Authors note: 1) Don't own 'em.

2) No beta, so all mistakes are mine.

3)Trigger warnings for depression and suicide.

Dean is surprised at how relieved he is now that all this is done. At first he had been concerned about the amount of time he had to complete his tasks, but now he's found that the weight that was crushing him only a week ago, is almost gone with the approach of his impending departure. He can't quite bring himself to say it. It's not that he doesn't understand what he's doing, or that he is reluctant to do it, just that the term no longer holds the meaning it used to. He's died and come back, Sam died and come back. Cass died – how many times – and came back. Dead doesn't mean that much to him, so he doesn't say it. Not saying it doesn't really matter. The end result is the same, and that makes him surprisingly - blissful.

Over the last couple of days Dean has prepared his small world for Sam. He wants to make it as smooth for him as possible. There is the understanding that it will be a shock for Sam, and of course he will mourn the loss of his brother, so naturally he doesn't need the added pressure of having to rummage through Deans life and sort it out and clean it up. The first thing he did was get rid of anything that Sam didn't need to see. A black garbage bag full of skin mags, ridiculous keepsakes that would do more to confuse Sam than anything else, and other odds and ends that everyone accumulates and that mean absolutely nothing, has found its way to the dump.

After completing that task, he took to the Impala. He cleaned her from top to bottom, waxed her, shined her tires, and cleaned her trunk. Sam had questioned Dean as he hauled weapons into the bunker and hauled the shot-vac outside. "It's a new day Sammy!" Dean chirped in response. "Why haul all that crap anyway. Besides we know it's a werewolf. We'll take what we need." It was an excuse to appease Sam, of course. The truth was, Dean didn't want Sam to have to worry about cleaning her out when it came time to find her a new home. That didn't seem right to him, making Sam responsible for that as well. So Dean vacuumed her out, Armor all'd every bit of her interior. He made her shine, and she was a thing of beauty.

Afterword, Dean sat behind the wheel and said good-bye. He explained it all to her. He told her how much he loved her, and why he was doing this, and how Sam was going to take care of her. He rested his head on her steering wheel and breathed in her scent. If he missed anything when he was gone, it was going to be her. He would miss the companionship that Sam brought into his life, and the support, but Baby had never faltered or failed him. She was undeniably and inarguably the one constant in his life. She never disappointed him. Not once. He placed a kiss on her steering wheel, wiped away his tears, and then went back inside the bunker.

He spends the majority of that last night writing a letter to Sam and to who ever ended up with Baby. It's important to him that Sam understand. He's included with his letter instructions for Baby, requirements of the next owner and a list of every person who had died because of him and every life he's ruined. Sam's name is on that list. He explains how this all weighs on him and how if he wants to save Sam, he has to leave him. He tells Sam how much pain he's in and how this is the only way to get relief. He begs him not to be angry with him, to understand and be happy that this is finally over for him. He reminds Sam of all the times he was suppose to have died. His father taking his place and after being electrocuted, going to Hell, (even though he is grateful not to be stuck there anymore) these are still heavy burdens he carries, even all these years later. He has managed to swindle Death so many times; it's no wonder that every moment of his life since then has been filled with nothing but loss and misery.

While Dean writes, he is reminded of the time he took Deaths job, and how he saved the little girl. Tessa had explained how death and misery would follow her for the rest of her life because she had not died when she was supposed to. In the midst of the Apocalypse, he hadn't made the connection, but now he did; and so very, very clearly. It really was his fault. All of it. Had he just stayed dead all those times he was meant to, then all that pain and suffering would not have befallen those he loved. Dean adds that to the letter.

He completes it by telling Sam how much he loves him, and how he doesn't presume to know what Sam wants from his life any longer, but he hopes he goes after it and gets it. Then he seals the letter in a plain white envelope and sets it neatly on his pillow. The other letter, he places in his pocket.

Dean stands in the door of his bedroom and takes one final look around. Everything is pristine and in its place. The letter has Sam's name written in heavy black Sharpie, so when he finally comes into this room he will not miss it. Satisfied with how he is leaving this, he turns his light off, and leaves the door open.

Sam is not beyond admitting that he is a little weirded out. If Dean had been uncharacteristically Zen a few days ago, now he is Pod People Happy. He walks around the bunker singing and whistling. Granted it's the same four songs over and over again (Freebird, Dust in the Wind, Stairway to Heaven, and Smoke on the Water), and Sam has caught himself humming those same songs over, and over … and over again, but Dean has this big goofy grin on his face, and when Sam questions him about his giddiness, he smiles like only he can and says, "A werewolf Sammy. A werewolf." Like it was the greatest thing on the face of the earth, and then skips (because yes, Dean has a "skip" in his step) off to clean something else. The Impala has never looked so good. Still, its weird, but Sam can't find fault with happiness, and he honestly believes it's about time Dean had a little bit in his life. Whatever it is that Dean has found to "fix" his problem, it's working.

When the morning they are to leave for Nebraska arrives, Sam wakes up to find Dean in the kitchen sipping a cup of coffee. Sam's groggy and stumbling. With a 1000 watt smile Dean hands him a cup of coffee and chirps (chirps!), "Morning Sammy. What's been keepin' ya sleeping beauty? That werewolf's not gonna gank itself." Sam groans at Dean, and mumbles something incoherent, that even he doesn't understand, then he takes his damn coffee back to his room. Dean has no right to be so damn chipper.

It only takes an hour for Sam to be "up and at 'em" and "rearin' to go". As they approach the Impala, Dean tosses Sam the keys, and says, "You drive Sammy." Sam is now convinced that Dean is indeed, a Pod Person.

They are about two hours outside of Lebanon when Sam decides to talk to Dean about his strange behavior. They are going to be stuck in the car for another three hours, so this is the perfect time to broach the subject.

"Are you doing ok, Dean?"

"I'm great, Sammy. Never better." And he means it.

"Yeah. You seem happy, but you're just, you've been acting weird. I mean, come on. First there's the raging out, then you're all Yoda Zen, now you're freaking Pollyanna*."

"Dude. Pollyanna?"

Sam shrugs. "I know you said you'd figured it out, and were fixing it. And I support you 100 percent. But I want to know what's happening. What's changed? I want to make sure you're really ok and not just going along to get along. You know?"

Dean sighs and rests back against the head rest. Sam swallows hard. He hopes this conversation doesn't set Dean off into a rage. If it does, he's likely to open the car door and jump out. Sam thinks he's exaggerating in thinking that, but isn't really sure. As optimistic as he is still trying to be, the consequences of those rages continue to be fresh in his mind.

Instead of raging, or going Zen, or even smiling and blowing him off, Sam gets a glimpse of the old Dean. He looks right at Sam, with an intensity that is unnerving. He gestures towards the window. "What do you see out there?" Sam raises his eyebrow at Dean. "Seriously. What do you see?"

"Okay," Sam scoffs, "I see Kansas. Grass. Trees. Prairie."

"Yeah. There's that. It's springtime Sammy. I see hope. New life growing up. New green leaves growing on trees after a cold winter. Colorful flowers blooming from a ground that was frozen just two months ago. It's a promise of better things. It says, even after the frozen waste of a deadly winter, the world can be washed clean and there is hope."

"Huh." Definitely a Pod Person …or a Shape Shifter.

"And it's all fucking bullshit."

"What?" Okay. There's the Dean I know and tolerate.

"It's a lie. A smack in the face to everyone I've ever loved, and everything I've ever fought against. The real world isn't like that Sam. It isn't fresh, it isn't clean, it isn't hopeful. It's rainbows and lollipops painted on a damn body cast, because underneath it's still as broken as it ever was. There's no fixing the world, Sammy. I can't fix it. I can't change it. I can't make it better. I can't bring anyone back and I can't make their deaths mean anything. I can't stop the pain. It's all still there. No matter how many monsters we kill, or how many times we save the world, there's still going to be more to do and stop. And God help me Sam, more people to lose. It's a never ending struggle, and it will never be washed clean. So why bother bothering."

"Dean…"

"I'm not done. You wanna know why I'm so happy? It's because I get it. I can't stop it, so why try. Suffering is part of life. It starts when we're born and stops when we bite the dust. So I have simply embraced that. This ends when I do, and until then, I'm just going to ignore it until it literally goes away. That's working for me."

"Dean…"

"Don't harsh my mellow, Sam. It's working for me. So let it be, man. Okay? Let me be happy the way I want to be, with what's left of my life."

Sam can't speak, for any other reason than he doesn't know what to say. He's not sure he agrees with Dean, but he doesn't disagree either. Sam nods at him, and then Dean turns back towards the window and starts humming "Smoke on the Water". They drive the rest of the way in silence.

As they park, Dean grumbles about werewolves in the woods. He doesn't understand why they can't all simply stay in the city where there are warm hotel rooms and diners that serve burgers with fried eggs on top. Sam laughs, and calls him "Pollyanna Pissy Pants."

"If you weren't a granola munching hippie, you'd feel the same. It's just not natural Sammy. Natures, not natural." Sam smiles and shakes his head. Just like that it feels like things are good between them again. This is what Dean wants. Regardless of how this ends, he wants the last few hours that Sam spends with him to be a good memory.

Sam pulls a pile of papers out of his duffle to go over one last time before heading into "nature". Most of it is generic info about the previous deaths. Pretty much everything Byron had. There's an e-mail detailing his hunt last month, and how it managed to escape. "I thought I winged it, but it was a fast sucker, and I couldn't find a blood trail…" Sam pulls out the map, and they look over the area again. So far it looks like the werewolf has stuck to an area of about a five mile radius. Like Byron, they'll go to the epicenter. Whether it'll be stupid enough to go back to the same hunting grounds or not remains to be seen.

As Sam pulls the pack with the guns and ammo out of the trunk, Dean pulls the envelope from his pocket. He places a kiss on it, and slips it into the glove box.

It takes them the better part of four hours to hike to where they'll start their hunt, and by that time the sun has just begun to set. They find a spot and hunker down to wait for moon rise. It's still early enough in the spring to frost at night, and Dean can see his breath. They are sitting back to back, both with their knees pulled up to their chests and their hands under their arm pits. It had been very warm when they had started their hike, and while they had anticipated "cold", they had not anticipated, "I think my butt cheeks are frozen to the ground." Sam snickers at Dean, trying to stay quiet so he can listen. "Could you imagine me trying to run after this thing with my pants falling down around my ankles because I've frozen my ass off?" Sam loses it, because that image is just too much to handle, and Dean smiles, satisfied he's made Sammy's night. He's trying very hard to be the Dean of yesteryear for Sam's sake. He's trying to be the Dean that Sam actually liked.

They banter back and forth for a little while longer about the cold, and wonder if maybe their monster has frozen to death. They're laughing when they hear a crunch, snap, snarl. Dean smiles as Sam leaps up.

It's time. Dean has played this over in his head time and again. He's thought out every scenario. He needs it to be played out just right so this son of a bitch kills him, and Sam can still kill it. This is too important to screw up.

He hears it rustle through dried leaves and branches. It's starting to circle them. Perfect. Dean gestures for Sam to go in one direction and cut it off, while he attempts to get behind it. Sam nods, and heads off, gun tight to his shoulder.

Dean heads off as well, just far enough to be out of Sam's sight. He places his gun on the ground, pulls his knife from his pocket and slices his shirt open down just below his heart, then carves into his flesh. Deep enough so the six inch wound over his pumping heart pulses out blood. He sets the knife beside the gun, steps away – and waits. He keeps his eyes and ears open for Sam. He will forgo his plans if Sam is in danger, but only if Sam is in danger.

He sees her just past the trees. The moonlight reflects against her eyes. Their gazes meet, and they are stuck, staring at one another. A rapturous smile spreads across Dean's face. "Hello Beautiful." He whispers, knowing full well she can hear his quiet, breathy words. She looks confused for a moment, most likely trying to figure out why he's not running, or screaming.

Dean's heart is pounding, with anticipation. Tightness coils in his stomach. He wants this so bad that he's shaking with the need. Pulling the rip of his shirt open, he exposes the bloody gash, literally offering her his heart. His eyes plead with her. "Please." He sighs. In responseshe bares her mouth full of fangs in a snarling smile. Dean closes his eyes and listens as her feet pound against the damp earth sprinting toward him.

The Hellhounds hurt worse than this. The Rack hurt worse than this. The weighing agony of his life hurt worse than this… Dean screams anyway.

He hears the gunshot, and feels the weight of the beast crash onto him, and with it - terror and regret. All of a sudden, he wants Sam. He wants Sam there with him, to drag him out of this. To save his life one last time. His mind reels around as life seeps out of him. I was wrong. I was so wrong. Please. He doesn't feel pain any longer. He feels distant and disconnected. There's one thought that rises in his mind. One damning thought that replaces his mantra of death affirming anticipation.

I'm not ready to die. I'm not ready to die. I'm not ready to die…

*"Pollyanna" was a book written in 1913 about an unfailingly happy and optimistic little girl, so calling Dean a "Pollyanna" is a double wammy Sam just couldn't resist.

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