The dark hatred Sam had for himself pulsed through his mind, leaving no room for other thoughts as he sat on his bed with tears streaming down his face. He was finally alone and could let out his bitterness.

Dean would have just told him to buck up and get on with his life. But Sam couldn't do that. Not anymore.

He wiped away the tears that had made their way down his cheeks and stood. The plan had been formulated as a reserve, and Sam found that it was finally time for him to put it into action.

The bathroom, as usual, held only a sparse amount of items. Toothpaste, a brush, and a couple of cheap plastic razors. Sam only needed one of the latter to complete his plan.

He picked up one of the razors, one which happened to be red. Sitting on the toilet, he popped out the single blade that resided in its casing.

More tears had begun to flow.

He didn't want to leave Dean alone, not really. But then again, he wouldn't be. He had Castiel. Cas would be sure to take care of his brother until he died of something idiotic.

And it's not like Sam Winchester had any friends he was leaving behind. They had slowly begun leaving Sam behind, realizing that he wasn't a person worthy of their attentions.

The thought had burned in Sam's mind ever since the first time Dean had been accused of murder and claimed dead.

Sam knew how to kill someone quickly. Snap their neck, chop off their head, gunshot to the heart. But the way Sam would go was none of those, he had decided. Sam Winchester would die from six vertical slashes to the wrist.

A shaky inhale, and Sam brought the blade to his left wrist, right in the center. The vein there pulsed with blood, blood that seemed to move faster and faster with every second that passed. It was as if his body knew that the blood would be spilt soon, but wanted every cell to pump past his heart just a few more times.

He pressed the blade down, and felt the slight sting as it cut his skin. Dragging it down, he watched as his blood was spilt through a perfectly straight slash. The first cut would be for Azazel, who ruined his life from the start.

It was somewhat ironic, he thought as he started on the second cut.

All those years ago, before they cared about heaven and hell, those ghouls had slashed his forearms in the same exact manner. Less precise and more rushed, albeit technically the same. The more he struggled and feared death, the faster he would bleed out. Well... He didn't fear death this time.

He figured that would allow him the time to make all of the cuts.

This second one, still shallow but longer than the first, was for Heaven, who had led him to become a monstrosity so that he could help end the world.

On the third cut, he pushed the blade in with more force, and a slight whimper escaped his lips, even though he was used to much more pain than this. This one was for his father, who instilled harsh rules that pushed him away from his family at a young age.

Eyeing his handiwork, Sam moved on to his right arm. It had been almost two minutes since he had made the first cut, and Sam knew that his vision would soon blur and his hand would begin to slip, ruining the symmetry he was trying to carve into his life at the last moment.

The fourth press of the blade was the shallowest, but seemed to sting the most. He decided to dedicate this one to Lucifer, one of the people who had driven him back into his long forgotten depression. He left shallow marks on him, but they represented such horrible things.

Moving to make the fifth a physical cut, he pressed the blade in quickly, but dragged it very slowly down his arm. As Sam watched its progress, the blade wobbled a little bit in his vision, but he continued carving. This one would be for Ruby, who slowly tore him away from his brother and away from his humanity.

Everything shifted in his eyes, and Sam slowly moved the blade to his wrist again, pushing the blade in with great force. Quickly dragging it down, he decided that this final cut was for Dean. He had called him a monster, a freak in his greatest times of need, and pushed him away. Sam might love the son of a bitch, but he had never truly been able to let that go.

With a sigh, Sam set down the blade on the grimy bathroom counter and closed his eyes. His arms were underside up, and the blood was trickling onto the floor at a steady rate.

Sam was actually rather relieved to finally escape earth. It might be paradise to demons, but it was hell to him. Everyone he loved was taken from him at some point or another.

He relaxed his muscles, leaning back against the tank of the toilet. He thought he deserved a few moments of calm before he finally left for wherever his final destination was.

He thought about all of the happy moments of his life, like the times his dad was home for Christmas when he was younger. It was rare, but everyone always got along.

Getting to spend time watching his brother be confused over his feelings for a certain angel was always amusing.

But most of all, Dean thought of the time he'd had with Jessica. Those were some of the happiest times of his life, even if he had to hide half of who he was the entire time. He'd had friends, a constant home, and Jess.

He sighed again, seeing everything blur around him. It was almost time. He flexed his arms a little bit, but felt almost no pain. Already his senses had numbed.

A minute or so later, he heard a commotion outside of the bathroom. "Sammy?" He heard Dean nearly shout to the small motel room they had rented. "Sammy, I'm back. Brought some burgers with me."

Sam smiled slightly, but said nothing. Burgers, of course. None of that "rabbit food" Sam would eat all the time.

The sound of Dean's footsteps grew as he approached the bathroom door. He knocked. "Sammy, you in there?" He waited a little bit, wanting a reply. "Sammy?"

Sam's arms started feeling heavy, and were an uncomfortable weight on his legs. He groaned softly, shifting to get more comfortable. Unluckily for him, Dean heard the small noise, and opened the door. He saw the blood on the floor first, then the razor blade on the counter, and finally his baby brother sitting on the toilet, arms cut open and bleeding out.

"Sam!" He yelled, stepping swiftly across the small space, avoiding the bloodied areas of the floor, and kneeling down to look into his brother's eyes.

The light of the man's eyes was nearly gone, and Dean felt tears prick his own eyes. He looked down at the neat cuts, and knew that he wouldn't be able to save him with the amount of blood he'd already lost. "Sammy," he whispered hoarsely. He leaned in to hug the taller man, a rare display of affection.

"Dean."

The soft whisper was the last word that Dean ever heard from Sam's lips. The last time Sam ever opened his mouth. Because just thirty seconds later, Sam Winchester died.