The fallen head of a vampire.

The black smoke streaming out of a mouth opened in excruciating pain.

A burning corpse, old and rotting, a scream from a figure.

Gun wounds.

Burns etched into flesh.

Traps drawn on rickety floors, rotting walls, dipped in ceilings.

Thrusting daggers, plunging up into soft, malleable skin.

Killing things. That's all they do. All they'll ever do. The success of a monster falling to the ground, dead. A disgusting feeling. An addicting feeling. An achingly familiar one to Dean Winchester. What he had done since he was a child. Easy.

Why does it hurt?

Why does he feel guilty killing a monster?

Is it because it feels like killing kin?

Slaughtering creatures just a half-step from him?

They aren't family.

But Sammy is.

Sammy's not a monster.

Oh, but he was. Once upon a time.

No. Never.

You never just brush off Hell, Dean. You know this.

I know… But Sam isn't a monster.

He drank down demon blood by the gallon, Dean, you let him. He opened Lucifer's cage.

He closed the Cage though, that's got to count for something.

The road to Hell is paved with good intentions.

Been there, done that, got the friggin' T-shirt. Tell me something I don't know.

He abandoned you, left you when you needed him most. He's done it again, and again, and again.

Just stop it… just shut up.

Sammy doesn't care. He doesn't love you.

He loves me. I love him, we're family.

He left you for Stanford.

Stop-

He let you rot in Hell.

Stop talking! Just-

He left you for Samuel.

He didn't have a soul!

He walked away from you for a skank. He left you for dead in Purgatory.

He couldn't have done anything about that!

Face it Dean, little Sammy has never been devoted to you like you him.

Stop it!

Never. You deserve this.

No I don't! I mean, I've screwed up-

Screwed up? You started the damn Apocalypse. Die, Dean Winchester. Die.