Sam puts him back in the car, every muscle and joint in his body screaming in protest. He was dizzy, and barely conscious, but Dean was determined to hang on, to not let himself slip under.

There was blood all over him, but he didn't seem to be bleeding anymore. Apparently, Sam had the power to tear him to shreds, then put him right back together again.

The pain, however, didn't go away.

Dean could still feel the burn of the wounds, even though Sam had healed them. His brother had spent hours torturing him, demanding that Dean promise he wouldn't run again, and finally, the pain too intense to bear, Dean had agreed, and then to his horror, begged Sam to stop.

Is this what rock bottom feels like? It must be, Dean thought, because I don't think I could feel any lower.

Sam started the Impala, letting her sit and idle for a moment before turning to Dean. He cupped his chin in his hand, running his thumb over Dean's bottom lip.

"No more running. Are we clear? I don't want to have to hurt you like this again." Dean closed his eyes, and tried to turn away from Sam. The hand on his chin tightened its grip, and Sam forced him to turn back to face him. "Are we clear, Dean?"

Dean nodded.

"Not good enough. I want to hear you say it." Increasing the grip on Dean's chin a little more, Sam tilted his head up, forcing Dean to look at him. "Are. We. Clear?"

"Yes." Dean rasped.

"Yes, what?"

"I…I won't…I won't…run…I won't run. We're clear."

"Good." Sam slipped the car into gear, and pulled away from the house.

"Sammy?"

"Yes?"

"Why are you doing this?" Dean's voice breaks, and the damn tears start rolling down his cheeks. Sam continues staring out the windshield at the road. He says nothing. "Sammy?"

Nothing.

"Sammy. Please. I don't understand…"

"Sleep, Dean." It's more than a suggestion, and Dean's eyes shut, and he's gone.

He wakes in another motel room, no idea where they are now. Sam's at the table, typing away on his laptop. Dean wants to get up, grab the Impala keys, and run again. If Sam's realized he's awake, he isn't acknowledging it.

Dean pulls himself to a sitting position, and his body screams in protest.

Every last inch of him hurts.

He hates the way he's feeling, like he wants to give up, or cry, and he thinks to himself about how he's going to hell because he saved the man sitting across from him. Dean sold his soul to bring his baby brother back from the dead. Azazel was right. What he got back is not 100% pure Sam. He's something different.

Horrible.

Evil.

And the only way out of this situation, Dean realizes, is death.

He has to kill him. He has to kill Sam.