Dear Slim, I wrote you but you still ain't calling,
I left my cell, my pager and my home phone at the bottom.
I sent two letters back in Autumn; you must not-a got 'em.
There probably was a problem at the post office or something.

-Eminem, Stan

6.14- Last Words

His Mom doesn't know Jerry's phone number, bit she gives Barney his address, and he scribbles it down on a napkin left over from the funeral buffet.

"Are you sure about this?" asks his Mom.

Barney hesitates. "I don-I don't know, Mom. It's just because Marshall's Dad died and he was…we all got thinking about our own dads, and the last time we spoke to them, and I…I just thought that I don't want the last time I speak to my Dad to be when I was six. Especially as he's, well, around,"

"When did you find out who he was?" she sounds concerned, "You should have told me,"

He wants to snap back that she should have told him- but he's too tired, so he wearily replies, "Not long ago. I wanted to pretend that I didn't know; that it didn't happen. I didn't tell anyone," He pinches the bridge of his nose. "But I think I've changed my mind,"

"Hmm,"

"What's he like, Mom?"

Silence. "He's a good guy,". Silence.

Barney wants to tell her that that's not a proper answer; he wants to ask her everything; maybe he wants her to tell him not to do this- because he isn't sure if she should. He feels panic rise in his chest, and quickly rattles off, "Thanks Mom. I've gotta go now," before he says anything stupid or angry. Last words to his Mom count too.

"Okay. I love you, kiddo,".

She hasn't called him that for ages.

"Love you too,"

Click.

As soon as Barney's back in his Manhattan apartment the next day, he takes out his laptop and opens Microsoft Word. He saves the blank document as Dad but it doesn't feel right. Barney and "Dad" don't go together. He re-names the file J Letter.

He stares at the screen for a while, fingers hovering anxiously above the keyboard. One step at a time, he tells himself.

Dear –he stops. Not Dear Dad. Jerry isn't Barney's Dad. They may share some of the same genes, but Jerry wasn't Barney's dad even before Jerry chose to walk out and not come back. Chose to, Barney reminds himself. Hot, fast bursts of anger pop in his stomach, so he whacks backspace a few times and types out-

To Mr Whittaker- No, no, no, that's worse. What are you, his estate agent? Backspace, backspace.

To Jer- Barney stops again. Jerome or Jerry? Jerome or Jerry? He'd always called him Jerry, but that was thirty years ago when Barney believed that he was his uncle. Jerome or Jerry? He stares at the screen, debating this- he feels like he's caught in a rut, and he hasn't even got to the first line. Eventually, Barney gives in to emotion and exhaustion from the funeral, and falls asleep cross-legged on his bed, with Microsoft Word still open in front of him.

In the morning his neck is stiff as hell and he knees feel warm and buzzy where the laptop's been on all night. Barney feels awful, so he puts on his 2nd-favourtie suit (his favourite suit is reserved for really good days, to make them perfect) and red tie, and tries to concentrate on work.

Everyone's too tired to go to MacLaren's that night, so again Barney finds himself alone in his apartment. Normally he loves coming home to it; to his realm, to the castle where he is King. Everything is how he likes it and there's no one telling him what to do…except tonight the apartment seems unusually quiet and cavernous. Sometimes- rarely, but sometimes- Barney feels jealous of Ted for living with Robin and having her there all the time, and sometimes he feels jealous of Robin for living with Ted and having him there all the time. Tonight he feels both, so much that he considers giving them a call and insisting that they hang out. But when he reaches for the phone he can't quite bring himself to dial. After a while of hanging around emptily doing nothing in particular, Barney decides that the only thing he can do is go back to the thing that's been playing on his mind all day- the thing he wants to forget about by hanging out with Robin and Ted, the thing that's stopping him from calling them because he knows that he has to get it done. The letter. He fetches his laptop and sets it open on his coffee table, stretches his arms and his back and his neck. He's going to do this properly tonight. Barney skips the address and moves straight on to the opening line.

My name is Barney Stinson and I'm your son. Did that sound too blunt, too unexplained? He adds a word. My name is Barney Stinson and, well, I'm your son….but that was too casual. It's a big deal. My name is Barney Stinson and I am writing to tell you that I am your son. Too formal. 'I am writing to tell you'- it's not a bank statement. He gets rid of the whole sentence.

Recently, my best friend's father died and it got me thinking about my father. My friend worried about what his Dad's last words to him were, and I realised that my father's last words to me were over 30 years ago, and I didn't even know he was my dad.

That was you. You're my dad, Jerome, and I'm your son. My name is Barney Stinson, and I'm your son.

Ugh, yuk. Melodramatic or what? It sounds like something out a dumb kids' book. Barney deletes it all and writes.

I don't know how to begin this letter, because I never expected to be writing it and you probably never expected to be reading it. Hi. My name's Barney. I'm thirty-four, and I live on the Upper East Side, NYC. And I don't know how else to say this, but you're my dad.

He hopes that doesn't sound to pen-pal-ish.

My Mom never told me who my dad was growing up, and I never really thought about it. This is a big lie, even for Barney, but there's no way in hell he's going to go telling his real father that he felt so abandoned and different to the other kids that he had to pretend that the guy off The Price Is Right was his dad. But I knew you; you were my cool Uncle Jerry. I thought you were the best. Maybe you remember me- you took me out with your band sometimes. I once brought down the whale at the Natural History Museum when I was with you.

The next paragraph comes out quickly before he can think. That was the last time I saw you, and actually, that was how I found out that you're my father because I was there again a few months ago and they still had the report in the office, and you had signed it saying you were my father.

I never you again after that day- Mom told me you moved away but it was probably because-

He catches himself and stops abruptly, re-reading the last few sentences. He ponders it and finishes- It was probably because she didn't want me getting in any more trouble.

I grew up OK and I work at GNB now, but recently my best friend's Dad died, and it made me think about you, and it made me want to get in touch with you. I know it's been over 30 years since we met, but my friend's Dad's last words were really important to him, and I wanted to- Barney stops again, wondering if this has become too weepy and Teddish. God, this is really tough.

Maybe he's just kidding himself. Maybe there's no point in this at all. Jerome didn't want him when he was a kid, he hasn't wanted him for over 30 years- why the hell would he want anything to do with him now?

Barney's on the verge of shutting his laptop down and heading out to find a chick for the night, when he remembers Marshall's father on the voicemail. "I love you". He remembers Lily and Marshall holding on to each other so tightly, and Robin and Ted with red eyes. He remembers the way Marshall used to talk about his Dad, like he was an invincible superman. The way Marshall talked about his Dad, he made it sound like nothing and no one could hurt you when his Dad was around. And Barney has no idea what that's like.

-I wanted to tell you that you're an asshole. You fucked me up, you know that? D'you know what I do nearly every night of my life? I scour bars to hit on insecure girls to get one night of sex, and then I never call them again. And you know what?- I love it. I love living like that. It makes me feel great. I like proving myself with schemes and chat up lines, I like proving I'm the best lay that chick's ever had- you know why? Because otherwise I'd feel shit about myself the whole time, because you never loved me or wanted me. Most people think I'm crazy, and I like being crazy because it means I'm something, which is obviously much more than what you thought I am. And I know I'm a sociopath but how could I not be, when you ditching me screwed up any chance I was going to have of being a regular kid?

The words are coming faster and faster now, his fingers are blurring like his eyes, and he's making tonnes of spelling errors but he doesn't even notice, because he hasn't even thought about the words he's typing before, but Goddammit they're the truth.

Once, I hooked up with my best friends' ex, and I honestly thought that was okay. I said sorry to him but I didn't think it was much of a big deal and to be honest I still don't. My friend was so mad at me, and that just shows, doesn't it- not having you fucked me up good and proper, I don't understand friendship or feelings or anything. And then I started falling in love with the ex, and I was repulsed by that. It felt horrible and unnatural and I was so scared, but after ages we started dating. You know what? It was a complete disaster. We barely lasted two months, and I was the worst boyfriend in the world, and I was an even worse fucking ex, and I don't even know how many times I've made this girl cry because I'm such an ass all the time. I still can't look at her without my heart beating harder, but that makes me feel sick because love seems horrible. And I wish I had seen from you, just had a dad around so I could learn by osmosis about this kind of thing. Everyone else has some in-built system for relationships and feelings, but I don't. I just don't. I survive because I ignore everything. I don't even know how to handle emotion, I mean, I barely have feelings, let alone any sort of capacity to deal with them. AND YOU KNOW WHY? BECUSASE IT'S ALL YOUR FUCKING FAULT

He stops typing. He breathes- heavily, as if he's just been running. He blinks. Blinks again. He can't tell whether or not he's crying. He swallows, and remembers that he hasn't had anything to drink tonight. He's sober. He typed all that stone-cold sober. He re-reads. Fuck.

Numbed by the stark, shameful, terrifying truths he's alerted himself to, Barney silently gets up, goes into his room and collapses onto his bed. It takes him forever to get to sleep.

The next night he opens the file and calmly deletes the rant he typed last night before he can read it again, and carries on from I know it's been over 30 years since we met, but my friend's Dad's last words were really important to him, and I wanted to-

-get in touch. I know you won't be expecting this but - he pauses- I want to meet you, Jerry. I think I need to get some things off my chest. It's vague, but he can't possibly tell Jerry everything wrote yesterday.

I'd be really grateful if you called me. He types out his mobile number, his home phone, his work cell. Then he writes his address, and looks back at the header of the letter. Jerome or Jerry?...he considers both, and settles on Jerry because that's what he knew him as. That's a scrap of the connection they once had.

Barney re-reads the whole thing again, making a few adjustments as he goes.

To Jerry,

I don't know how to begin this letter, because I never expected to be writing it, and you probably never expected to be reading it.

My name's Barney Stinson. I'm thirty-four, I work for GNB and I live on the Upper East Side, NYC. And I don't know how else to say this, but you're my Dad.

My Mom never told me who my Dad was growing up, and I never really thought about it. But I knew you; you were my cool Uncle Jerry. I thought you were the best. Maybe you remember me- I once brought down the whale at the Natural History Museum when I was with you. That was the last time we were together, and actually, that was how I found out that you're my father because I was there again the other month and they still had the report in the office. The current security guard showed it to me, and you'd signed it as my father.

I never saw you again after that day- Mom told me you moved away but it was probably because she didn't want me getting in any more trouble.

Anyway, recently my best friend's dad died, and it made me think about you, and it made me want to get in touch with you. I know it's been over 30 years since we met, but my friend's father's last words were really important to him, so I wanted to get in contact with you again. I know you won't be expecting this but I want to meet you, Jerry. I think I need to get some things off my chest. I'd be really grateful if you called me.

Barney reads it over again a few times. He isn't a hundred per cent convinced about, "I think I need to get some things off my chest,"- but at the same time, Barney wants to get across to Jerry that he's hurt and- well, screwed up- thanks to Jerry leaving him. He deliberates how to end for a few minutes, and settles with the safe bet of-

Yours,

Barney Stinson

He checks it again, and plugs the laptop into his printer. Then, just before he presses print, he adds one single line at the end of the letter.

Please call.

Thanks for reading. I hope you liked this chapter. Whatever you thought, please drop me a review, they are much appreciated.