"Tonight the music seems so loud

I wish that we could lose this crowd

Maybe it's better this way

We'd hurt each other with the things we want to say"

"No no no, don't be fucking dead, man, please," Dean heard in his head, but oddly, the voice wasn't his own.

"Come ON, Dean, seriously...please wake up," came the voice again, deeply baritone, but spiked with growing panic. He felt himself moving, which struck him as odd, since he was the only one there.

"DEAN!" The voice shouted, snapping him suddenly back to reality, his head banging against the tarred roof as he was helplessly shaken. As he opened his eyes, he was met with the sight of Roman, silhouetted against the waning twilight. As he moved closer, his face came into clearer view, his handsome features etched with worry. "Oh my God, you're not dead...thank GOD," he rejoiced, crouching over Dean and wrapping him up in his arms. He buried his face in the crook of Dean's neck, still murmuring words of thanks as Dean looked blankly up at the sky, woozy and still very intoxicated.

"How the fuck did you find me? I didn't tell anybody," he said, his voice trailing off as he blinked hard a few times, trying to will himself to focus. "Ugh, where's my beer? I know I had at least one left.." he groaned, looking back toward the ledge and trying to crawl his way over to where he had seen them last.

"Nope, I think you're done for tonight, man. Pack it up, I'm taking you someplace safe," Roman countered, reaching out and grabbing Dean by the back of his leather jacket. Since he only had a grip on the coat, Dean quickly squirmed out of it and scrambled away, cowering like a wounded animal. He managed to make it up onto his feet, but he was still very tipsy.

"DON'T YOU TELL ME WHAT TO DO!" Dean said angrily, pointing accusatorily at Roman as he leaned down and grabbed the last can out of the box. When he stood back up the box was stuck on his hand, and he had to stiffly shake it a few times before it finally fell off, thereby turning his moment of attempted defiance into a pitiful display of awkwardness. He pouted, surly eyes looking at Roman through a mess of tangled hair. "Don't...tell me...what to do," he whimpered, sniffing between words as the emotions came flooding back all at once. He abruptly turned and sat on the ledge, his feet dangling over the side, as he opened his last beer with one hand and proceeded to start slugging it down.

Before he could finish, it was yanked out of his hand by Roman, who had come to sit down beside him. "Give me that," he said tersely, shaking his head. "I'm gonna need it if I'm going to hang with you tonight, apparently." He finished off the beer in two gulps and set the can down between them.

Dean picked the can up and again hurled it out over the edge, watching it fall all the way down and land with a barely audible metallic ping in the hotel parking lot. He leaned forward as he watched its descent, his mind a million miles away. It was only the presence of Roman's large hand on his chest that brought him back, literally and figuratively.

"Come on, don't fucking do that...you're really freaking me out here, man. Will you please talk to me? Tell me what you're thinking. I want to know." He raised his hand to Dean's cheek, brushing away a few soaked strands of hair from his tear-streaked face. "I mean, if you're up here thinking about jumping, I think you best be talking to somebody, even if it's not me. But I really wish you'd talk to me."

A long, silent moment passed between them, Roman waiting anxiously for a reply, or a grunt, or a fucking blink; anything at all that might indicate that Dean was present. Finally after Dean couldn't stand being stared at for any longer, he spoke, his voice a defeated half-whisper, as though he barely had the energy to form the words. "I'm just an idiot, that's all. Nothing new there," he said, half-smiling at his own ridiculousness.

Roman sighed, looking away in frustration. "Really Dean? I thought we were better friends than that. I know damn well you're thinking some fucked up shit right now, so fucking tell me," he demanded, his tone becoming annoyed.

It was then that something in Dean snapped. He turned his head and started Roman down with a stone-faced glare. "Oh yeah? Well if you supposedly know so fucking much about what I'm thinking, why don't you tell ME? HUH?! Otherwise... fuck off," he spat, looking to redirect some of the hurt onto someone besides himself.

Roman's eyes grew wide with disbelief. "Oh, so it's like that, huh? That's how you wanna play this? Ok, fine," he growled, jaw clenching as he glared back. "I think you're fucking madly in love with Seth, and you can't handle the fact that he proposed to Leighla. I think maybe you have some feelings that don't quite fit with the way you've chosen to live your life up to this point, but you've gotten to the point where you can't really deny them any more. I think you're hating yourself for not telling him how you felt before it was too late," he said, voice softening as he absentmindedly rubbed the empty spot on his ring finger with his right hand. "And since I'm already telling you what I think, I might as well add this: I think you should still tell him. He deserves to know," he said, putting a hand on Dean's shoulder.

Dean shrugged it off, his head twitching slightly. "HE deserves to know? Well geez, why don't we just give Seth fucking everything while we're at it? I mean, fuck, he's already perfect, and cute, and talented, and now he's gonna have the perfect wife, and probably the prefect fucking family too...and I get shit, because that's all a piece of shit like me deserves..." he groaned, face dropping into his palms to hide the oncoming wave of tears. He began to cry uncontrollably, too drunk and desperate to stop it. "I'm sorry," he managed to croak out between sobs.

"Sorry? Why are you saying sorry to me? Roman asked, confused.

"Because I didn't want to feel like this. I know I ruined everything. I couldn't just be friends with him. I had to be fucking greedy," he replied, the words spilling out faster now. "I always end up wanting what I can't have. I'm fucking stupid." His throat was so raw, it was starting to hurt as well.

"You're not stupid," Roman reassured. "Believe me. I know how you feel."

Dean looked back at Ro and saw him wiping his eyes with the heel of his hand. "Fucking pollen, right?" he said, smiling affectionately at the Samoan by his side.

"Yeah...allergies," Roman answered, sniffling a little. He saw Dean's smile and returned it, then put an arm around the smaller man's shoulders and pulled him closer. Dean leaned into Roman's chest and exhaled heavily, as though some of his burden had been allieviated.

"So, you never did tell me how you found me. Is there a missing persons report out on me or something?" Dean asked, his curiosity coming back now that he had released some of his anguish.

Roman pressed his face into Dean's messy hair, inhaling the scent of his shampoo. "No...Seth wouldn't stop calling and texting me. He said you weren't answering your phone, and nobody else had seen you, so he was kind of freaking the fuck out, understandably. I told him I'd find you, and once I checked the hotel bar and you weren't there, I figured it was worth a shot to check up here. I've babysat your drunk ass enough times to know your patterns by now," he said, chuckling.

"Wait...so does he know where we are now?" Dean asked, fear rising in his voice. "Did you fucking tell him we're up here, you bastard?!"

Just as Roman opened his mouth to answer, the rooftop door swung open. In the doorway stood Seth, flushed and out of breath, in a state of near-panic. "Oh, thank God, thank God, don't ever do that to me again, you fucking asshole," he cried, running toward Dean with arms extended, ready to hug him and never let him go.