Chapter Three:

"How did this even happen?! Baby was completely fine when I left her!" I moaned to myself as I sat on the steps in front of the motel. I just didn't understand. There were no signs that something was wrong with the engine. I didn't see any damage to the hood so I think I can rule out that is was an evil saboteur, but the smoke still hadn't cleared all the way for me to check anything out. I mean, I'm no mechanic but I do know a little "somethin'-somethin'" about cars.

"Hey!" A voice shouted directly behind me, making me jump. "What're you doing?" I turned around and saw the dude from the front desk, the creepy guy that asked me if I had any..."guests". Great.

"My engine, man. It's shot."

"Well, can you keep it quiet? I keep gettin' complaints because of you." His southern accent grated on my ears.

"Yeah, because I can totally control how loud my fucking car is." Dean growled. Dumbass. "Can I borrow your phone? Mine's out of service."

"You got to pay."

"Fine." I groaned, standing up and making my way past the weirdo to the front desk where I knew the phone was. I stay in motels more than rats do. I could've come up with a better analogy but I'm too pissed off to care right now.

Behind the desk, an old fashioned telephone sat next to a computer that looked like it was from the dial-up days and a newspaper hiding a copy of 'Busty Asian Beauty's'. Nice, guy. Very nice. The doorman grumbled as he passed me, reaching for the 'newspaper' and rubbing his face.

"Hey, what's the number?" I asked. Let me tell you, sleepy, angry doorman are nothing to joke about. He practically spewed the numbers at me as if it was physically painful. I could see the venom in the air and he stormed out, slamming the door to his office shut, which wasn't really effective because his office was basically a supply closet.

"Thanks, jackass." I muttered, holding the phone up to my ear, listening to the mind-numbing droning of the dial tone.

"Novak Auto Shop, this is Gabe, what can I do ya for?" Said a guy that sounded way to happy to be working this late.

"Yeah, uh, hey. My engine is completely fucked and I can't drive it anywhere. Can you send a tow truck or something?"

"Alright, whats the address, my compadre?" I read off the address to him from a note-pad that sat next to the dinosaur computer.

"'Kay, and what's your name?"

"Dean. Winchester."

"Aaaallllrrriiighty, Dean-o. I'll send out a truck. See ya!"

"Wait, wait, wait! How much is this gonna cost me, man?"

"Well, it depends on whats wrong with your car, my main man...bye."

The dial-tone sounded in my ear, the most annoying sound in fucking existence. I slammed the phone down onto the receiver and slammed my hands down on the main desk. Why did my car decide to break down now? Trying to calm down, I snapped the rubber-bands on my wrist, maybe a little hard, but I didn't really give two shits at the moment. It was suddenly very stuffy in the motel and hard to breath. I took deep breaths but it just got worse. I had to get outside. I needed fresh air.

I made my way to the front doors again, snapping away at my rubber band, and made my way to the trunk of my car, where I kept everything I have ever owned and deemed important in a small suitcase with red tape markings so I never loose it. If I loose it, I swear to God, I would murder someone. Possibly myself. Is it even possible to murder yourself? I mean, wouldn't that just count as suicide? But does it count as murder...if you're fighting your own arm? What the actual FUCK, Mind-Dean? I shook my head. I needed to talk to Ellen.

I pulled out my cell-phone and brought up Ellen's number on the screen and went back inside the motel to use the phone again. I put down more money to use the phone and dialed Ellen's number, hoping against hope that she would pick up.

"Hello?"

"ELLEN! Thank God you answered!"

"Dean? Is that you?"

"Yeah, yeah it's me, Ellen. Look, uh, I really need to talk to you."

"Of course, honey, you go right on ahead." She replied to me in her professional therapist voice.

"Look, I'm in Kentucky and my car broke down. I managed to get a hold of an auto-service and they said they'll be here soon."

"Okay...I'm not seeing the problem here, Dean."

"The problem, Ellen, is that I'm freaking the fuck out!" I whisper-shouted into the receiver. "I'm so pissed off, it's not even funny! So I went out to get my suitcase I keep in the trunk and started thinking about what I would do if I lost it, so then I started talking to myself, saying I would freaking murder someone, or myself, but that counts as suicide but then Mind-Dean said that it probably counted as murder if I fought with my hand or something and Ellen..." I took a deep breath, knowing that I was rambling nonsense. "Ellen, I can't breath and I can't calm down!"

"Okay, okay, Dean? Listen very carefully, alright?" She soothed. "Sit down and close your eyes. Take deep breaths." I didn't listen, standing in the exact same spot. "Dean, sit your ass down, now." Ellen threatened. How she knew that, I don't know, but I managed a small smile before sitting down in the doorman's chair.

"Alright, you sittin'?" She asked.

"Yeah, I am."

"Alright, Dean, listen. I know you love your car. I know your dad gave it to you and it's your pride and joy and I know how angry you might feel because it broke down on you, but you need to remember that it can be fixed. It's just an engine, and you know for a fact that they can fix it. Hell, you fixed it a hundred times yourself."

"I know, Ellen, I know that." I said in between breathes.

"Now, you said something about a...a Mind-Dean?" I could hear the concern in her voice.

"Yeah, that's just what I call it when I'm thinking. You know? Like, hey, could this be a good idea? No, not in any possible way. That's stupid shit, you know? Like that."

"So, you call your thoughts Mind-Dean?"

"If you say it that way, it sounds crazy." I heard her snort on the other end and I smiled myself. But then Ellen got serious.

"Dean, are you suicidal?"

"What? Ellen, what would make you think that?"

"Your argument with Mind-Dean, for one."

"I don't know, Ellen. The thought scared the shit out of me. That's why I'm calling you."

"Okay, so what all happened besides the car incident before you had those thoughts?"

"I walked down to this bar down the street and there was this live local band playing called 'Supernatural'. And damn Ellen, they're great. Amazing. And I thought, 'wow, look at them. Why can't that be me?' So later on, I walked down to a fast food joint to get some chow and I ran into the lead singer there, Castiel. He was cool, I guess, but all I thought was 'Why do you get this? Why can't I have this?' You know?"

"Dean, do you think that your replacing Castiel with someone else? Do you think that maybe, you're recreating what happened to you in this situation and that's why you had a panic attack?"

"What are you talking about?" I said, my voice thick. I could feel a tightness in my throat and I coughed twice to make it go away.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about, Dean. You told me yourself. Is this about Sam?"

"No, it's not about Sam! I'm not mad at Sam anymore, Ellen! I love Sam, okay?"

"Dean, you can still love someone but be hurt by them at the same time."

I closed my eyes and pictured the first day I ever opened up to Ellen. I had been forced to go by Charlie, a school-friend of mine, who was 'worried about my well-being' or whatever that meant.

"Hey, Dean." The lady in front of me smiled. "How're you doin' today?" "Hey...Ellen." I said, not meeting her gaze. "Fine, I guess." "No, not fine, I can tell. What happened?" She scooted her chair closer to mine and forced me to look in her eyes, motherly eyes that I haven't seen since I was a kid. "You can tell me." I wanted to tell her. I wanted to tell her so bad. But I didn't. I kept my mouth shut tight until she sighed and leaned away from me again. "It's alright, you don't need to open up to me if you don't want." She paused, giving me a moment to change my mind. I didn't. "How're you and Sam getting along? Pretty good?" "Yeah." I scoffed. "I wish." I hadn't meant to say that. I didn't want to say that. But I did say it and it was too late to take it back. "What happened, Dean?" "Nothing, I swear. Sammy and I are as close as ever. I visited him a few weeks ago." Ellen narrowed her eyes at me, in a way that said 'I just figured you out, bitch'. "And? What happened while you were with Sam?" I chewed my lip, debating whether I should tell her or not. I really wanted to tell Ellen, but if I opened up to her, she would just leave just like everyone else and it would be pointless. "He's still at Stanford...with Jess." I chuckled dryly. "Jess was out of the house. It was just Sam and I. We started talking about Mom and Dad and growing up...and that's when we started to argue. I didn't expect to argue. But then Sam had to tell me that Dad is paying for Sam's collage." My fists tightened and I ground my teeth together. "Why is that a bad thing?" "BECAUSE!" I shouted, slamming my fists down. "Dad never did jack SHIT for me! I had to look out for myself, by myself, and I had to take care of Sammy! He was never there! Ever since Mom died, he's never been there! He's belittled me my whole life! Made me feel worthless, treated me like I was some shitty-faced lap-dog who follows his every command! I did everything, EVERYTHING that man told me to do! And he kicks me out in a drunken rage and showers Sammy praise and treats him like he's human! Why am I different? Why can't I be Sam? I don't deserve this! WHAT DO I HAVE TO FUCKING DO? Now he's paying for Sammy's collage and when I needed help, he tossed me out on the streets! Why can't he just give me a fucking chance? I can make him proud, I know it, but all he does is pay attention to Sammy!" "Dean, I need you to calm d-" "I'M TIRED OF BEING FUCKING CALM!" I yelled, jumping up out of the seat. I kicked the chair over, I punched the wall until my knuckles were bloody. "I want him to notice me! I will make him notice me! I-I'm going to use my music and I'm going to become so fucking rich off of it, he'll be begging me for money! I'm going to make money off of the very same thing he took from me!" I punched the wall again. "You can't make it, Dean." I barked out, imitating Dad's voice. "You don't have the fucking guts." I punched. "You can't do it." I punched. "Be more like Sammy, why can't you be Sammy?" I kicked. "WHY! WHY ARE YOU SO WORTHLESS?!" I pulled back to punch again but I felt a soft hand grip my wrist tight. I turned around and looked into Ellen's eyes, emotions there that I didn't understand. She pulled my fists down and slowly uncurled them, smoothing then flat and lead me over to the chair that I had knocked over, that she apparently picked up. I sat down, not taking my eyes off of Ellen, watching as she pulled her chair next to mine and held my hands. She said nothing. She did nothing but hold my hands. I didn't understand why she was doing it but I continued to look at her, my heart racing still from the anger and my muscles stiff. She smiled. That's all it took. I could feel the tears coming to my eyes, and I fought hard to push them back, but I've been pushing them back for almost seventeen years, and I couldn't do it anymore. I've told Ellen, a woman I've only known for three months, something I've never told anyone before, even things that I hadn't realized until just now. And as I sat there, thinking about everything, the tears rolled down my cheeks in tendrils. Ellen didn't reach to dry them off and neither did I. I've never cried in front of another person. "Ellen..."I croaked. "I need to become important. I can't live like this anymore. All I do is watch after Sam and now he doesn't even want me around anymore." "Why do you say that, Dean? Is that what Sam said when you had your argument?" "Sam said..." I hiccuped. Dear God, that's a first. "Sam said that I didn't deserve anything from Dad. I'm the black sheep of the family and there's not a fucking damn thing I can do about it." "Dean, I don't think Sam meant it. When people are upset, they say things that they don't mean." "Oh, really?" I snapped. "'Cause he seemed really fucking convincing." "Dean, even if he did mean it, he was wrong. You are important. You matter to people. You can make a difference." "How? Huh? I'm in freaking Lawrence! There's nothing here for me!" "What about Charlie? She brought you here because she was worried about you and she wanted you to get better. You've been getting into fights almost every night. You drink more often than usual." "I haven't had a drink in three weeks." I growled. "See? That's good, isn't it? That's something we should celebrate, Dean. That's something that you have accomplished." I was shocked. She wanted to celebrate me not being a drunk for two weeks?No one has ever done that before. It didn't seem like a thing to celebrate, to be honest. "Dean, let me tell you something. You may do a lot, but that doesn't mean that life isn't going to be hard. You raised Sam, didn't you?" "Well, yeah, but-" "And where is Sam right now?" "At college, but-" "Exactly!" Ellen pointed at me. "How can you believe you are worthless if you have raised such a wonderful person? Yeah, you and Sam have your tiffs, but you're family. That's what family does. What would Sam be like if you hadn't been there? You can do whatever you want to, Dean. I know you. I've seen the potential you have. Remember how you told me that you played at your cousin's prom? Remember how good you said you felt? You can do it, Dean, but you have to believe in yourself and stop letting what other people say define who you are. And yeah, I know that sounds cheesy, but that's exactly what you're doing, son. And if you ever feel like no one believes in you, remember who I am and that I do." "Ellen...I-I don't know how to respond to that..." "You don't need to, Dean. Just tell me that's what you'll do, okay?" Ellen smiled at me again and squeezed my hands, swollen from the walls. "Would you like me to tell you what I've diagnosed you with? It sometimes helps to put a name to what makes you scared." "I'm not fucking scared." I denied, looking down. "But if it makes you feel better to tell me, then go ahead." Ellen laughed and patted my shoulder. "Dean, you have extreme anger issues. We need to work on that, okay? You can't go tearing down buildings whenever you're upset. From what you've told me before, from your sleeping patterns and your feelings on things in your life, like being detached and numb, I would say that you are depressed as well. And you know what, Dean?" She pushed my head back up and smiled wider. "That's nothing to be ashamed of, you know. You aren't alone in the world. Millions of people are going through the exact same turmoil as you are, which means it might just be easier to make you feel better." "So, what? Are you going to put me on pills now? Keep an eye on me in case I try to jump off a building?" I scoffed. "Normally, I would. I would give you Zoloft, maybe. Or Bupropian. They take away the grogginess that you feel in your life. They help stimulate you so you fell better than you do now. Because the only thing that's wrong is a chemical imbalance. And would you believe, boy, almost everyone has some sort of chemical imbalance in the brain. I like to believe that's what makes people so unique and unpredictable. do you want me to prescribe you those medicines?" I almost flat out refused, but then I thought of Charlie, I thought of how worried she looked when she brought me here for the first time, how every day when she sees me, a look of relief passes through her features before its gone again. Maybe...maybe the pain I'm feeling affects other people, too. So, to get better, I could take the medicine. "Sure." I said. "Give them to me. Can't hurt to try." "Good, and as for the anger issues, here is your medicine." She reached into her pocket and shoved her fist into my hand, placing a small and skinny item there before removing her hand. I looked down and saw...a rubber-band? "What the hell is this?" "Whenever you feel mad or pissed, snap it on your wrist. It helps, trust me. I did it. Hell, I still do sometimes." "Ellen, you've been holding back on me!" I teased, my cheeks feeling tight from the drying tears. "Oh, if you tell anyone I cried, I will destroy your career." Ellen laughed before waving it off.

I trust Ellen more than anyone right now. If it wasn't for her, I would be the exact same way I was then. It wasn't long after that session before I decided to take a trip, visit different parts of the country, and see what happens.

"You're right, Ellen." I sighed. "I forgot." I didn't need to tell her. She knew what I meant.

"It'll be okay, Dean. Promise. How're you feeling, son?" I took a minute to breath before I answered her.

"Honestly? I feel a lot better now. Thanks."

"You don't want to kill anyone, do you?"

"Of course not!" I scoffed, hearing a laugh on the other side.

"And you don't want to kill yourself, right?" I hesitated before I answered. I actually had to think about the question.

"No, I don't want to kill myself. But I feel like there's a hole in my chest, Ellen. I don't know what it means."

"It could be many things, Dean, but that's one thing that I can't help you with. I can only take you part of the way, son, the rest, you'll have to do on your own."

"Alright, Ghandi." I said. "Thanks, Ellen. For everything."

"It's a pleasure, Dean. Call me whenever you need someone."

"I will. Bye, Ellen."

"Bye, Dean."

I hung up with a dull thunk! resounding through the empty room. Ellen always had a way to make me feel better. She was like the mom I didn't get to have. I grabbed my suitcase and made my way back to my room. Shoving the case underneath one of the beds, I made sure everything was secured, my guitars in their cases. I left, locking the room and putting the keys in my pocket as I made my way to my Baby. How long did it usually take for a tow truck to arrive? I guess I should've asked how long they'd be, but I forgot to ask in my current state.

As soon as I stepped outside the door, a blue tow truck pulled into the parking lot, making its way to the front door, parking there before a man taller than me jumped out of the drivers side. He was looking down so I couldn't see his face, but something about him looked familiar.

"Someone call for a tow truck?" A deep voice rumbled.

"Cas?" I announced, incredulous. He looked up and once again, those piercing blue eyes froze me to the spot.

"Dean?"

Holy Crap, I was not expecting to write this much! I just wanted you to get the background story! I'm sorry if this triggers anything for anyone, I honestly didn't mean it, but this is just how I perceive John acting if this were their life. I mean, he was obviously devastated about Mary, but he didn't get into hunting, he just threw himself into his work and drowned out his problems with alcohol, seeing as John drinking was a regular occurrence on the show, which is passed down to his sons.

Tell me what you think and whether or not you liked it! Reviews are highly welcomed and I will respond, if I have the chance! So don't be afraid to say anything! This story is going to be much longer than I had originally anticipated. Which means you get to look forward to much character development, possible plot holes, and me failing at this story! :-D

Enjoy!