It was a long, hard night for Jesse Custer, slumped on the pews of the church that held him better than his father. How many fucking bottles of whiskey had he gone through? He skipped the beer, skipped the wine- he needed something that hit him harder than any punch he felt before; something to get him through the night without thinking too much. Too much Cassidy. Well, the joke was on him.

Witch each drink, each bottle put into his system, like he was some sponge, he didn't feel like he was getting further away from his problems- he just felt closer to them. He was trapped. They wrapped around him like ropes, pulling at every black article of clothing he wore. Soon, he started to feel like he was nothing more than a shadow, playing dress up in his daddy's shoes just watching all his problems from a distance. It was a fire and he was just watching it burn. He chuckled to himself at that, and his head hurt like hell from the effort it took. Burn. Real funny.

He set his jaw and licked his teeth, throwing a glance back at the torn up floorboard. He ached. He gently pulled a hand up to his face, pushing tenderly on the bruise left from the fire extinguisher. But damn, he deserved it. He glanced down.

He couldn't tell what it was he was feeling. With every one thought, a few more were added, and a few more, and a few more.

The hell did I do? What in the hell did I do?

Jesse couldn't stand it. Couldn't sleep either. How could anyone? He was given the power of God but... What God would do this?

And no matter what he did, Cassidy just kept coming back. Who the hell did he think he was anyways? Who did Jesse think he was. Why did his heart hurt like this? It felt like a bad hangover- just got worse with sound.

What was he gonna do? He'd killed men before, sure but.. He didn't deserve this? Did he? He was by no means innocent but.. Jesus, this isn't right..? Right?

Where was Cassidy now? Where was his comments? Where was his criticism? Jesse didn't care that sometimes it pissed him off; he didn't care that it made him think, question his ways. He didn't care. Not now. He just wanted to know where it had all gone- where he had thrown it all to.

Jesse didn't know. He never knew. He didn't know what happened when he passed out, and he sure as hell didn't know what happened when he woke up. Just picked himself up rubbed his head, fixed his clothes and laced his coffee with the leftover whiskey. He almost didn't think about Cassidy for an hour.

It's too early for this shit...