March 30, 2001

Dean knew he shouldn't be driving, but he had to get home before he fell apart.

He'd thought everything was good, everything was fine. How had he missed it? Was he really that oblivious that he'd been so utterly blindsided?

Sure, work had been hectic, and he'd started taking on car restoration projects on the side. Sure, Cassie'd brought up them moving in together a few times now, but he'd thought she understood. Sam was still in school, for a few more months, anyway, and Dean didn't want to leave him on his own. Plus Bobby's heart had been giving him trouble, and Dean couldn't just move out right when he needed an extra hand.

It didn't mean he didn't take their relationship seriously or that he didn't love Cassie.

Hell, he loved her. More than he knew what to do with most days. He just...had other people he loved, too, who needed him more right now.

Tonight was supposed to be a dinner date. Everything was perfectly normal, perfectly fine.

Until it wasn't.

Until she left him. She walked out, leaving him alone in their booth at the Roadhouse with her words ringing in his ears.

I'm tired of being the only person in this relationship, Dean. Screw it. I'm done.

Ellen, the owner of the Roadhouse and a long-time friend of Bobby's, had come over to make sure everything was all right and offered him a beer on the house. He'd declined and told her everything was fine.

Everything was fine.

He was fine.

Dean knew he shouldn't be driving, but he managed to get to the house without killing himself or anyone else.

Bobby was already in bed by the time Dean made it home. Joshua and Gabriel were both with their garrisons, and would be away all weekend. But Sammy was home.

When Dean came through the door, his brother bounded down the stairs with no apparent thought as to how loud he was. "Dean! Guess what!"

Dean looked up to see Sam wearing a wide, beaming smile. "What?"

Eyes shining in his excitement, Sam waved a fat envelope in the air. "I got in! I got accepted to Stanford!"

He darted up to Dean and threw his arms around him in a crushing hug. Dean's arms came up automatically to return it. "You're kidding."

"Dude! This fall, I'm gonna be in freaking California at freaking Stanford! I can't believe it!" Sam laughed.

"Wow," Dean said. His face was smiling, but it was purely autopilot. He felt like a robot going through the motions, but he couldn't ruin Sam's mood. "That's...awesome, Sammy. Congratulations."

"Barry just found out he got into MIT last week, too. I didn't expect you to be home this early, but I'm about to head to his place for some celebratory pizza and a little Gran Turismo – you in?" Sam asked hopefully as he stuffed his giant feet into his giant shoes and grabbed his jacket.

"Naw, man. You go hang out with Barry. We can do something later, maybe."

Sam snatched his keys from the hook on the wall. "'Kay, sounds good. See ya!"

The door had already closed with a bang, and the screen was hissing shut on its pneumatic closer when Dean finally responded, "Later..."

When he finally shook himself back to awareness, he couldn't have said how long he'd been standing there. At a loss for what to do with himself, he went to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and stared blankly at the contents for a minute. He eventually grabbed a beer, but he couldn't bring himself to open it. The half a cheeseburger he'd eaten before Cassie dropped the bomb sat heavy as lead in his stomach, and the thought of a beer on top of that made him queasy. He put it back.

In the living room, he turned on the TV to see if there was something to distract him, but it was Friday night. Everything was shit. Still, he kept changing channels as if one of them would suddenly have something good on.

His mind buzzed, numb and blank. Shouldn't he be feeling something...more? Sad or angry? Hurt? Dean wondered if he'd somehow overloaded his emotion circuits or whatever, because it seemed like he should feel something. But he didn't. Maybe he was broken.

He got up and went back to the kitchen. Bobby kept whiskey in the cupboard over the fridge. Dean brought the dusty bottle and a tumbler back to the couch, poured himself a shot, and tossed it back. It burned going down. Normally, he wasn't much of a drinker and never drank hard liquor out of fear of turning into his dad, but right now it felt good. The burn in his throat and the warmth spreading through his belly felt so much better than the empty nothing he'd been choking on before.

He downed two more shots before picking up the remote and resuming his channel surfing. Before long, he'd lost track of how much he'd poured, but he knew it had to be a lot, because the room swam when he stood to go take a piss.

When he got back from the bathroom, he flopped back down onto the couch but forgot about the television.

So this was his Friday nights from now on. Sitting at home all alone while normal people were out living their normal lives. He and Cassie had been together for two years. A life without her in it seemed impossible. And empty. And horrible.

And soon Sam would be going off to school a million miles away. That had always been the plan – for Sam to work hard and get into the best school he could to study law. Dean knew that. But suddenly it was all so real. In just a few short months, Sam would be gone.

Somewhere deep inside, a little ember of feeling came to life. An uneasy feeling. Realizing it was there seemed to give it permission to grow, and soon it was all he could think about.

Was there something wrong with him? Why did everyone always leave him? Logically, he knew his mom and dad hadn't left him on purpose, but they were gone all the same. Gabriel had been taken away from him. Castiel had abandoned him years ago. Cassie had dumped him. Shit, even Amanda Heckerling and Rhonda Hurley from way back in the day hadn't been able to stand being around him for long.

Suddenly, it was hard to breathe. Dean gasped in air and groped across the coffee table for the whiskey bottle. He took a solid slug and closed his eyes as the liquor burned its way down his throat, giving him something to focus on besides the rising hysteria. Tears squeezed from the corners of his eyes.

Fuck, he was such a mess. It was no wonder he was destined to be alone.

He sat up straight in sudden realization. Holy shit, that was it.

That was why he was such a fucking failure. He was meant to be alone, so of course everything always crashed and burned. It was so simple, so obvious – it was all his own fault for trying so desperately to cling to things he shouldn't have.

Throwing back another swallow of whiskey, Dean felt an eerie calm settle over him like fog. It wasn't quite the numbness from before – his heart ached like it was being torn apart, but it was okay, because now it all made sense.

If he didn't get attached, he wouldn't get hurt.

Easy peasy.