.

III.

You're the angel that gives me reason
But I can't begin to count my demons
Somehow you still keep me dreamin'
You let me know my life has meaning

Dean woke up by noon with a fierce headache and a phone filled with concerned messages and missed calls from Sam. After drinking away a tablet of paracetamol and ensuring his brother that everything was fine and he had just gotten a bit drunk the night before, he decided to take a shower. While the water streamed over his head, he tried to recall what exactly had happened last night. He started to wash his face, but stopped when he brushed past his nose; a groan escaped from his mouth. Oh, right. He had gotten into a fight at the bar and his nose had suffered from it. Fantastic.

Slowly, some other memories began to come back to him. He remembered being dragged out of the bar and some random dude talking to him. He groaned again, now from remembering that he hadn't even paid for his drinks. A black hole followed the memory of the mostly one-sided conversation. And then, a bridge. Dean frowned and cursed as he connected the alarmed texts from Sam with his recollection of the bridge. So now he was trying to kill himself when drunk? With a troubled sigh, he got out of the shower, suddenly feeling a bit sick.

The only thing that had escaped from his memory was how he even had survived climbing over the railing and back. He dried his hair, a frown seemingly permanently stuck on his features. Then he remembered something. A voice, low and concerned. Like he mattered. He stopped his movements and stared at the mirror for a while, not seeing anything. A tan coat. His frown deepened as he realized that he was somehow talked out of jumping by a complete stranger, even though he couldn't remember any of their words. But he did remember something else; a flash of the purest blue he had ever seen.

Dean ultimately decided that it was too chaotic to think about it while he was still hung-over, so he just grabbed some clothes and prepared himself for the day. After he was fully dressed, he walked into the kitchen to make some comfort food for his self-induced pity party. He was glad to find anything edible in the fridge and even more so when he found out it was bacon. He also discovered a few eggs but after breaking the shell of one and seeing the slightly questionable colour, he quickly threw them in the trash can.

With a small smile of victory, Dean suddenly remembered that he had some frozen hamburgers left in his freezer. Bacon burgers for breakfast it was, then. He put on the radio and hummed along with some sappy love song he vaguely recognized as he prepared his food. The burgers ended up to be a bit burned, but Dean still counted it as the best breakfast he had had in days.

When he sat down to devour the bacon burgers, his thoughts about yesterday slowly crept back into his mind. He was ashamed of himself; really ashamed of himself. Not only because he had been pathetic enough to provoke a fight with some random dude and afterwards had made a nearly successful attempt to end his life; he also suddenly realized how much he had neglected his friends in the past few months.

They had always been there for him, before and after the accident. They had supported Dean with phone calls and small visits. He had appreciated their efforts, but over time, he had stopped picking up his phone and started pretending he wasn't at home if anyone visited unexpectedly. He had become some kind of hermit, swallowed in self-pity and not willing to face reality. He hadn't even noticed at the time. But now, as he was eating his slightly blackened bacon burgers after a futile suicide attempt, he was shaken back into the cold reality. He needed to change his life before it was too late.

When he had finished his last burger, he took his phone and thoughtfully searched through his contacts. He had no idea if there was even someone left who still would want to talk with him after this long. He reached the end of the list, and started scrolling back, sighing wearily. He had screwed up big time. He slowed down and stared at one name hesitantly. His forefinger hovered above the screen for a few seconds. Dean desperately tried to think of a reason not to call, but eventually he forced his finger to touch the screen. He brought the phone to his ear, listening to the waiting tone.

Beep

He swallowed. This was stupid. He should just hang up and get a dog or something. Friends are overrated.

Beep

Or a canary. He really didn't feel like taking a dog out for a shit four times a day.

Beep

See? She wasn't going to pick up. Hanging up had never seemed like such a good idea. There was an animal shelter not so far away-

"Dean?"

Dean almost choked on his own spit when he heard the voice on the other side of the line.

"Uh, yeah. It's me. Heya, Charlie."

It stayed silent for a moment.

"You there?"

"Y-yes! It's just… Wow. I almost forgot you had a phone, Dean. Or that you were even alive."

Dean grimaced at the last part of her sentence.

"Yeah… sorry 'bout that, Charles. I guess I just needed some time for myself."

"I noticed. We all did."

Dean sighed and closed his eyes. He was about to make another apology when Charlie started speaking again.

"So… You called for a reason? You ready to hang out with us again?"

It struck Dean how hopeful she sounded.

"Yeah, ya know, that's why I called. I was wondering if you felt like watching a movie sometime this week or something?"

"Hmm. Let me check my calendar." He heard a shuffling noise at the other side of the line. "Wednesday, maybe? Or…" It was silent for a moment. "Friday! We can have a movie marathon!"

Dean chuckled at her sudden enthusiasm.

"Friday sounds good to me. Your place or mine?"

"What about your place and I can pick the movies?"

"Deal."

"Great! See ya Friday then!"

"Yeah, laters."

He was about to hang up when he heard another sound coming from his phone.

"Dean? Still there?"

"Sure, why?"

It was silent for a moment.

"I'm glad you called."

Dean's eyes suddenly became a bit blurry.

"… Me too."

Another pause.

"Uhm… Yeah. See ya, Dean."

"Bye, Charles."

An hour later, Dean found himself driving the rental car he'd been using since the accident. The car itself was nice - a Dodge Challenger from the mid-seventies. The black, smooth exterior reminded him a bit of his own, good ol' Chevy Impala, but he couldn't help but desperately look forward to the time he'd finally fix his car and be able to ditch the Challenger. He had been working on her occasionally, but the last couple of weeks had been rather unproductive. Dean decided that he should pay Bobby, who had been storing the Impala for him, a visit again as soon as possible.

When Dean had reached his destination, he parked his car and got out. He was standing on the very same pavement where he had been laying quite ungracefully the night before. He stared at the door; he really didn't want to go inside that bar ever again. But if he ever wanted to be able to live with himself again, he should start with apologizing for his retarded behaviour. So he opened the door and walked in.

He noticed that as he entered, a few people went quiet. They probably recognized him from last night. He sighed and just continued walking until he reached the counter, where he met the back of the blonde who had been serving his drinks the night before.

He coughed, and said, "Hey."

She turned around, wearing the customary smile, which immediately froze into a slight frown as she recognized him.

"Hello," she replied warily.

Dean smiled awkwardly and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Thought you might recognize me," he said. The barmaid rose an eyebrow and crossed her arms defensively. Dean cleared his throat. "Anyway, I'm not here to cause more trouble. I came here to apologize for yesterday. Things have been rough lately, and I, ya know, just, snapped." He shrugged helplessly.

The girl in front of him just kept staring expectantly.

Again, Dean cleared his throat. He could use a drink. But, he reminded himself, he still had to drive home. "So, uh, how much do I owe you?" He took his wallet from his pocket.

The barmaid looked at him for a second, and then walked a bit closer, resting an elbow on the bar.

"Thirty-eight fifty," she answered, and then added with a small, but serious smile, "and your story."

Dean flicked his eyes back to the girl as he was digging in his wallet, looking for some money. "Yeah, I suppose I owe you my story." He smiled at her, feeling his nervousness begin to ease. "I need to know your name first, though. Oh, and keep the change." He handed her a bill of fifty dollars.

"Sure thing. The name's Jo," she said with a wink, as she put the money away securely. "Yours?"

And so, Dean told his story for the first time to someone who hadn't already heard about it. He told her about Lisa, the woman he had been together with for more than 5 happy years. He also told her about Sammy, who had decided to move to Oregon because of his girlfriend Jess. He told her about the proposal, and the idea to visit Sam and Jess to tell them the great news in person. And then, he told her about how they never reached their destination. About how a truck crashed into their car and killed everything he had dreamed of. He didn't tell her about how he still hated himself for surviving while his beautiful soon-to-be wife did not.

He just ended his story there. Jo stared at him, her eyes watery.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered.

Dean inhaled to respond, but nothing but a croaky sound left his throat. He blinked a few times and tried to smile instead.
Jo took his hand and just held it for a while in complete silence. Then, she got called away by a few new thirsty customers.

When she got back, Dean was already standing and pulling on his coat.
"Are you leaving?" she asked.

"Yeah," Dean said, giving a quick smile. "I'm driving, and I don't think I can be surrounded by beers any longer without sinning."

Jo chuckled, and then seemed to be writing something down.

"Here," she said when she looked up again, handing him a piece of paper. "I understand if it's too early for you, but… Just give me a call, if you ever want to talk again. Whenever you're ready." She smiled somewhat shyly.

Dean took a quick look at the hurriedly scrawled telephone number, and then flashed another grin to Jo.

"You'll hear from me soon," he said with a wink.

After that, they said their goodbyes and Dean left the bar, feeling better than expected. Somehow, talking about everything did help. And getting a pretty girl's phone number did too.

As he got outside, he noticed it had already gotten a bit dark. He quickly checked his watch; it was 5:30. He put his hands deep in his pockets. He really hated the cold weather that November had brought this year.

Dean was about to walk over to his car, when he spotted someone at the other side of the street who was looking at him intently. He frowned; creepy. He turned around when a feeling of familiarity hit him. He turned back, to find the stranger was still staring at him. He was wearing a tan trench coat, which definitely didn't seem fit for this temperature. Hesitantly, he crossed to road to get a better look at the man. As he neared, the stranger got a slightly bewildered expression and he looked like he wanted to walk away.

"Wait," Dean half-shouted to keep the man's attention. He saw the man come to a stop and reluctantly turn back to face him. "Do I know you?"

"I…" The man's gravelly voice died away, and he just kept staring at Dean, almost desperately. Dean had stopped a meter in front of him; he met his gaze and suddenly it hit him.

His eyes.

They were so incredibly fucking blue.

"You… You're the dude from the bridge, right?" Dean asked slowly.

"Yes," the man answered earnestly. "I indeed am the… dude from the bridge."

Dean stared at him for a second and then burst out in laughter at how awkward the other man had managed to make his previous sentence sound. He tried to stop when the other kept staring at him, uncomprehendingly.

"I'm… I'm sorry," Dean said, still trying to stop giggling. "It's just- I don't know you, but let me give you some advice; never ever say something like 'dude' again. It doesn't suit you, man."

The other man nodded slowly.
"In that case, I shall remember to never use that word again," he replied.

Dean's laughing fit soon died after the stranger's serious words. He coughed, trying to get his face straight again.

"Uh, yeah. Good idea. Anyway… Thank you. For what you did at the bridge, I mean."

"It was my honour." The man avoided Dean's gaze, staring at the pavement.

"But really, thank you," Dean continued, trying to get another look at the other man's eyes. "I owe you big time. If there's anything I can do for you…"

Dean didn't even need to finish his sentence. The other man's stomach suddenly growled aggressively, causing the stranger to clasp his stomach, looking horrified.

"I apologize," he managed. "It has been making this sound for over an hour-"

It took all Dean's strength not to grin at the man's frightened face. He had no idea why this man was overreacting like this; he must be some kind of overly polite nerd or something. But it was cute. Ish. No homo.

"You know what? I know this place that serves real great burgers. Let's go there and I'll buy you dinner, okay?"
The other man looked down at his stomach once more, and then nodded.

"I suppose that might be a good idea."

I'd like to thank the few people who fav'd and followed my story, with a special shout-out this time to mailaine, who also left a review. I'm glad you like it! I'll try to update this fic every Tuesday and Friday.
The next chapter will have the song Time Has Come Today by Ramones as prologue.