Dean was self destructive, and he knew it. He loved you, and you both knew it. Hell, Dean wanted to love you, kiss you, fuck you every minute that he could, but his biggest flaw was that he thought he was a parasite— as if. He was the most loving man on the planet, but did he see that? No, and he was determined to make you see himself as he did.

God, this was hard for him, but what with Metatron, and the Apocalypse twice over, Lucifer, Michael, everything— he didn’t deserve you. And what’s more, he wanted you safe, far away from all this — oh, this was hell, even if it broke his heart to do it.

“We can’t be together, sweetheart.” It was all he could say in regards to how he was being so distant, but you called bullshit, you always did— God, he had to keep a lid on it, whatever it took.

Whatever it took, sure, but Dean couldn’t help but want to say fuck it, pull you to him and keep you there, but he couldn't.

He tried to keep his voice emotionless, bless him, he really did, but he couldn’t help the small waver in his voice, praying that he wouldn’t have to say he didn’t love you. “Just go.”

He couldn’t bring himself to it, no matter how hard he tried but he wouldn’t be able to say it, he knew that. But he was begging internally for you to fight. For him.

Fight for me, a small part of him pleaded, fight for us, sweet girl. He couldn’t do this, he was so close to breaking and begging for you to forgive him.