"I don't think people understand how stressful it is to explain what's going on in your head when you don't even understand it yourself."

-Sara Quinn

Sam felt a little nervous as he dug, his nails getting dirtier with every small portion of grit he pulled out of the little hole he had already formed. He had not thought for a second that something would happen, but the little green box that held his friend's wishes was next to him and it seemed like the right thing to do.

So he kept digging, ignoring the blood that poured from his fingertips in the same way he ignored the itch he felt in the back of his eyes.

Rufus started out as his partner during the sessions the doctors forced them to attend together; the point was for them to be alone for one hour in one of the hospital's rooms that only had a table with two chairs and a clock on the wall, tickling loudly with every second that passed. After the hour finished, they could decide to go to their own respective rooms or to the community room. Something simple, they said, just to make them open a little more.

In the beginning the doctors had said it would be easier for Sam to talk to someone akin to him, but he still couldn't understand why the doctors though it would be productive for two people who were not sociable to end up together. It was not as if they could not socialize, but it was more that they didn't want to talk. They wanted to be alone.

And, like anyone would have expected, the first days they didn't talk at all. Rufus just crossed his arms over his chest and muttered from time to time about how ridiculous the whole thing was. Sam didn't even notice him those first days, he just blankly followed the instructions that were given to him and sat on the chair in front of Rufus with his legs pressed tight against his chest. He scratched his wrists occasionally as he looked through the window, thinking about how Jess would have liked to sit on that grass to read. She loved to read.

It wasn't until their second week that they finally started a conversation, Rufus being the one who initiated it with an "Okay, son, listen. This isn't going to end until those docs watch us interact or something." And it wasn't until that moment that Sam finally saw Rufus, really looked at him. It was as if he was walking in a crowd, never bothering to look at the people, just walking without a goal. But then, someone talked and Sam turned his head because it felt familiar. The blur that he always saw from his peripheral vision was now clear and he finally noticed the little things that he hadn't bother to pay attention before.

He noticed that Rufus had a mustache, that he was old and didn't possess a leg; that half of his right arm did not seem to be able to move. And that something in his tone felt so familiar it hurt. But Sam hadn't felt anything in long time, detached. If it hurt, it meant that he was alive, that he was real.

The beginning of what would be the beginning of their small conversations started with Rufus telling him what he had, or what that the doctors thought he had: PTSD and paranoia.

"Kid, in my line of work you don't get to survive without being paranoid."

Sam didn't say anything about himself ─he just wanted to listen─ so he nodded and made some small remarks every now and then. Enough for him to continue. It was like that, in one conversation, that he found that he was gruff and had that 'take-no-shits' kind of attitude that reminded him of Bobby. When he finally made that connection, he realized what was what he found so recognizable on him. That might be why he found it easy to relax in his presence and to start talking to him: because he felt familiar.

Not to mention that their talks provided him the distraction he needed to avoid drowning in his own thoughts, or at least to be able to ignore them for a while.

He didn't exactly remember when he started to enjoy their talks, perhaps some time around the third and fourth week. He always wanted to know more about other people, listen their stories and offer comfort. That was why he had enjoyed working with Ellen in the Roadhouse when he was little. And with Rufus was no exception.

Sam learned in the first week that Rufus didn't like to drink with others, but would never refuse to drink a cold Johnnie Walker if someone invited him, "though only the blue one because when you taste it, boy, you'll never be able to go back to drinking the cheap stuff anymore." He learned in the fourth week that his last name was Turner; in the sixth, that he was Jewish. He had learned what being a hunter meant in the seventh ─the same day Sam had told him the real reason of why he had been admitted there.

When Rufus made his admission Sam had merely raised an eyebrow (it was getting easier for him to form facial expressions) but he did not judge because, after all, they were both in a mental facility.

After Rufus started asking weird questions Sam opened up about how everyone tended to die around him; how he hoped nothing would happen to his surrogate family. Rufus hummed, scratched his beard, and looked thoughtful all day. It wasn't until they were ready to leave that he told him, "kid, I ain't sure but, just to be safe, let me confirm if you're clean." He then spent the next week performing some kind of spells every day to him.

Some smelled odd, others tasted weird, but Sam followed all the instructions without protest because of the determination of Rufus's face. That and because, by then, he trusted him. Though it was curious seeing so many different types of herbs and how easily Rufus managed to pass them through security. When Sam asked him how he got the ingredients, Rufus only shrugged his shoulders before telling him about how he had many contacts that owed him many favors. The way his eyes glinted with amusement as he chuckled, made Sam huff in amusement.

He didn't know when he started to want it to be true. Sam guessed that after seeing him trying every day different things ,unusual methods each time, something deep inside him wanted to believe that maybe he did have some kind of curse, that it wasn't his fault, or at least, not entirely. There were times he wanted it to be real so much that it hurt to think about it. He didn't want to get his hopes up but, sometimes, a smile would slip up on his features before he fell asleep, others, his mind would beat him for being so innocent.

On their last day as partners, Rufus had pursed his lips before telling him that it must be just bad luck because he hadn't found anything wrong in him. "Sorry, kid."

Upon hearing the remorse in his tone, Sam tried, for the first time in months, to smile at him, to reassure him that he was fine even if he thought that there indeed was something wrong in him: Himself.

That was the first time Sam had seen some kind of sad expression in Rufus. And he couldn't take it. It hurt to keep the smile on his lips. It drooped with every breath he took, his eyes turning glassy. Before Rufus could reach for him, he excused and wished him a good night, rubbing his arms as he tried to store the old the negative emotions deep inside of him, deep enough to be able to ignore them. He didn't want to think about how crestfallen he felt, how stupid he was (stupid, stupid); because for one moment he thought that maybe the fault didn't belong to him.

He went to his room, closed the door, and curled on the floor. He breathed and counted. Tried to think in other things, to read at least one paragraph of one of the books he had. But the pain didn't go away. The pressure was there, suffocating him, making him unable to hold it together enough for him to reach his bed. He slowly crawled and lied on his bed, silent tears streaming down his face and thankfully, there were not whimpers this time.

A nurse walked silently in, asked him if he was okay, placing his pills and a cup of water on top of his the small chair next to his bed. She then helped him to sit and to drink them. It was easier to fall sleep after that.

They kept talking even after their reunions were finally over. His doctor told him in one of their sessions that it was good to see him more open with others, complimenting him about the progress he had made all week. Sam merely listened to him and tried to not space out as he nodded. But when he heard Dr. Simigh telling him that he was allowing him to receive visits once a week, his attention was on him all over again.

At first, Sam didn't know what to think of it, but he hid it well. He already knew what he had to do so he thanked his doctor first, not knowing if his smile looked genuine or not. He admitted that he did feel excited, thrilled to see Bobby and Ellen, but it only lasted until he stepped out of the doctor's office, because he didn't really remember very well what had happened in their last encounter. He could only recall feeling Ellen's lips on his hair as she said goodbye and Bobby's hug in the end.

Would they bring little Jo? He didn't think that it would happen, though he wished it did because, even if she wasn't his sister, he still loved her like one. Of course, his real brother died because of that so maybe it wasn't exactly a good idea to bring her. Sam wouldn't be able to blame them if they did so.

What would they ask him? What were they going to talk about? Would they ask him about how he was going? If so, what he was going to answer? They wouldn't understand what he was going through because he didn't even understand what was happening to him; how could you even explain something that you didn't have the words for?

Dean once told him that Sam was the one with 'people skills', always pushing him to talk to others so he wouldn't have to do it, to use his 'puppy eyes' so they could charm others. He laughed bitterly at that thought and cried until he fall asleep because Dean.

The next day the nurse came to wake him, reminding him that he needed to eat. He stood up, almost robotically, knowing that nothing would convince the nurse to let him stay in bed. He walked towards the dining room, ignoring the hollow in his chest that felt more like a physical pain, unbearable and constant. He felt too tired to feel grief, or perhaps he was just too numb to do it, that might be why, when he had his tray with food on his hands, he stood in the middle of the room and looked briefly at his usual corner where he ate alone. Stared at it before turning and going towards the table Rufus usually sat at, always looking around his surroundings for some sign of Ruby.

She was a nymphomaniac he had known for some time already, but for some reason, now, she looked at him as if he were the most delicious food she had seen in the entire universe. It made chills skitter down his back, his arm itching even more every time he noticed she was glancing towards his direction, a smirk always on her lips.

Although, since he started to sit on the same table that Rufus used, he hadn't see her. It seemed that the older man had some kind of aura that made Ruby go away.

He smiled for the first time in months when he saw little Jo next to Bobby and Ellen, waiting for him in one of the tables of the room for visits. They talked about everything and everyone at the same time: Ellen's bar (she had a new bartender), Bobby's garage (he finally made the old trunks disappear), little Jo's classes (she had aced everything, but crafts). They never mentioned what had happened to him or why he was wearing shirts with long sleeves in the middle of summer. Sam tried to smile more for little Jo, even when if his cheeks hurt and he grew more tired with every time he did it, but he didn't want to scare her or to do something that might make them decide to stop bringing her. Her beaming a bright smile at him was worth everything.

In their third visit he convinced Rufus to go with him because Ellen, after hearing about his friend, promised him to slip a blue label in Bobby's flask next to the brownies she baked, repeating that it wasn't any trouble, that she only wanted to meet him. Sam refused to drink Rufus' gift, telling him that it was for him and that perhaps some other time they would share a bottle instead of a flask. He grinned at him and accepted.

They all talked for a while, but after half an hour passed, they grew quieter. Sam spent the time drawing with little Jo as he talked softly with Ellen, while Bobby and Rufus discussed about some book they both had read. Some people around them looked at both men as if they thought they would rip their throats any time soon, but Sam knew that they liked each other, they were pretty similar after all.

- x -

A week before his death, while they ate, Rufus told him about the crossroads demons and how they could conceive anything you wanted by just burying some stuff in the middle of a crossroads and showed him the little green box with all the ingredients that he would need to put inside. Sam didn't know what half of the stuff was and Rufus didn't tell him, but he managed to recognize Rufus' picture in it, an old photo of a younger version of him.

"What are you going to wish?" he asked nervously. Sam didn't believe it, but he was truly curious to know the answer.

Rufus twisted the box in his hand. "I want my arm and leg back."

"What?"

"I ain't going to depend on those pills to dull my pain all my life, kid." He threw the small package on the table. "I want to leave this place and never come back, but I can't do it like this."

"But there must be something they want, right? I don't think they would concede something by the goodness of their hearts."

Rufus grinned and leaned more into his chair. "You're a smart kid. I know you'll be able to guess it."

Sam blinked. There was something in Rufus' tone that─ "Your soul?!" he shouted. He glanced around and, thankfully, there were few patients that day. "They want your soul?" he whispered.

He snorted. "The usual deal lasts ten years before the hellhounds take my soul down to Hell."

Sam couldn't remember since when he had started to follow his delusions, but Rufus' face was serious enough to make him talk with the same conviction. "Hellhounds?"

"They're hell's beasts," he answered shaking his head. "Dealt with them a few times. Horrendous creatures."

Sam crossed his arms over his chest. "And I don't think that they just come to lick your face and ask for your soul, right?"

"They'll shred me into pieces." Sam tried to say something, but he didn't know what though. If he could at least accomplish what he wanted, then what Sam could say? You deserve to live fully? He wasn't a hypocrite. Sam looked up when he felt a pat on his shoulder. "Kid, I'm a hunter. My death will be bloody and horrible, that's our rule."

"But this is Hell what we're talking about."

Rufus' eyes clouded as he gazed at the side, a sad smile forming on his lips. "I've done a lot of crap in my life, son. I'm going to Hell one way or another." He grabbed the box between his fingers, touching the top almost fondly. "At least this way I can decide how."

"Why do you even tell me this? I'm suicidal, you know." Sam cringed at the word, looking down as he tried to ignore how his arm still itched. He quietly moved his hand using his spoon to play with the food on his plate.

"I know that you won't do it again, you're smart and you already know how your family would get if you are stupid enough to try to do that again."

Sam swallowed. He thought that maybe he was right; he wouldn't do that again. At least, he needed to believe that. Because after some nights thinking about what happened before he got inside the hospital, he was finally able to remember some more things. They were mostly flashes of Ellen's broken tone as she called the ambulance and Bobby's tears while he grabbed his wrists to stop the blood. There was coldness too, someone touching his head gently before he went unconscious. He remembered that little Jo was staying in a friend's house that night; he thought that that was why he had chosen that day.

But even if he did know that he would not try kill himself again because he loved them, it also made him hate them a little because now he had to live with fear, irritation. The feeling of being broken, everyday hating what he saw into the mirror. He once wondered how it was possible that the emptiness in his chest could feel so heavy and crushing, pressing down in his bones, making him exhausted, drained, inutile, but at the same time so light.

It was their fault. This wasn't supposed to happen. He wanted it all to be over. Why had they ─

He cleared his throat. It was always the same, always trying to fight with the guilt that slowly engulfed him when he thought of them that way, creeping inside him as it were a virus.

Rufus died on a Tuesday because of a heart attack. It was so normal and quick that it startled Sam for a moment. He never thought that he would die, or at least not like this. Not so… normal. Everything was so ordinary the day it happened: the exercise in the morning, the shower, the breakfast, the pills. A normal day in a patient's routine. Well, there had been a small difference, though, that afternoon Sam had shared his dessert with him, one thing that he had never done before. But Rufus liked that flavor of pudding in particular and his had fallen from his tray.

Rufus was supposed to leave the next day. Everything was planned and Sam had felt so alive when Rufus told him his idea, including him in it. He had acquiesced to do the distraction, he had even practiced it and all: he would act as if he were choking so all the nurses would come (some to help, but most out of curiosity), then Rufus would use the car that someone would leave outside ─another person who owed him a favor─. It would be hard with just one working leg, but there was a crossroads close to the hospital.

Everything was planned so nothing would screw it up.

After he escaped, he promised Sam that he would then see him next week close to Bobby's house to say goodbye and to drink a Johnnie Walker with him. He had told him that he had waited until that moment because he knew that weekend Sam would finally get the permission to go outside to visit his family.

He was supposed to go to Bobby's and play with little Jo, buy some books and eat edible food before going out in the night to meet Rufus and then Sam would return Monday morning after trying what Rufus said was the best thing he would ever taste.

He had even promised him to visit him occasionally.

"I'll teach you to hunt, kid. It's always better to know more about the supernatural so you can protect yourself."

It was so surreal to watch the nurses going to his room, shouting indications; patients hovering close, trying to see better what was happening.

Sam stayed in his room all day, curled in a ball on his bed, arms wrapped tightly around his body. His doctor told him that maybe it would be a good idea to not go out this weekend─ he knew that Rufus was his friend and the consequences his death would produce on him, worried him. Sam said that he would think about it, because it was true. He didn't feel like going out, or doing anything for that matter. He only wanted to be on his bed and be where he couldn't be hurt or hurt others.

At eleven, he remembered that Rufus hid the box for the demon's deal in the ceiling of his room. No one must have noticed or at least not yet, but Sam knew that if someone from the staff found it, it would most likely end in a trash along with his friend's wishes.

It felt right to retrieve it and to hide it under his pillow.

He told the doctor on Thursday that he wanted to go out that weekend─ wanted to leave some flowers at Rufus' grave (He was going to be buried on Friday). The doctor smiled at him and gave him the direction of the cemetery, told him that he was going to talk with Bobby and Ellen and give them some instructions for him to follow so they would not worry.

Sam accepted the offer; he would not put flowers, though. He thought that Rufus would like a blue label better. He took the box with him, passing it off as a book, and once inside Ellen and Bobby's house, he took the impala and left. It had been a little harder to convince to Bobby to let him go alone, saying that he needed some time alone, Bobby had seemed reluctant at first but accepted after Sam agreed to call every half hour, threatening that if he didn't, Bobby would hunt his ass down if he turned off the cell's GPS.

And that was why he was there burying that box in the crossroad, the small, green box that reminded him of Dean's eyes. It was rather chilly, but the brush of the wind against his face was a slightly calming as he finished a hole with sufficient room for the box. He thought that maybe wherever Rufus were he would appreciate it.

He placed his picture next to the one Rufus put because he did not want him to be alone; after all, Sam knew the emotion all too well to wish it to anybody.

Sam never thought that a demon would appear. After he finished burying the box, he stood, turned and started walking towards Rufus' grave. That was why the sound of a cough behind him startled him greatly. He looked over his shoulder and saw a very beautiful woman in a black dress standing in the same spot he had covered the hole.

"You called?" she said, smiling at him and looking appreciatively at his body.

"Um. I'm sorry, but who are you?" Sam managed to speak in an audible tone─ it was still hard to talk with people he did not know and the way she kept looking at him didn't help. It was uncomfortable.

Her eyes turned black and Sam could not avoid the gasp that escaped him. "I'm the one who will grant any wish you have." Her smile broadened as she walked slowly towards him. He tried to step back, but Sam found himself incapable to move, only being able to close his eyes when she was close, merely a few inches away from his face.

"Anything you want, sweetheart," she purred.

Sam felt chills run all over his body as he tried to fight whatever forces kept him in place. He tried to think of something but Rufus never told him what happened if he rejected a deal and he never asked because he didn't think it would be real! He tried to think of something, though, anything. But the woman kept smiling, flirting with her eyes and movements, using them as a weapon.

Sam remembered for a second the weeks after Dean and Jess died, the day he went to that diner close to Bobby's that his brother always talked about, hoping to feel something of him in there. He hadn't felt anything, in the same way he didn't feel anything when he tried to read Jess' favorite book. The only different thing was that when the waitress winked at him, he had to run to the bathroom to try to stop the gags that came before one threw up. After that he had to clean the cold sweat that covered his forehead with little pieces of toilet paper.

Couldn't she see how death followed every step he took. How disgusting he was?

A snap of fingers got him out of his thoughts. The demon was still in front of him, easy smile still plastered on her face, the amusement never leaving her features. She didn't seem to be sickened by their closeness, though perhaps the demon could see him by what he really was and that may had been why she flirted with him in the first place… maybe he already looked like a demon in her eyes. It made sense even if at the same time it made him sick.

"So what's your wish, Sammy?" Sam flinched at the nickname; he didn't even bother to ask how she knew his name. "Get the girlfriend back? Or what about your precious big brother? Mom? Maybe Dad?"

"How did you─"

She interrupted him. "You got a lot of blood in your hands, Sam. I can see it. I can taste it," she said, leaning until her lips almost brushed his. "The question is for whom you feel enough guilt?" She grinned, licking the corner of his lips with the tip of her tongue and Sam could barely swallow the broken sob that wanted to escape him. "You can even wish for me to kill you, a one way trip to Hell. Better early than later, isn't that what they say?"

"I, um, I─" Sam's voice broke and the demon threw her head back and laughed, her black eyes glinting in the soft light of the night. It was the distraction he needed; he was finally able to at least move his head. He shut his eyes tight, trying to turn away from her, but soft fingers grabbed his chin in a surprisingly strong hold, making his eyes snap open.

"Ask, Sam." Her voice indicated that she was all business now. "I've more deals to do and, unless you ask for us to sleep together, I don't think I'd like to spend too much time here." She glanced around in distaste. "I could kill you right now and avoid all trouble."

It was her tone, Sam knew, the one that made fire lit inside him, not the same kind of fire that swallowed Jess and Dean though. This one didn't burn, it energized him instead. He remembered that Rufus once told him that he didn't want to be buried; he wanted a hunter funeral.

"Just throw me some salt until I burn to crisp, boy."

Now his body was here against his wishes, in this cemetery. And even if it wasn't what his friend would have wanted, the place deserved the same respect he had for Rufus. He never pitied him or treated him as if he were something fragile. He treated him as a normal human being. She didn't deserve to look at this place in distaste. Not when his friend's body lay here.

"I like that expression on your face, Sammy boy," she mocked. A lazy smile on her face as her fingers lingered on her throat, lips moving close to his ear. "Finally decided for something or you want me to just kill you?"

He tried to fight against her invisible grip, groaning with every little movement he managed, but it only made her more impatient, bolder with her touch. She gripped his throat tightly, smirking at every one of his attempts, making him tired and heavy. If he hadn't fallen on his knees, it was just because of the invisible force that kept him upright.

His wrists, all his skin, prickled and itched, wanting to be scratched, wanting all to be over. If he closed his eyes, he could still feel the blood pouring from his cuts, moving downwards to his hands.

Sam clenched his fists, wishing they would be free so he could clean his palms on his jeans. He tried to think in something else, but the stench of sulfur on her breath only managed to remind him of Jess and Dean, and maybe mom too, a little… Perhaps it was true that he deserved to be in Hell, to live in constant agony so he could do penance for everything that had happened because of him, it would be a little poetic when the fire of damnation started to lick his skin as they did with his family.

I don't want to fight. I can't … I am too tired.

The fire slowly left him as all the emotions he had tried to squeeze inside of him started to slowly surface. If he didn't try to entice her to break his neck, it was only because he didn't want her to kill him. He didn't want his final moments to be her eyes full of indifference and boredom, but it was true that he also didn't know if she would kill him for not wishing anything. He could not think of something he wished either; he knew that if he asked for anything and made a deal then hellhounds would come for him eventually. He should have asked Rufus more.

Rufus told him before that when it was supernatural related, you always had to pay something in exchange for every good-thing you wished, usually what you pay was something bad. But what happened if he asked for something bad? Would he receive something good? What would happen if she couldn't grant what he asked? Would she leave?

Everything was silent for a few seconds, the demon just took her time running a finger down his jaw while her other hand moved towards his wrist, trailing roughly the delicate skin with a nail, applying enough force to leave a trail of blood, her eyes always mocking at him while they did it. For some reason, Sam felt that she was reading his mind, enjoying how his thought diverted towards a darker path.

He couldn't take it anymore.

"I want Satan to be my friend," he blurted, slight determination lingering on his tone. It was the first thing that came into his mind. He didn't know if it would work until the demon's eyes widened considerably, surprise written all over her face.

"What the hell did you say?" she growled.

"You heard me." He swallowed. "That's the only thing I want and if you can't do it then we don't have a deal." He didn't want her to kill him, not her. But at the same time he didn't care, he wished for a slow death, to feel it as others killed him in anger, ripped him in pieces as the words of everything he had done were whispered against his ear. He couldn't think of anyone better than the Devil itself to cause him the pain he needed and even if Satan didn't come, the anger creeping in the demon's eyes may be enough for her to not kill him with indifference. If he kept saying things like that, maybe she would get angrier.

Sam saw a knife appearing in her hand. "And you think that someone like you would ever be able to─"

"You're dismissed, Meg. I think this deal belongs to me." A smooth voice spoke a few steps away from them, surprising them both. The demon left his neck go and turned, kneeling almost too fast for Sam to catch.

"My Lord," she said respectfully. "I apologize for any interruptions. I'll kill this human and─"

"I said go," he said, never raised his voice, but the words held a power that made her flinch in fear. She shot a glare at him before she vanished. "Hello, Samuel."

His throat tightened at hearing the voice of the handsome man in front of him. He blinked. Satan was nothing of what he thought he would be like, especially with the way he was dressed: all in white. His jacket, pants, vest and tie─ everything. He surprisingly looked as any other executive in an expensive suit. If one walked past him, it wouldn't have noticed what he was, perhaps. Without looking him directly into his eyes. Those icy blue orbs held power, something alien and ancient in them, glowing faintly thanks to the light of the moon.

Sam breathed when his body was finally able to move. However, he didn't possess the strength to do anything; he couldn't even understand how he was on his feet. The stare that scrutinized him may be one of the answers, he thought. The eyes on him felt more like a physical touch that pinned him in place. Not too invasive like he previous demon were and, luckily, he hadn't try to flirt with him either ─ it was hard enough to avoid the mental breakdown that wanted to show its ugly face inside him without it.

"Not so brave anymore, Samuel?"

"Sam," he blurted. "It's only Sam."

"Okay, Sam. Would you repeat your wish to me?" Satan smiled, waiting patiently for his answer, but Sam could hardly listen what the other said with all the blood on his ears, his heart pounding almost painfully against his rib cage as adrenaline shot through his veins. He wondered if what he felt was his instinct of survival telling him to run away and search for refuge.

"I want you to be my friend." Sam surprised himself when it came louder than he imagined. He took a deep breath, his head held high as he waited for the first blow. Relief washing over him as it slowly replaced the fear ─ the tiredness was easier to ignore. He couldn't kill himself because of Bobby and Ellen, but he wanted to be selfish for the first time in a long long time.

He had tried for them, he smiled and went to see his doctor every day, never interrupting the man when he talked even when in reality he just wanted to lie on bed, to just pace around until he would fade one day from the world. He didn't have any more to offer and living would get harder now that he didn't have a friend like Rufus that could distract him from his thoughts, from the way his arm always itched. He couldn't kill himself but maybe if other, if maybe─

"Okay."

Sam blinked several times while his brain tried to process what had happened. Had he heard right? Did the Devil, the frigging Devil just said 'okay'?

"What?"

"Wasn't that what you wished for? I said okay." He chuckled and walked towards him, his movements held some unworldly grace that he would imagine better in a panther approaching its prey than something using a human's body ─ Rufus had already told him how demons used vessels to walk on earth, probably it was the same with the Devil?

"You know how we have to close the deal, right?" he asked, his hand brushing softly his cheek, face a few inches away from him. Sam didn't budge, though this time it wasn't because of some force that held him, but more for the surprise that, even if it was Satan in front of him, he didn't feel the same disgust he did feel with the demon. The only emotion he felt was that indescribable one that he was already used to feel mixed with the yelling inside his head that kept telling him to run away.

"You may call me Lucifer if we're going to be friends, Sam." His eyes were filled with amusement as he leaned closer, breath cool against his lips.

"Why? Why won't you kill me?" Sam's voice quivered as the first tears started to fall.

Lucifer's lips were brushing his as he answered with a small grin. "Because you wanted to die, but didn't ask for that."

And he kissed him, sealing the deal.

A/N: The whole fic will deal with depression and how it's dealt. The relationship Lucifer/Sam will be slowly built and it won't be a 'love-fixes-all' kind of fic. I've tried my best to write an accurate description of everything that happens. Now, I haven't gone ever to a north-american mental facility, but I've done my research about it and read comments about many patients and nurses that had gone to this type of hospitals.

A/N2: This fic is already completed. I'm only posting it here. And if it looks like something you've read on AO3 well, I posted it there first.

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