on the other bed, he'd been exhausted and his eyes were already closing before he even reached their room.

Sam's heart slowly stopped its pounding, gave his ribs a chance to heal since the spirit deciding he needed to be pelted into walls and edges of libraries on their hunt lastnight.

He released his breath in a long sigh and ran cool hands through his hair.

He'd been having the same nightmare for weeks, it always ended the same, with Lucifer taking him, or another threat, another attack on Dean-right before his eyes.

When he was younger, Dean would tell him to confront his nightmares, after he'd calmed down by Dean's soothing and one day, little Sammy waited for the nightmare, the tall black suited man to rise in the shadows and come right for him, except this time little Sammy didn't run, didn't try to escape when his legs wouldn't move. He stood, still and stoic just like big brother had said and swung his fist.

A formidable 'Fuck-You' to every supernatural creature out there. And the dreams stopped.

With Lucifer, when you punched him in the face, he kind of decided to make things difficult and it either involved fire or taunts or the endless asking.

Say yes Sam...just say Yes and I'll stop...say it...go on...yes Sam...Yes...YESyesyesyeyesyesyesy-

"NO!" he'd jerk and jump up, nothing would be there, but he'd swore he could smell sulphur.

The next time Sam dreamt, they were staying in a hunting cabin in Deluth, bad memories for a start and as he slept it became a haunted collage of the people he'd hurt.

His hand or demon-forced.

And then he dreamt about Lucifer, about Lilith smiling wide and pearly white and he waited, waited until he was right there, in front of him, all rotting skin and demanding questions.

"You will eventually give in Sam, you can't fight your destiny."

So, instead of running and never moving anywhere and letting it grab him, Sam did what he was supposed to have done since Dean came back from hell. He listened to his brother.

"Hey Lucifer," Sam said, amazed at how strong his breaking voice sounded. "Fuck no."

He pulled the colt from behind his back, this was his mind, his dream, and fired into the Devil's forehead, right between those smug eyes.

The body fell like lead, he was breathing easier and the hot gun in his hands had never made him feel so happy.

He didn't dream of the devil again, not for months.

That was until actually shooting him with the colt failed and Dean ended up with a concussion and three fractured ribs.

The next time Sam dreamt...Lucifer was smiling, all knowing. So Sam turned the gun on himself.

He hoped with the carved enochian sigils on his ribs Lucifer wouldn't be able to find him to bring him back and he hoped with a heavy heart when he stopped breathing on the bed close to his brother he didn't notice until the morning, and then Dean would find the note, along with the leftover dreamroot and understand.

It was the only way,



My, aren't I getting dark this week...I think we need some crack now, I'm scaring myself here...