The sound of a horn blaring in my ears woke me and the stench of week old garbage kept me from falling back asleep. I found myself staring up into the blinding light of the sun.

I blinked twice and allowed my senses to fill in the blanks. My head hurt like a son of a bitch. Sour garbage did in fact stink all around me, and a small horde of people had gathered to try and figure out why I was sleeping in the dumpster. I was trying to figure out why I was sleeping in a dumpster, but it was too hard to think with that truck honking and some hick farmer yelling about a hobo. He was standing in front of a truck with the meanest expression on his face, but I could have cared less about him or his damn hobo. All I cared about was… Well. Nothing.

I didn't know how long I'd been laying there, and I actually didn't care. After everything that had happened, and after everything I had done, I just didn't care. In fact, the only time I hadn't felt like I was already dead was when I heard that stupid horn. It had scared me out of my misery, and for a near second, I thought it had been a sign to keep fighting. The defibrillator to get my heart beating again, and to get me back on my feet. But like I said, that was only momentary. After the horn had stopped, and I had realized the only thing it had been signaling was for me to move, I let my body fall back amidst the sea of shiny, black plastic, let the sun burn my eyes, and prayed the putrid smell of garbage would knock me out. It did not, so I tried harder. I buried myself deeper in trash and pulled one of those bags over my head—slightly thankful it didn't rip, or leak, in the process.

As I sunk back into my stinky grave, I debated if it would be easier to die of hunger, dehydration, or sheer brokenness, but I guess it didn't really matter. I just wished the reaper would take pity calls. I hoped he got to me before the crows and gulls did. I really didn't want to have to change my mind about dying.

So, yeah, like I said in the very beginning, this really sucks. This really, really, really sucks. I was happy, or at least as happy as I could remember being in the longest time—and I blew it. My one chance at my normal, apple pie life. And now that you know my story, and how I lost that shot at happiness, I ask that you hold all questions for my funeral. They won't be answered—at least not by me, anyway. But at least I won't have to spend any more energy thinking about the royal screw-up that is, or was, Dean Winchester.

And for all of you thinking, "Hey, cheer up. It's not so bad," might I remind you of the three other lives I've royally fucked up? Well, in case you missed it, here is the recap: Because I had to tempt fate, Sam will never look at me again. Mariah, if she is even survives, will probably never sleep again, the Jeckle that she loved went Hyde on her ass and nearly killed her—only after derailing her life and dreams and everything she held sacred by abducting and technically killing her sister. And Kiers? Who even knows. She had to be dead by now.

So, yes, I deserve to rot here in this pile of garbage. My only regret is that I didn't hold on to my gun. Sure, demonic super-Dean didn't need a weapon to ruin and ultimately end lives, but I sure did. Why bother God, or whoever is in charge of running this shitty universe to knock me down yet another peg. As far as I could tell, I could go no lower: I was already dead. Or, at least, I would be if that fucking truck would shut up. It's hard to die with someone honking at you. Couldn't I just die in peace? Was that really too much to ask?

I decided the only way to retrieve my silence was to whip a bag of trash at him, so I sat up and heaved the bag that covered my head at the driver of the truck. A garbage truck. That made sense, I guess. And I guess it also made sense that I angered the man driving the truck, as I was interfering with his job. He started yelling and swearing as he got out of the truck and approached my stinky sanctuary. He yelled, and yelled. The hick farmer stormed off yelling about the cops.

With all the commotion, a bigger crowd began to gather, trying to see what all the noise was about. The honking, yelling garbage man—and me, the weird smelly guy in the dumpster heaving trash and dirty looks at the man who was just trying to do his job.

By this time, my head was really pounding, and the more I tried to tone everything out, the less I could successfully do so. I heaved one last bag at him then jumped down from the dark green receptacle and tried to walk away. That was when someone grabbed me, shoving me into the brick wall. Before I could react, or even comprehend what had happened, I saw the footnote. Tom. RonTom. Whatever his name was. You know, the bartender?

I laughed at the little punk, trying to corner "me" of all people. And for what? Causing a little commotion behind his joint?

"You have got to be kidding me, right?" I laughed, but the expression on his face stayed plain as day. It was surreal, really. Creepy. I knew he hated my guts, and there I was (pun totally intended) reeking havoc behind his bar, and the guy didn't so much as blink. Something in his eyes just didn't seem right. They were darker. Meaner. Evil. He was possessed.

My heart stopped and I felt a surge of fear wash over me as I realized what he was. I remembered my own evil, and the things I had done to people I was angry at. I thought for sure I was going to be gutted, not that I didn't deserve it, but whatever. Self preservation, right?

I swallowed hard and closed my eyes, wishing I had just left. Wishing I hadn't given up, and praying RonTom would just hurry up and kill me so I didn't have to suffer. But he didn't. I opened my eyes to see his had gone completely black.

"You aren't as lucky as you think, Dean, you still have a job to do." Tom sneered, somewhat disappointed "Find Sam, let him know you're ok, and leave. Try to take him with you and she'll kill you both. He's ours now, don't you even try to stop it." The Demonic Footnote's head tilted as he searched my eyes for my comprehension, then he shoved me to the ground. I took off. Even if he had vanished behind me.

I kept on running until I couldn't breathe, or even stand. Then I stopped to fill my lungs with air, and rest against a tree.

"Don't you even try to stop it" the words echoed in my head as I saw Meg's eyes gleaming. "Sam's mine." "You fool" "Idiot." "That's not part of the plan" "What did you do now?" "Welcome back. Do you remember the plan?"

I couldn't take it anymore. I was so sick of all these voices. Sick of the plan. Sick of me, sick of everything. I screamed, holding my head, and pulling at my hair. I screamed as loud as I could. Praying to God they'd all shut up. They did. The birds stopped chirping, and the other wildlife around me chose to flee. But the voices stopped, and the world was silent. A small gulp later, I realized where I was. It was here, not two weeks ago, that I stood, in this very spot, with Kiersa. On the way to Mill Hill. I was pretty sure it was here, anyway. It looked familiar enough. Yes, I was pretty sure this was where I had parked, and there, up ahead, was the path she'd taken me up. The small brook we'd crossed, and all those trees. It was this place, I was certain.

I remembered walking up the road, hating the girl I was following. I remembered the fear in my gut, as I wondered if I'd ever find Sam again. I remembered Kiers turning back every so often to make sure she hadn't lost me. She never knew that I'd been lost from the very beginning. I remembered the evil in me, and wondered if maybe she knew too. Maybe that was why she had been so nervous and hesitant to trust me. She'd been right all along. I kept walking until I saw the blood. Her blood, from when I hit her. She never saw it coming, and I didn't stop with a single blow, though it would have sufficed. No, I kept on hitting her because it felt good.

I shuddered at that memory and kept on walking, all the way up to the old blue house. I wondered if Mariah was still alive, and though it scared me more than anything to find out, I knew I had to. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and forced myself down those creaky wooden stairs.