Dean listened to the quiet beeping of the hospital monitors. His gaze was riveted to the wall as he let the tears fall free from his eyes. Uriel and Alastair were both dead. And while that should bring him great comfort, it did little to ease the unbelievable pain he felt.

Sam had shown up, as well – killing Alastair with his mind like the demon was little more than an insect that needed to be taken out. Sam was still drinking Demon blood, playing into the devil's trap. How could anything be worse?

Castiel had been here in the hospital, confirming Alastair's confession of Dean starting the apocalypse. Coming from an angel, it held a whole new meaning.

The righteous man who begins it is the only one who can finish it. You have to stop it.

Dean was meant to single handedly stop the apocalypse. What did that even mean?

The only comfort he had right now was the presence of Skylar standing quietly in the corner, looking at him with a mixture of fright, concern, and something else that he couldn't quite put his finger on. He was surprised to see her, considering the loathsome look she gave him only a few hours before. However, when he ended up in this hospital bed after Alastair broke free from the devils trap and unleashed a beating like he had never taken before, Castiel had convinced her to come and see him.

Dean was never one to cry…and absolutely never one to cry in front of anyone, but at that moment, he couldn't hold them back if he tried.

His entire body was week and would take days to recover. For some reason, Castiel hadn't healed him. Dean would have to recover the old fashion way.

He held up his palm against the white sheets, indicating for his wife to come closer. She looked at this hand with an unfamiliar gaze. She refused to move.

"Come here," he croaked out with what little strength he had left. He hated the sound of his own voice in those moments. It was unfamiliar to him – showed a weakness that he had always possessed, but never gave into.

Skylar took a hesitant step forward. He was certain that her only motivation to move was due to his weakened state.

When she finally made her way to the edge of his bed, he reveled in the feel of her palm in his hand. Her grip was limp and lifeless in his own as he grasped a hold of her as tightly as he could muster. "Come here," he said again.

"I did," she replied in the mousiest tone he had ever heard from her sassy mouth. It broke his heart in more ways than he cared to admit.

"Come up here on the bed with me." He gave her a smirk through his blurred eyes. His tears had finally ceased and they were drying against his cheeks.

Skylar lifted one knee and then the other, climbing delicately into the small hospital bed. She sat beside him and Dean gingerly put a hand on her bare leg, hoping that he would be able to keep ahold of her so she wouldn't bolt. Despite the November chill outside, she wore a dark blue dress that hung directly below her knee. He loved when she wore dresses. Somehow it made her appear even sweeter and more innocent than she already was.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," Dean said with a crack in his voice, indicating his remorse for her witnessing the worst possible version of himself. "And I'm sorry you had to stand here and listen to everything – about the seal…apocalypse. I know it's too much."

"I don't need protecting, Dean," Skylar found her voice. "I'm shocked, yes. I'm scared of the whole situation. I'm even…I'm even terrified of you right now."

Dean closed his eyes at her confession. His lips quivered.

"But more than anything, I'm angry that you tried to keep it from me. How did you expect me to never find out about this – about the world ending? About the seals and what Alastair did to you in hell?"

"I told you about Alastair…Castiel. Everything and everyone."

"No, not everything. You mentioned them. I know I've met Castiel before, but not like this. You never went into detail about any of it. After knowing how much you keep me in the dark about what's really out there, I'm shocked that you take me hunting with you at all."

Dean shook his head. "It's good practice to hunt against regular monsters because they will never go away. But this…this is bigger than the both of us. It's way above our pay grade and I have no idea what to do. How am I supposed to single handedly stop a war that is written? This is Biblical, Baby Girl. There's no saving the world this time."

"Dean…"

"No," he stopped her. "I can't do this. It feels like everything we've ever done for humanity has been a waste."

"Not a waste," she denied instantly. "Think about all of the impossible and amazing things that you've accomplished, and realize that this is just another item to your already long list."

"I just want to leave."

Skylar looked at him wearily and then at the monitors connected to him. "You aren't strong enough. The doctor said it might be a few day."

"I don't mean the hospital. I mean permanently. Let the angels deal with this shit. I can't do it, Sky," his voice cracked once again as tears threatened for the second time. "I want to leave everything behind. Let's just drive and get away from it. Please…"

"Okay – anything you want."

Skylar laid down beside Dean in the hospital bed and listened to his steady breathing, feeling his heart pounding against the palm of her hand. If a few hours ago you had said they would be in this situation, she would have said that you were crazy.

She had been terrified of him. She still was, but seeing him weakened and scared; it was her undoing. She couldn't deny him of what he wanted. The thought of leaving this life behind and living a normal one was inviting. However, the sound of Castiel declaring that Dean was the only one who could stop the apocalypse meant that there would be no future life of white picket fences and little league games. It meant that the world would inevitably end if Dean didn't fight.

Running would be futile. But maybe they could disappear for just a little while. What harm would a few weeks do? He was always the strong one and it was time for her step up to the plate and be what he needed her to be.

Skylar closed her eyes and snuggled up to Dean a little bit closer, realizing that no matter who this man was –alcoholic, womanizer, jack ass, demon – she couldn't imagine a life without him by her side.

She tried to deny her feelings once before. When he had died back in May, those had been the worst few months of her life. She had tried to enjoy the freedom; the mark that had faded and burned out. But her heart hurt more than she cared to admit. She didn't feel free; she felt empty.

And when he was raised from the pit, it had been 9 am on September 18th that the life once again entered her body and the mark on her thigh burned like acid at it once again lit with a vengeance. She had cried silently in relief, waiting for her phone to ring, getting that call that she desperately needed.

Maybe she hadn't hated Dean her entire life.

Maybe she had loved him all along.