He could literally feel himself changing. From the new smells that protruded his nose, to the way he could see everything so much more clearly now as he sat in the dark, all down to the length of his teeth, he could feel himself turning into a monster. These were the same monsters he had dedicated his life to killing. Gordon had given him a disease that had no cure. In fact, the only cure was death itself. Dean wasn't afraid to die, though. At least that was what he told himself and Sam. He was already on a death sentence he just guessed someone wanted to quicken the process.

Dean writhed in pain against the wall of the bathroom. Sweat dripped out of his pores and down onto his bare chest. He just hoped hell reserved a room for him already.

He knew exactly what he had to do, but didn't know if he could in fact do it. Not that long ago he was teaching Sammy how to fix the Impala and now he realized how truly valuable that lesson would be. A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts as Sammy called his name from the other side.

"Dean? Are you okay in there?" Sammy asked. Dean tried to stop himself from shaking.

"Yeah. I'm thinking I shouldn't have eaten a burrito from a gas station though," he dismissed the truth. It was always like Dean to cover up what was truly happening with some kind of joke. Did he really want Sammy to see him like this? There was a rattling at the handle but thankfully, he had already locked the door. Apparently Sam didn't buy his cop-out.

"Dean, seriously, I know better. I'd be wearing a gas mask right about now if that were the case." He fought his inner self for a while, debating if he should just jump out the window now and run off, eventually committing some type of ritualistic suicide, or seeing Sammy one more time. He knew he couldn't live the rest of his short life like this. He didn't want to live any longer if he was a monster. It was like a bad case of herpes or something that ended up melting your dick off. Dean wouldn't want to live like that either.

He slowly slid his way to a standing position, back still on the wall as he stared at the door in the darkness. There was a red tint to everything and he wondered if this was how Gordon felt. His hand reached toward the door but he was hesitating. He was just hoping this was a nightmare he'd wake up from. Hell, his whole life was a damn nightmare. Sometimes he just wished he would wake up and it turned out he was in a coma for twenty some years after being hit with some debris in a normal house fire. Mom, dad, and Sammy would be around his bed and they could all have a normal life. He knew this wasn't the case, though. The pain was too real.

"Dean?" Sam called out again and Dean unlocked the door. He pulled his hand back and didn't open it. He couldn't open it himself. But eventually, Sam did. "Dean..." Sam looked for the light switch and turned it on, causing Dean to cower close to the bathtub. He couldn't see Sam's face but he could picture it. "Oh my god..."

"Don't look at me," Dean demanded, hiding his face in his hands. Sam moved towards him and Dean tried to pull away. "I'm serious, Sammy, don't do this." Sam ignored his warning and put his hand on his older brother's shoulder. Dean could practically feel Sammy's tears forming and knew his own were as well.

"Dean..." Was all Sam could possibly say. His voice was like a dagger in the heart to Dean; one that twisted and tore everything near it. He slowly turned his head to look at Sam, tears running down both of the Winchesters' faces. It was quiet for a moment as the two started to soak in the situation. This was their last conversation ever.
"Sammy, you have to do it," he pleaded, softly. "I can't do it, you have to."

"Dean, no. You don't have to do this. We can save you, I know we can. We'll find a way, we always do." It was naive of Sammy to think that for a moment and deep down, they both knew it. Somehow, though, Dean wished it were true. He wished there had been some way to save his soul and they would go on, hunting, like always. They had to know something like this would happen one day.

"Sammy," Dean tried to say, but it sounded more like a sob stuck in his throat, "you know thats not going to happen. You know better. You know you have to do this."

Sam stood and walked out into the apartment, pacing back and forth. Dean followed. "No! I can't. I can't do it, I won't. We'll look around, we'll find something."

"Really, Sammy? What happens until then? I go around killing innocent people? How long am I supposed to go on living like this, huh? What if it were you?"

"Oh...fuck you. Why do you have to be like that, huh?" Sammy started yelling. "If you gave a shit to begin with this wouldn't have happened! You walk around like you're invincible and you don't care. What am I supposed to do?" His cries became uncontrollable. "What am I supposed to do when you're gone? What do I have to live for?"

Dean didn't have an answer for this at first. It was so easy for him to save Sammy's life and sacrifice his own. It was selfish, yeah, but he didn't care. Sam was always the special one. Dad loved him more, he was smarter than Dean, he always had more to offer. The world without Sammy would mourn far more than the one without Dean.

All he could do was grab the Colt and put it in Sammy's hands. "Do it."

"No, I can't."

"Sammy, do it."

"I can't-"

"Do it!" Dean yelled. "Look at me! Who's the selfish one now? I don't want to live like this, Sammy, I can't. If you don't do it, I will." There was a silence for what seemed like the longest time. Dean reached forward and put the barrel of the gun to his forehead as Sammy still held it by the trigger.

"Dean..." Sam pleaded, but even he knew it wouldn't work.

"I know I don't say it because its cheesy but, I love you, little brother." Dean closed his eyes as he knew these were the last words he would ever speak. He readied himself for what was about to happen. Sam finally found the courage to pull the trigger and Dean fell down into the flames...