Tile: Everything is Broken

Rating: Teen

Summary: A young woman has been brutally murdered in a psychiatric hospital and their only witness isn't talking. Sam and Dean need help. Is there someone inside who can help them?

AN: Told through the victim's POV. I only own the OCs

Part 1

Amy Roche was always a shy girl. She was an only child and her parents were only children, which made birthdays a quiet affair and Christmas quieter still. At school she kept to herself. It wasn't like she never made any friends. She did make them easily but while moving from kindergarten to high school to college, they were lost and forgotten.

On the night of her twenty first, her two best friends decided to change that fact though. They untied her long blonde hair, painted red on her lips and took her to a nightclub. She stood in the corner for hours as her girlfriends danced on the floor in front of her. She felt awkward and out of place. This so wasn't her scene. She looked down at what she was wearing. They had put her in a short red dress which didn't have pockets. She didn't even know what to do with her hands. When a banging tune changed into a thumping tune, she took it as her cue to leave. As her friends turned their faces away from her, she grabbed her leather jacket and slipped out the front door.

The streets were empty and dark. Any other girl would be frightened but Amy found the silence comforting. She found a small dark pub and sat up at the bar. She ordered a hot whiskey and saluted herself when it arrived. 'Another birthday', she whispered to herself.

Two mouthfuls into her drink and the front door swung open allowing a cold wind to wrap around her once again. A heavy rain had begun. She could tell this because the stranger shook himself off when he stepped inside. She looked over as he brushed the excess water from his hair. He sat down at the bar, five stools away from her and ordered a brandy. He shot it back and ordered a second. She noticed his nails were cut short and had dirt under them which would normally indicate a hard working man but his hands weren't worn enough. There was a scar on his right hand between his thumb and his index finger where skin got caught in a gun clip. It was an old scar, hardly visible, which meant it probably only happened the once. Maybe the first time his dad showed him how to use a gun. "You're too pretty to be in a place like this." His voice broke her concentration and she blushed when she suddenly realised he was looking at her. "It's my birthday," she informed him. He saluted her with a smile. "Still... shouldn't you be out celebrating?" Amy looked behind her and saw two old men staring into their pints. One was married and one wasn't. One wasn't ready to go home and the other didn't want to. "Naw," she looked back at her drink and wrapped her cold fingers around it. "It's not really my scene."

Thirty minutes passed and she was now enjoying her third whiskey, one of which he had bought for her. "So, what kind of hunter are you?" she asked. He slowly lowered his brandy and asked why she would think that. "Because of how your jacket is hanging," she began. "It's to the left which means you're carrying something heavy. You're right handed so it has to be something important. It's heavier than a flask but not as heavy as a bottle. It can't be alcohol otherwise why would you be in here paying for it. It could be a revolver or a small caliber of some kind. You've just killed something. You've got blood droplets on your collar. You've also just buried it which is why you have dirt under your nails."

He looked at his hands. They were covered in muck. She apologised. "I don't usually drink." The stranger picked up his glass and carried it with him over to the stool next to her. "Don't apologise," he elbowed her. "That's impressive but aren't you worried I might have killed someone?" She shook her head. "Your breathing isn't correct." He watched her in wonder as she explained her conclusion. "When your body fills with adrenaline, your heart rate increases. If you killed a person, your breathing would be short and erratic with fear. Yours, on the other hand, is fast and excited like you enjoyed the kill which I assume was an animal." Her head fell to the side. "On the other hand, you could have just killed someone you really hated... but then why would you bury them?" She smiled when she looked back up at him. Normally, she wouldn't have been allowed to talk this much to a stranger. Normally, people, especially men, would run away when she would start to over analyse a situation. But she could tell he was different. She could tell he was like her. He also lived a life of loneliness with one exception, he wasn't shy.

That was ten years ago. A lot can change in ten years. She had definitely changed.

She stepped into the line behind the old woman. Women were queued up on one side of the hall and men were on the other. Amy looked down the yellow stained dress of the woman. She hadn't reached the toilet in time again and a pool of water was now forming at her feet. Amy sighed and looked at the man standing to her right. She didn't dare look a second time. The first time scared her enough. He was tall, dark and not handsome. His eyes were empty and piercing and he was mouthing something silently at her. "Miss Roche," a woman yelled for the second time putting some courage into Amy's soul. She jumped over the pool and up to the wire protected window. The nurse handed her a small plastic cup of water and two pills. Amy swallowed them both in front of her and washed them down with the water. The blue pill helped keep everyone quiet while the red helped everyone sleep. Amy never used to take any of these pills but after a while she found it easier just to give in.

The red pill always took longer to work so they were allowed into the break room to watch television. The patients followed each other into the room and sat down in an orderly fashion. Amy noticed the silently speaking man again and closed her eyes to get away from reality. She took a deep breath in and thought about that night. She remembered his smell. She could feel his soft lips on her skin and taste his moist skin on her lips. It had been ten years so she couldn't remember everything but when she needed him, he was there.

He was her first kiss and her first love. A hunter named Dean.

AN: So, what you think? It's going to be a short fic. Think i'll just have two more parts, then that's it!