Crazy Mind -Destiel-

1- How and why

Dean Winchester lived his life how any average thirteen-year-old would, trying his best to run through each day in the hope of growing up quicker. In some ways it worked, he grew taller, got stronger. The only problem was that with growing up came the responsibilities of being a 'grown-up'. Dean hated that part, he hated the rules, the consequences he hated it so much that it made him want to leave and never come back.

So that's what he did, on January the 24th 1992 the day of his fourteenth birthday Dean left. He didn't have much with him except a bag and a couple of T-shirts accompanied by the baseball his mom had given him for his last birthday. He was ready to leave. The only problem was where ever Dean went so did his brother. Sam followed him down the street, he stopped with Dean at the shop and he ran with Dean through the bad parts of town.

Dean can still feel the snapping of his right shoulder as a result of a group of drunk men surrounding them in an alley. He can still hear the crunching of Sam's nose as one of the men throws his fat fist at Sam's face and he still remembers feeling so guilty that he could do nothing more than cry.

Both of them had been found an hour after the incident, Sam unconscious and Dean cradling him. Dean never forgave himself for that night and he doesn't think his parents did either.

He never got the chance to ask them.

Dean doesn't remember what parts of his body the men had broken; he vaguely remembers his shoulder shattering but that's only because of the small scar indented just above his armpit and the inability to move his left arm barely higher than his head. But he remembers Sam's as clear as day, he can still hear the doctor say them as he sat in the waiting room, watching his little brother's body breathe brokenly through the window. Sam ended up with two broken ribs- three fractured, a broken nose and a fractured knee.

Dean hates that memory.

They spent the next two weeks in the hospital, his mother loosely holding his hand as they walked down the narrow hallways and his father glancing at him with nothing but hatred in his dark brown eyes. Sam eventually recovered and Dean had never been so happy, he'd stood by his brother's side all day getting him whatever he wanted as the nurse made sure Sam's cast was secure on his knee.

That year began with so many arguments that Dean was sure he'd lose his voice a month in, as most of the time it was him and John shouting. That's what he calls him now. Not daddy like when he was five, not dad like when he was seven just John, an impersonal and meaningless way of referring to the man who raised him.

Unlike John, Mary was more or less the same as she had always been. She stood by her promise to love Dean no matter what and of course didn't blame Dean for the hospital incident, even if John did. However, Dean would be lying if he said that he didn't notice the way Mary hugged him less often and held his hand a little looser.

Dean would give anything to have that year end how it started, even if it was just yelling, screaming and arguing.

It had been night from what Dean remembers when they left their house. He had been counting the minutes that John had been shouting at him and Sam from the front seat of the Impala.

He gave up after ten.

They had been heading to a diner as a pre-birthday treat for Dean as Mary would only see him for a few minutes in the morning and a couple of hours at night on his actual birthday. He can't remember what they had been arguing about. He wishes he could remember what it was. He hopes it was important.

It had been eight-thirty.

Eight-thirty at night on the 23rd of January 1993, on a cold winter road somewhere between Kansas and Nebraska. That's the exact moment his parents died.

Mary had taken her eyes off the road for only a second just to try and stop the constant back and forth of Dean and John's arguing but that's all it took just a split second for everything to go to hell. Dean barely had time to scream before the car tipped, knocking him back and sideways.

The car tumbled over and over before striking the central barrier and coming to an absolute stop. The car had flipped so many times that Dean had become disorientated before he even sustained the concussion that had him drifting in and out of consciousness. At times his eyelids fluttered shut and he thought he must be at home in bed because it was so dark. Then why the cold and the sound of rain on metal? Why the pain, God, why so much pain? He was fleetingly aware of the coppery taste pooling in his mouth but he couldn't figure out where it was coming from, the only indication being that it must be coming from somewhere on his face as he could feel it staining his teeth and soaking his tongue.

Silence; it scared Dean more than the pain. He should have called out, should have done something. He tried to move but he was pinned by the collapsing roof and the front seat. His neck was too broken to move and he quickly found out that he preferred to be unconscious than to be awake because whenever he was awake he could feel the aching of each one of his cracked bones. Each breath felt like rocks burrowing into his skin and as he sucked in the cramped air, he could feel his lungs caving in on themselves.

Coloured spots in the corners of his vision began making him feel like his head was full of static and he heard a buzzing noise, filling his ears. Dean felt like he was there for hours, fading and waking and fading and waking. His agony was the only thing keeping him alive. It was the only thing he could feel anymore. He thought he was going to die. He should have died. But then came a blue flicker, the sound of sirens, police? No, not the police. He had struggled to free himself only to be rewarded with more pain until he once again passed out.

The rest of that night can only be pieced together using random pieces of information he remembers the nurse telling him and horrific flashbacks that Dean prefers to keep hidden in the back of his mind.

To keep it short the impact had killed both of his parents and put him and Sam into the hospital with more than a few severe injuries, and for his fifteenth birthday, Dean had gotten the gift of being attached to a life support machine.

Miraculously a few days later he had woken up, choking on the tube that had been shoved down his throat and practically screaming in pain when he tried to sit up. Strangely enough, all he could think about at that point was that he had missed his birthday, he shouldn't have cared as the nurse had barely waited a full fifteen minutes before telling him that his parents were dead, but it had been all he could think about. He didn't cry when they told him, they said it was because he was in shock but Dean thinks it was because he had already known that they were dead. If they had been alive they would be with him, sitting by his and his brother's side. Pathetically Dean had prayed that, that moment would be the worse moment of his and Sam's life and that everything would only get better from then on.

How wrong he had been.

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