The jail in Rock Springs, Wyoming was old and dank and smelled of urine and despair but Dean preferred it to the hospital. The memory of his father's death wasn't as strong there just as the memory of killing a little boy was non-existent. He couldn't remember a fucking thing from the time the pole smacked him in the head until he woke up in the hospital. How was he supposed to defend himself if he couldn't remember what exactly had happened?

It was a moot point anyway. He'd already made up his mind to just plead guilty to everything and be done with it. The people of Wyoming still believed in an eye for an eye and the death penalty was still on the books but again he didn't care.

At the county jail, they stripped searched him, sprayed him down with lice killer and cold water, then dressed him in an orange jumpsuit. They left him his boots but took the laces...and the last shreds of his dignity. The hunter now lay in the center of his cot; his back braced against the pale green brick wall, one foot up on the gray woolen blanket, the other flat on the ground and waited.

Friday night came and went and his only contact was with a Hispanic woman who brought him his dinner. She spoke no English but his Spanish was good enough to know how she felt when, handing him the tray of unrecognizable slop, she muttered "asesino". He smiled and came back with "presunto asesino" but she wasn't impressed.

Saturday came and went and although he was nauseous and couldn't eat, he longed for the hospital food he'd left behind just a day earlier and he longed for the peace and quiet. The drunks and the derelicts came and went nosily as did the boozers and the brawlers. Only he remained a constant and as the remnants of his potent painkillers wore off, he was left a sweating, vomiting, trembling, agitated, feverish, convulsing wreck lying on his cell floor.

"Hey, tough guy!" Deputy Fullbright called out banging on the cell bars with his baton as if trying to wake the dead, "Time to lawyer up…for all the good it'll do ya."

Dean pulled his hands from his face and squinted as a flashlight beam shined directly into his eyes. It was daylight and the corridor lights were on and shining brightly but the cop thought it was funny. Dean sat up groggily, his mouth foul and feeling like cotton, and stared at the cop stupidly.

Fullbright huffed disgustedly and shoved his key into the lock and slid the heavy door back. Ignoring the stench and the slime on the floor, he leaned down and grabbed the back of Dean's jumpsuit and hauled him to his feet.

"Let's go, shit bird," he said handcuffing his prisoner and propelling him out of the cell and up the stairs to one of the interrogation rooms where he left Dean handcuffed to a metal table.

Bobby Singer watched Dean through the two-way glass and could hardly believe his eyes. The boy looked at least ten years older and sick as a dog and the hunter turned on the deputy and demanded, "Why isn't my client in a hospital where he belongs?"

"We took him to County first thing to get him stitched up. No sense in wasting any more of the taxpayers money on a lousy drunk."

So that was it. Bobby could see it now. He could see the tremors shaking his hands, the cramping doubling him over, the yellow tinge to his skin. Lisa said it was bad but Dean must have been drinking non-stop since…well, since that day.

"I'd like to see my client now, if you don't mind," Bobby said running a finger around the collar and tie that threatened to choke him and before stepping into the room added, "And turn off that damned camera. Attorney-client privilege."

Fullbright did as the law demanded and scowled when Bobby smiled through the glass and closed the blinds.

Dean had heard the door open and thinking it was his court appointed lawyer didn't bother to turn around. He simply said, "You're wasting your time. I'm pleading guilty to everything."

"Is that so, hot shot?"

Dean recognized the voice immediately but still couldn't face him, this time because of all the trouble and embarrassment he'd undoubtedly caused the older hunter. Bobby sat down opposite Dean at the metal table and set his briefcase down flat on it. He ignored Dean's look of surprise and the laughter that threatened to escape.

"Don't say a word," the hunter warned running his fingers over his smooth shaven chin, "Now tell me, son, just what in the hell happened?"

Dean wiped his runny nose on his sleeve and leaned forward, unsure if the room was bugged, and asked in a low voice, "How'd you find me?"

"I reported the Impala stolen and, low and behold, it showed up here. I read the papers and figured this was my best way to get in to see you."

Dean's eyes went cold and he said, "Well, now that you've seen me, you can go."

"I'm here to get you out," Bobby insisted snapping the catches on the briefcase but before he could open it Dean placed his hand on it.

"Listen, Bobby. I appreciate what you're doing…hell, I appreciate all you've done for me all of these years but I'm done. I'm gonna stay here and take my punishment."

"For what? Your statement says you swerved, that you're sure you missed the kid."

A chill ran the length of his body and Dean shivered uncontrollably and started to cough.

When the jag was through he took in a shaky breath and told Bobby, "I was sure before but now I'm not. I don't remember. I was drunk off my ass."

Bobby was sad and pleased at the same time to see the remorse in Dean's eyes and reminded him, "You do know that Wyoming has the death penalty, don't ya?"

"I know but it doesn't matter. A kid's dead and even if I didn't do it, I've done plenty of other things just as bad…or worse."

"We all have but it comes with the job, goes with the territory."

Dean rolled his eyes. Those excuses couldn't placate him any more. The job had gotten way out of hand and the territory had expanded to include Heaven and Hell. He'd signed on to fight Wendigos and Bloody Mary, the stuff of urban legends, not demons and angels.

He'd spent time in hell, time that still haunted him to this day and keeping the twisted thoughts and his terror bottled up inside of him had become a battle twenty four/ seven. A battle he was loosing. He'd also spent time in Heaven battling with Zachariah to keep his very soul and in the end he'd prevailed only to loose it and himself when Sam sacrificed what was left of his own humanity to stop the Apocalypse.

Dean simply shook his head and grimaced as a cramp took hold and when it passed he smiled and said, "Hey man, I appreciate you coming all this way…and putting on a suit…and shaving," he was grinning widely now, "but I'm gonna take my chances."

Bobby opened up the briefcase and running his fingers along the inside bottom edge, lifted up a false flap and produced a set of lock picks. He leaned forward to hide his movements and slid them across the table and said softly, "If I thought you really killed a kid, I'd leave you here to rot."

Instead of pushing the lock picks back to Bobby, Dean held on to them and waited for the 'but'.

"But whatever was buried in that kid's grave ain't there anymore. Maybe it was a shape shifter or a werewolf or even a jackalope but Dean, it wasn't human."

Dean looked into his friend's face and saw the lines that time and circumstance had left behind along with the truth of what he was telling him. He also saw hope in Bobby's eyes and something else and he lowered his own to stare at his hands.

Dean Winchester was tired, he was done and a moment ago he had been at peace with his decision to give up on everything, to give up on life itself. He had decided to place all his chips on death by a jury of his peers and if he did nothing more he could still win…but others would loose.

Dean could see the love in Bobby Singer's eyes as they sat across from one another just as he had seen it in Lisa and Ben's eyes even as she told him to leave. It was heart filling and heart breaking at the same time, just as it had been when he'd said goodbye to Sammy.

Dean knew now that to ignore the fact that people could still love him after all he'd done, after what he'd become, would be committing the greatest sin of all and he told Bobby, "I'll meet you at the impound lot after lights out."