My sister actually picked this word, isolated, like 'tattoo' this was a dumb one. So, here have some angst about Sam. The word isolated isn't said in the fic but it's about isolation- in a sense I guess.

Trigger warnings, just encase, I don't think it's that bad but you never know right? I just want the readers to be happy so please be careful. Ya' know, just in case.

Isolated-

He didn't mean to get left behind. Alone, on the side of the long winding dirt road that leads to the middle of no where in both directions, a massive forest surrounding him, the dark closing in and a cold wind picking up.

The dust that the Impala had stirred up had settled long ago, yet Sam just stood, his old backpack at his feet, a gun with an almost empty clip and one bullet in the chamber pressed against his spine, tucked into his jeans.

The smell of burnt flesh and blood clung to his clothes, a dead human body that was once a ware-wolf had smoldered to ashes and kicked up in the wind, blood painted the trees and Sam's clothes, Dean had hardly gotten anything on him, a fleck of the monsters blood on his face and that was all. Now Dean was gone too, off in the Impala after leaving Sam behind.

Sam considered to hike back into the dark forest and lay down in the sticks and dirt, let the bugs crawl over him and nest in his skin and just die. Would Dean even come looking for him? Stupid, stupid, stupid. Sam kicked himself internally, even the most experience hunters made rookie mistakes, Sam cursed himself and finally moved his stiff legs to bend down and grab his backpack.

Slinging it over one shoulder, Sam began to walk. He stared at the empty road in front of him and sighed, why couldn't he do anything right? First he scratched Dean's precious car, then his shot went wide, almost got himself killed, his next shot almost killed Dean. He dropped his Zippo lighter and almost started a forest fire and then when things just couldn't get anything worse he realized in the middle of fighting the ware-wolf, he had lost his knife.

There was yelling, lots of yelling, Dean said somethings so Sam said somethings back. Sam wrapped his arms around his torso and hugged himself against the cold, he was tired, tired of the hunters life, tired of being a freak and a screw up. Dean was better off without him anyway.

Headlights flashed over the backs of his legs and onto the dirt road in front of him, stretching Sam's shadow into a black faceless figure that made Sam shiver. Turning his head, a white pick up truck came to a stop beside him. Exchanging a few short words with the driver and the passenger of the vehicle, Sam swung him self up into the trucks trailer with the drivers dogs and sat with his knees pulled up to his chest. The truck drove on and Sam sat watching his hair fly around the side of his face and the dark forest wiz past lost in a world of self-loathing thoughts.