Hi everyone! Thank you for visiting my very first fanfiction. I'll try to keep this author's note short, but there are a few things I'd like to say before you start reading.
I have already written a few chapters, so I'll be updating regularly. But, as you know, life can get very busy; I'll try to let you know on forehand when that happens. And when I run out of new chapters, the updates might be a bit less frequent. I'll try not to let that happen, though!
Also, English is not my native language, but the story has been beta'd by the wonderful Logan, so that won't be a problem when you're reading. Hopefully.
And, of course, I do not own anything Supernatural-related, except for the idea of this story. Neither do I own any of the lyrics I will be using for this fic.

I.

It's gettin' dark, too dark to see
I feel I'm knockin' on heaven's door

That long black cloud is comin' down
I feel I'm knockin' on heaven's door

It had been another long day. Tired, Dean found himself walking towards one of the local bars. He hadn't been there very often, but the sight of his usual spot disgusted him. Laughing people, happy couples; at this very moment, he couldn't stand the mere thought of having to spend the remainder of the evening among all those people. They only would remind him of what he could have had.

The bar he entered had a somewhat quieter public. Sure, there was the occasional laugh, but most of the people just kept to themselves. He liked that.

Dean sat down at the bar and ordered a whiskey. The barmaid winked at him and quickly filled the bottom of a glass with the golden liquid. As she handed it over to him, she tried to strike up a conversation.
"So, what brings a handsome man like you to this bar in the middle of the week?" She leaned towards him on the bar, giving him a small, flirty smile. Dean didn't smile back; he merely downed the drink and smashed the glass on the bar. The barmaid didn't even flinch; she was clearly used to rougher guests.

"Life," Dean belatedly answered her after the burning feeling in his throat had somewhat disappeared. The girl smiled understandingly and refilled his glass.
"Gotcha. It's always life, isn't it."

Dean grunted in something that could have been agreement, and soon he had another empty glass in front of him. The barmaid had disappeared to the other side of the bar, smiling sweetly to a young boy. Judging by his nervous demeanour, he'd never been to a bar before in his life.

"Hey," Dean shouted to get the attention of the barmaid. The alcohol in his system had finally managed to loosen the knot in his stomach a bit. When the girl turned around, he smiled a lopsided smile. She returned it, positively beaming at him. She winked at the nervous boy and walked back to Dean.

"Another one, sweetie?" she asked, not even waiting for his answer. In no time, he was holding another royally filled glass of whiskey.

"Thank you, ma'am," he said with the most charming smile he could muster, and held his glass a little higher in an imaginary toast.

"Very welcome, sir," she replied. She leaned forward on the bar again. Dean noticed it emphasized her cleavage, but decided it wouldn't be very polite to keep staring, so he sipped his drink and looked back at her face. Blue eyes, blonde hair. Yep, definitely pretty. She let her hair curl around her finger as she spoke again.

"So, life wasn't it. Is this the reason you're not at home tonight? With, let's say, your girlfriend?" Her tone was teasing and clearly asking for more information about his personal life. Any man would have been flattered with the flirty attention of a beautiful woman. But Dean froze, his eyes focusing on something behind the girl in front of him, his smile slowly disappearing.

It was silent for a long, awkward moment. When the barmaid was about to speak, Dean cut her short by abruptly finishing his glass and croaking, "Another." She kept silent and did as commanded.

The rest of the night went by in a blur of cheap whiskey and beer. He also did his best to ignore the knot in his stomach, which instead of loosening, tightened with every drink. Dean felt as if he would snap any moment. The opportunity came when a man sat down next to him, accidently brushing past his shoulder. Dean, who had been resting his head in his hands, looked up with watery eyes.
"What the fuck, dude."

The man rose an eyebrow and scoffed, "Easy there, fella. Didn't mean to interrupt your beauty sleep."

An adrenaline rush took over Dean's alcohol infatuated mind. He got up from the barstool, knocking it over in the abrupt movement, and stared furiously at the other man's face. He was big, fat and ugly, Dean thought, and he definitely did not deserve the pleasure of insulting him. So Dean hit him in the face.

"Unlike you, I don't need a friggin' beauty sleep," he snapped, not noticing that the entire bar had gone silent. Slowly, the big fat ugly man rose from his chair. Only now Dean realised that the man wasn't actually big and fat. He was gigantic and muscled. He swallowed and subconsciously took a step back as the giant towered above Dean. Then, a wicked smile appeared on Dean's face.
"So, watcha gonna do about it, huh? Too afraid to fight back?"

The man growled and stepped closer. Everybody in the bar was now looking at them, and the anxious sound of whispering filling the place.
"I'm giving you one chance, you pathetic dipshit," the giant said with a low voice. "Shut up, sit down, finish your drink and go home."

The smile froze on Dean's face, and before he knew it, he lashed out again, his fist connecting with the giant's jaw. "I'm not fucking pathetic, you fucking-" he couldn't finish his sentence before his world went tumbling down. One second, he was speaking and the next, he was on the ground, grasping his nose and groaning loudly. A muffled "fuck" escaped from his mouth. In reply, he felt something cold pressed against his neck. He opened his eyes to stare directly in the eyes of the giant. He was way too fucking close.

"Get the fuck off me, Cartman," Dean managed to say. The cold thing suddenly felt a lot sharper than before, and when Dean looked down, he realized it was a knife.
"Oh, so you're gonna kill me, huh? You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he breathed, chuckling manically. "Yeah, ya know, why don't you just do just that. Got nothing to live for anyway." He was silent for a moment, not making any sound except for his accelerated breathing. He noticed that the ugly face in front of him was blurred. He wanted to wipe his eyes, but a few bystanders had pressed his arms to the ground.

"Come on, just fucking do it!" he suddenly shouted. He jerked his hands loose from the bystanders and took the hand that was holding the blade, but before he could press any further, the other man, and thus the knife, disappeared. Dean looked up and saw the man standing again, disgust clearly readable on his face.

"You are pathetic. Go home, jerk."

Dean blinked and saw the man walk away. He closed his eyes for a moment. He just wanted to sleep, not being to feel anything, just for a moment. But before he knew it, somebody had dragged him up and, while he was spluttering that he could stand up by himself just fine, he was dragged outside and dropped onto the cold, hard ground.

The person stood there, hesitantly. "You owe the bar some money, bro."
Dean attempted to crawl up, but both the sky and the earth were spinning too much. He decided to try again later. "Not your bro," he muttered.
The person sighed and turned around. "Yeah, whatever. At least try not to let yourself get hit by a car or something." The door opened, closed, and Dean was alone.

He just lay there for a few moments, eying the stars above him. It was only when a dark cloud covered the tiny little lights that he made an attempt to rise. He grabbed a nearby car and dragged himself up. He pretended not to notice the piercing sound of the alarm that had gone off at his touch and, after stumbling over his own feet maybe once or twice, he began his way home on foot. He was aware that he could have taken a cab, but he felt like he needed some air. A lot of it, actually. The encounter in the bar had invited the depression that had loomed on the edge of Dean's life to get a better grasp on him. Until now, he had always been able to laugh away his pain, to find something worth living yet another day for. But now, with the alcohol slowing down his mind until it was a sombre, black mess, he just couldn't anymore. Every step he took tightened the knot in his stomach that he had grown familiar with and pulled his thoughts farther down the black hole, circling around one word.

Lisa.

He could remember the way she would smile at him. The way she had kissed him, encouraged him—the way she would just understand without questioning. Her whole existence had brought so much light in his life that, now that the source had been ripped out of it, he could barely see through the darkness. Dean stopped walking as memories flooded his mind once again, seeking balance in a metal bar behind him. A chaste smile, eyes suddenly looking away; bright lights, a scream, squealing brakes followed by a crushing sound. Blood; pain. Darkness.

His hands tightened on the metal bar that, now he had forced his eyes open to take in his surroundings, he realized was the railing of a bridge. He laughed humourlessly. How ironic. He then turned around to stare across the dark river. As far he could look, he saw darkness; it was only because he heard the sound of streaming water that he knew that it was actually a river and not some portal to hell itself.

Or maybe it was.

Dean's heart skipped a beat and then continued more rapidly than before when he realized what he was thinking. His hands grasped the railing more firmly; it suddenly seemed so easy to get rid of all his problems. To finally stop his never-ending pain. To, perhaps, see Lisa once more. He nodded quietly to himself. This was it. It wasn't like he had anything to live for anyway—with his wife, mother and father death, and—

Sammy.

His thoughts became a bit more clear for a moment. No. He couldn't do this. He couldn't do this to his little brother; they used to be so close. Used to be. Until he decided to go live at the other side of friggin' America. Dean's shoulders slumped and he rested his head on the railing. Of course, there was the occasional call, but they had grown apart – there was no denying that. Now he thought about it, the last time he'd heard from Sam was about a week ago. Something about food. He couldn't remember.
Dean sighed deeply, and with shaking hands, he reached for his cell phone. With some trouble, he unlocked the screen and blinked at the too bright light. With his eyes narrowed in concentration, he typed the message.

To: Sammy 2:35 AM

im sprry sammy

He stared at it for some longer and then, with a restrained sob, clicked 'send'. Yes. This was definitely it. The end of Dean Winchester's life. Without looking back, he put his mobile back in his pocket, and carefully swung his legs over the railing. Somehow, even though he knew it was all going to end anyway, he didn't want to fall by accident. It had to be his own choice. After a bit of a struggle, he stood there at the other side of the railing, breathing rapidly and staring intently at the pitch black water. His hands were clenched around the railing, his primal survival instincts kicking into action despite the alcohol clouding his head and his extreme desire to just stop everything.

He was afraid. His breathing nearly turned into hyperventilating and his hands hurt from clawing so damn hard into the railing. He vaguely realized that he was making an immense redundant mistake. For a moment, he just wanted to turn around and go home. But he couldn't. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't. If he'd try to turn around and climb back to safer grounds, he'd most certainly lose his balance and die anyway.

"Just jump, loser," shouted someone from a distance. A few people laughed; footsteps faded away.

Dean's fear suddenly dulled, and all he felt was the empty black hole in his stomach. The stranger was right. He should just give in. He closed his eyes, and let himself lean a bit more forward, his hands still holding the railing but no longer gripping it like his life depended on it. Even though, of course, it did.

He breathed in, and out. His hands started shaking. In and out. He felt them become slippery from sweat. In and out. His right hand began to lose grip. In and-

"Please, don't," a low, soft voice sounded suddenly. Dean almost let go, just out of pure shock since the voice was so near, but instead he tightened his grip around the metal bar.

"Fuck off," he croaked in reply. He closed his eyes and counted to three. The other person hadn't said anything in response by then. He leaned a bit more forward, his hands quickly losing his re-established grip.

"Dean, please. You know you don't want to do this." The voice sounded more urgent now.

"You have no idea what I want," Dean breathed. "But let me tell you. I just want to leave this fucking misery that calls itself a life. Why don't you just go away and let me die in peace, will you?"

"No, I will not." The voice sounded determined, almost to the point of light anger. The hand that clasped his shoulder and pulled him back against the railing took Dean by surprise. His head still spinning, he felt like this was the point he'd lose his balance and fall to a certain death. But he didn't fall. The stranger behind him held him with almost inhuman strength.

"Why are you doing this," Dean whispered, suddenly sounding broken.

It was silent for a moment, but suddenly bright, vivid memories flooded Dean's mind. He saw Charlie and himself at their first Comic Con, both cracking a shit eating grin as they showed each other their loot. He saw Sammy drinking his first beer, first pulling a face but gradually starting to enjoy it to the point of an immense giggle fit. He saw Bobby who, ruefully smiling, gave him his very first and definitely most awesome birthday cake ever – even though it was practically inedible because of the thick, black crust. He saw Garth and Benny and Kevin and the times that had made him feel like he could do anything.

As abruptly as the flood of memories started, it stopped. The glorious, light feeling faded into fear as he remembered that he was still standing on a ledge, the only thing securing him not to fall being the hand of a stranger on his shoulder.

The voice of said stranger broke the tense silence.
"Please, allow me to help you."

Dean nodded wordlessly.

An arm came into his vision, wavering there for a few seconds, until Dean realized he was probably supposed to take it. He let go of the railing with one hand, and held onto the arm, probably bruising the stranger by clenching his nails into his skin so hard.
"You can turn around now. I've got you."

Slowly, Dean did as the other man told him. He turned around, holding on to the man's arms desperately. Soon, he stumbled back on the bridge. Letting out a shivery breath, he felt his legs go numb. He would have broken down if it wasn't for the strange man, who still hadn't let go of his arms. Dean leaned slightly forward into the stranger's arms, his forehead now resting on the other's shoulder. He didn't know how or why, but somehow, here on a deserted bridge in the middle of the night and with his only companion being a strange man he had never met before, he felt safer than ever before. He cried soundlessly.

He didn't know how long they stood there, Dean holding on tightly to the stranger's upper arms, with the other man returning the grip as he made sure that he wouldn't fall down. It was when Dean finally stopped crying and his breathing slowed down that he heard the other man's voice again.

"Let's go home."

Dean nodded into his shoulder. He felt so tired suddenly, now the adrenaline caused by the previous events had completely disappeared.
He never knew how they reached his home. One second, he was standing on a bridge; the next, it seemed, he was on his bed, about to fall asleep. The only thing he remembered was the brightest blue he had ever seen.

All right, that's it for today. I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. I'd be eternally grateful if you somehow let me know that you're actually reading the story, by leaving any kind of review, favourite, follow, or whatever this website offers. There will be an update next week, or maybe even sooner!
The next chapter will have the song 'Silent Lucidity' by Queensryche as prologue.