Warning: This story may trigger some. It deals with suicidality, self-injury, mentions of child abuse, drug addiction, and a whole lot of other not-nice things. I've been feeling depressed lately and I just can't seem to write anything uplifting at all. Just call me Sad Sadie, Downer Debbie, Buzzkill Brianna.

And, it being the season of AP exams, of course my stupid muse had to shoot me with a multi-chapter fic idea.

Okay, I'll shut up now...

I'M ON A HIGHWAY TO HEEEELLLLLL!

I'M ON A HIGHWAY TO HEEELLLLLLLLLLLL!

Dean Winchester was singing loudly. He had been driving to pick up some paperwork that officially let him expand his thriving auto-mechanic business. His father's old friend Bobby had decided to retire, and he was giving his own business to Dean. Dean is on top of the world, tonight. Good music, great car, beautiful night, hopeful future, there's someone on the side of that bridge, he was earning enough to support his brother's college career.

There's someone on the side of that bridge.

Holy fucking shit.

Dean slams onto the brakes in the exact manner he tells his clients not to. Bad for old cars. But the guy's got his arms spread out and his eyes closed, a ruined brake line is the least of his worries. He leaves the door open and runs back to where the man stands, looking like a caped silhouette against the huge moon. The bridge is deserted, and Dean sprints towards him. He can barely comprehend what's going on, but the guy is bending his knees, and he looks ready to jump, to end it. Dean grabs him by the waist and pulls them both backwards, and they fall onto the concrete, knocking the wind out of him.

The man who he's just, uh, saved(?) isn't actually wearing a cape. It's a trench coat. He doesn't struggle against Dean, like he expected that he would, but lies there, heavily, and it's the desolation of this action he's struck by.

Screaming, fighting, violent, sure. Bring it on. But he's just lying there, and that scared the living crap out of Dean.

When he regains his breath, he untangles himself from the jumper but doesn't let go. He can't risk the thought that he might suddenly leap up and throw himself off of the side of the bridge, so he just pulls him upright by his arm.

The man just stares out at the water, longing in his eyes.

"You okay, buddy?" Dean knows the question is useless. The guy's this close to jumping off a bridge, of course he's not fucking okay.

He doesn't expect a response, and he sure as hell doesn't get one. For the first time he realizes that the stranger is crying. Not loudly, not for attention, but quietly because he can't stop. He closes his eyes, shut tight against the world, and Dean's never seen something so heartbreaking in his life.

"Come sit in my car for a bit," he offers, and the man allows himself to be pulled along, like a tired three-year-old disinterested in everything around him. Dean deposits him in the front seat and sits down in the driver's spot. He shuts the door, and the car's still running, and it's oppressively silent. His passenger is shivering and Dean notes that his hands are caked in something dark. Blood? Yep, definitely blood. The inner sleeves of his tan coat are stained with it and Dean's struck by the reality of the situation.

This man wants to die and Dean is the only thing stopping him.

They sit in silence for an eternity before the jumper coughs gently and wipes his eyes on his stained coat sleeve.

"Well," says Dean because he feels the insatiable urge to break the urgent void of quiet. "So, uh..." He trails off because there is really nothing at all to say. Where in the world does he start?

"I'm not going to thank you." Dean jumps as the other man finally speaks. His voice is low gravelly, which startles him for some reason.

"Um. Okay. I mean, I'm sure you have your reasons, for, like, you know-"

"Wanting to die?" The jumper cuts off bluntly.

"Yeah."

"And now you're gonna try and talk me out of it."

"No," Dean responds, surprising himself. "You wanna jump, knock yourself out." He makes a point of unlocking the door. The man just sits there, narrow-eyed, looking at nothing. Dean knows he won't do it with Dean there. These things take time to build up to, time alone, and the moment is broken. Not that it's a bad thing. But this guy's obviously got some major demons on his back, and Dean doesn't know what to do besides keeping his feet on the ground.

"You'd tackle me before I made it across the double yellow line, wouldn't you?"

They've reached a sort of tacit agreement; he's not jumping.

"So, uh, what's your name?" Dean feels it is a reasonable place to start.

"What is yours?"

"You gonna keep answering my questions with more questions?"

"You gonna keep asking questions without offering something of yourself first?"

He has a very valid point.

"Um. I'm Dean. I fix cars."

"I'm suicidal and really mad at you."

"Well, don't sugarcoat it," he snaps, then immediately wants to take it back. The man looks so dejected and lonely that he doesn't know what to do.

"Fuck." After a long silence, Dean swears he's imagining the other man's voice. "Why couldn't you mind your own damn business?"

"Mind my business? I just saved your fuckin' life." Dean didn't mean to sound so angry, he just... Suicidal people set him on edge.

"Who says I wanted saving?"

"I don't know. I just know that I watched my father succumb to addiction and disease and I just can't bear to see anyone hurting so badly that they'd wind up on a bridge in the middle of the night," Dean confesses. He didn't even realize his motives before forcing them onto this poor guy.

His words are met with a stare, a brokenly beautiful blue gaze that expressed millions of things instantly.

"My name is Cas," he states finally.

"Cas. Nice to meet you. Well, actually, I kinda wish we'd never had to meet at all," he rambles. It's the wrong thing to say, again, but Cas just sighs and looks away.

"I can no longer commit suicide because that would make you think that you had failed. I have somehow become your burden."

"Good. Whatever keeps you breathin' for a while. Now, I'm guessin' you need a place to stay?"

Please don't hate me too much. I do that enough already XC

I'm struggling to recover from addiction, so shades of that battle may emerge. Holy angst, Batman.