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He can’t do it anymore.
He just feels so empty, so sad. So useless.
Worthless.
Dean Winchester doesn’t mean shit anymore. He gave his soul, his body, his mind to the world. All for nothing. Now he is no more.
Everyone’s fucking dying anyway. Or leaving.
He tried for a long time to survive. Coping mechanisms might have been his specialty. Between sex, drinking, eating, even cutting, he really did his best before giving up.
But now he’s just so fucking ashamed of himself, of what he is, what he has done, what he represents. He can’t live with himself anymore, sees his reflection in the mirror in the morning. Nobody can, he knows that. Sam and Castiel left. Let’s not talk about his father. He’s so fucking disgusting. He wants to disappear.
He takes his gun and feels instant relief.
The end is near; he will soon be free.
He smiles, his cheeks hurt a bit, it’s been a long time.
He sings, breathlessly. “Carry on my wayward son”
He loads the gun one last time.
“There’ll be peace when you are gone”
Takes the safety off.
“Lay you weary head to rest”
Holds it to his right temple.
“Don’t you cry no more”
BooM.