Clipped Wings

[THREE] It's a Wonderful Life

"Freezer section house keeping, isle sweeping, and bathrooms. Understood, Winchester?" Naomi instructed, pointing her pen at Dean.

"Yes, ma'am." He said, pretending he was taking orders from an army Sargent.

Naomi just rolled her eyes, turning away and walking out the door, her obnoxious, clunky heels snapping against the gray tile floor behind her.

Another wonderful day in the life of Dean Winchester.

===========================

"Wanna know what I love about life?" Jo chipped, sweeping through the isles with Dean. She was feeling quite enthusiastic this morning, which only happened once in a great while. Dean usually tried to tune out her happy blabbing, but today really put him in a sour mood.

"Not really, but shoot." Dean said, dipping his mop in the bucket.

"I love how mysterious it is." Jo explained, leaning her hands against the mop's handle. She watched Dean sweep a couple times before continuing. "Isn't it fascinating how we never know when we are going to die? Or who we are going to meet? We will never know what will happen to us until it happens. Isn't that just... Wonderful?"

"I'm not sure I'd call it wonderful." Dean muttered, sweeping a little more aggressive than really necessary.

"I'm just saying I think that's why life is worth living. Like, it's almost exciting to wake up every morning and not know what's 'bout to happen." Jo explained, a small smile forming on her lips.

Deans expression was quite the opposite. "Bullshit."

"What was that, Dean?" Jo asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I said that's bullshit. You're wrong." Dean answered, his jaw clenched. He didn't want to look Jo into the eyes and hurt her feelings on the subject, so he continued mopping the area in front of him. After all, she probably got this fairy tale picture in her head after reading too many fictional books where everyone's life is perfect.

He ignored his knuckles turning white around the handle.

"Sure. Life is a mystery; but, it's a god-damn sick one. It isn't exciting to get up every mornin' and wonder if you will make it through another day. Or if you will break down and lash out. Or if you will hurt someone else in the process and lose everything? Or you could meet some dipshit who doesn't care that you're trying your best and screw you over. I can't. I can't do it. I wish I knew how my life ended so I could get it over with as quick as possible. 'Cause this sucks, this life fuc—"

"Dean."

Dean released the mop in his hands, his arms sore from being tense for so long. The mop fell to the floor in two pieces, jagged wood sticks out from where it broke in his hands.

"I..." he tried to come up with a half-ass excuse to why he just broke a mop in half, but none seemed to fit the case.

Jo wasn't sure what to say to this either. She continued to stare, a little shocked, but she mostly just looked sad. Dean had a history of violence, just ask his ex-boss.

"I'm goin' go clean bathrooms now." Dean mumbled, his eyes locked on the floor. He felt a little bad for leaving a mess behind for Jo to clean up, but he really just needed to walk away.

"Just walk away, Dean. Learn to forget what happened and walk away."

He pushed open the men's restroom door, happy that there wasn't anyone in there. Although, instead of going to the closet in the corner to get cleaning supplies, he rushed to the sink. He turned on the tap and quickly splashed cool water on his face. This is what his little brother, Sammy, use to tell him to do when he got angry. It's the only thing that works.

Dean turned off the tap and stared into the mirror.

"Who would of thought... that the person staring back at me now would've become such a dark and disgusting human being?" Dean asked, his eyes searching the man in the mirror. "Why can't I keep myself from getting hurt all the time?"

He shook his head, grabbing for paper towels to dry his face. When he looked back into the mirror again, he saw past his face and to the stalls behind him. He failed to notice that one stall was closed, and a pair of black dress shoes where at the bottom.

Dean sighed deeply, realizing whomever was in the stall heard him talking to himself. Fan-freaking-tastic.

"I know you heard me talking. Sorry you had to hear that, man. I just came to clean the bathroom." Dean tried to explain, feeling slightly awkward talking to a guy who was probably just trying to do his business.

"It's, uh, okay, Dean."

Dean frowned.

"No. It can't be him. It's not him." Dean thought, his hands forming into fists.

"... okay, coolio. Sorry to rush you, but I gotta do my job; so, if you could finish up or whatever..."

"It's not him. It's just somebody else who knows my name. Like, why would that guy come back to a place he almost got arrested at?" He tried to convince himself.

After a moment, the stall unlocked and a man with dark brown hair and a trench coat stepped out.

"Fuck."