Hey, everybody! This is my first fanfiction, so please review and all constructive criticism is welcome, as well as compliments, if I'm so lucky as to get one from one of you beautiful people. I'm so glad to be a part of the Fanfiction world, and thank you in advance for reading!

Disclaimer: Alas, I do not own Supernatural. And if you honestly had to ask if I did, a doctor's appointment may be in order to check for a severe head wound.

Warning: Suicide and character death. Sorry for any spoilers, but if this kind of thing is triggering, I would kindly suggest you leave the page. I do not endorse these actions in any way.

This is it. The finish line.

With a slow breath out, Sam Winchester picked up the gun he'd been shining. He slowly turned it over and over in his hands, tracing the indents along the handle with his finger. For some odd reason, it seemed important to him to choose the perfect gun to end it with. And this one, the first handgun he'd ever shot with, fit the bill. He remembered the hunt, the reports of clawed up bodies with the hearts missing. He remembered the thrill when his Dad asked him to come along with him and Dean to track down what they believed was a werewolf. He remembered vividly the adrenaline pumping through his veins when the creature popped out of the shadows and ran straight for Dean. His Dad had run back to the car for more supplies and Dean didn't see it coming. But even as a child, Sam's reflexes were unbeatable. Just as it leaped for his brother, Sam shot it straight through the heart, hands surprisingly steady. The look on Dean's face... and Sam had never remembered his Dad being more proud of him. Yes, the first gun he'd used would be the last. He smiled. He always was sentimental. And, of course, Dean always made sure to get plenty of mileage out of it.

Dean. Sam knew this would destroy him. He wasn't stupid; he had no illusions about the pain his death would bring. Sam had written a note for Dean and left it on the table. He tried to explain why, but at some point found his feelings too confusing, mixed up, incoherent, and he gave up. More important to him was the apology. He knew Dean would never truly forgive him. After all, this wasn't something a simple "I'm sorry" could fix. But he still had to try. As he set down the pen, the guilt almost stopped him. Almost got him to put down the gun and call Dean, tell him to come back from the bar early. But then, as he thought about his remorse, Sam would start to get angry. After all, why should he have to suffer for Dean's peace of mind? Why did Dean's happiness mean more than his? Sam had given enough to this family, more than what was fair. It was time he did something for himself. It was his turn to receive.

Still, he hoped Dean wouldn't do anything stupid, like shut himself away from Bobby and Cass and Lisa, from anyone who could help. No matter how he felt about himself, Sam loved his brother. that much was undisputable. And Dean loved him back. Unfortunately, this planted a new fear in Sam's head.

Oh, God... what if he brings me back?

As he thought about it, a new realization rocked him. Where would Dean try to bring Sam back from anyway? Heaven? He scoffed at the thought. No, heaven was for the good people. For the people like Ellen and Jo, Ash and Pamela, his mother and father, someday Dean and Bobby.

Sam? He'd gone too far, done too much. He may have been allowed into heaven before, but this time? It didn't look too likely. Some things just really piss off God. Things like letting the devil out of his cage, overthrowing the holy plan of the apocalypse, getting addicted to demon blood and killing innocent people. Yeah, there was no way Heaven fit into this for Sam.

But Hell? The thought of living in eternal torment didn't exactly excite Sam. But then again, what torment could be worse than the agony he faced every minute of every day he continued to breathe? The mental pain and the guilt was destroying him, bit by bit. By this point, physical pain wasn't really such a terrible alternative. But still…

No, this was it. It had to be. One more minute on this godforsaken planet and Sam was going to go crazy. He sighed. Every minute he spent worrying about what would happen after was another wasted minute before Dean got home and tried to stop him. It was time.

With his hand shaking (whether from fear or excitement, Sam couldn't tell), Sam pulled the gun up to his temple and gripped the trigger tight. A single tear rolled down his cheek as he whispered his last words.

"I'm sorry, Dean."


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