"You're a monster, Sam." All fight rushed out of Sam like he had been punched in the gut. Dean was his last hope.
"I'm sorry, but this… drinking demon blood? It's changing you. Your not Sam anymore. You're turning into… " Dean trailed off, looking somber. "I'm sorry, Sam, so sorry that things happened the way they did."
His voice was pained, but Sam detected some thing else beneath the surface. Disgust. It belonged there, Sam was disgusting. He couldn't help having Azazel's blood in him, and Dean understood that. Drinking Ruby's blood was his own choice, a stupid one that probably just ruined his life. He wanted revenge, so much so he didn't once stop to question his methods. Dean was leaving him because he made the wrong choice.
"No," Sam murmured, realization hitting him like a bus. "Not you. You're all I have. Please… don't leave me."
Dean seemed conflicted for a moment as he heard his brother's desperate plea. Sam was always the one leaving, he realized, he had never left Sam. He was the responsible one, the one who was supposed to look out for Sam. Sam would run off, but he always came back. Dean was the one who was supposed to save him, and he failed. There was nothing he could do for Sam now. He had to leave because he honestly didn't want to watch his brother, the hunter, become the hunted.
Dean's face became a neutral mask, one all to familiar to Sam. He had seen it many times - while patching Dean up from a nasty hunt, when some bully at school had called Sam a nasty name and Dean had a problem with it, when they were being tortured and Dean was the brave one to call attention away from Sam - but never had that stone cold mask been directed at him. It chilled him to the bone, those green eyes, once like grass flowing in an evening breeze, turned into stone. Dean was looking at Sam, not as a brother but as what he was becoming. Dean had decided to leave him, for good.
The tears in Sam's eyes spilled over, making salty trails down his face. He had officially lost everything that had ever meant anything to him
When he was six months old he lost his mother, and a small amount of his humanity thanks to Azazel's blood that was still pumping through his tormented heart. When he was 22 he lost his girlfriend the same way he lost his mother, and he lost his last shred of hope for being normal. At 23 he lost his father, and became even more of a freak because of his psychic abilities. He lost Dean, but got him back. And now he had to loose him all over again.
"I truly am sorry." Dean's voice said. It wasn't Dean, it was his lips moving but the sound that came out was too icy, too emotionless to be Dean. It was the voice he used to talk to the enemy, because that's what Sam was now. The enemy.
Sam mind decided to check out after that. He watched Dean leave, heard the door slam and felt the resulting quake of the walls. He smelled the faint scent of leather and mint and home that was Dean, so familiar he could practically taste it on his tongue, wafting toward him as the slamming of the door caused the air to swirl in his direction. Everything went through his mind, he knew it was there, but he didn't feel anything. He was empty, and if he could feel anything at that moment it would've been gratitude to whatever higher power decided to spare him from his misery.
He knew it was there - the pain, the loss, the self hatred - yet he didn't have to feel it. Didn't have to feel anything toward Dean being gone or how much worse Sam deserved. He let his body fall on to his knees, feeling the purely physical pain shoot through his body. The pain of his head hitting the hardwood floor and the stinging cold of it on his cheek were a welcomed distraction from the emptiness in him.
Sam didn't know how long he had been lying there, completely motionless except for his shaky breaths and beating heart. His brain didn't even register blinking. It could've been seconds, minutes, hours, or days. Time didn't matter nor did staying alive because, really, what good had he ever done the world? Sure, he had saved a couple lives here and there but overall he had killed more than he could ever save. Why not give up before he managed to bring the whole world down with him?
The younger Winchester laid there, pondering his measly existence. If he got up, he might go back to Ruby, seeing as she was always able to convince him somehow. It was entirely his fault, again. Maybe he should just lie there, play it safe. Maybe he could save Dean by simply not doing anything. Either way, he didn't care. If he just laid here until he died he would be doing the world a service, seeing as he had only ever caused trouble.
His eyes closed slowly and he let the darkness consume him, hiding him from the world, even if only for one night. As he drifted off into the nothingness, he felt free for once. Almost like it had all been a bad dream, and he would wake up in Lawrence, Kansas to the faces of Mary, John, and Dean Winchester. For just a fleeting moment, he let himself hope. And then it was gone.