Um. Well. This just kind of evolved from this thing I made a while ago to this. I figured, what the hell. It's written, so I might as well post it. Yes, the end is sorta rushed. I don't know. I may come back and edit this later. For now, it is what it is. This is also a one shot btw. So... Yeah. I may write an alternate ending if I get the time though. Anyways, thanks for reading. Enjoy!

"Dammit, boy. We're tryin' to help you."

The gun's barrel was pressed to his torso, and Sam knew, God he knew, that it would be so much better if Bobby could just pull the trigger. Drawing together all the strength he had, Sam grabbed the end of the barrel and moved it to his heart.

"Then do it." His voice hitched and shook, sounding nothing like the usual collected hunter he'd become after Dean's death. Bobby's jaw clenched. Sam's mind was racing, the pressure in his head making it feel like he would explode. DoitBobbydoit-l

"Sam." He had never heard Bobby's voice sound so defeated, so damn empty. Sam hadn't come out here to escape and find Ruby. He'd come out here to breathe for a while, to think. The hallucination of his mother hadn't reinforced his belief in what he was doing, no, it had shattered it. There wasn't any way she would support this, or say it was practical. No. Dean was right, John was right, Bobby was right. Always had been. And he, Sam, had always been wrong. And not just about the demon blood. That only made him worse, but he was always wrong, tainted-

"I said, if you wanna help me, Bobby, then pull the trigger. Because I'm not gonna survive this. I just-" Sam paused, sucking in a breath through his congested throat, and blinking back the tears that threatened to fall. "I screwed up." Usually, the man standing before Bobby looked to be imposing, a little scary nowadays if he was honest, but now... It seemed that a shell had fallen from him, showing everything he'd been hiding from his family, his brother and surrogate father. Sam's fist was still curled around the barrel of the gun, holding it to his chest. With his last statement, the gruff mechanic attempted to pull the gun down to face the ground, and was stopped by the taller man's tight grip on it. The defeat that had shone in the younger man's eyes flickered and mixed with anger. However, it was only the rage of desperation and despair that was lit and burning bright before Bobby.

"I've killed everyone around me my entire life. It's me that's cursed, Bobby. It isn't the Winchester name, it's not Dean, its-" Sam sighed heavily, much too heavily. He glanced up and ran his free hand through his sweaty hair that had started to hang around his eyes and face. The movement seemed to make him dizzy, and his head rolled a bit before he blinked a few times, seeming to try and stay upright or awake. "I can't do this. I can't keep disappointing and hurting everyone. I can't watch you and Dean have to go through it, and I can't deal with you two hating me for this. I can't. So this? Shooting me in the heart? It'd be a favor." Bobby wrenched the gun from Sam's grasp and threw it down. It went off, the sound traveling through the junkyard, all the way to Dean, who immediately turned and sprinted toward the gunshot.

"Bobby! Sam!" His yell made it to them just as Bobby opened his mouth to start his own yelling.

"You stupid son of a bitch! You wanna get yourself killed and leave me and Dean to kill Lillith? To stop the apocalypse? We all got it bad, son, but we ain't all checkin' out! Didn't your daddy ever tell you that's the coward's way out? Getting yourself killed? Leaving all the work to everyone you're leaving behind?" Bobby paused and took a breath to calm down, reminding himself that Sam was still detoxing, still paranoid, scared, and confused, whether he knew it or not. "Son, you've made mistakes, and you've made me so mad I wanna throttle ya. But I have never wanted you dead boy, or thought you were a damn curse." Dean heard Bobby's words as he neared closer to them, and slowed his sprint to stand behind a rusted Chevy and scope out the situation he was about to walk into.

"You think I just up and decided this today, Bobby? You think this is for me? Because I'm tired? This is for everyone who's died because I didn't! I should've burned up with Mom. Instead of Mom. They would've lived normal lives! Don't you see that I have a point? I mean, Azazel told me, he told me that Jessica and Mom were just in the way of him getting to me. If I hadn't been there, they would've been fine! And now, Dean died because of me. He went to Hell for me, he got tortured because of me. And it's only a matter of time before I get you killed. So many people would be fine if I had just-" Sam sighed and pulled a handgun from his waistband. "And this isn't the end of it. I've always gotten people killed. I always will. I'm not a hunter anymore, I'm a monster." Bobby knew that if he didn't defuse this situation quickly, he could lose his son right now, by his own hand. He spotted Dean sneaking up behind the unsuspecting youngest Winchester, and thanked God (well, maybe not God) for the oldest's stealth, and the fever that still ran through Sam, dulling his senses. He just had to stall Sam as long as he could.

"Just go away. I'll- I don't know. I won't do it here." He paused for a second, and had to close his eyes to stop the swirling that threatened to take him down. There was no way he could do anything in this state. "Or, uh... Bobby?"

"Yeah son?"

"Maybe this isn't the best idea." Sam's hand holding the gun twitched. Dean was finally just a foot behind Sam and decided to make his presence known.

"Damn right is isn't, Sam." The older brother snatched the gun from behind, expecting a surprised flinch or an indignant shout at the firearm being taken, but there was none, because Sam was too busy trying not to pass out. He quickly lost that battle, flopping over before he had the chance to sit down. It was no peaceful unconsciousness however, but one filled with demon blood fueled terror. The youngest's hands clenched and unclenched, his feet and ankles rolled slightly, and his face scrunched temporarily over and over. No, there wasn't any doubt that unconsciousness was no refuge for him.

"It was the blood, Bobby. He hasn't been thinking that. Not for long. He would've told me." Dean Winchester spoke the words that held none of his regular self-confidence. He wasn't sure about anything. Had Sam been thinking about that before he'd gone to Hell? Had his baby brother thought that his father's last words had been damning, and that if his brother wouldn't do the dirty work, he'd take care of it himself? Had it simply been being alone in the hunting world for the first time in his life? Or was it the weight of his Sam's mistakes and Dean's disappointment and hatefulness toward him? Could it have gone back even further?

"I don't know, boy. He wasn't talkin' nonsense out there, babblin' outta his mind and such. That was guilt. That was a whole lot of build up, and screwed up logic, but still logic. " Bobby replaced his cap on his head, walking over to the oldest remaining Winchester whose own guilt was plain on his face.

"But you can't beat yourself up over it. All you can do is take it from here. Let him detox, let him heal physically, and then try to help him." The old hunter did his best to comfort Dean, though he knew that nothing he could say would fix what had happened. In the oldest boy's mind, he'd failed in his one mission that would last his entire life: Take care of Sam.

"I don't know how much you can do with that, though. You heard him, he said he didn't up and decide this today. That was years of shit piled on him." Bobby sighed deeply, knowing that all they could do was wait and hope Sam lived through the detox, so that they could try to make things right.

Or, as best they could, anyways.

The hallucinations were horrible. Not being able to see what was hurting his little brother, only able to watch as he screamed from whatever was torturing him now. Most of the time, he didn't say any names. When he did, it was even worse. Dean knew he was featured in the worst sessions, whether as a replay of his death, or as a demon now cutting into Sam, it was always bloody. However, when all of a sudden, the screams and pleading went silent, his heart raced faster than it ever had. Sliding down the stairs to the panic room door, he caught sight of Sam.

He was still and silent, lying on the bed. He'd fallen asleep a few times, but this time... Something was wrong. He was too still. Too silent. Too still. Too still!

"Bobby! He's not breathing!"

It only took two minutes to get his heart beating again, but his breathing didn't stabilize completely until seven minutes later. Dean was shaking hard enough that Sam's arm was shaking along with him. (Definitely not because he was holding his hand like a girl, though.) When he woke, it seemed that the hallucinations, seizures, and supernatural parts of the detox were over. All that persisted was the headaches, fever, and cough.

It took him two days to wake up however. And when he did, it was rather anticlimactic. It was five am, and Dean was asleep by him in the bed that was too small to fit them both comfortably, but it worked. He smiled sleepily, and sank back again into darkness. The next time he woke up was much more dramatic. Dean was talking to him, telling him to wake up soon or he'd beat his ass. The normal brotherly banter. What made him open his eyes though, if he was honest, was the whispered "Sammy, I need you to wake up. I need to know if you're okay. I've been a shit brother lately, but... We'll do better. We will. I love you, okay?" Of course, he waited a minute to let that sink in, and not embarrass his brother monumentally.

True to his word, things got better for the brothers, until things got gigantically worse.

The Apocalypse started, just without Sam's help. Lucifer came in dreams, and was much less pleasant in his persuasion tactics. Dream torture was his favorite, because it was just as painful as the real thing, but vanished when awake. Well, the physical wounds anyways. Also, it worked even though he couldn't locate Sam exactly. Michael was more lenient, though still using dreams as a gateway, Words were his weapons, though not in insults, but logic. Showing Dean what would happen with and without his consent, though with details omitted or manipulated for his benefit.

Sam still jumped into the Cage, though this time without his brother's knowledge until afterwards. He had written a note.

Dean,

I'm sorry. I know I should've told you. I should've talked to you a last time, or something. But I wouldn't know what to do. What to say. And you would've never let me do this. This was the only way. Literally. Cas went to other angels, other rebels and neutrals, and found every future without you dying. There were only two. I can imagine you know how the other one went. Armageddon full on. Anyways, I can't make this whole thing about that. You have to know that back at Bobby's, I wasn't thinking straight. If I'd died then, it would've been for nothing. This is for something. This is for everything, really. And I know that I can't even imagine what is going on now in the Pit. That I'll be there forever. But that's okay. I've made my peace with that. And now you have to. Take it from here, man. Don't look back. You've been the best dad and brother I could've ever wanted. Hell, you're everything for me. So thanks. I love you, Dean. Don't give up. Go to Lisa and Ben. Make a life.

-Sam

It wasn't enough for Dean to let go. Nothing would ever be enough for Dean to let go. But after a year of trying to get Sam out, he had to do what his brother wanted him to. So, he showed up on Lisa's doorstep. He told her what happened, but only piece by piece. Dean Winchester was a puzzle to her, and she would never fully figure him out. They tried to have a child, but a miscarriage claimed him before he was born. They mourned Johnny Samuel Winchester though he'd never taken a breath.

Dean died of old age, only a few years before Lisa, due to a heart attack.

In Heaven, his Sam joked about how much grease he ate and Dean laughed while he felt like crying.