A/N: So here is chapter one of a hopefully long story. It's actually pretty dark at some parts with swearing so heads up, Trigger Warning and what not, Not really looking for trouble but you know make it double. I've been trying to find a way to start this story and now I finally have it! Sorry about what's about to happen to Sammy though, well not really but whatever, my take on what if Dean waited too long to help Sam. Woo inspiration from Hollywood Undead – Bullet, so read away everybody!

Routine

Six months. Six long, agonizing months alone, without Dean to hold him up, without Dean to tell him to keep going, without Dean to watch him, six months of pain, alone with the only thoughts cluttering his head; they were such wonderful thoughts. Really though, Sam was in a bad place. He knew it, didn't take a genius to recognize the signs. He knew what he was doing was wrong, that if anyone saw him now… but he really didn't give a rat's ass about it either, he was in too much pain to care. He smiles bitter sweetly to himself. If Dean saw him like this he'd through a bitch fit, but he also hoped he'd shoot him down like the lost cause he was. He was useless, a screw up, most people screw up and maybe end up gambling away all of their brother's retirement fund or something, but not him, oh no, he was the one who made sure his brother and everyone else in the world didn't need a retirement plan. Yep, he lets Satan out of his little cage when he fucks up. 'Cause that's what he does, fucks everything up. He chuckled darkly to himself. Dean was probably sitting somewhere wondering what he did wrong and realizing it wasn't his fault for once and that it was his. That little old Sammy was the fuck up for once, all by himself. That's why they were 'hemispheres away from each other', right? With that Sam smiles and draws the blade once more across his bicep because there was no reason to keep him whole anymore, not like he could fix the shit storm he had brewed up, so he just cut the time, quite literally.

He sat there transfixed by the blood dripping down his arm, wondering if Dean even thought about him these days, he never called. Sam had called of course; quite a few times actually, he'd left one or two messages, never got a call back or an answer. He gave up after the line was disconnected a few weeks ago. He could track his brother, it wouldn't be that hard but then again, Dean could always find him, not like he was hiding from his brother. That's why he never went too far, why he never took too many pills or cut too deep, had to miss those arteries or else he'd pass out, if he passed out he'd miss work at the bar, if he missed work at the bar then Lindsey would check up on him; it was simple enough too, just check the employee form for the room number, and she'd find him passed out on the floor, not dead because it'd be too good for him to just lay down and die. She'd either take him to the hospital or call 911 either way he'd be in the hospital and they'd somehow call Dean and Bobby, Dean would ignore it but Bobby would send him out anyway, and when he woke up Dean would be there looking at him and he'd give him a small smile cause he'd finally see his big brother again, but Dean would just look at him as the blood sucking junkie fuck up because that's all he was: a fucked up freak. Then, Dean would check him out as soon as possible bring him back to Bobby's try to fix the most broken thing in the world and ignore everything he'd done, for Bobby's sake of course, but every time he'd look at him, his eyes would scream accusations at him. He could probably handle Bobby's looks of pity, of wondering what he did wrong, but he couldn't take Dean's eyes looking at him like that judging the level of screwed up he was, waiting for him to fuck up again. And right when he thought maybe everything would be okay, right when everything was almost normal, when Bobby had looked away or left them alone too long, the inevitable would happen, Dean would bring up the hospital and how horrible he felt, how stupid it was, how he fucked up and made them worry, and just throw everything he was trying to forget on him, and he would take it because he deserved it. He shouldn't have made Dean worry like that, it wasn't right to do that to Dean. Dean was his big brother his protector. Dean was perfect. He watches as the red line hardens. He really should stop…

However, Sam just takes another swig from his half empty bottle. His own little concoction of whiskey and Diphenhydramine, not that he was have an allergic reaction to anything but himself, but they helped him stay on edge, almost like he was in control, even if he was anything but, whoops there he goes again. Another drink, another cut. If his brother could only see him now…

He laughed again as he cut right in to the red line on his bicep. He needed to stop; he knew what he was doing was wrong, he needed help, but it felt so right, that he didn't care. It made the pain physical and real, tangible for just a moment. It kept him grounded in a world flying above him at a thousand miles an hour.

"Like the demon blood Sammy?"

Oh, looks like the diphenhydramine is just staring to kick in and Dean is back this time, at least it's better than when mom is there or anything inside his head other than Dean, Dean's words hurt the least because he knew what he was going to say each time, and he deserved it. Sam puts down the almost empty bottle. He should stop. Lindsey would notice something's up if he kept going but tonight just feels like a good night and he goes a little farther than normal. Of course, now he's made the sheets all bloody, the last cut was a little too deep. Not that he cares; if the maid catches him he'll just move towns then. No biggie. Yeah, he'll move two states over, make it obvious of course so Dean could find him if he needed someone to fuck stuff up for him again.

"Sammy, look at what you're doing to yourself! You're a mess. You never could just keep it together without me could you? You're a disgrace to this family! You don't deserve to call yourself a Winchester!"

Sam sighed as the hallucination gets louder; it was starting to get a bit annoying so he chugged the last of the sickening liquid and threw it in the trash. No need to keep the bottle. He'll just make more later.

"Sam, are you even listening to me? HA. You always were an ungrateful little shit. I auta-"

Sam continues to let his mind berate him as he takes a good long slice across his chest for the night, avoiding the anti-possession symbol of course, not that any demon would want to be in him now. They'd probably kill him. There's a thought… maybe he should start hunting demons again. At least then it'd look like he went down swinging. Yeah, he'll do it after he sobers up. Maybe tomorrow, he'll turn in his letter and go hunting again, like old times… Maybe he'll find Dean on a case, maybe Dean will take him back. Maybe… maybe… Dean will trust him again… Sam knew love was too much to ask for now but trust… Sam could settle for just having his brother give him a speck of trust again.

Sam sighs, meticulously wipes the blood off the knife on his shirt and puts it carefully on the bed side table before lying in the blood speckled bed for the night falling asleep to the sounds of Dean yelling at him and ripping him apart. He smiles at least some sort of Dean was here, at least he wasn't all alone. Dean yelling at him showed at least this Dean cares enough to talk to me. At least with this Dean… I can pretend.

It was just a normal everyday night for Sam Winchester: fucked up freak.