Title: Greatest Hits

Author: Roth

Rating: T

Spoilers: Bloody Mary, Benders, and maybe others.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural and neither do you. We don't have a problem so please don't sue.

Summary: An accident on a hunt leaves Dean fighting for his life, but the question is, does he want to?

Note: This story will be sort of a songfic, and a majority of the chapters will be named after the song that is in them. This chapter's song is "There's a good reason these tables are numbered, you just haven't thought of it yet" by Panic at the Disco. I don't not own them. I hope you enjoy.

Greatest Hits

Chapter Two: I'm the New Cancer

"Everything human is pathetic. The secret source of humor itself is not joy but sorrow. There is no humor in heaven." Mark Twain

Dean wasn't sure exactly where he was, but he was pretty sure he was going to enjoy it. It was a bar, that was obvious enough by the tables with customers drinking and the waitress walking around passing out beers. There was even a stage set up in the middle of the room. The question of why exactly he was in a bar when just a moment before he had been in the woods fighting a troll, however, was pretty significant in Dean's mind.

He took a seat at one of the many open tables and watched as the curtain over the stage went up and a spotlight appeared in the middle. A drumbeat started along with the sound of crashing cymbals, and a red-headed woman in long black pants, a white button down shirt, and a bowler hat pulled down over her face stepped onto the stage. She started to sing a jazzy sounding tune as a simple piano chord joined the mix, and while it wasn't exactly Dean's type of music, the show looked as though it was going to be entertaining.

"Please, leave all overcoats, canes and top hats with the doorman. From that moment, you'll be out of place and under dressed. I'm wrecking this evening already and loving every minute of it. Ruining this banquet for the mildly inspiring and..."

"What can I get for you, Sweetheart?" asked the waitress, carrying an empty tray over to his table.

Dean stared at her for a moment; her face was pale and framed by limp brown hair, and there were dark bags under her eyes. She gave him a tired smile, and Dean tried his best to return it. "A beer?"

The waitress didn't even leave to get the drink. She set a tall bottle of beer, that seemed to have appeared out of no where, in front of him and walk away. Dean turned around to watch; she had a nice body even if she did look a little ill.

"When you're in black slacks with accentuating, off-white, pinstripes. Whoa, everything goes according to plan." Dean watched as the girl danced around the stage and slipped off the white shirt in the process revealing a black studded tank top.

Dean couldn't say for sure what was going on, but he was pretty sure it had something to do with a head injury and a subconscious in desperate need of a break.

"Haven't you heard that I'm the new cancer? Never looked better, and you can't stand it." As the drumbeat of the song picked, the girl did several backflips on the stage somehow managing to land gracefully despite the crowded stage and heels.

Dean finally looked around the room at the other patrons. One man sat at a table wearing the uniform of a confederate soldier drinking from a large jug of some sort of alcohol; his table guest wore a twenty's gangster suit and toasted the soldier with a large glass of wine.

"This is so screwed up," muttered Dean, turning to look back at the stage. The long black pants the girl had been wearing where gone revealing black short-shorts, long legs, and a pair of clear stilettoes. "I like this concussion," muttered Dean, taking a long drink of his beer and watching the girl do another flip.

"Talk to the mirror, choke back tears. And keep telling yourself that "I'm a diva!" Oh and the smokes in that cigarette box on the table, they just so happen to be laced with nitroglycerin." The girl kicked up her leg and held it for a moment as she jumped back twice. "Haven't you heard that I'm the new cancer? Never looked better, and you can't stand it." She winked at Dean, and he couldn't help but smile back.

The people in the bar slowly became more interested in the show, and a few even began to sing along with the girl on stage. Suddenly, all the show was quick trumpets and drums and the girl dancing around the stage. The girl's voice dropped to a near whisper as all the instrument except a few strums of a guitar cut out completely

"And I know, and I know, it just doesn't feel like a night out with no one sizing you up.
I've never been so surreptitious, so of course you'll be distracted when I spike the punch."
Dean started to clap when the song ended, but when no other patrons joined him, Dean stopped and sheepishly went back to his drink.

Dean wasn't exactly sure how long he had been sitting there after the show, long enough for the waitress to come by and drop off another beer, but he suddenly noticed the material of a long black skirt swishing up to his table. Dean looked up to see the girl from the stage standing in front of him now dressed in a long black skirt and the studded tank top. "Mind if I sit down?"

Dean smiled and shook his head gesturing for the girl to sit. "No, I don't. I wonder why I never had a dream like this while unconscious before."

The girl smiled; the waitress stopped at the table and smiled at the girl. "What can I get for you?"

"My usual."

The waitress placed tropical drink, which Dean thought looked like a Pina Colada, in front of her, and the girl took a long drink.

"How does she do that?" asked Dean as the waitress walked away.

"Magic?" replied the girl with a shrug.

"I'm Dean." He extended his hand, but the girl only stared at it.

"I know."

Dean pulled his hand back. "Could I know your name?"

"Molly."

He stared at the girl as she took another drink. "I gotta ask what the hell is going on here?"

Molly took a deep breath and set her drink down. "What's the last thing you remember?"

Dean closed his eyes and tried to think. "My brother and I were walking through these woods hunting a troll, we found it and the baby, but when we tried to attack it, it got the upper hand..." Dean paused for a minute. "The fucker threw me into a tree, and he was headed toward Sam. Oh my god! Sam!? Is he alright?"

"You see...that's where things get complicated." She folded her hands in front of her and took a deep breath. Dean was beginning to think she resembled a shrink.

"What the hell do you mean 'complicated?' It's a simple yes or no question. Is he alright?" Dean stopped for a minute and looked around the bar quickly. A horrifying thought dawned on him. "Am I dead?"

"No." She paused, tilting her head back and forth for a second. "Not exactly. You're in limbo."

Dean stared at Molly. "Limbo? Like between two planes of life limbo?"

Molly stared at him. "No. The game played at beach parties. What do you?"

Dean looked down at his drink and asked, "Am I dying?"

"Once again, complicated."

"What the fuck do you mean? They are yes or no questions. Am I dying, and is Sam okay?"

Molly sighed and leaned back. "I can't answer that. You see, I'm supposed to help you along with a revelation."

"What do you mean?!"

"Right now, you're fighting for you life and whatever answer I give you creates a losing situation."

"What?"

"Let me explain it this way. Hypothetically, if I were to tell you your brother was fine, maybe a little banged up, you would decide that he was fine and didn't need you and give up." Dean stared at her. "Now, hypothetically once again, if I were to tell your brother was dead, got his head ripped off by a troll, got his skin eaten, and the baby's dead too, you would decide you have nothin' to live for and give up."

Dean stared at her, perhaps a little paler than before her rather graphic description, but didn't say anything. "Dean, the powers that be—"

"The government?"

"A different powers that be. They decided that over the past few years you've decided that your life is expendable and that you're giving up. They want me to show you that life is worth something."

"How?" Dean scoffed as he emptied his beer. The waitress stopped by again and dropped off another one.

"Everyone you see on this journey you will have affected your life in one way or another. I'm here to show you how much your life is worth."

Dean looked around the bar not really sure if he believed this girl. "Is everyone else here dead?"

"Yes. See the confederate soldier."

Dean looked around and saw the soldier again. "Yeah?"

"Look at the back of his head."

Dean waited until the soldier turned his head and saw a huge hole through the left side of his skull. He took a deep breath and turned back to Molly. "Are you dead?"

"Yes," replied the girl with a nod.

"You don't look dead."

"Not all the things that kill leave their mark on the outside."

"What about the waitress?" Dean gestured toward the woman, who was dropping a glass of wine off in front of the Al Capone look a like.

"Clinically brain dead. Her parents refuse to take away life support, and until they do, she's here. This place is like a haven for those who are lost."

"Is it always a bar?"

"Not always, but mostly."

"Are you always the entertainment?"

"When I feel like it." She stood up from the table. "Come on. We've got a lot to do tonight."

Dean sat there with a shit-eating grin on his face. "What if I don't want to go? What if I just want to stay here and drink?"

"Fine," said Molly, shrugging her shoulders. "You can stay here, but if you stay here, this is where you stay for eternity. But then you'll never know if Sam is okay." Dean's cocky smile disappeared from his face. "Is limbo really where you want to stay?"

Dean huffed as he got to his feet and followed the girl toward the door of the bar. "A long journey starts here," Dean heard Molly say as she opened the door. Dean shut his eyes tight against the light and felt Molly grasp his upper arm. He felt weightless as she pulled him through the door.

TBC

I hope you all enjoyed the chapter. I hope to have the next one up in a few days. Please review.