You had been killed by Azazel. You were collateral, as he knew that you meant a lot to Sam and Dean. You had been dead for about a month. Dean was having the most trouble out of everyone when it came to accepting it. He couldn't eat, he couldn't sleep, he couldn't think. He couldn't live in a world where you were dead.

So, Dean made a deal. With a Demon. You would be revived, and he would go to hell in a year. No more, no less. A year. You, Bobby, and Sam were pissed. Rightfully so. But, in the time leading up to the one year mark- Dean remained cool, calm, and collected. He was fine with dying. Or... so it seemed.

One night, Dean and yourself had left to scout out dinner in whatever rundown town you were in, leaving Sam at the motel to do some local demon research. At a red light, Dean sighed and glanced over at you. He stayed quiet for a moment. He looked out at the dimly lit and desolate road as he spoke. "I've been doin' some thinkin'," He paused and cleared his throat. "and... the thing is... I don't want to die." He glanced over to you again. "I don't want to go to Hell."