Dean was sitting at the bar as he did every night since the "accident". He was having his usual drink – double whiskey with ice. It was his fifth glass, only three more to go until he gets numb enough not to feel the pain anymore. He was hitting on the bartender - it was part of his routine. He knew he was lucky to be this handsome, tall well built with deep green eyes, because otherwise he would never get laid. Who would want to hook up with someone so fucked up as he is? He grinned in his mind and thought:

"Yeah God must love me so much to give me this look" He was being cocky and sarcastic as ever, but he didn't care. As he was about to get the bartenders number he heard a deep, sorrowful and frightened voice, somehow so familiar.

"Has anyone seen this girl around here?" Dean assumed he must be holding a picture or something.

"Great." He thought. "Here's another scumbag husband who was hitting his wife till she couldn't take it anymore and ran off with the money her beloved one haven't managed to waste on booze or drugs, yet." Dean was used to seeing people like this everyday: pathetic bastards wasting their lives in a bar drinking twenty four-seven. Dean, however, wasn't wasting his life as there was nothing left to waste. As Dean turned around to tell the man to fuck off - yeah he was hoping to pick up a fight as it was also part of his routine, which helped him to discharge - he was almost swept off his feet.

"It can't be" he thought. "I'm just imagining – those pills - he has been taking antidepressants since that night - and whiskey don't go well together, I'm just hallucinating." He closed his eyes so hard it actually hurt, but when he looked again the man was still there going from table to table talking with others. He tried to bite his tongue and even to pinch himself, but the man wasn't gone. In fact, he was walking right at Dean. Dean panicked. He didn't know what to say, what to do, it seemed like he had too much body parts so he didn't know where to put them. It felt like his hands were too long, his feet too short, he forgot how his lungs work.

"Is this some kind of a cruel joke?" he thought. "A shape-shifter maybe?" his palms were sweating, and his mind couldn't form a normal sentence. He tried to convince himself that it's all happening in his head, but deep inside he knew that it's not a fantasy, not a dream. This is really happening even though he didn't have any eligible explanation. The man finally approached Dean and asked him:

"Have you seen this girl around here?" Dean felt another punch it the chest, which took his breath away, made him feel sick. That voice… When the man was standing so close it sounded exactly like… He tried to answer but immediately forgot the question, he tried to look into the man's eyes to help himself gather his thoughts. Mistake! It was a huge fucking mistake. When the man was so near the similarity was even more striking: same blue eyes that shine so brightly, same goofy hair, which gives him a look like he has just got up, even the head tilt. He was tilting his head just like Castiel used to do when he was confused. He was even standing almost too close just like…

"No" Dean thought and shook his head in disbelief. "It can't be. He saw him die. He watched his life slipping away. Dean was even holding his hand at that moment his eyes closed and his heart stopped beating." He completely forgot that the man was still standing in front of him, giving him confused sideway glances. Apparently, the man asked something but Dean didn't hear him. He repeated:

"Have you seen her?" There was hope and pleading in his eyes, Dean forced himself to take his eyes from the man's face and look into the picture. He hated to say no, he hated not being able to help him. But what else could he do? He just shook his head because he wasn't sure if his mouth will cooperate with him. The man said:

"Thank you anyway. Here's a flyer with her picture and my number. If you just see her, please call me." He gave Dean a sad but warming smile and walked out the door. When he saw the man leaving, he felt a stab in the heart almost as bad as that night… He was terrified of loosing the man he didn't even know. It felt like he was loosing Cas all over again. His hands were trembling and his knees felt like they were made out of jello. He wasn't in the mood for drinking anymore, basically because he knew that there aren't enough quantities of alcohol in the world to ease his grief. At least not tonight. He paid for his drinks and walked away leaving the bartender very disappointed but, actually, he couldn't care less. He went outside in the cold night's air and it helped him to sober up a bit and think about what have just happened clearly. Was it real, or he just wanted it to be real so badly he went fucking nuts? He didn't know what to think or what to do anymore. It had already started to sink in, that Castiel is gone, that he would never be able to see his angel again. The pain was not so bad now. Well at least it wasn't so bad that he couldn't walk or think or do the basic chores like at first. And today, out of the blue, he sees him, talks to him, touches him again…After all this time…

"Damn it, Dean!" he told himself. "Do you like torturing yourself, you masochist? It is not Castiel. It can't be" He got into the Impala and shoved the door so hard the window trembled. He reached towards the backseat and took a dirty trench coat. He pressed it against his face, turned on the radio as loud as possible - a sob came out from his mouth, his shoulders were shuddering from the wail that forced it's way out of Dean's mouth.

"Why? Why did I have to see this man?" thought Dean. He was starting to get in terms with the fact he will never see him again. Well maybe it wasn't Castiel, which only made his suffering worse. He has already said his last goodbyes. And now everything came back: the pain that pierces through every inch of your body, the loneliness that leaves enormous holes in your soul that never heel. And the worst part – acceptance, perception that there's nothing you can do about it, nothing in the world can change what happened or make things right again. After all that, the guilt catches you – you know you never made amends with the guy, you never said how you felt about him, you just hope he knew. You know he did it for You, he did it because You were so damn important to him, even more important than his own life. And You did nothing - you turned your back, closed your eyes and ears so not to hear the man asking for redemption, for understanding, so not to see his eyes pleading for help. You know you didn't even try to mend the ties between you. Dean let an agonizing sound from his chest, threw the trench coat on the back seat and hit the road. He drove for miles because he just didn't want to stop as it seemed if he'll stop just for a second the world will slip out from his feet and everything will turn out to be just another nightmare. While he was speeding through empty streets, he had no idea were he was going, he had only one thought:

"I have to see that man again… Just for a moment, from afar, but here laid the most important question - how?" He didn't know anything about that man. Not even his name, only that he looks exactly like Castiel. Suddenly it came to him:

"The flyer!" he shouted out loud.

Dean pulled to the side of the road and started looking for it. He checked every pocket, his wallet even the car but it wasn't there.

"Son of a bitch! I must have left it at that bar!" he was furious but somehow happy. At least now he had something to occupy his mind, it was like working a case but this time he wasn't looking for something evil he was looking for something he desperately needed. He drew back to the bar in a few minutes, which felt like a few centuries, but they were already closing.

"Hey!" shouted Dean "I left something in here. Can I take it?" A shabby janitor let him in and watched him as he was searching everywhere.

"What are you looking for?" he asked

"I'm looking for a flyer that a young man gave me this evening, he was looking for his sister."

"Who, Castiel?" asked the cleaner "he probably…" but Dean couldn't hear what he was saying anymore, there was only one thought spinning in his head, crashing to the sides of his brain

"CASTIEL!" Dean knew that it can't be a simple coincidence, he never believed in that crap. If at first he wasn't sure what he was going to do, now he had only one goal – to trace Castiel and find out what the hell is going on.