Dean awoke to a clothing filled, camo, duffel bag hitting him in the face. He sat up and irritably asked, "Why did a duffel bag just get thrown at my head?"

John replied gruffly, "Don't take that tone with me boy! We're done with this hunt, come help me find the next one!"

Dean sighed and replied, "Yes, sir. Let me shower. I'll be done in 30 minutes."

John rolled his eyes and said, "Alright princess, take your time to put on your make-up."

Dean frowned and rolled his eyes, he was still a bit grumpy for being woken up.

He got up and grabbed his duffel on the way to the bathroom. He heard John clicking on his computer and the sound of a newspaper rustling as the pages turned. As soon as he shut the door, his eyes welled up with tears and he collapsed to the floor. He turned on the sink to drown out the sound of him crying. Life was getting so hard, Sam abandoned him, Dad was getting more, and more reckless and obsessive. He felt like he was drowning with his head above water. As well as this he was stuck in the closet. He realized he was bisexual when he was 14, after 14 long years of listening to his dad complain about two men loving each other, he knew he could never come out. He wanted to settle down with a husband or wife, have about 5 kids, and live an apple pie life. Maybe come out to his brother, and in a perfect world maybe his father would change his homophobic ways. He knew it never would, and never could happen, but he could dream.

With a shaky hand he unzipped his duffel bag and got out his favorite hunters knife, part of him wanted to cut so deep he would bleed out instantly. The other part knew he was too much of a pussy to do it. He smiled as he cut 2 deep cuts on his forearm. He was addicted to the feeling of the metal cutting through flesh, and the blood running down his arm. He turned off the sink and stepped into the shower. He watched as the dark blood collected on the dingy motel shower floor. He turned the shower on as hot as it would go and enjoyed the burning hot water against his skin. Dean washed himself down with the soap and washed his blonde hair with a fruity smelling shampoo. He stepped out of the shower and bandaged his bleeding arm, then got dressed.

As I walked out of the bathroom my dad gruffly said, "You took 46 minutes, not 30."

I sighed and said, "Sorry, sir. Were you timing me?"

He rolled his eyes and said, "You feel like talking back today, boy?"

I sarcastically said, "No, sir."

He grunted in acknowledgment and said, "I found a hunt. 2 girls, runners, attacked at night in the woods by a large wolf."

I nonchalantly said, "What if it was just a wolf."

John rolled his eyes and said, "It's never just a wolf, boy."

I replied in a monotone voice, "Alrighty. Where is it?"

He smiled and said, "It's near where Bobby lives. I figure maybe we could bunk with him."

I glanced at him with a raised eyebrow and said, "Didn't he chase you out with a shotgun last time."

He chuckled and said, "Yes, but you forgive and forget right?"

I incredulously said "Sure."

He grunted and said, "Pack the rest of your stuff up, we're up and out in 15."

Dean looked for forgotten items. After 5 minutes he sat on the bed and got lost in his thoughts. At this point being trapped in his thoughts was more dangerous than any hunt. He thought about his death most of the time. Being a hunter was a lonely life, and that left lots of time to think. He'd thought about multiple different scenarios; the most pleasant ones were when his family actually cared he was sad or dying. His thoughts were interrupted by his dad's gruff voice saying,

"DEAN! Pay attention, boy! It's time to leave."

Then they were off to the next hunt.