"Dean, you gave me what I needed most. I want to do the same for you."

Dean wasn't sure of what to make of Amaras statement, if he was going to be honest he knew that it wasn't going to be anything good.

In his experience powerful beings like Amara and Chuck didn't exist on the same plane of him in any single way. They saw things differently and regardless of what they said the lower beings, case in point him and the angels, were something of little regard to them and could be manipulated in ways that they didn't think were manipulations.

Point of the matter, the world was no longer in danger, the sun was no longer dying, and Chuck and Amara were happy siblings again.

He was also still alive so he guessed that he should put that in the plus side but ultimately, he had been looking forward to everything ending and going out in a blaze.

He hadn't hidden the fact that he had, more or less, a death wish on the rise with each passing year. He was getting a bit more sloppy on his hunts, choosing to ignore scars and wounds on him and let them heal on their own, not caring it they were getting infected, much to the ire of the people around him.

So what if he wasn't watching what he was eating or what he was doing, or whether or not a broken rib could possibly puncture his lung? He had been on a road trip to death for a while and he was just taking a few pit stops before it.

When Rowena had created the spell and told him that he was going to die doing it he almost felt like crying in relief. This was something that needed to be done and something that no one else other than him could do. It meant that he was going to finally die and he could just stop everything.

He didn't think that he was actively suicidal, he wasn't holding a gun to his head with a single bullet and counting the empty rounds while clicking it.

Suicide was a sin after all and he had already done his time in hell the first time, forty years to be exact, and he didn't want a reprise of it, regardless of how Crowley had said he'd get the royal treatment if he ended up there.

More like Crowley would take his soul and immediately throw it out in fear of having Dean Winchester in hell again.

But to the point, he wasn't actively suicidal...he just didn't care if he lived or died on his hunts. He didn't hesitate in killing the monsters, didnt let the wendigos rip him apart or the vampires drain him completely, if he was going to go out he was going to go out fighting his best.

But he also wasn't going to be complaining as the light left his eyes and Death came to personally take his soul out for burgers somewhere.

He knew that it scared the others, Jody and co. Bobby back in the day too. Father Jim Murphy had also been concerned all those years ago, had spent hours preaching and talking to Dean to make sure that Dean wasn't about to down a bottle of jack and let himself drive off of a cliff.

A part of him wanted to take Baby with him too, she was the last good thing left in his life and it wasn't fair to her or to him to leave her behind. No one else was going to treat her as good as he did.

Or maybe Baby was meant to outlive all the Winchesters, it was a bit poetic in a way if the car made it when they didn't.

He'll see, depending on the day and what happened whether Baby was coming with him or not.

If he had to pinpoint a day in his life when everything went to shit and he automatically stopped caring whether he lived or died he could mark it down to an exact day, a day he always got black out drunk on and refused to talk about and a day that he hated down to the marrow in his bones.

November 2nd, 1999.

A part of him thought that it was another poetic thing that he was sure some people would wax and symbolize the hell out of it.

Shaking his head Dean took his phone out, grimacing when he saw that there was no signal in wherever the hell he was in.

He wasn't really sure how to call really, maybe his friends to let them know that he was in fact alive and the world wasn't going to end. Maybe find a way to get back to the bunker and collapse into his bed.

As he walked, trying to find a hint of where he was or where to go, stopping when he heard rustling up ahead, the sound of footsteps hitting the ground and breaking sticks.

He moved forward, wishing that he had some sort of weapon on him. "Hello?" he called out.

Slowly a figure of a person appeared, in the dark of the night he couldn't make out anything else about them but he could see that they had their hands up.

"Who's there?" Dean demanded, rolling his shoulders back a bit more.

The person came forward a bit more, still out of the light. "I'm not...I'm not gonna hurt you." the person, a guy, said. His voice was a bit muffled and he cleared his throat a few times.

Dean narrowed his eyes, the voice...it felt...weird, scratching at a corner of his mind. "Who are you?"

He could see the guy take a deep breath and stepped completely into the light, staring at Dean with a confused look on his face.

Dean felt his stomach drop and his heart stop for a moment, Amaras words echoing in his mind.

"Dean, you gave me what I needed most. I want to do the same for you."

"I want to do the same for you."

Right in front of him, right in fucking front of him, was none other than seventeen year old, Sam Winchester. Looking just the same as he had hours before November 2nd, 1999.

"Dean, you gave me what I needed most."

Sam was staring at him, head tilted slightly and hands still up in the air. There was a confused look on his face and slowly he brought his hands down, still just looking at him. "De-dean?" he asked, more than a bit uncertainty, looking over a face that was no doubt a lot older than he was used to.

"I want to do the same for you."

Dean stumbled forward, feeling his chest tighten and he swallowed hard. The image of finding his brothers hanging body in their motel room shot over his eyes again.

"Sammy?" he whispered, the name feeling more than a bit reverent on his lips. "Sammy."

I do not own Supernatural.

95/365

I do take requests so if you have requests you can send them to me.