THAT ONE PERSON

There's always pain when you lose someone. You feel empty inside, guilty, sad - like you'll never smile again. But it's even worse when you lose that one person – that one person whose life your world revolves around. When that happens everything comes crashing down – your world in pieces, scattered on the floor like broken glass. It's like with those block towers kids build - if someone pulls away a piece at the bottom, the tower won't hold and the rest of the blocks will crash to the floor. It's an easy fix – just gather the pieces and try again. Rebuild the tower. But there's a huge difference between rebuilding a block tower when you're a kid, and putting your life back together after it's been torn apart when you're an adult. When you lose that one person it's not as easy to just pick up the pieces and start over.

Dean awoke, his mind in a fog and with a headache thumping at his temples. He had no idea where he was. He looked around slowly, taking in his surroundings. A room. Probably a motel room. A desk, a chair and an old TV in the corner. He didn't recognize the place.

He was desperately trying to remember where he was and how he got there… - Oh my God is that someone's arm aruond me? - …and, apparently, who the hell he was with. He turned his head carefully to have a look.

She, he was pretty sure it was a she – her face was turned away from him, had blond hair and her soft skin was tanned, at least the part of her body that wasn't hidden under the covers. She looked to be about his age. Maybe a year or two younger. He studied her carefully. Suddenly she let out a moan and turned towards him. His heart skipped a beat and he cursed under his breath.

Overwhelmed with uneasiness, he decided that wherever he was and whoever he was with he had to get out of there before they - she - woke up. He wriggled out from under her arm and crawled off the bed slowly and as silently as he could. He realized he was stark naked when he hit the floor and felt soft, smooth rug against his skin. The fact that he was naked creeped him out even more than the fact that he didn't know where he was.

'Boxers?" he thought, searching in the vicinity of the bed – they had to be somewhere around here, right?

He found them under the bed and pulled them on, lying on his back on the floor. He was surprised at how easy he slipped them on, and somewhere in his fuzzy mind he seemed to remember doing this before - not long ago.

The rest of his clothes were easier to find, lying in a trail from the door to the bed – a testimony to what he'd been up to last night; t-shirt and jacket by the door, shoes and socks lying like footprints leading to the bed, then jeans on the floor next to him.

He grabbed his stuff one by one as he crawled on all fours towards the door and then reaching for the door knob carefully. He crept out through the opening and then shut the door as softly he could manage. Once he felt he was in a safe distance from her he got dressed. Now all he had to do was find his car… Not exactly a simple task.

He found her in the parking lot and sighed in relief. He got in the driver's seat and leant back, closing his eyes. He was tired. Soon the smell of beer and smoke from his clothes took over the inside of the car as well and he started to feel sick. So sick in fact that he had to hurl. He kicked open the door quickly and threw up on the ground between his car and a red Volvo. Mmm digested pizza. He leant back again, leaving the car door open this time, and fell asleep.

----

It had been four weeks and two days since it happened. He and Sam and their dad had tracked down the demon and a showdown worse than last time, when the demon had possessed John, had taken place. At first they did well, John managing to shoot the demon in the gut with the Colt, but then all hell broke loose and others just as strong as the original demon had attacked the three of them. They fled. But John fell behind and disappeared. When Dean and Sam went back to get him, a thundering laughter had broken through the darkness and everything had went black.

Dean woke up at the hospital a week later, the hospital personnel telling him how lucky he was, being the only one to survive 'that psychopath killer'. The two other men found at the scene hadn't been so lucky. They didn't know when they told him, that they had just broken the news of his family's death to him. And pretty harshly too.

They were confused by his slow recovery; his injuries hadn't been that grave. They never once asked if he knew the other victims. And he didn't tell them.

Once he got out of the hospital he got in his car and drove as far away as he could. He'd gone to a bar – and the rest was kind of in a fog.

Okay. So everyone's thinking he was drowning his sorrows... Not necessarily, no. Sometimes you just need to escape, escape reality or be swallowed whole. Dean didn't know but he was just looking for someone to ease his pain. Not having anyone left to turn to, he turned to the people he met – usually girls at a bar. But they weren't interested in comforting him – they just wanted his body. He was seeking their compassion but he wasn't the one using them – they were using him. They were only attracted to his muscular body, his eyes that seemed to have seen everything, his smile – not him. When they undressed him they were always impressed by the huge scars on his chest, from his first encounter with the demon, and they thought the scars were 'really neat'. For them the scars were a nice feature to his cool image. But for Dean they were a constant reminder of his dad and his brother and their killer. When the girls let their finger run up and down his chest they didn't know how much pain was hiding behind it – the scars on his body, nothing compared to the scars in his soul. They didn't know, and they didn't care.

----

It was night. Dean entered the building and went to the bar. "Whiskey," he told the bartender.

He was in a pleasant state once again, feeling nothing but mirth, just talking to people. He was standing next to a brunette who seemed really nice. She was hugging another girl and he could hear her say; "He's not worth it, you're so much better than him. He doesn't deserve you." When her friend left, Dean turned to the brunette and smiled. A minute later they were kissing, he holding her in an embrace like he never wanted to let go – and she groping him.

It didn't take long though before someone grabbed Dean by the shoulder and pulled him away from the brunette. It was a huge guy and he looked furious. "What the fuck do you think you're doing with my girlfriend?" he bellowed. Dean didn't know what to answer, and even if he'd known he wouldn't have gotten a chance to. The guy punched him, making him see stars. He felt someone grab his arms and drag him across the floor. It was the guy's two friends. They brought him outside where they beat him. The two friends held his arms behind his back as the boyfriend punched and kicked him. Dean didn't feel the blows, he was overwhelmed by another kind of pain. Finally they released him and he fell to the ground. The boyfriend kicked him one more time before leaving.

Dean didn't know how long he'd been lying stomach down on the pavement. He felt something warm trickle down his face. Blood. His vision was blurred. His ears caught the sound of people passing by him, but no one stopped to see if he was alright. Nobody cared. He started crying. Not because people were ignoring him, but because he felt this was a perfect way for him to go – a good place to die. It was beautiful, really. He'd get to die in the darkness, like Sam. He'd get to die alone, no one able to help him, just like Sam. He'd die the way he'd lived.

Darkness grew around him and he succumbed to it. But it wasn't that type of darkness, it was the shadow of a person walking up to him. The person kneeled by his side.

His head was resting in someone's lap, a warm hand on the side of his face, and he started sobbing uncontrollably. "Ssh..." It was a woman. "I know…I know." She held him in her arms in a tight embrace.

Sometimes when you really need it, you meet that one person who gets it - a person who understands without you having to say anything. A person who knows your pain, who might have been where you are. With a little help you can get back on track, pick up the pieces. Rebuild the block tower. You aren't alone...

There are people who truly care.