Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. Wish I did, but life isn't fair apparently. The Rolling Stones get credit for the title.
Summary: Dean's seeing a psychiatrist. There is no story behind why he is there or what he did. The psychiatrist has asked him to write down what he thinks brought about his personality. What he thinks made him who he is. It's just Dean writing about his life, his perception of it. Will be more than one chapter, but there wont really be a grand solution. It's all just observation. Enjoy and review please :)
First Self-Analysis
It's hard to pinpoint when exactly I stopped giving a damn, or what it was that caused it. Can't say it was my mom dying. That would be too easy and besides I definitely cared about what was happening to me. I was a kid so I guess that's to be expected. You know, it's not that I don't care about myself at all; just that if it means getting the job done and saving lives, what happens to me isn't that much of an issue. I don't want to die, but I don't want to live in fear either.
I'm Dean Winchester by the way. You don't know me, nor is it very likely you ever will, but I guess I can tell you some things. First off, there is evil shit out there. The world I mean; there is evil shit in the world. I don't mean serial killers and dictators, I mean honest to goodness evil spirits and demons. There are creatures that exist beyond the laws of physics and nature. Seriously, I'm not kidding. I'm not a psycho. Did you know there is a creature called a changeling that takes the place of a child and then sucks on fluid from the child's mother, while the head-honcho of changelings feeds off of the abducted children? Yep. Only thing that can kill 'em is fire. My brother and I could write a book off of what we know and make millions. We would probably even save lives in the process. But that's not really an option since a) writing a book takes time that we don't have and b) I'm a wanted felon so to me publicity equals jail time. I didn't actually do it if that's any sort of consolation. Anyway, so me and my brother grew up on the road. Our dad raised us the best he could. A retired, grief stricken, obsessive Marine doesn't exactly meet the model standards for a single-parent. Wait, is there even a model standard for single parents? I say grief-stricken because that's what he was after our mom was killed by a demon. Mmmhhhmmm. I'll let that sink in a moment. I did say demon. Like I was saying, Dad did his best but we still came out a bit screwed up. I learned how to shoot when I was six, and apparently had a natural talent because I bulls-eyed every shot. Dad was so proud. Our life consisted of crappy motel room after crappy motel room. In between jobs we would hunker down for a few months and Dad would sign us up for school. Three campuses a year and intermittent homeschooling didn't make for an A social life.
I just thought of something. I may have lost it when I was 13. Get your mind out of the gutter, I meant my mind. We were in Kentucky, a very bum-fuck Egypt town. Apparently there was an evil spirit haunting this town. Don't remember what the place was called. So Dad thought it was only the historical places that were haunted. Well we were having dinner in this diner that boasted 10 years of business so Dad assumed it wasn't historical land. Wrong. The foundations were over 100 years old. Long story short, this ghost came after my Dad and I yanked out a rifle filled with rock-salt and blasted him. It was a stupid move since I put myself in danger (Caspar had friends) but it gave Dad a chance to pull away so we could get the hell out of dodge, well the diner. Dad ripped me a new one for not obeying his order and staying put inside the circle. He had a habit of strewing salt circles everywhere, even in diners. Tended to piss off the waitresses when they caught him. But Sam and I were so young so he just wanted to keep us safe. It stopped when we got older. I was thinking that maybe since I completely disregarded my own safety I caused something in my brain to flicker and say "well this is how it's gonna be from now on" I didn't have time to be afraid.
That's enough psychoanalysis for one day. I'm only doing this so you don't say I'm all Lisa Rowe and shit. Wait, you can't hold any of this against me can you? Dr/patient confidentiality right?