So this fic was just a random thing that just popped into my head. Sorry for any spelling mistakes or errors.

What happens when Sam gets low? He doesn't know what to do anymore.

Warning: Major character death.

He was sick of it. He was sick of the whole ordeal and how he convinced himself to be a hunter and to take orders from his Dad and older brother, Dean, he had no clue. He wanted to grow up normally. He wanted to go to university, get a degree, get into a serious relationship, marry and have kids but he was stuck being a hunter. Something that he will never run away from. The first thing he regretted since he left Dad and Dean to go to Stanford was when he finally went onto a hunt to search for his father, for the first time in years only to come back and see his girlfriend on the ceiling, bleeding and burning.

Every single person that he touched would die. And that was the curse of the Winchesters.

Sam woke up. Like usual, he regretted waking up and this was starting to get on his nerves. He begged for a normal life everyday, knowing that he couldn't get it. He wanted to be friends with someone but couldn't as he knew that he would lead them to their deaths, suffering and being tortured just before they die. He didn't want to do that to anyone, not anymore. It would be better for him just to vanish off the face of the earth and never harm anyone who would become close to him or whoever was close to him already. Dean, the brother that he had gone to Hell for, the one who he had gone to great lengths to save him from everything that got in the way. But he was not good enough for him. Bobby, his surrogate father, who he had let down so many times but Bobby was always there no matter what, he proved that family didn't end with blood. And Dad, John Winchester, the one who raised them for the few years that they couldn't look after themselves after their mother's death and the one that Sam had respected.

It was all useless though, Dad and Bobby were dead and sure as hell something changed in Dean when he spent his 40 years in Hell. Every other person that Sam had interacted with were all dead. Everything that he had ever loved was dead.

It had been a pretty normal morning with Sam refusing to eat breakfast again and Dean eating his cheeseburger while researching the case that was in a town a few hours away. Sam was cleaning the guns on his bed, getting ready for the case.

Suddenly, Sam's chest constricts and he feels like he can't breathe. He tries to calm himself down but after a few seconds of him having trouble breathing still, he goes into the bathroom so that Dean didn't catch him.

He locked the door behind him and sat on the edge of the bathtub, slowly breathing in and then out. He pulls a puzzled face at that quick and edgy panic attack. He hadn't had one for a long time and that was the time that Dean was in Hell and Sam would admit that he got a little low. As Sam rubs his eyes, metal touches skin and Sam stares at the gun in his hand, he didn't realise that he brought it in with him. Was his subconscious telling him something? A tear ran down his face as he stared at the gun, wondering what he should do with it. Sam could take it on the case but still be suffering over the thought that he would never live a normal life or he could use it and end the deep black hole of darkness he was falling through. He wondered whether it would be better to live a cursed hunter life which he was destined to die before he reached old age or just end it here and now so that no one else could get hurt.

More tears streamed down his face as he stood up and looked down at the gun. What should he do?

It was at that moment that Dean knocked on the bathroom door and asked loudly,

"Sam? You okay in there buddy?"

Sam didn't reply and the tears streamed down his face silently and splashed against the tiled floor. Twisting the gun in his hand, he tried to make a decision. Maybe Dean would like it if he did it, so he could finally stop pestering him because he was a whiny, protesting, useless excuse of a younger brother.

"Sam?" Dean said, a little louder this time and with a little sense of urgency in his voice.

Sam stared at the door, not saying anything. He lifted the gun and placed it partially in his mouth.

It was at that particular moment that Dean opened the door to check on Sam when he stopped and stared at him. His younger brother had red-rimmed eyes and a wet face and a gun that was aimed up his mouth. Sam was staring down at Dean and his whole body was shaking.

"Sam…" Dean voice faltered. He should've recognised the signs. It was so stupid of him. The lack of eating, being withdrawn for the past couple of weeks, the alcoholic bottles that seem to be the only thing making him sleep.

"Sam, you're better than this," Dean said, not wanting to make rash movements and keeping everything calm.

Sam's eyes scrunched together and more tears slid down his face. He cocked the gun.

Dean stared, there was no way he could do this to him, Sam couldn't leave him like this. Sam was the only family that was still alive and there for Dean every step of the way. "Sam," Dean said softly just before Sam's fingers applied pressure to the trigger and a loud band was heard.

Reviews would be nice :)