Before I can tell you the circumstances under which I met Dean, I first have to tell you a bit about myself. For the first 15 years of my life, I was a very apathetic person. My whole family, with the exception of my brother Gabe and my cousin Anna, told me that emotions-any at all- were hindering and unneeded. For the longest time, I believed them, and I was as unfeeling as the rest of them. About halfway through my 9th grade year, that changed.

I started to feel. Not very many things, at first, and not often or strongly, but already I was different from the rest of my family. I felt doubt when they told me to be cold and emotionless. I felt sadness when I saw people suffering. I felt loneliness when I started to become ostracized from my family. And it was too much. I couldn't deal with it, not alone.

I'm sure some of you don't want to hear this, but I promised to tell the truth. When I started to feel emotion...I'd scope out something sharp- a razor, a knife, sometimes even scissors- and I'd, well, cut myself. Anywhere, with anything, I didn't care. I just needed to feel some physical pain so I could drown out the emotional pain. Just for the record, I'm clean, and yes, I know now it was bad for me. But I was young-I still am- and I was scared, and I was dumb. So, yes, I purposely hurt myself.

Nobody noticed for the first few weeks. Not even Gabe. They never really paid attention to me, except when they were angry with me. One weekend, though, Anna was over for a visit- a rare but not entirely pleasant experience, though I was more fond of her than the rest of my family. She was never the best at remembering to knock, so when she came into my room one day to look for her coat, she interrupted me in the middle of... the obvious.

Now, I may not be Anna's #1 fan, and she's not mine, but we care about each other. So, of course, she stopped me. It took a bit of a fight, but eventually she had ripped the razor out of my fingers and was bandaging up the various cuts that lined the inside of my left arm. She looked angry, as always, but I could tell she was scared for me. I was silent.

After much pleading with my father, Anna was eventually allowed to let me stay with her, outside of what the said was a "hostile environment". Again, I was silent. I didn't care where O was. I just wanted to escape my feelings. Though, she had a point. It was hostile. Without letting myself admit it, I was glad to get a breath of fresh air, no matter how short.

Anna told me I would be in partial hospitalization for a while while I stayed with her. I didn't object. And that, I suppose, was the best decision I've ever made. Of course, it wasn't great in itself, but the person it led me to, I valued above anything. Still value, really, and always will.

It was nice at Anna's. It's right outside the busier part of Lawrence, so it's quiet but not isolated, and she always leaves the heating on high because I like the warmth. It's a tiny, one-story house, with only a few rooms- kitchen, living room, two bedrooms, and a bathroom- but that's enough for me. The outside is painted cornflower blue, and there's a garden with flowers and rocks in the front yard. In all, it's preferable to my real home.

Anna is 28, so she lives alone and didn't have to explain my presence to anybody. It was hard enough getting permission from my father, and I'd imagine whomever she'd live with wouldn't be thrilled to have me. By the time we got to her house, it was late in the day, so she gave me some blankets and told me to get some rest. She told me, too, that I'd be going to the hospital in the morning. I tried not to worry, and failed. After little sleep, I gave up trying at around 6:00 A.M.- 3 hours early- and got ready.

The hospital was close, so it took only a few minutes for Anna to drive me. I was nervous all the way. The hospital seemed nice enough, though- smiling staff, nobody sobbing- so I let my guard down a bit. Even so, as I made my way up to the main room the program was held in, I was astonished by how much nicer than expected it was. Mid-morning sunlight shone through a large window, and the seats lining the outside of the room were warm and cushioned.

There was only one person in the room when I arrived. He was tall, but still appeared younger than me. I had an amulet hanging from from around his neck, and he was clad in multiple layers of plaid flannel and a large, brown, leather jacket. He looked up at me and I stopped for a moment, panicking. Then he smiled at me, somewhat somberly, though friendly all the same. I won't forget that, ever.

"Name's Dean," he said. His voice was odd- deep and scratchy, too old for his age, and it nearly broke my heart. This boy had been through Hell, and I could tell it just from the way his shoulders were slumped and how his legs shook with hidden anxiety. All of that went through my head in a moment- the moment I met Dean Winchester.