"Why do you deserve to live more than my daughter?"

Dean couldn't get those words out of his head. Layla's mother was right, if anyone deserved to be cured, it was her. Even if it had been the result of a chained Reaper. But Roy had picked him out of the crowd. Ever since he'd been healed, he just felt wrong. like he shouldn't be here. The Reaper had taken someone in his place, and that death was on him. How was he supposed to live with that?

Maybe Roy was right. He said Dean was "a young man with an important job to do," but how could he know? The guy wasn't psychic. He just had a psychotic wife. Yeah, Sam and Dean saved a few lives, but there were other hunters. Surely the world wouldn't miss one Winchester.

"You okay?" Sam threw him a sideways glance. They'd been on the road for hours, but Dean hadn't said a single word. He hadn't even turned on the radio. He just sat there with a slight frown, staring at the road ahead.

"I'm fine."

"You sure? Cause-"

"I said I was fine! Jesus, Sam." Dean snapped.

"Well sorry," Sam frowned.

"I'm just tired." Dean said, softening his tone. He hadn't meant to bite the kid's head off.

"You want me to drive for a bit?"

"Nah," He shook his head. "We're almost there. So what do you think we're up against this time?" He asked, trying to make up for the hours of silence. The last thing he needed was Sammy worrying about his sorry ass.

"I dunno." Sam sighed. "Would it kill dad to send more than a text? I mean, coordinates and 'possible vamp nest' isn't very helpful."

Dean groaned inwardly. He could tell that his brother was about to launch into another spiel about how they should be with Dad, looking for the thing that had killed Mom and Jessica.

"Guess we'll just have to do the rest of the work ourselves." He shrugged. "But let's catch a couple hours of sleep first." He turned on the radio before Sam could say anything else.

About an hour later, Dean pulled into a motel parking lot, just a few miles away from the coordinates Dad had sent them. "Hey, we're here." He nudged Sam, who had dozed off along the way.

"Already?" The younger Winchester yawned.

"Get the bags, Sleeping Beauty. I'll check us in."

Despite being physically and emotionally exhausted, Dean couldn't sleep. He waited until Sam started snoring softly, and then he quietly snuck outside. He leaned against the hood of the Impala with a beer and just stared up at the stars.

It was just so fucking trippy...Layla was his age, but she was dying. She looked so alive, but probably wouldn't even make it to her 28th birthday. Less than two weeks ago, the doctors had given him just months to live. Hell, he'd been in worse shape than Layla.

He could still remember the tight, squeezing chest pain. The shortness of breath and how his whole body ached after walking around for more than a few minutes.

But he was fine now.

In fact, he was more than fine. He was perfectly healthy.

He remembered when the doctor first gave him the news.

"You're dying."

Those words should've felt like a punch to the gut. It was a literal death sentence. He should've been angry, scared...

But he'd felt nothing. Nothing except maybe a sick sense of relief.

How messed up was that?

Truth is, he was tired. A hunter's way of life wasn't easy, but it was the only one he knew. He kinda wanted to be done with it, but what would he do? He couldn't see himself ever truly free of his past. He couldn't just pretend like Monsters weren't out there. He'd always be looking over his shoulder. Seeing potential hunts and then feeling guilty as hell for not following up on them.

He used to love it. Long nights on the road with Dad and Sammy, just the three of them. They were a family. They hunted together, and the rush was awesome.

But then the fighting started.

Dad and Sam, at each other's throats all the time.

And then Sam left.

Things were different after that, and Dean knew that even if they found Dad, even if they managed to kill this thing they'd been chasing for so long...it would never really end. Sam would leave again. Dad would live at the bottom of a bottle.

What kind of future was that?

So maybe he was selfish, but when he heard the phrase, terminal diagnosis, it was comforting. To know that he wouldn't be around to deal with the future. With the fallout of everything.

"Dean,"

He turned to see Sam wander out of their motel room, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Hey, what are you doing up?"

"Nightmare. What about you?"

Dean felt a pang of guilt. Sam had probably woken from the nightmare scared and alone, only to look over and find that Dean was missing. He should've been there. "Couldn't sleep." He shrugged. "You okay?"

"Yeah," His brother nodded, but Dean could see right through him.

"I'm sorry, kid."

"It's fine," Sam shrugged. "It's gotta stop eventually, right? And at least it's not happening every night anymore."

"Yeah," Dean hesitated. "Do you ever think about what it'll be like when this is all over?"

"What do you mean?" Sam joined him on the Impala's hood.

"When we find the demon, or whatever it is. When we kill it. You gonna go back to college?"

"I don't know." Sam replied honestly. "After everything...It'd be weird. What about you?"

Dean scoffed. "This is my life, I dunno what else I'd do. I don't really have any skills to be a functioning member of society."

"That's not true."

He gave a self-deprecating laugh. "Dude, what am I gonna put on a resume? 'Proficient in credit card fraud. Expert ghostbuster, mad ninja skills. Professional pool hustler'? I don't think so."

Sam chuckled. "I always thought you'd make a pretty decent cop. Maybe a detective."

"Are you serious?" Dean snorted. "With my rap sheet?"

"I don't know, man. What did you wanna be when you were a kid?"

Dean paused. It had been forever since he'd even been allowed to think about a future other than hunting. "Before Mom died, I wanted to be a doctor." He said quietly.

Sam's eyes widened. "You never told me that."

"Dude, I was four." Dean took a sip of his beer. "Didn't we all wanna be doctors, or lawyers? You actually went for the dream though."

"I think you'd make a great doctor." Sam said thoughtfully. "You're great at patching me and Dad up after hunts."

"Thanks," Dean smirked. "But there's no way I'd get into med school." He licked his lips. "After Mom, I wanted to be a firefighter."

"That makes sense." Sam studied his face. "That's something you could probably do, you know?"

Dean shook his head. "I don't know anymore. This life...it's all I know."

"Doesn't have to be that way."

"Maybe." Dean looked down and cleared his throat. "It's late, let's try and get some sleep." He avoided Sam's eyes as he walked back into their motel room.

As Sam followed him inside, it occurred to him that even in a life without hunting, his brother's ideal job had always been something involving saving people.