Author's Notes: Yeah, I got nothin' this time. Hope you like Byron, he's fashioned after my real life BFF.

Byron sets the coffee down on the nightstand and chuckles at the naked twink still asleep in his bed. He's just too freaking cute. Byron glances at his watch, wondering if maybe he could indulge, just one more time. It's almost ten, and he really does need to get on the road, so instead he sighs and kneels down poking the guy. "Hey. Wakey, wakey." A hand comes up and swats him away, before rolling over. "I got you coffee and donuts." The young man groans into the pillow. "You know, polite one night stand etiquette is to be gone before I wake up, Jake."

"Jack."

Byron shrugs. "Whatever. Up- up."

"You weren't this big of a dick last night, Brian."

"Byron."

He shrugs as he sits up, and flashes a grin. "Whatever."

Jack is shoving the last of his third donut into his mouth when Byron's phone rings.

"Sam! Done already? I knew I could count on you." There's silence on the other end, but he can hear heavy breathing. "Sam? You okay?"

"It's your fault you know."

"What?"

"I mean, you couldn't just do it yourself. Or call someone else. I mean, you knew Dean wasn't in the best state of mind, and you called us anyway. What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Sam? What…What's…"

"Dean's dead, Byron. I couldn't even bring him back here with me. I had to fucking burn him in FUCKING NEBRASKA."

Byron drops the phone as he hits the floor, his legs turning to jell-o under him. Sam's still yelling at him over the phone, but he can't understand the words, not with the white noise that's flooding his ears. He's light headed now, with pins and needles pricking at him. His chest tightens painfully, and the world around him starts going white. His throat is closing up, and he knows this is how he's going to die. He's hot. So, hot and he can feel the sweat beading on his body. Byron grasps at his chest trying to dig the pain out. This is what it's like to lose someone you love. He thinks it abstractly, because thinking it in solid form makes it so.

A hand strikes him across the face, sharp and stinging. Byron stops breathing for a moment as his own hand flies to his face. He looks up at Jack, shocked. He's standing over him with a look of panic on his face. Then he kneels down cupping Byron's face in his hands. "Breath with me Byron. In through your nose 1…2…3…4…out through your mouth 1…2…3…4…" Byron obeys; this is exactly what he needs; someone to take the lead on this, because he hasn't got a clue.

Once his breathing is calmed and he can see, hear and breath normal again, Jack hands him a cup of water. Byron hadn't realized how sore and dry his throat was, he gulps it down and Jack gets him another. Several cups later, Jack has pulled Byron up into his lap. As awkward a sensation as it is, (Jack is several years younger and a little smaller), he's so grateful for the comfort he can't bring himself to move.

"Tell me." Jack finally whispers. The only words he's spoken since breathing instructions.

Byron releases a shaky breath, and closes his eyes to brace against the reality. "Dean's dead." Neither says anything for a while, and then Byron begins to speak. "I met him on a hunt … I mean a case … shit." He pinches his nose. "There's no way to explain this."

"Just talk. I won't judge. Cross my heart, hope to cry, stick a cupcake in my eye." Byron tilts his head up to eye Jack with a baffled stare. "My Little Pony." Jack answers. "What? Don't look at me like that. Dude. I have little sisters." Byron catches himself smiling. "Shut up and talk." And Byron does, he tells him all about the first time he met Dean Winchester.

The ghost had been terrorizing a small community college it Upstate, New York. Byron and Dean had been trying to distract the ghost, while Sam was torching the remains. After they watched her vanish in a tapering ball of fire, they were walking across the parking lot to their cars, when Byron spotted the other Saab. As much as Dean loved Baby, that is how much Byron loved Inga, his is 1992 Saab 9000. It was a debate they would end up having time and again. Saab vs. Chevy. Baby vs. Inga. But on this particular day, Byron spotted Inga's evil twin, and this evil twin had something Byron wanted. He tugged Dean's sleeve and pulled him over. "Cover me." Byron said to him, pulling a small tool kit out of one of his cargo pockets.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Byron grinned at Dean and knelt down in front of the head lights. "I have been looking for head light wipers for Inga. Can't find 'em except new."

"You're stealing headlight wipers? Seriously?" Dean spun around with wide eyes. "NOW!?"

Byron fixed him with a glare. "Have you met the lady that owns this car? She walked up to me yesterday to 'admire' my car, then proceeded to tell me how her exact same car was so much better. Even pointed out my lack of headlight wipers. I want them. She has them. I'm taking them. End of story." Byron set one of the wipers in Dean's hand and moved on to the other.

"What the Hell!" A screech came from across the parking lot. The lady, who owned the evil twin, was running towards them.

"Shit." Byron cursed. "Do something."

Dean pulled out his FBI badge. "Ma'am, I'm going to have to ask you to step back."

"He's stealing my wipers."

"No ma'am, Agent Skynard is collecting evidence."

"Agent? Him?"

"Yes ma'am. He's been working undercover. Are you aware that your wiper's are a black market product. That these deaths here at the college have been directly related to the black market car parts ring operating out of the Liberal Arts Building."

"What are you talking about? Those wipers came with the car."

"Is that what they told you?" Dean asked incredulously. "No ma'am. But we do owe you a debt of gratitude. Had you not pointed them out to Agent Skynard here, we never would have broken the case. We can actually trace these back to the ring leader."

"Um… uh….w-well."

"All done." Byron piped up. He reached out his hand, taking the woman's in his. "Thank you so much for your assistance. Without your help these murders would have continued. You have saved lives, ma'am."

They walked away, leaving a gaping and confused middle aged woman behind. "Oh my God, Dean. I can't believe she bought that crap." Byron whispered.

"Don't count on it. By the time her brain catches up with her attitude, she's gonna be chasing us down."

Just as they were opening their respective car doors (because no way were either one riding in the other's car), she screeched again. "Stop! Thieves! Help!"

Byron got a text message a few minutes later from Dean. Bar. Beer. Follow me.

They sat at the bar nursing their beers. Dean telling Byron stories about some of the messes he and Sam had gotten into, while Byron shared some of his more interesting tales (and when your new at hunting there are some seriously amusing mishaps). Laughing, Dean turned around; leaning up against the bar he ran his eyes over the people. "Red head two o'clock. Man, she looks ready to eat you up."

Byron turned to look at her. She was, small, and thin, with strait red hair pulled over her shoulder. "Cute, but not really my type."

"Ok. I'll be your wingman. What's your type?"

You, Byron thought, but opted to use his grown up brain and keep his trap shut. Instead he surveyed the clientelle. His eyes fell on a blonde. Tall, and built up just right, Byron motioned toward him. "Tall Blonde, blue skin tight t-shirt, eight o'clock."

Dean's eyes got comically wide, and Byron couldn't help but smirk at him. "Dude? You're into dudes?"

Byron was suddenly uncomfortable and nervous. He'd never had to hide his sexuality before. His family and friends had been very supportive when he came out, but with hunters, it was different. He had no idea how any of them would act, and it was something that was very difficult to gage. The majority of hunters were good ol' boy types, and it made him just a bit antsy. So what the hell was he doing coming out to a hunter he'd known less than 24 hours. "Is that going to be a problem?" Byron asked, swishing the remains of his beer around, refusing to meet Dean's eyes.

"Um. Well, not my cup of tea, but, ya know man, as long their legal, consenting and not a monster, you can bang whoever you want." He took a sip of his beer. "But seriously, making sure they're not a monster; just as important as the condom. Trust me, I speak from experience… Red head coming this way."

"Hi." She said, leaning into Byron. "Wanna buy me a drink. I saw you watching me." Dean snickered into his beer. She was drunk, and it wasn't even 5 o'clock yet.

"Uh. I really appreciate the interest," Byron leaned back, "but you're not my type." He gently pushed her away, with a disgusted look on his face.

"Awe, what wrong. Don't like redheads."

"No, I actually love red heads … I just prefer ones with a little more… muscle."

"Oh, sweetie, I'm stronger than I look." She leaned in again.

"He's gay sweetheart." Dean announces. "He's trying to tell you, you got the wrong equipment." She backed up with an appalled look on her face, and then turned a 1000 watt smile on Dean. "Bro's before ho's sister. Move a long."

Byron chocked, eyes watering as beer dripped out of his nose. "Did you really just say bro's before ho's?" The redhead huffed away, while Dean goes back to eyeing the blonde Byron pointed out.

"That's really your type? He looks like Freddie from Scooby-Doo, all he's missing is the ascot."

Byron shrugs as his mouth twitches up into a smile. "I had a crush on Freddie when I was a kid."

"Really? I totally had a thing for Velma."

It was right then, that Byron knew he was in trouble. Dean really could not have been any more perfect if he tried. Who else would have your back stealing headlight wipers? But Dean was straight, and that complicated things for Byron. So he made a conscious decision to limit his contact with Dean. He called Sam about hunts, and cultivated a friendship with Sam whereas with Dean he focused on an "acquaintanceship". He became almost paranoid about letting his crush be known, for fear of losing what little bit of Dean he had. But as the saying goes, "absence makes the heart grow fonder".

Byron now regretted the decision to distance himself from Dean. He should have taken the friendship Dean had to offer, over the distant "colleague" rapport they cultivated.

As he lays in Jacks arms, in that crappy motel room in Rifle, Colorado, there is absolutely no denying it. He is hopelessly and completely in love with Dean Winchester, and now even that unrequited love is lost to him. He's dead. He's gone. The only person Byron can honestly say he cares about more than himself, and it's killing him. He is convinced he's going to die of a broken heart. His chest starts to tighten again, and Jack reminds him to breath.

By noon Byron is on the road to Kansas. He has Jack's number tucked safely in his phone, with a promise to call when he's in Lebanon. Jack is nervous about him driving while he's still suffering the side effects of the panic attack, but Byron knows, no matter how bad he is handling Dean's death, Sam is worse off, and needs him, regardless of his drunken accusations. Sam is Dean's brother, and that means Byron will be there for him, if for no other reason than that's what Dean would want. He rolls his windows down, turns his music up, and tries to remember to breath.

Reviews are always welcome. Contructive critisism is how I improve. Also I would love to know what you think of Byron. I wasn't sure if I should introduce him this way. The hubster says, "Yeah, you just kinda put it out there, didn't you." I told him, "It's 'Byron', whatcha gonna do." P.S. Story Byron is a little nicer than real life "Byron".