A/N- I haven't written anything for absolutely ages, so if this sucks (which I have no doubt it will!) then don't blame me, blame my uni lecturers who seem to insist that uni life is about being piled with assignments every day…can you BELIEVE them!!! This story idea just sort of popped into my head and I thought it was a good opportunity to get a bit of brotherly smush in lol.

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Sam yanked his duffel from the boot of the Impala and shut the boot with as much energy as he could muster in his near catatonic state, as Dean went off to book them a room. All he could hear was not the howl of the wind, not the animal noises that steadily accompanied the fall of dark, but the conversation Dean and he had had. The one that cheerfully ended with a promise to kill or be killed.

Sam felt sick. Constantly. His stomach rolled and churned and gurgled with guilt and anger and dread and all the other emotions that could possibly make someone want to heave. Slowly, as the heavens opened and the rain fell like a sad precursor to his fate, Sam trudged towards the office where he could see Dean being handed back a credit card. He pulled open the door as Dean thanked the woman behind the counter and turned towards him.

"Got a room?" Sam asked, trying as always to not let his internal despair show in front of his brother,

"No, no." Dean said in a deceptively light tone, "We're going to sleep in the parking lot tonight…you know just for fun." He added, his irritation shining through. Ok, so Dean was still a little pissed that Sam had gotten wasted on a job. He followed his brother in silence as Dean walked round the back of the office to the rooms, located theirs and let them in. Sam barely noticed the room as he moved inside and threw his duffel on the nearest bed, which Dean promptly moved in favour of his own.

"Shotgun first shower." Dean said and immediately grabbed a towel and fresh clothes from his bag. Sam didn't particularly care, so he just watched as Dean strode across the room towards the only other door, which obviously led to the bathroom. Sam let out a long breath as the door closed and sat heavily on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands.

He knew what was going to happen, he knew it as well as he knew his own name, he knew it like he knew Dean. It was inevitable, you can't change that sort of thing if it's in your fate, it's going to happen, look at all those Greek tragedies. He couldn't live in denial, he'd been thinking about it throughout the journey away from the haunted hotel they'd just dealt with, and he'd tentatively reached an answer. He'd laid out the plain facts the only way he could. He was going to turn evil, turn into one of the things they hunt, to fight for the being that had ruined his life, and who he'd sworn to kill. He would end up causing more deaths and ruining other people's lives. He'd made Dean promise to end him when it came to that, but he knew beneath the levels of trust and belief that he had for his brother that Dean would never be able to do that, however much he knew he had to. And even if he could, he wouldn't be able to live with what he had done, and Sam couldn't have Dean gone, that was all that was making this decision bearable- that Dean would carry on afterwards…fight for the memory of what he was. There was only one course of action available to him, he needed to stop himself before he changed, before Dean would be forced to try and kill him and fail, before he began killing innocents in the name of evil. He had to do it himself, he had to shoot himself. One quick gunshot and it would be over, no Sammy for you mister demon, no sir-ee. Sam chuckled to himself and then immediately felt sick.

It was strange though…now that he'd come to a decision as to what needed to happen, and it set in, he felt suddenly calm. His stomach settled more…just ever so slightly, and he felt calmer than he had in days. Ironic really considering he wouldn't actually be around to enjoy this new state of calm. Finally the shower stopped and Sam stood up slowly. He had to act as normal as possible, or Dean would suspect, and if Dean realised what his little brother was about to do, he'd handcuff them together till Sam swore that he wouldn't try to top himself the next time they were separated. A few minutes later, the bathroom door opened and Dean came out, boxers on as he towelled down his torso.

"I left you some hot water, Francis." Dean said…his version of an apology, or forgiveness, Sam wasn't sure which was needed. The youngest Winchester smiled slightly, it hadn't occurred to him to make it up with Dean before he finished it, but now he realised how important it was, not to him, he knew he loved his brother and he knew Dean loved him, but Dean, when he was left alone in this world, would need this as confirmation, as encouragement almost, to keep going.

"Thanks man." Sam said quietly, earnestly, "For everything. And I'm sorry I made you promise…you don't have to worry about it." Because I'm about to deal with it myself, he silently added. Dean frowned and Sam panicked momentarily, would Dean realise what was happening? Instead Dean just said,

"Look man, I understand what you're going through, I get it, I really do. But can we not talk about this right now?" Sam nodded slowly, and Dean visibly relaxed as he plonked himself on the edge of his bed and switched on the grainy black and white TV, flicking through the channels every now and then. Sam walked slowly towards the bathroom. The short walk across the room seemed to take an age, it seemed like he was walking and walking and the door to his future, or the end of it, was not getting any closer, and then suddenly he was right in front of it. He realised he was just standing there, staring at the closed wooden door, when he heard Dean speak,

"Sam you have to use that metal think near your hand, its called a handle, ok?" Dean said, a smirk in his tone. Sam didn't reply, just slowly turned the handle, but before he could move into the bathroom, his brother spoke again.

"Sam, give me your gun." Sam froze, but he schooled his features and turned to see Dean standing behind him, his hand outstretched his face serious.

"What?" Sam asked, not wanting to say anything that may give himself away,

"You still have your gun in your jeans, gimme it." He said. Sam began to panic, he needed to do this, if he didn't go through with it now, he might never do it. But he couldn't let Dean know what he was planning, if he hadn't already guessed, so Sam glanced down at his gun as if in surprise,

"Oh yeah, thanks man." He said quietly, handing it over to Dean slowly. Sam watched his brother for a reaction, anything that would say he knew what his younger brother had planned to do with that gun, the one he was handling almost reverently. But there was nothing, his features only showed a mild irritation, as he said,

"Snap out of it man, you look like Cleese just slapped you with a wet fish. And what's with the state of this gun, dude? Come on, you know better than this, I'll clean it up for you, while you shower."

"Ok." Sam said automatically and Dean rolled his eyes, turning away without a second glance. Sam let out a slow breath. He was sure that if Dean had rumbled him he would have been able to persuade Sam not to go through with this, even though deep down Sam knew it had to happen. He moved into the bathroom and shut the door behind him. He'd already formuated a plan B. It was more painful, and a lot slower, but it was his only option. A raser blade, across his wrists. He shuddered at the thought, it was a horrible way to go, and tears leapt into his eyes. He was scared, there were no two ways about it, of course he was, but he was more scared of what would happen to him if he was alive, what he would do. Luckily Dean had put their wash bag in the bathroom, so Sam dug out his razor. Then removed the blade and sat down, leaning against the shower cubicle. The blade hovered above his wrist as the seconds ticked on.

Suddenly the door flew open,

"Dude, you left your-" Dean began, Sam's duffel bag in his hands. Clean clothes…How could he have forgotten? All the work he put into acting normal and he couldn't remember to bring clean clothes into the shower with him. Dean stood for a second staring wide eyed at the scene before him. His little brother curled up on the floor, razer blade hovering over his wrist. Then he exploded,

"Gimme that fucking thing!" He shouted and before Sam could react he felt the blade snatched from him. Dean was furious, he pulled roughly at Sam's arm and made him stand up.

"Dean, calm down, it's-"

"Don't you fucking tell me to calm down, you patronising bastard! What the hell's going on, Sam! What are you trying to top yourself? Start talking right now!" He shouted, his face red and his eyes screwed up in pain and anger. Sam sighed,

"Because I know oyu wont do it, Dean. Someone has to, it might as well be me, at least then I wont make a murderer out of anyone." For a moment Dean just stared, chest rising and falling rapidly, from shock and from all the shouting he had just done,

"Say that again?" He said quietly, his voice shaking slightly. Sam could feel his own temper rising,

"Look, man, I know you don't have any intention of doing it when I turn evil-"

"If, Sam, if you turn evil."

"There's no 'if', Dean! It will happen, and I refuse to harm innocent people, let alone for The Demon! It's not happening! Yeah, I was scared about what I was about to do just now, but man…" he paused before looking away from his brother, "I'm so much more scared of what I'll do when I change." Dean let out a shaky breath and Sam turned back to him. Dean nodded,

"Yeah Sam. I think I finally understand. But that doesn't mean I want you to kill yourself!" he said, "I just think you should take some time about this, you know? Don't be making hasty decisions, ok? Please?"

"Dean, I think about it, all the time! It's always running through my head, screaming at me over and over! I can't do this any more, man!" He said a sob escaping, as he reached out a hand for the blade. Dean jerked his hand away, his eyes shining,

"No. No Sam. No frickin' way. Nu-uh, not happening."

"Dean…" Sam started quietly,

"No, don't beg Sam," Dean said, his voice breaking as the tears began to roll down his cheeks, "Don't beg me to let you kill yourself. Don't. I can't…I won't let you. I won't…"

"You have to carry on, Dean," Sam said, sobbing gently as his hand rested over Deans, which rested over the blade. Dean shook his head slowly, his face screwed up as he cried gently. Sam put his other hand on Deans neck and brought their foreheads together,

"Sam, no…please, please…" Dean muttered, as Sam pried his older brothers hand open. Deans hand was bloodied and cut where he had been gripping the blade tightly. Slowly, Sam took the blade from his brother…