"Dean, you know I have to go, right?" Beck said quietly.
"I know." Dean muttered, yanking his hands through his hair and making it stand up haphazardly. "That doesn't mean I have to be okay with it." He stared through the windshield of his car at the darkness outside.
Beck reached for his hand, running her fingertips over his. "I'm sorry, Dean. I really am."
She leaned forward and pressed her lips to the stubble of his cheek in a lingering kiss.
Dean closed his eyes, her touch almost painful because of the heavy finality it held. She began to move away, leaning toward the door that would take her away from him forever. He let himself give in for a single selfish second, reaching his forearm round his waist and pulling her back to him, so her feet were against the passenger door and his arms were tight around her waist. Dean buried his face in her neck, taking a shaking breath and closing his eyes tightly.
"Don't go." He pleaded.
"You know why I have to, Dean. It's for the best." Beck cupped his face in her hand, and he leaned into her touch. "It's better if you don't see this."
Dean knew she was right. He knew he didn't really want to see what was coming. He'd even himself
been taken by hellhounds, felt their claws and heavy breath and seen the shapes no one else could. He didn't want to watch her be torn apart by them.
And so he tightened his arms around her one last time, then watched her walk away.
And then he drove away.
