Soul Survivors, Chapter One

[tcs1121]

Title: Soul Survivors
Author: tcs1121
Artist: BflyW
Pairing and Characters: Jared/Jensen, Jim Beaver, Chad Michael Murray, Sophia Bush, Jeffrey Dean Morgan, Steven Williams, several original male and female characters
Rating: NC-17
Genre: J2 AU, h/c
Word Count: ~41,100
Warnings: This is a story about survivor's guilt. Many people die in different and tragic ways-mostly off screen. Imagined graphic deaths of birds. Suicidal ideation. Religious overtones-no religion bashing. Jensen has a permanent disability.
Disclaimer: Untrue story. Character names are being used without permission. No money changes hands.
Beta: Kee--She never lets me take the easy way out. I don't know what I'd do without her. Thank you so very much.
Special Thanks to spn_J2fan for her read through, insights, and overall kindness. To pennydrdful for expert assistance when I needed it, and to wendy the moderator for the SPN J2 Big Bang 2014

A/N: Please understand that, right or wrong, people grieve in different ways.

Link to bflyw's Amazing Art: ~~ HERE~~

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Summary: "We were ordinary people until we became part of a tragedy. We feel guilty for living when others have died. We come together because unless you've been through what we've been through, you can't understand what it's like to be us. We are the survivors."

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In the dark dreary nights, when the storm is at its most fierce, the lighthouse burns bright so the sailors can find their way home again. In life the same light burns. This light is fueled with love, faith, and hope. And through life’s most fierce storms these three burn their brightest so we also can find our way home again.- Author Unknown



~~~~

___________

~~~~Prologue~~~~

Jensen
Six Years Ago

The bus Jensen took from school to work was quickly loading up. Most of the passengers were college students-like him-and the others were a mix of young parents with kids, teenagers out of school for the day, and retired seniors. It was after three-thirty in the afternoon, and while Jensen had gone overtime working on his schedule with Reverend Doctor Price, he still caught his regular bus and had plenty of time to make it to the restaurant before his shift started. He supplemented his student loan money as a line cook and salad maker at Davy's Pub & Grille. Even though he could make more money serving tables, his quiet temperament was better suited for chopping vegetables, keeping the steamed rice hot, and artistically plating glazed salmon onto beds of arugula.

The bell dinged, signaling that the bus would be stopping at the next corner. At this stop, more passengers would be crowding on than getting off. Jensen looked at his watch and sighed. He owned a car, but he had forgotten to get the oil changed after the recommended 3000 miles, waiting until the 8500 mile mark when the engine reminded him of his error by seizing up on him.

Jensen was going to have to chop a lot of celery and sprinkle mounds of Feta cheese before he could afford to get his Kia back on the road.

He sat in the bench row at the way back of the bus with a good view up the center aisle. After the bus stopped and most of the crowd had piled on, a little girl in a plaid dress skipped up the bus steps. She was followed by her mother who was obviously pregnant and trying to juggle holding her daughter's hand with carrying a cake box from a local bakery. Jensen's stop was still several blocks away, but he stood for them as they headed toward the back. He smiled at the young mother with the bouncing youngster, and indicated his now empty seat.

"Gracias," she said. Carefully placing the cake box on the floor between her feet, she gratefully sat. She held out her arms and hoisted her daughter onto what was left of her lap giving Jensen a weak, but sincere smile.

Jensen tipped his head at the mom and winked at the little girl before heading to the front of the bus.

"Mind the white line, young man." The bus driver never took his eyes off the road but seemed to know exactly how close Jensen's toes were to the white line that separated the bus passengers from the bus driver.

"Shoot, and here I thought I'd be able to get away with stepping over it this time. I keep forgetting about those eyes in the back of your head, bus driver man."

"That's mister bus driver man to you, sonny." The driver snickered. "I got mirrors so I don't need to use my secret hairy eyeballs to spy on you." He quickly glanced at Jensen. "And don't you even think about stepping down the first step before I give you the all clear."

"Now, Jim. You know I would never try to exit the bus before it has come to a complete stop."

"You damn well better not." Jim smiled as he slowed to a gentle stop at the red light. "Also, remember to keep your arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times."

"Absolutely," Jensen stated, solemnly. "I also know to keep my tray table up and in the locked position during take-off and landing."

Jim looked up from the red light and exaggerated a long-suffering sigh in Jensen's direction.

Jensen retaliated by softly singing, "Three cheers for the bus driver, bus driver, bus driver-three cheers for the bus driver, bus driver man."

Jim barked a laugh and let up on the brakes as the red light had changed to green. "You're a real smarty pants, kid, you know that?"

Jim's voice was drowned out by the screech of tires and the bellow of failing air brakes. Time moved slowly, frame by frame. Jim stared up into his rear view mirror as Jensen turned around to look out the back window. Over the head of the young mother in Jensen's old seat, was the huge grill of a speeding truck. Jensen braced himself as the big rig plowed into the back end of the bus, momentarily lifting it off the ground. He wondered how he could read Sea to Shining Sea Van Lines among the chaos, as metal screeched, windows exploded, and the human wails of shock and pain filled the air. The unstoppable Kenworth tore into the back of the bus, shearing off pieces of the roof while shredding skin from bone, decapitating heads and amputating limbs as it charged up the bus aisle. The monster truck kept on coming, chewing up old women, teen aged boys and cake boxes.

The bus crumpled into itself with the momentum of the heavy semi pushing into it. Sparks flew like an acetylene torch from the aluminum and steel rubble scraping the asphalt. Rubble that used to be a city bus. The truck pushed the wreckage into the intersection and oncoming traffic. Jensen fought to keep hold of the hand grips, but was thrown to his knees by an unexpected sideways jolt. He was vaguely aware of Jim fighting with the steering wheel when the bus suddenly flipped onto its side, throwing Jensen into the stairwell-right before the Sea to Shining Sea moving van jack-knifed on top of it, crushing the bus with the weight of its cargo.

And then, it all stopped.

Jensen slowly became aware of the hissing silence, the stench of gasoline and battery acid, and the sudden, heart-stopping pain when he breathed in. Jensen was pinned on the bus steps deep down in the stairwell. With the bus on its side, the door lay against the pavement. He tried to breathe, but smoke and dust filled his lungs. He blinked hard trying to see, and was sorry when he did because his left leg was pointing the wrong way. Fortunately, a red glaze covered his eyes and darkness surrounded the edges. The blare of the bus horn echoed in his ears before the world he had once known ended in a black and suffocating haze.

~~~~

Jared
10 months ago

"…because I want to surprise them, that's why." Jared snuck a peek at his watch; it was ten-fifteen AM. "Christ, Chad, you're the epitome of spontaneity. I'd think you of all people would understand." Jared listened a moment, then switched hands to put his phone up to his other ear. "Yes, I said epitome, and yes I said spontaneity. Hold on."

He hiked his drooping duffle bag high up onto his shoulder. "I gotta go, I want to catch this flight on standby. I'm at the gate now." He rolled his eyes. "Will do, Ma Murray, I'll call you when I land."

Jared tucked the phone into his pocket and walked up to Oceanic Airways gate 12B. Brandishing his ticket, he said to the gate agent, "Excuse me ma'am, I'm booked on a late afternoon flight to San Antonio, but I was hoping there was a seat available on this one."

"Oh, me too!" An identical ticket with a different seat number was slapped down next to Jared's on the high desk.

"Well, looks like you two have the same idea," the friendly agent said, turning to her computer terminal. "I'll see what I can do."

Jared turned to his right. A pretty blonde girl with short, spiked hair and a blue unicorn tattooed on her left shoulder flashed Jared a brilliant smile. "Hi, I'm Robbie. Robbie Summer. Looks like we both want to fly early today."

"Looks like we do." Jared's smile matched hers. "I'm Jared Padalecki."

"Hi, Jared." Robbie held out her right hand where she had a pink and white Hello Kitty tattooed on the inside of her wrist. "Are you going home or just visiting?"

"Both," Jared said, shaking her hand. "I go to school out here, but my legal residence is still my parents' house. I graduate in a couple of semesters, though, and then I'll emancipate myself from my loving family and find my own place. What about you?"

"Going home. I tried living away from my family and friends, but I miss everybody too much. I guess I'm not ready to leave the fold." She smiled and said, "I'm going home."

"Good for you."

"Except there's a problem." The gate agent was scrutinizing the computer monitor. She clicked a few more times and shook her head. "I'm sorry, kids, but there's only one seat left on this flight."

"Oh, no," Robbie moaned.

"Guess you two are going to have to duke it out, unless..."

"Unless what?" Jared asked.

"Are either of you frequent flyers? This airline gives preference to frequent flyer passengers." The agent looked knowingly at Jared.

Robbie sighed. "No, I'm only a regular flyer." She looked up hopefully at Jared. "What about you? Tell me you're a regular flyer too so we can duke it out."

Jared had just started earning frequent flyer points, but didn't have enough to cover this flight. However, he could use them as an advantage over the bubbly blonde competition. He was just about to play his winning card and get in line to board the flight when Robbie honest-to-god batted her eyelashes at him and licked her lips.

"Please say you'll fight me for the seat, and then let me win," she purred.

Jared sighed, relenting to the force that was Robbie Summer.

Going in for the kill she said. "I'll buy you lunch on the River Walk. I'll give you my cell number." She reached into her hip bag for some scrap paper and scribbled on it. "And as a back-up, so you know I'm totally serious about feeding you," she scribbled some more, "here's my home phone." She looked up and blushed. "Sometimes, well, lots of times, I forget to use the charger."

"I don't know," Jared said deliberately slow. "The afternoon flight's not until four forty-five."

Robbie held out a crumpled napkin with the phone numbers printed in bright purple ink and waved it. "I'll buy you a fantastic lunch." It looked as though she was actually holding her breath.

"Okay, okay," Jared laughed. "How can I refuse? The ticket's yours."

Robbie sighed in relief. "Thank you so much, Jared. I really want to go home. Plus," she crinkled her nose like a little kid, "I hate waiting around in airports."

"I don't mind airports." Jared smiled.

Robbie smiled back and nodded to the agent who began preparing her boarding pass. "Use my phone number. I want to thank you." She handed it to Jared. "I mean it, I know a couple of great places. I'll let you pick where you want to eat."

He folded the napkin carefully and placed it in his wallet. "I'm warning you, I will hold you to that," he said.

"I'm counting on it." Robbie pulled out her pink phone and hit the speed dial. "Hey mom, guess what?" she winked at Jared. "I just charmed Jared into giving me his seat. I'm coming home early. You're buying me ice cream." She held the phone up, "Say hi to mom, Jared."

"Hi mom," Jared said, dutifully.

"Here you go, Miss Summer."

Robbie took her boarding pass from the agent, and ran over to stand in the boarding line, still chatting with her mother.

"That was nice of you." The airline agent smiled down at Jared. "I saw that you had a few Oceanic points you could have used."

"Aw, so what? Look at her. What's a few more hours to wait?"

Robbie was bouncing in line as boarding was announced. Right before entering the jetway, she turned and blew them both a kiss.

"You're a good guy," the agent said. "I wish I could offer you an upgrade or something."

"Don't worry about it." Jared looked around. "But I could use some caffeine, is there a Starbucks around here?"

Oceanic Flight 818 to San Antonio was aloft for two minutes and seven seconds when the jet unexpectedly encountered a flock of geese. The powerful engines ingested too many birds all at once for a safe shut down. The jet crashed to Earth exploding into a fireball that was felt for miles. All one hundred sixty-two souls aboard were lost.

~~~~Present Day~~~~



Jensen placed a sign on the door to the room they were using in the church hall.

Soul Survivors Support Group meeting-7:00-8:30 PM

"Thanks for coming in early, folks," Jensen said to the three other people milling about the room. "I got a message that we might have a visitor tonight and wanted to know how you'd like this meeting to go."

Andrew grabbed his jacket off the back of a chair. "Not interested."

"Not a visitor from the outside, Drew, a potential new member. He wants to see what we're like."

"I hate being on display."

"It's not for entertainment. Think back to when you were deciding whether anyone could understand what you went through."

"Who referred him?" Liz asked. "A doctor or a civilian?"

Jensen was aware that the group knew some of his referrals came from medical professionals, but some came through word of mouth. Either way, Jensen wasn't telling.

"I got a call from a source, and then a follow-up email from the potential member. He must be hurting if he needs a group like ours," Jensen reminded them.

"Must be hurting," Drew agreed. He draped his jacket back over the chair and sat.

Liz nodded and went back to filling the coffee pot and setting it up to brew.

Brett huffed but removed his pea coat and sat. "Mindy coming tonight?"

"Probably," Jensen chuckled. "She's supposed to. All I know is that I'm here, you're here, and Mindy's usually late. We can get started. The new person might not even show up, but if he does, Drew, would you mind doing some of the talking?"

"No, I don't mind."

"Good. Thanks."

Jensen slid the rolling computer chair to the middle of the room, unlocked his brace and gently sat, taking his hand out of the cuff of the forearm crutch.

In a fit of whimsy one night, Jensen's brother spiraled a rainbow sticker around the crutch making it look like an out and proud barber pole. Jensen came to like the statement. Besides, he had the other crutch at home, unspiraled, if he needed to look dignified.

"How 'bout pouring me a little coffee while you're at it, Liz?" He leaned down and placed the crutch on the floor next to his chair.

"Will do."

The other members pulled their metal chairs into a small semi-circle, with Jensen in the middle.

"Who has the topic tonight?" Jensen asked.

"I do!" A short, sturdy woman with dark blonde hair and a touch of gray at the temples, rushed into the room. She was in her early forties and clutching a brightly colored, oversized quilted purse. "Sorry, am I late?" She looked at her watch.

"Hi Mindy," Brett said, softly. "Naw, you're not late, we all got here a little early. Jensen said that somebody new might be showing up tonight."

"Oh." She immediately went from happily rushed to sad. "That's too bad. It's got to be rough. Man or woman, do you know?"

"Male," Jensen answered. "Anyhow, get a cup of something and pull up a chair."

"I brought cookies." She turned to Brett, who set her chair next to his. "You like the peanut butter ones, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, I do. Thanks."

Liz asked Jensen, "Do you know anything about the new guy?"

"No, and I haven't spoken to him. He sent me an email asking permission to sit in, and mentioned that he'd attended the state university so I figured he was young-ish. Maybe I'm assuming too much, but I felt like he was young. I do know he's a guy since he signed it "Jared P."

"We should probably go with a kind of structured meeting, don't you think?" Liz asked. "I mean, I don't want him to be put off by, you know, us."

"We're all cool," Brett said lightly. "Nothin' to be put off by, darlin'. We are what we are."

"I like that," Jensen said. "We are what we are. I also like the idea of at least trying to look like we're organized." He waited for Mindy to get situated. "Okay, we're all set. Mindy, go ahead with your topic."

Every member, Jensen included, took on a topic for discussion. This was purely a discussion group. No professionals were directly involved and Jensen had no professional training whatsoever. Sometimes, the meetings didn't even get around to the topic if someone had something they wanted to talk about.

However, a topic made it easier to get the meeting going. It could be anything-grief related or not. It could be a painful matter, or about the lunch they had that day. This group was formed to help ease the terrible isolation their guilt caused. Because, sometimes, just being around others who knew what it was like made the days bearable.

Mindy stood. "Okay, my topic for tonight is this poem that always makes me angry. I know it's supposed to be comforting but it ticks me off every time I see it on Facebook. The name of the poem is: Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep. According to Wikipedia, it was written by Mary Elizabeth Frye in 1932."

"Oh, I know this one," Liz said.

"I know. Everybody knows this one." Mindy unfolded a piece of paper. "Okay, I'm going to read it, so here goes:

Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die."

She tapped her foot then took in a breath through her nose.

"This whole poem burns me. It's so soft and lyrical and so full of bullshit it makes my ass itch. When you're dead you're not a bird in…" Mindy looked at the paper. "…uh, quiet birds in circled flight. And people should not be told not to cry. Dead is dead and sad is sad and I don't find any consolation in denying it."

Mindy's voice wobbled toward the end, but she took in another deep breath and held her head high.

"I've always liked that poem," Liz said. "It makes me feel like it's not all over when you die, that something else begins when this life ends. It gives me comfort to think that Lindy is a diamond glinting on the snow. I mean, I like to think that she's still around even if I can't recognize her."

"Then let's talk about how we do find comfort. This poem didn't work for Mindy as it obviously hit her buttons very hard," Jensen said.

"Yeah," Drew said. "It made her ass itch."

Mindy blinked her wet eyes and snorted.

There was a soft rustling at the door, but Jensen continued speaking.

"I like to think that we are living, not only our lives, but for the lives of the lost as well, so we have to be mindful to live well and with care. For them and for us."

"And that's comforting, how?" Drew asked. His tone was softer than his words.

"I find it a comfort to live well. Do the best I can with my life, as a way to honor theirs."

"Even though you didn't know any of them?" Brett's eyes were kind.

"Maybe because I didn't know any of them." Jensen turned to the young man standing in the doorway, noticing that he looked both frozen to the spot and ready to flee. "Welcome to Soul Survivors Support Group." In one fluid move, Jensen picked up his crutch and pushed up to stand, keeping the weight on his right leg. "You're Jared P., right?"

The four other group members stood and Brett approached Jared carefully. Jared took a quick step backwards. "Don't go runnin' away," Brett said. "'Cause it looks like this is where you need to be right now."

He held out his hand. "I'm Brett." Slowly, Jared's hand came up and Brett shook it warmly. "Good to meet you, Jared P."

"Hi, Jared. I'm Liz Harrigan." She came and stood beside Brett.

"I'm Mindy." Mindy waved from her seat.

"Drew," he said, unfolding a chair and setting it to his right.

"And I'm Jensen." Jensen sat down, adjusting his leg comfortably. "Hey, Mindy. Do you mind if we continue your topic another night?"

"I don't know, because now that you know what I think, everyone will have time to gather ammunition against me."

Brett sat and leaned toward Mindy. "Don't worry, sweetheart, we'll all act surprised that you hate Do Not Stand at My Grave."

"Then okay," she agreed. "Another night, then."

Jared silently took his seat next to Drew. He brought his thumbnail to his mouth and began chewing on it.

Jensen looked meaningfully at his group. "Jared, we know something terrible happened that made you seek us out, and I'm glad you came. We're all glad you came. We're here because something terrible happened to us, too."

"I don't think I want to talk about it, if that's okay." Jared stared at the floor, mumbling around this thumb.

"Any way you want to deal is okay. Just so you know, none of us are professional counselors, none of us are getting paid, and no one ever tells anyone about anything that's said here. In fact, that's the only rule. What goes on here stays here, and as long as you agree to that, and are respectful of the others, you can stay and participate-or not-as you choose." Jensen shifted his weight and straightened his leg to get as comfortable as he could. His back and knee were stiff tonight.

"I can do that."

Jensen looked at Drew. Drew gave a slight nod and turned to Jared. "Would it help if I told you why I'm here?"

Jensen watched a brief moment of panic flit across Jared's face.

Jensen said, softly, "Only Drew's story, okay, Jared? If you want to hear it. Then you can decide what you want to do. We won't say a word either way."

Jared took in a deep, shaky breath. "Yes, okay."

Jensen was the leader of this group and invited discussion from the group, but sometimes he asked a member to tell their story again which was why he'd asked Drew to be ready.

Mindy's hand brushed up against Brett's knee and Brett moved closer to her as Drew began speaking.

"Two years ago," he looked at the ceiling. "Closer to three years, now, I was in graduate school and working part time at Uncle Jack's Chicken Shack out on Highway 15." He jerked his head towards Jensen. "My God, Jensen, it's been almost three years. Three years."

"Does that seem like a long time ago?" Jensen asked. "Or does is seem like yesterday?"

Drew bit his lower lip. "It was-it was a whole other life ago."

After a few silent beats, Drew continued, "Anyway, we were a close knit staff at the Chicken Shack. We each learned all the jobs at all the stations so we could rotate duties because, come on, working at a fast food restaurant out on Highway 15 wasn't the most stimulating job in the world. Rotating kept it as fun as possible. We were a fun group."

Drew grinned sadly. "All the food that came in was prepackaged and practically heat and eat. That afternoon, we had a big shipment of chicken wings and spare ribs come in. I was on inventory duty in the back, stamping the delivery dates and storing the food. It was a Wednesday afternoon." Drew's eyes took on a faraway look. "A fucking Wednesday afternoon."

He looked up. Jensen sent him a small, encouraging smile.

"There…there were," Drew swallowed before continuing, "I found out later that there were three of them. They came up to order and after ordering, after ordering, one of them told Helena to empty the registers. Another one held open a fucking pillow case. Fucking idiots."

Drew stood and paced. "Do you know what another job at the Shack was? Every hour, take the receipts and lock them in the office, leaving just enough change in the drawer in case somebody used cash. So, no cash up front. When Helena opened the two cash registers and all they saw was a handful of bills, they opened fire. Not only on the restaurant staff, but on the handful of stragglers eating a late lunch. I heard the shots, I heard the shouts and screams and you know what I did?" He looked directly at Jared. "I hit the floor and hid behind boxes of potato skins and corn on the cob."

Jensen, Liz, Mindy and Brett kept their eyes on Drew, giving him their strong, silent support. Jared, however, hid his head in his hands.

"Four dead. Five wounded. One unscathed-me," Drew said. "And because I was so well-hidden, I never saw them. I only saw the footage after, so I couldn't even testify against them."

After a few brisk steps, Drew sat.

The room was quiet which was why Jensen heard it when Jared whispered, "Six."

Drew looked puzzled. "Six what?"

"No one was left unscathed. There were four dead, and six wounded." Jared's eyes were red. They suddenly opened wide in dismay. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry." Jared shot to his feet, apparently ready to run. "I should go."

Drew stopped him. "Don't go. Not because of what you said. Go if you want to, but not because of that."

"Jared, that's why we're here." Jensen tried to catch Jared's eye. "Not only to tell our stories, but to hear what happened to others as well. To know we're not alone. We don't know why you're here or what happened to you, but what you heard Drew tell us, that's why he's here, and we're here for him. Like we're here for you."

Drew spoke gently, "We talk, we listen, we remember and we live with what happened as best we can. Nothing is going to change the past, but having people around who understand, who truly understand, well, I found that it helps."

"That's the best I hope for," Liz said, quietly. "Not for the pain to go away, but for someone to know what that pain feels like."

"It hurts, but it helps," Drew agreed.

"Whatever happened, whether you ever want to tell us or not, we're here, and we've been there," Brett said. "We really have."

"The topics we discuss are just an excuse for us to get together." Liz looked pointedly at Jensen. "You didn't think we didn't know that, did you?"

"I don't know," Jensen said, with a small smile. "I liked the discussion we had with your last topic about birthdays and anniversaries."

She caught her breath. "Because of the birthday cake?"

"Yeah, if it even was a birthday cake, and other things like the marking of time." Jensen shifted forward and stood. He hiked his hip forward to lock the knee. Now he could stand without the crutch. "I think talking helps. Being together helps. Sometimes I think it's the only thing that does. Drew nailed it: it hurts but it helps."

"It doesn't fix it," Mindy added. "But, it's not supposed to."

"You want to hear something fucked up?" Drew asked. "I don't think I want the pain to go away. Not entirely. If it does, it means I'm off the hook."

"You can't atone forever because you survived," Jensen said. "You can't keep hating yourself because you're here."

"That's easy for you to say," Drew said, gently. "You atone for the sin of your survival every day." He handed Jensen his crutch.

Jensen choked back a reply when he saw that every eye of the little group was zeroed in on him, his locked knee and his forearm crutch.

He sighed, unlocked the brace again and slowly sat. "Maybe."

"And maybe that's enough for tonight, hey?" Brett asked. "Before Jared runs away screaming, never to return."

The mood lightened a little after that. Jensen was used to the topics becoming so heavy that the air had to forcibly be pushed into and out of his lungs. But Brett was right. Jared was new at this and Jensen wasn't sure Jared knew how to handle it.

Jensen glanced at Jared whose eyes were glued to Jensen.

"I don't-I'm not sure about this," Jared stuttered.

"It's okay, Jared." Jensen said. "It's up to you."

"I hope you do come back," Mindy reached over to touch his arm. "I still have all my deep thoughts to express."

"Actually, I come for the cookies." Brett bumped her shoulder playfully. "As well as the company."

Mindy smiled and blushed.

"Okay," Jensen said. "We'll call it a night. Jared, would you mind staying for a couple of minutes?"

"Yeah, you can help Jensen clean up," Liz said. "Hey, has anybody heard from Lorraine?"

"Oh, I have." Mindy reached for her sweater. "She'll be back from the Middle East in a couple of months."

Brett handed Mindy her bag saying, "She does lot of flying. Gotta hand it to her."

Jared blanched and looked away.

Drew said to Jared, "See you in two weeks?"

"Maybe. Probably."

After the others said their good-byes, Jensen said to Jared, "Thanks for staying, I won't keep you long, I promise."

"I don't have anywhere I need to be so it's all right."

"If you could push the chairs in and roll mine over to the desk there, I'll rinse out the coffee pot." He left his crutch on the floor and slowly lumbered over to the sink carrying his coffee cup.

"I know that first meetings are sometimes overwhelming. Liz left after the first two minutes and didn't come back for a month. You did well tonight."

"I didn't do anything."

"You came and you stayed. That took guts."

"I don't know how much longer I would have stayed if you hadn't cut it short." Jared looked up. "I hope I didn't ruin it for them."

"Of course you didn't." Jensen said, as he rinsed out the coffee cup and pot. "You know, Jared, I meant it when I said that you never have to say a word if you don't want to. Nobody will push or pry, and you won't have to lead a topic if you don't want."

Jared asked, "How did you know I'd be here tonight?"

"I didn't. Not really."

"But you knew I might. I didn't specify in my email when I wanted to come."

"Yes, I knew someone could show up tonight because there are a couple of psychologists and psychiatrists that refer this group specifically to their patients. When they do, they give me a heads-up."

Jared spun around, eyes wild.

"Don't worry, I don't know a thing about you-not even your last name-only that Dr. Morgan hoped you would come." Jensen put his hands up in a calming gesture. "Whatever you want us to know, you'll tell us. I promise I won't dig for it."

Jared remained silent, but his breathing slowed.

"In the meantime," Jensen continued. "I'd like your phone number in case I need to cancel and I'm giving you my number in case you need to talk. Feel free not to use it." Jensen held out his phone.

Jared hesitated while Jensen waited calmly.

Jared sighed and traded phones with Jensen.

"Does it get better?" Jared asked, softly.

"Not all better, never all better, but better." Jensen took his phone back. "See you in two weeks?"

"Yes, okay. Do you, uh, do you need a ride home or anything?"

"No, I'm good. Thank you, though."

Jared eyed Jensen's braced leg and colorful crutch. "Does it hurt?"

"Sometimes, but even this is better." Jensen shifted his weight to his left leg. "Not all better," he forced a smile. "But better."

"Thanks, Jensen. Goodnight."

"Good night, Jared."



Jared didn't know how he felt about the meeting. On the one hand, Brett's suggestion of running away screaming and never coming back sounded great. On the other hand, Jared thought that maybe these people did understand, and could possibly suggest how he could get through the rest of his life. He particularly liked Jensen's honest response that things get better, but not all better. He didn't know if it would be worse to feel like this the rest of his life or to feel nothing.

His phone buzzed, as it was still on vibrate, and he half expected to see Jensen's number on the caller ID. It was not.

"Hey, dude, you home yet?"

"Yes, Chad, I'm home."

"How'd it go? You good?"

"I can't talk about it."

"You can talk to me."

"No, I really can't. One of the rules is that we don't talk about things outside of the group."

"Sounds like an AA meeting." Chad crunched something. "Or Narcoleptics Anonymous or something."

"I don't know what an AA meeting is like, and I don't know what Narcoleptics Anonymous is at all, but tonight didn't seem like a twelve step program to a grief-free life." Jared wiped his eyes that seemed perpetually wet for the past ten months.

"I know, man, I'm sorry," Chad said. "I am sorry."

"Stop saying that. Just stop it."

"Jare, you're so sad all the time."

"Don't feel sorry for me. Don't you dare. I'm here and she's not. Feel sorry for her. For her family. For the future she'll never have." Jared knew his reaction was irrational and wrong, but he couldn't stop himself. And that was one of the problems.

"Yes, I do feel sorry for her, but I didn't know her, I know you. You're my friend and I'm sorry you're hurting and you can try to push me away, try to make me forget about you, try to get me to stop caring but it's a no go, man. So, suck it up and realize that I'm your friend and I care. Did you eat today?"

"Chad, man, stop."

"Did you eat?"

"Yes."

"Are you going to another meeting?"

"In two weeks."

"I'll be around, want me to take you? Want me to come with you?"

"No and no." Jared sighed.

"Want me to come over now?"

"No, I'm okay, Chad, I'm okay." Jared breathed in and out. His mind flashed on Brett and Drew, Mindy and Liz and on Jensen and how awful it was that these seemingly nice people had bad things happen to them.

"Jared?"

"You know, I think maybe…"

"Think what? Maybe what?"

"I know it's only one meeting, but I think this group is a good idea."

"Something has to help, man. You can't keep dying every day, every day, every day."

"Shut up, Chad," Jared croaked. "Please."

"I'll stop." Chad swallowed something. "But only for now. It's because I love, that you hate."

"I don't hate. I'm-I don't hate."

"But you're miserable." Chad softened his voice. "I know your life isn't the same, you're not the same, but I'll still rag on your ass and drag you around with me even though you cramp my style."

"Gotta go, Chad."

"No you don't, but it's okay. Hey, Jare?"

"What?"

"I do know that things are different now, but I'm not. I will, you know, always be the same."

Jared blinked back sudden tears. "I know, Chad. Thanks."

"You know it. Smell you later." And the phone clicked off.



Jensen exited the cab and entered Benny's Tavern. Jensen could drive, but he'd rather drink. Friday night and everyone was out, glad that the weather was warming up.

"Over here, Jensen." A handsome, dark-haired man with a neatly trimmed salt and pepper beard stood up by a table in the back.

Jensen raised his hand in greeting as he single-crutched his way through the bar.

Setting it aside, Jensen took off his lightweight jacket and draped it over the chair before going through the process of sitting.

"Hey, JD," Jensen greeted. "You getting me one of those?" He pointed to the nearly empty glass of pale ale sweating in Jeff Morgan's hand.

"Thought you were a Guinness man, Ackles."

"I'm both, especially if you're buying."

A waitress appeared and set a plate of onion rings on the table. "What can I get you?"

"I'll have a black and tan, please." Jensen happily dipped an onion ring into the Ranch dressing.

Jeff emptied his glass and raised it to the waitress. "A black and tan for my friend, and another one of these for me."

She was back shortly and they both clinked glasses and sipped. Jensen wiped his lips with the back of his hand. "How's it going, Jeff? I'm glad you asked me out tonight, I need a little unwind time."

"Hard day?"

"No harder than usual."

"My door is always open, and you know my office takes your insurance."

Jensen laughed. "Don't I know it." He plucked another onion ring off the plate and popped it in his mouth.

"How's the group?" JD asked.

"Good. Getting new members all the time." Jensen raised his glass and took a long swallow.

Jeff looked visibly relieved and Jensen knew why, even though they couldn't discuss it directly.

"How's the shrink business?" Jensen asked.

"Psychology is a valuable and worthy occupation even if it takes an act of God to get some insurance companies to part with a buck."

"Good thing you've got a rich wife, then." Jensen licked his fingers and grinned.

"Very true. The Lexus doesn't pay for its own oil changes, you know."

"I know," Jensen replied, thoughtfully. "Hey, maybe someone should tell that to the insurance companies. Doctor Morgan needs the allowables raised in order to service his luxury vehicle."

"Good idea," Morgan laughed. "The insurance guys with their Acuras and BMWs might actually take pity on me."

The two friends ate greasy dinners, drank a little too much-but only a little-and talked about ball clubs, vacation plans and European politics. After a while, Jensen looked at his watch and reached for his wallet. "I'm not as young as I used to be. Better be getting home and into a hot shower." As he stretched both arms high, his phone vibrated in his front pocket, signaling that a text had come in. Jared's name was on the caller ID.

I may not say much. I may never know how, but thank you. I've been thinking a lot about the group and I will be there next time.

"Everything okay, Jensen?" Jeff asked.

Jensen held up his index finger in the universal "wait a minute".

You're welcome. Any time, Jared. See you then. Jensen texted back.

"Everything's fine, JD. Hey, let's plan on watching some major sporting event at your house with your surround sound, hot popcorn, cold beer, and your wife's famous spinach and crab dip." He stood and readied himself to walk.

Jeff threw some bills beside the ones Jensen left and pulled out his keys.

"You're on. You're also in luck, my paycheck came in and the aforementioned Lexus is all gassed up. I'll drive you home, you're on the way."

"You're full of shit. I'm nowhere near on the way," Jensen smirked. "But I'll take the ride."

Jeff's gray Lexus sat faithfully at the curb a block away. Gassed up and ready, Jeff drove Jensen home.

~~~~

"Okay, everybody, this is the first Monday of the month, and I'd like to make us official."

Jensen sat in his usual rolling office chair in the center of the semi-circle. He was pleased that Jared arrived a little before seven.

"I'm glad you're here tonight, Jared. We meet every other Monday and last month had three Mondays. You hit us on the third. Every first Monday of the month meeting we reaffirm why we're here and the reason for our group."

"Like a mission statement," Mindy supplied.

"Yes, sort of." Jensen smiled at her. "So, I'm calling to order the First Monday Meeting of the Soul Survivors Support Group. We were ordinary people until we became part of a tragedy. We feel guilty for living when others have died. We come together because unless you've been through what we've been through, you can't understand what it's like to be us. We are the survivors."

Jensen looked around. "Does anyone have anything to add?"

"I come here because I'm tired of people telling me to cheer up and feel grateful that it wasn't me," Mindy said.

"I come here because y'all don’t tell me to cheer up and be happy." Brett blinked twice. "I guess that's kinda the same thing."

"No one has the smallest hint of what my life feels like. No one but you," Liz said, somberly. "No one but us."

"I'm alone out there." Drew took a breath. "In here, I'm not so alone."

"Yes," Jensen said. "In here, we can be alone together, and it helps. It helps me."

He gently asked Jared, "Do you want to tell us why you're here?"

Jared took a deep shuddering breath. "I'm lost and I'm sad all the time. I used to be so happy. The survivor's guilt hits me so hard sometimes I can't breathe." Jared looked at Mindy. "You're right, people keep telling me to cheer up and get over it." He looked at Drew, "And when I'm not feeling unhappy, I feel alone." Jared ran his hand through his hair. "Those are the only two things I feel and nobody cares anymore."

"Anymore?" Jensen asked.

"When it first happened, everyone said, Thank God it wasn't you and, I'm so glad you're here. Everyone telling me how lucky I was, how close I came, how much I meant to them. They cared until they realized that I was broken by the…the…it, and now they don't know what to do with me. I don't know what to do with me."

"It could be that they don't know how to talk to you-what to say to you. I'm sure they still care," Liz said. "Maybe you could tell them?"

"You're not broken," Brett said. "None of us are broken," he looked directly at Jensen. "We were beaten down by what happened and may never be the same, but we are here and we're fightin' and we're tryin'."

Brett made a small turn in his chair and said, "I haven't told my story for a while, if it's okay with the rest of you, I'd like to."

Jensen looked all around. "To be clear," he said, kindly, "we all grieve in our own ways and are not here to judge or be judged on how we make it through the day." Jensen addressed Jared. "If you don't want to listen to Brett's story, you don't have to. Feel free to get some coffee or take a short walk."

"I want to hear it." Jared's voice shook.

"Okay," Jensen said. "Go ahead, Brett."

Brett took a moment before starting. "I'm ex-military. When I served in the Army, I was deployed to Fallujah. Charlie Company, 3rd Brigade Combat Team, 82nd Airborne Division, yes sir, best group of guys there was." Pride shone in Brett's eyes as he chuckled to himself. "We fought hard, and we played hard and none of us could carry a tune to save our lives. Karaoke nights were a living hell. My Company ended up serving side by side with the troops from the 101st Airborne."

"Y'all don't need to know all this 'cept, when my last deployment was over, I opted not to reenlist but stayed on in Iraq and accepted a job as a civilian, working for a private military contractor. Early on, it was plenty dangerous for the civilian contractors in Fallujah and the surrounding areas. Lots of 'em got ambushed, killed, kidnapped or worse. So the military took to escorting the contractors in convoys. Things got much, much safer after that. That's the reason I was on a truck in the desert that day. I knew that our escort, troops from 101st Airborne, those were the guys I fought next to, guys I knew, would keep us safe."

Brett's knee started bouncing. "You all know what an IED is, yeah? An improvised explosive device is a fancy word for booby trap. A mean fucker of a homemade bomb made with military ordnance or packed with rocks or nails or ball bearings or anything that could tear you up. They were vicious motherfuckers. The road we were on was lousy with them. Our truck's right front tire hit one of 'em. The tire was blown out, the radiator gutted and the windshield got shattered. After the smoke cleared and we realized that the truck was disabled, a small band of terrorists lined up on the horizon. With the sun glaring in our eyes, they fired down at us blowing the whole military escort unit away. Terrorists didn't know the 8th Cavalry was on our six. Them boys came to our rescue and took 'em all down."

"Not one of us contractors was lost. But all the boys from the 101st and one boy from the 8th didn't make it home. Those boys died to save my sorry ass so I could complete a fucking business deal. And those troops from the 101st? I fought alongside them the first time. I hid behind them the second time. They died. Every last one of 'em.

"I tried seeing a military shrink for the guilt, but that didn't work. I tried going to a group specializing in PTSD, but it's not post-traumatic stress, it's survivor's guilt. The docs say it's the same thing, but it ain't. Not to me, 'cause when I tell them I feel like I should be dead, not one of them groups or one of them doctors agreed with me.

"They told me it wasn't my fault, it was the troops' job to protect and to serve, it was this, it was that, and aren't you fucking lucky you didn't get killed and that they didn't die for nothing? Yeah? Well, tell their families that every Thanksgiving."

Brett stilled. "You guys never tell me ain't it grand they died so heroically. You never tell me that those soldiers knew what they were signing up for. You never tell me I shouldn't feel like I should be dead 'cause everybody in this room feels that way. That’s why I'm here every other Monday."

Mindy put her hand on Brett's knee and patted him gently.

Jensen cleared his throat. "Does anyone have anything they want to say?" He looked at Jared.

"I don't belong here." Jared stood, looking at the door. "I have no right to be here."

"What? Jared?" Jensen lurched to his feet, only to drop back down in the process. "Please stay, it's okay."

"You," Jared pointed to Brett. "You were fired upon by terrorists. And you," he pointed to Drew, "your place was being held up at gunpoint. I don't belong here." He grabbed his hoodie.

Jensen tried again to stumble after him but fell back hard into his chair because he couldn't lock the brace in time. "Jared, wait."

Mindy rushed over and stood blocking the exit. "Stop, just wait."

"Please," Jared's eyes were wet. "I've got to go."

Mindy said in a rush, "I smoked all my life, gave myself lung cancer, even though I knew the risks. I beat the odds but all the cancer victims in my cancer support group died."

Jared was panting wetly. "What? Oh, no, Mindy."

"Yes, I had a cancer I could have prevented while my support group-mates died of breast cancer, pancreatic cancer and liver cancer. I am the sole survivor of my group. The lung cancer was my doing. I was guilty because I made the stupid choice to smoke and yet, somehow, I lived. They were innocent and, through no fault of their own, those good people died."

Jared's shaky hand landed on the door frame.

"Mindy, I don't know what to say." Jared looked like he did the first time he arrived. Feet bolted to the floor, yet ready to take off.

Mindy turned to Liz and cocked her head.

Liz walked up to Jared. "I don't know what happened in your case, Jared. But in all the cases in this room," she looked from face to face. "In all the cases, lots of people died...except mine. In my case, only one girl died. No guns, no lingering illness, just one stupid night of trying something "everybody did" and one accidental overdose. She was my identical twin sister, Lindy. And I am so alone, so torn from the one person that was my true other half, that I can barely stand to wake up in the morning. But I come here because whether it's one person, a support group, a platoon, or your co-workers, no one's grief holds more weight than another's. That's why we're here. Not to compare who has lost more, or who has more reasons to feel guilty at being left behind. Our grief is our own. I work every day trying not to join my sister. And it helps coming here. It doesn't make the pain go away, but it helps to know that we, here in this room, all know. Please, Jared. Give us a chance."

The room was silent with only the muted street noises wafting into the room.

"I killed a girl," Jared whispered. He appeared mesmerized by the speckled linoleum tiles.

Jensen and his group knew to wait for the rest, because didn't they all feel like they'd killed someone?

"There was one seat left and it was mine. The ticket agent knew that seat belonged to me. But Robbie was cute and sweet and sparkly and wanted to go home so badly. She flirted with me even though…" Jared's eyes drifted to Jensen's rainbow crutch and then back to the floor. "She was going to buy me lunch on the River Walk."

"What happened?" Jensen hoped his question, and his current immobility, would draw Jared back into the room.

Jared finally looked up. "Flight 818 collided with a flock of geese. When the pilot lost control and the jet fell out of the sky, they estimated it was traveling at least 180 miles per hour. Nobody survived." Jared pulled away from the door and rejoined the circle.

"Less than a half an hour after I met her, Robbie Summer had seat-belted herself into my place on that plane and died in a fiery crash along with one hundred and sixty one other people, and I can't help but think that it should have been me."

Almost imperceptibly, each group member huddled closer to one another.

"None of us are going to tell you that you shouldn't feel that way." Jensen said.

"Good." Jared's voice was calm, as he sat and leaned back into the metal fold up chair.

"What I might tell you, though," Drew said. "Is that I don't blame you for Robbie's death even if you blame you."

Jared shook his head. No.

"I want a show of hands," Jensen said. "How many of us feel that what we did, or what we didn't do, ended up causing someone's death."

Drew's hand went up first, and then one by one all hands in the circle were raised until Jensen was the only one with his hands still in his lap. Slowly, he raised them both high and said, "And no one here better tell me otherwise."

He dropped his hands and leaned forward, "But, while I feel my sins every day, and I know they are mine, I also know, deep down on a primal level, that I was not to blame." Jensen kept his voice steady. "The brakes failed. I didn't do that."

He shook his head to clear it. "We all know that the things that happened, happened around us, not because of us. We just, I don't know, got out of the way in time."

Brett muttered, "But our intellectual brains and our emotional hearts don't agree. I can't believe they ever will."

"Maybe they won't," Liz said, "but it helps to know it. Sometimes," she wiped her eyes, "I even let myself believe it. But, God, I wish I’d been there. I was invited to that party. I believe, in my heart, that if I’d been there, Lindy would be alive today."

"Twins are still two people, darlin'," Brett interrupted, gently. "Two separate minded people. Unless you're physically joined together, and I ain't being sarcastic, then one is going to be apart from the other. That's the normal way to be."

Liz dropped her head and wiped her eyes again.

"And if I never smoked, never got cancer, those same people still would have. I know that. I know Jensen said it happened around me, but it happened around me, and now I'm the only one left. I feel responsible for them." Mindy looked up apologetically at Jared. "We're a mess."

"No, we're not," Brett said, quickly. "We're not. It's just so damn hard."

"When I let myself off the hook," Drew interjected, "when I explain to myself that I didn't make up the schedule for that day, I have a whole different kind of guilt."

"Who'd have thought there'd be so many ways of feeling like shit?" Brett asked.

"I accept how you all feel," Jensen's voice was intense, "how we all feel, but I am going to tell you that it's okay to face this truth every now and then. The truth that we weren't responsible. We are so used to feeling one way, that the hell you know-the guilt of surviving-is at least, familiar. The guilt of letting go of the guilt seems like the bottom rung of a very tall ladder."

"Haven't we been climbing rung after rung, ladder after ladder, just trying to keep our heads above water?" Liz asked. "How much more climbing can we do? And what's above the surface? Is it even worth it?"

"It's worth it, Liz," Jensen said, earnestly. "It is worth it, and that's why we keep going. We go up and up until breathing gets easier and if we're lucky, we get a peek at the sun. We'll slide down sometimes, but get back up because there's hope above us. Enjoying the colors of fall leaves, the sound of rain hitting the roof, a salty, warm breeze, it's all there, but out of grasp right now. Dear God, I want those back and that's what keeps me climbing. Otherwise, you're right, why are we here?"

"I guess if you can climb, I can climb with you," Liz said.

Jensen threaded his arm into the cuff of his crutch and stood up. "I am ready to try again and again."

"We'll be here if you fall," Mindy said.

"I know." Jensen raised a hand. "Except that you won't, because you'll all be coming up with me."

~~


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On to Chapter Two

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