Disclaimer: Belongs to Kripke. Not me. Too tired to be witty.

Warnings: This is M rated fic. Means it'll have violence, sex, or drug use-demon blood in this case.

AN: This takes place during the 4 month time frame after Dean goes to Hell.


Chapter one: Heartbreaker.

It was all said and done. He held Dean in his arms, his still warm blood sticking to Sam's jacket. All alone; no Ruby, no Lilith, and no Dean. No Dean. The world was fuzzy, like there was a barrier between him and everything else. His vision was tunneling; Dean's eyes were the only thing he could focus on. If only they'd blink, start to shine again. Never again. Bile rose in his throat and catching there, the shudders making it worse. Something was shaking; he didn't know what, but he didn't care.

Dean was gone, but all cut up; if he didn't else mattered, something else was shaking now; he slowly turned, a lifetime in a single motion. It was…Bobby?

Yes that was Bobby, he was shaking him. His mouth was moving, but the sounds were gibberish; Bobby's heavy hands were crushing his shoulders and he buckled under the weight. Wait-he was the one who was shaking and that strange noise was him. Bobby was saying something. His name. What was his name?

Oh yeah-Sam.

Together the two hauled him and Dean to their feet-no wait-Sam's. Dean couldn't possibly-Sam swayed for a moment; he was just getting himself back. In reality, this only lasted a moment, but it felt like forever.

In the car, down the highway, it was quiet. The silence was in fact a loud buzz, his thoughts on replay. The road stretching out before them; Sam in the passenger seat, glad not to take the wheel. Any wheel for that matter.

He didn't know how long it took to get back and he didn't care. They stopped, parked, and he suddenly remembered that Dean was in the backseat with a blanket over him. Sam fumbled with the door handle, and when it finally opened, he tripped out. He fell, palms hard and scorched against the pavement, ripping skin. It was really real, it was really happening. Dean was really-

Suddenly Sam threw up. Threw up all he had, spreading acrid and sticky on the ground. A part of himself melting on the black tar.

He'd have to help Bobby carry Dean.

Sam wished he could go back to that numbed high. Now it was reality. Cold, bright, and hard. It scraped against his skin, slamming tight, and never letting go. Sam's brain whirled, desperation and intelligence heating up the fluids in his brain. Feverish plans consumed him, making him sweat; whenever he touched something, it scorched underneath him until his knuckles turned white, and branding him with something terrible.

Since he knew what he had to do, so when Bobby suggested the usual hunters' burial, Sam adamantly refused. He pleaded, and argued, wouldn't have it any other way. He wore Bobby down until the older man finally gave in. Other than that subject, Sam was silent, locked in his own thoughts.

After agreeing on straight burial. A straight burial. A date was set. Sam just wanted it over and done with. Dean was set gently into the cheap pine box, and when he grabbed a shovel, each mound of dirt was like a stone, but he felt strangely light; the only thing that mattered was taken away-put in the ground, never to be heard from again. The next day, Sam left.

He drove mindlessly; he knew where he could find a crossroads. It was all said and done.

It sneered at him, laughed hard. Cold eyes flashed at him as he refused. Sam swallowed his rage, eating it, it burned down his throat(Like a strong drink). He grimaced, forcing it down as he slammed the knife into the demon's hand.

As the demon screamed in pain, he felt a savage pleasure twist in his belly, and Sam felt his anger grow as he slammed the knife into the demon's chest.

"Choke on it."