He heard Sam's screams over the car's engine. He drove away, white knuckles against the wheel as he didn't look back.

Dean had been contemplating about what to do for too long. The Apocalypse was coming, it was undeniable. He had been avoiding even considering the mere idea of allowing Michael to use his body as a vessel.

But after days and days of absolute despair, of loss and blood and tears he always forbid to stream, his selflessness won once again.

Leaving without having to force himself to say goodbye was easier. He didn't have to face his brother or Bobby—he could just write a letter.

Because again, it was easier. But God, it fucking hurt. All there is to this planet was only made to pain the ones who stepped on it.

And then he remembered you. You, once the light of his life, the only light he never let fade away from his thoughts. He had lost you, a while ago, to responsibilities and the same old duty to save the world. Dean was certain he didn't deserve you; your were so pure, so kind. He wasn't. He was the darkness that could consume your beautiful gleam.

But it was simple. He couldn't stop loving you, not even days, weeks, months apart, even though he wouldn't tell anyone. No one knew how much he found his strength in the memory of you.

Dean stopped the car by the pavement next to your house. He adjusted his coat, and knocked on your door.

He didn't know what he was going to say. He just needed to see you, he needed to look into your eyes and admire your beauty one last time.

As soon as you opened the door and stood there in shock, his eyes softened with pain, and with an unexplainable awe.

Goddamn, he could look at you for the rest of his life.

"Hey, I... it's been a while," he said, remembering himself not to say the important part: the fact that he would soon not be there, forever.

He couldn't freak you out, or worry you. He was there to say goodbye. He was there because he loved you.