Author note: This is my first fanfic story and I'm so sorry if its completely horrible. If it is, though, could you please tell me? Seriously, you can leave a review and explain how much I suck. That would be completely fine with me. Also, my story has a seriously messed-up-in-the-head character. Youre warned. Uhm, what else? Warnings? Yeah, there's cursing, self harm, self destruction, anger, mental illness in general, and other stuff. It'll get more intesnse and the story goes on, provided that I actually finish the story. Okay, you can read now. After a disclaimer.

Disclaimer: Obviously, I do not own Supernatural. Duh. Okay, moving on.

Everything is so loud. It's so bright and it's so loud and everything moves too much. I know that I wasn't always like this. There must be something wrong with me. Maybe I have a concussion? I mean, I did hit my head on the wall pretty hard when the fucking ghost threw me. Ugh. Ghosts. How did it even get the drop on me? I've been hunting for two years now, ghosts shouldn't be an issue for me anymore, right? Bobby always told me that ghosts were "starter monsters". Ugh. I suck. And anyways, concussions involve emesis and my stomachs been fine. I barely even got a bruise when it happened. You know you're just fucked up. That's how depression works, dumbass.

Depression sucks.

Yep.

Depression hurts. Cymbalta can help.

Oh, my god. Commercials? That's what I'm thinking about right now? Fuuuuuuuccccck.

I was thinking instead of sleeping again. Of course. But how the hell was I supposed to sleep, anyway? I had twenty dollars left total, which would be enough to get some gas, but not nearly enough for a motel, no matter how shitty the motel was. So, here I was, laying in my car, in a motel parking lot, trying to sleep. But there were lights and traffic and a couple gross and dangerous stuff doubtlessly happening inside the aforementioned motel. So, yeah. Sleep was being difficult.

Tomorrow, I was due to get paid. I know that some hunters run credit card scams or steal, or even ask for money from the people they save. Psh. I couldn't do that. How do people even do that? I mean that question in the most technical way. How? I never could figure it out. So, instead, I worked. I did medical transcribing over the Internet and some ghostwriting on the side. I used to sell art too. A long, long time ago. Paintings, poetry, things like that. I honestly didn't remember how I ever managed that either. But clearly, this wasn't working too well. I'd have to get another job, I knew. Maybe as an at-home (aka on-the-road) call center worker? I didn't know the technical term.

There was a case up in Maine that I was going to work on, after I got paid. Some people found with their eyes burned out of their sockets. Sounded like somebody was smiting demons, but hey, hunters generally clean up after themselves. If somebody was being sloppy, I wanted to know who, what and why. In this world, if you didn't stay informed, you die. But if you stayed too close to the goings-on, well, same result. So my motto was always, "get aware, then get out of there." Good motto, no?

Next stop, Maine. But first, sleep.

I fell asleep eventually, way too exhausted to function. Drifting off was always hard at first, especially lately. But sleep was my best friend once it came. It carried me off. I didn't know if sleep carries people up or brings them down. But I did know that it took me away. Away from wherever I was, no matter where. Like temporary death.

(Author note. Yes, again. : This sucks. It'll get better soon, I promise. Dean and Sam will be here and my character will stop whining and there will be dialogue and it'll all make sense. Okay? And I don't have a beta, but I'll proofread the next chapters wayy better than I did this one. I just needed to get this out there. I spent 20 minutes just trying to figure out how to publish this damn thing.)