Demons || Dean Winchester [1]

Prologue

When I was twelve years old, my father was taken from me by a killer that didn't seem to exist. The police never knew what actually happened and decided to just put it down to a heart attack. And I didn't think anything of it, I believed them.

When I was sixteen years old, the same thing happened to my older brother. No explanations, no killer. There was nothing. And after my brother's death, I finally began to question things. I wanted to find out the truth. But apparently my newfound interest in the idea of murder meant I was mentally unstable.

For three years, I was hauled in and out of hospitals for assessments and inpatient stays. And now, at the age of nineteen, I was finally cleared and I could leave.

But after leaving the hospital for what felt like the thousandth time, I was finally done. My need to investigate their deaths had only made people think I'd been driven crazy by grief. It had simply made my life worse. And I just couldn't do it anymore. During the past few years, I'd been able to see the world in a different light. I'd finally realised that this world was so low on hope and purpose. And I hated it. Which was why I was currently on my way to the bridge a few miles from my house.

Tonight, I was going to be free of this hopeless, depressing world.