Again, writing challenge. The prompt was the gif above. Be warned, this one was angst, not fluff.

******************************

He acted like it was any other day.

In fact, he acted like it was a good day, better than any other.

You knew the truth, but you played the game for his sake.

Sam was gone, and you had the bunker to yourselves. You smiled when he twirled you around the bunker's library to Led Zeppelin, laughed as he regaled you with cheesy jokes and pick-up lines, and drowned in his strong embrace and passion-drunk kisses. His smile was genuine and wide, green eyes shimmering with joy and love, his laughter full and genuine every time.

He almost made you forget the secret he'd thought he'd managed to keep from you.

Now, night had fallen, finding you lying on the bed with Dean, his arm wrapped around your shoulders with your head resting on his shoulder in turn. His hands and lips roamed lazily wherever they pleased, the two of you simply enjoying each other's company, drowning in each other's scent, heat, and touch.

Dean pulled away, glancing back at the nightstand as his phone buzzed. You blinked, straightening as his entire body language seemed to shift.

Was he going to tell you?

"Dean?" you asked, watching him closely. At the sound of your voice, Dean shook himself out of his stupor, turning to give you a lazy smile.

"It's nothing, just a storm alert—not that we'd have to worry about that down here," he said with a chuckle, kissing your neck. "Hey, I'm getting a little hungry, what about you?"

"A bit..." you relented, already suspecting where he was going with this.

"I'll go ahead and run into town and pick up something, then, how about that?" Dean murmured.

"I could come with you," you offered, but Dean was quick to shoot you down.

"Nah, you just stay here and relax, I'll only be a moment, I promise," he said, smile tightening slightly at the end. You sighed, searching his green eyes for several long moments.

He was really going to keep this secret until it was all over, wasn't he?

"All right," you agreed, moving your hand over his shoulder sensually and twining your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, moving in to crush your lips to his.

Dean moaned softly at the intensity of your kiss, lips moving hungrily in response to your own as he seemed to pour every ounce of passion and love he had in him into that kiss. So did you.

When you both finally pulled away, you ghosted your fingers along the stubble on his jaw, kissing the other side and then his neck before you reluctantly pulled away. "Hurry back."

Dean swallowed, fingers grazing your outer thigh. "Yes, ma'am," he said softly before easing himself off the bed and making his way to the door.

"Oh, and Dean," you called, and he turned around, expression expectant but also guarded as he hid his true emotions at the moment. "Don't forget to pick up some gummy bears."

Once he registered your words, he pointed at you to emphasize his words, giving you a small half smile and a wink at the same time. "You've got it."

"I love you!" you called a second after his broad shoulders disappeared from view. There was a brief pause, your heart hammering in your chest as you wondered whether or not he heard you.

"Love you too," eventually echoed back to you from down the hall, the emotion in his voice enough to make your throat close.

You sat perfectly still on the bed for several long moments after the sound of the bunker door closing echoed through the Men of Letters base you and the Winchesters called home. Once you had enough courage, you reached over and snatched your phone up from its perch on the other nightstand, glancing at the lock screen's digital clock.

It was almost time.

You gazed at the picture of you and Dean laughing and kissing in front of the Impala—him a complete, grimy, motor-oiled mess and you with a few smudges of grease on your face from yours truly—until the screen went black. Knowing you didn't have time to stall, you grabbed your jacket and gradually made your way to your car before leaving the bunker as well.

******************************

Dean drove well outside the city limits of Lebanon, Kansas, his gaze fixated straight ahead as he clenched the steering wheel in a bone-crushing grip. He didn't keep track of where he was going, he simply followed the road and drove until his phone started buzzing again from the second alarm.

As soon as that phone started to buzz he eased Baby off of the road, letting her come to a gradual stop in the grass beside the road. He closed his eyes, listening to the hum of the engine and flexing his fingers lovingly around the steering wheel before he shut her off, instantly plunged into darkness as he got out of the car.

"Dean Winchester. Nice to see you're keeping our appointment."

Five minutes to midnight—not even, now.

Dean turned to face the demon standing in front of him on the pavement of the road, hands clasped in front of him and a false-sweet smile on his face, semi-long brown hair slicked back with too much hair gel. The black eyes switched back to murky brown as the demon took in Dean.

Dean took a deep breath before turning to face the demon entirely, heart pounding and blood racing from fear and anticipation, but his hands steady and jaw clenched in resolute determination, already bracing himself for what was to come and listening for the sound of hounds in the distance—or even up close.

"What, no wise cracks, no sarcastic comments or noble last words?" the demon asked as Dean remained silent.

"I'm ready, so let's just get this over with," Dean said, voice low.

The demon eyed him for a second. "No funny business?"

"None."

After a few more long moments—Dean flinched inwardly when he did hear hellhounds howling somewhere far away, no doubt getting closer—the demon shrugged. "Suit yourself."

Dean closed his eyes and readied himself to be torn to shreds by hellhounds for the second time in his life, hearing the demon sigh as he envisioned your face in his last moments.

For her.

The demon snapped his fingers, and several agonizingly tense heartbeats passed where nothing happened.

"Done."

Dean's eyes flew open, looking around him.

He was still on the side of the road next to Baby. He didn't see any hellhounds, and he didn't hear any, either. On the street, the demon was smiling calmly at him as Dean turned his cautious gaze on the demon before him, still tense and ready for something to happen.

"What do you mean done? Where's the hellhounds, the trip down the highway to hell?" Dean asked, voice sharp but confused.

"Oh, right, I probably should have mentioned that...your debt's been paid...by another."

Dean's blood froze, a pit of foreboding dread settling in his stomach. "What do you mean another? Who took my place?"

The demon's smug smile grew into a wicked grin, but he didn't answer, black eyes flashing again. Dean's teeth ground together and he stalked forward, hand reaching out to grab the demon by the front of the shirt.

His fingers barely managed to brush against fabric, and then the demon was gone, leaving Dean alone on the side of the road and afraid to find out who the demon had been referring to.

******************************

When Dean entered the bunker once again, he was understandably shaken and worried, too concerned to even think of an excuse to give you for why he was gone for so long and didn't come back with anything to eat, not even the gummy bears you'd requested.

He hadn't told a single soul about his deal, not human, demon, or angel—hadn't even mentioned it in a prayer or acknowledged it out loud—so how had someone discovered enough to take his place?

Jaw flexing absentmindedly, Dean slowly worked his keys between his fingers as he made his way through the halls of the bunker back to the room the two of you shared, already speaking before he even turned the corner. "Sorry I took so long, I got side..."

Dean paused in the doorway, taking in the empty room. His brow creased in concern as he noted that your phone wasn't on the nightstand, and he pulled out his own just to make sure he hadn't missed a text from you.

Nothing.

"Y/N?" he called, backing out of the room and hoping to find you maybe down in the shooting range, in the kitchen, hell he was even going to check their dungeon—you weren't in the garage, he'd just come from there. The longer he called your name without an answer, the longer he had to search, the harder his heart pounded in his chest. Eventually he came full circle, and the panic was starting to settle in as he pulled out his phone once again.

"Come on, Y/N, where the hell are you?" Dean growled.

*****************************

By some miracle, your GPS was on for once. But that was the only relief he got to feel.

The signal was coming from some random field in the middle of nowhere, and it wasn't moving, fixed in place like an ominous sign he didn't want to think about. Instead, he got back into Baby and gunned the Impala out of the garage and down the open road. He kept himself focused on the driving alone, refusing to think of what he would find when he finally reached the field your phone was claiming you were in, already going into denial before he even reached his destination.

There was a perfectly reasonable explanation. One that didn't involve any of the dark thoughts he was barely managing to hold at bay.

The tires screeched in protest as Dean came to an abrupt halt beside the offending field, getting out of the car a split second after the engine turned off. He pulled out a flashlight and his gun, just in case there was something wrong and he was walking into trouble, and then stepped into the long grass that went up to his waist with immense trepidation.

The field was completely silent—there was the occasional cricket, of course, but other than that, nothing. He wanted to shout your name or call your phone, but if there was trouble, if there was something out here, he didn't want to give away your position.

But he needed to find you. He needed to see that you were all right with his own eyes. That's all he wanted from this messed up universe right now.

Dean happened to cross paths with a patch of grass that had been flattened by a great weight, the pressure forming a noticeable indent in the surrounding area of a large paw print. There were three more prints—some in the earth hidden from view by the grass that he had to crouch down and find—to match the first.

His breath seemed to be sucked right from his body, ice already creeping through his veins as he tossed away caution with this new development, starting to follow the direction the paw prints seemed to be going.

"Y/N!" he hollered as loud as he could, the barely restrained fear only growing as he continued to shout with no answer.

And then he saw it.

A few paces in front of him, straight out of his nightmares.

The grass around the general area was spattered red, some patches ripped to shreds and straight out of the ground from the violent scuffle that must have occurred.

"Oh, God..."

The gun slipped from Dean's hands as he covered his mouth with his arm, staggering forward even though part of him wanted to run in the opposite direction and pretend all of this was one of his torturous nightmares.

"Oh, God..."

Dean hit his knees next to the almost unrecognizable heap in the middle of the artificial clearing, a slick substance that was no longer warm soaking through his jeans. At some point the flashlight had fallen to the ground as well, it's harsh beam washing the garish scene and his shaking hands that couldn't touch what was in front of him in a haunting pale light.

"God, no..."

He finally forced his hand to connect, pulling with what strength he had left to roll the mangled form over and reveal your face, mostly untouched other than a nasty claw mark across your cheek, glassy eyes staring at nothing, devoid of any spark and all life. Something inhuman and animalistically wounded made it out of his chest.

"Please, no!"

He wanted to deny it, falling forward and gripping your bloodied shoulders like the sheer force he exerted could push some of his life into you, but it did nothing. He didn't care that your blood quickly soaked his clothes as he gathered you up into his arms, pressing his face against your slashed cheek and torn throat while his fingers threaded through your hair.

"Not you...oh, God...not you..." he choked out, subconsciously starting to rock in place as the tears started to flow.

This...was what that son of a bitch had meant when he'd said another had taken his place.

The hellhounds he'd heard hadn't been for him. They'd been running to you.

And they'd dragged you to Hell.

He knew exactly what that was like.

And he couldn't bear the thought of it happening to you. Not to you.

...and so something inside Dean Winchester broke irrevocably.

*****************************

He was still covered in your blood.

He'd spent who knew how long in that clearing with your body, hours probably, before he realized the longer he sat there, the longer you suffered in Hell, and he needed to get moving to get you back.

Because he'd be damned if he was going to let you rot in Hell.

Never.

He stood in the middle of the large devil's trap, demon killing knife in hand and ritual complete as the contents of the bowl in the middle went up in flames and smoke.

"Squirrel."

In the next moment, Dean had pinned Crowley against the floor, knife held at the King of Hell's throat and ready to end him the second Dean heard something he didn't like.

Such as no.

"I take it this isn't a friendly visit?" Crowley grunted, all humor gone as he carefully met Dean's cold gaze.

"Bring. Her. Back," Dean growled, pressing the blade harder into Crowley's throat.

"You know, there are nicer ways to ask—"

"I'm not asking!"

"I don't have her," Crowley finally said, voice flat.

"Bullshit—your hellhounds dragged her down there, now you give her back."

"Let's try this again," Crowley said coolly, holding Dean's murderous gaze. "I had a soft spot for little Y/N, and when I heard she was in town I plucked her off the rack myself and made a call to have her sent upstairs."

Dean froze. "You what?"

Crowley rolled his eyes, sighing dramatically. "She's not in Hell, moron, because she's in heaven. So, I'll say it again—I don't have her."

"You...sent her soul to heaven?"

"Unlike most of the imbeciles that end up in my funhouse, she didn't belong there, didn't deserve it. So yes, I got ahold of an angel who was willing to take her straight to the pearly gates. Now will you take the knife off me so we can finish this conversation like perfectly civil beings?"

Dean stared Crowley down, suspicion in his eyes. Why would a demon have contacts with angels?

Then again...this was Crowley.

Dean let him go, backing away but keeping the knife firmly in hand as Crowley rose to his feet, dusting himself off. "Much better."

"Who's the angel?" Dean asked.

Crowley looked at Dean, surprise flashing across his face for a brief moment. "You're joking, right? You do know she's in heaven—eternal peace, surrounded by loved ones, best of memories forever on repeat, the whole gig?"

"Crowley, I don't care if she's sipping margaritas with God on his beach vacation—give me the damn name!"

"Sorry, Squirrel, I can't do that."

"You son of a—" Dean growled, starting to advance with knife at the ready. Crowley held up a hand, a clear signal to wait.

"But..." he added quickly, and Dean paused, close enough he could definitely still stab Crowley if he felt like it. "I can give you the ritual to summon him specifically, since that seems to be your endgame with this...persuasive line of questioning."

"What's the ritual," Dean said quietly after a moment of consideration. Crowley smirked.

"Now this, I can work with."

*****************************

It took a while to find everything he needed for the ritual Crowley gave him—whoever this angel contact was, they seemed to be a big deal considering what was needed to summon them—but once he had it all he wasted no time in getting the holy oil circle ready and carrying out the ritual, watching yet another bowl of ingredients go up in flames and smoke.

"I thought I might be getting a call from you, Deany-boy."

Dean whipped around at the familiar voice, stunned into inaction a little too long as he stared at the celestial being before him.

"You? You're dead!"

Gabriel smiled, reaching forward with his foot and breaking the holy oil line before Dean could regather himself enough to light the circle on fire. "Well...as far as you knew. And the big bro...and heaven...and everyone else. I'm rather skilled at faking my death, you know. Hey—I still gave you what you needed to stop the apocalypse, didn't I?"

"You're the angel Crowley got to bring Y/N to heaven?" Dean asked incredulously.

"Don't sound so shocked—I owed the little spitfire," Gabriel said with a shrug. "It's a long story that I won't be sharing with you," he added when Dean's expression of surprise grew.

"How did Crowley know you were alive?"

"Oh, he didn't know," Gabriel scoffed. "I heard on the angel vine that Y/N had pulled the 'ole switch-a-roo on you with your deal and Crowley was trying to get her afterlife accommodations upgraded. The other angels said no, so I stepped in and gave her a personal escort, threatened to clip a few wings if they tried to say no again, and made sure she got a first-class suite."

"If you're the one who brought her there, then you can still bring her back," Dean stated, stepping forward. Gabriel gave him a calculating look disturbingly similar to the one Crowley had given him earlier.

"You do realize she's in heaven, with everyone she's lost—all of her family and friends, even the ones you two shared—actually there with her, all those little heavens interconnected? Frankly, you and your brother are the only missing pieces for her little heaven, but she doesn't want to see you up there until it's finally your time, for the last time." Gabriel took a step closer to emphasize his point. "She's at peace, away from all the dangerous chaos that is the life you two have—do you really want to drag her back to earth, right smack dab in the center of all that pain and suffering? Possibly mess up the only golden ticket all of you have to paradise? Cause yanking her out right after I put her in doesn't exactly bode well for any future attempts to set all of you up for the luxury package."

"Please...just...please, bring her back..." Dean said softly, tripping over the fact his voice sounded like it was begging. He hated begging...but he'd do anything to bring you back. "I need her."

Gabriel sighed heavily. "You sound like your brother after those six months in that...alternate time I stuck him in without you. Except this time, I'm not budging." Dean's brow furrowed in confusion, wondering what six months Gabriel was talking about but able to tell he wasn't going to explain that story either as the archangel plowed on. "I'm not bringing her back. She's found her peace, she wants to be there. You're just gonna have to wait, buck-o. And don't even think of trying the abrupt express to the afterlife—we've got permission from her to make sure your self-sacrificing obsessed ass doesn't pull that kind of shit. You'll just have to wait till it's your turn to knock on the door."

Before Dean could even protest, Gabriel had snapped his fingers, and he was gone.

"Gabriel! You son of a bitch!"

******************************

Weeks passed, and not for the first time in his life, Dean turned to the familiar bottle to drown and numb the pain. That's all there was to his days, now–just the bottle and one job after the other, no in between if he could help it, just always moving, always busy, never allowing himself to think about what had happened.

Sam and Cas both tried to pull Dean out of his obvious depression, but he just wasn't going to budge on this. Your death had hit Sam and Cas hard as well, Sam blindsided by the abrupt loss of someone who was basically a sister-in-law to him, and Cas hit with not only the news of a close friend's death, but also of the news that Gabriel was alive. Not that the information had done them any good after Dean's short conversation with the archangel—Gabriel had been dust in the wind ever since, vanishing without any trace to follow.

But, clearly, no one hurt more than Dean.

Now, in the silence of the bunker, Dean stood in front of the dresser in his room, staring down at the top drawer with a blank stare as he braced himself against the surface. With everything that had happened—from finding you in that damn field, to carrying you home, to finding out no one was going to bring you back, to telling Sam and Cas, to the hunter's funeral, and then the weeks after—there was one thing he had yet to face.

In the glovebox of your car, he'd found a letter, from you to him, obviously meant to be found after you were gone.

He had yet to read it.

Not for the first time, Dean pulled out the smooth white envelope with his name written in your handwriting on the front out of the bottom of the dresser, turning it over in his hands.

This time, he took it with him as he sat on the edge of the bed and finally broke the seal.

******************************

Dean

By the time you read this...I'll be dead. I'm sorry that it's hurt you, I'm sorry I'm not there with you now, I'm sorry I've left, and without any warning...but I'm not sorry for doing what I did.

I'm sure you have questions, first of all being how I knew.

I knew something was wrong after we wrapped that case together. You were closed off a few days after, and I could see the guilt in your eyes. It wasn't like I could ask anyone what had happened, it was just you and me on that case. But I did know that there was a gap in my memory from the moment I was jumped by that werewolf to the moment I woke up, that angels weren't a choice for us and Cas was M.I.A. at the time, and near us there had been a crossroad. All I had to do was summon the demon and ask.

Now you want to know why, right?

Dean...I took your place in the deal because this world needs you, because Sam needs you, because you are worth so much more than the constant sacrificial lamb you seem to make of yourself, and I did it because I love you. You've done so much for me, sacrificed so much for me, it was my time to do something for you. There was no way in hell I was going to stand aside and let you be dragged back to Hell a second time for my sake. You deserve so much better than that.

If there's anything I want you to remember of me, it's what I'm about to say next.

Dean Winchester, you are loved, and not just by me. You have family that cares about you and stands by you, even now. You are not alone, even when you think you are—there has always been someone on your side. You are worth saving, you are worth the sacrifice of others and more, even if you don't think you are. You are smarter than you think, a genius in your own right, the best hunter in this messed up world, and far too good for this world. You are funny, charming, and handsome, not to mention compassionate and strong, even when you're broken. And it's okay for you to break, because you're human, and unfortunately pain is part of the package deal with life. But you have people to help you or at least be with you when you break, and it's okay to let them see when you're broken because they still love you and see you for you. So do me a favor, and don't shut Sam out. Let your brother be there for you like you've been there for him so many God-forsaken times.

Knowing you, you'll probably try to bring me back, but I don't want to be brought back, not if it costs something like your own soul or your life. Dean, you keep fighting—even if you don't want to without me there, you fight for Sammy and you fight for Castiel, and you fight for YOU. And when it's over...really over, I'm praying you end up in heaven where you belong with everyone we've lost along the way. Cause as much as we scratch and claw to live as long as we can, we've got an eternity with everyone we've ever loved waiting for us in heaven.

That's what I want for you. Damn it, Dean, you deserve it. YOU DESERVE IT. And don't you dare try to turn it down when that time comes or I will crawl out of this pit so help me God and beat your ass all the way to those pearly gates.

Lastly...don't forget that I love you. I always have, and I always will. I made this choice, and I knew what the consequences were, and every step of the way I knew it would hurt but I didn't look back because I love you.

I love you.

Goodbye.

Y/N

****************************

Dean sat on the edge of that bed longer than he was aware, letter clutched tight in his hands as he read and re-read it over and over, tears silently trailing down his cheeks and dripping from his scruffy jaw to the letter or his legs and arms. Eventually, he looked up when the sound of Sam moving a chair in the library echoed down the hall, jostling him enough back to reality to fold the letter up and tuck it into the pocket of his jeans with reverence. He stood up, grabbing his jacket off the chair of his desk, and folded it over his arm as he opened the top drawer that had remained shut all this time. He stared at the item on top before carefully situating it on his desk next to the pictures of his mother and Sammy on top of the desk.

"I love you too," he murmured to the picture of the two of you lying on the hood of Baby after a hard day's work, you in his arms and smiling up at him.

I'll see you soon...but not yet. Not till it's my turn. And when it is, God, I'll go willingly.

Running a hand down his face to wipe away any remaining tears or tear tracks, Dean left the room, shrugging on his jacket.

"Sammy...come on...let's go out—get a drink or something to eat...anything."