In Good Hands.

The wind roared through the open windows bringing with it the high pitch whine of the car's engine, and the relentless pelting of rain. Dean gripped the steering wheel of his black Chevy Impala, his eyes locked on the dark slick road ahead. He didn't know where he was going, just that it was anywhere but here. He couldn't bear to be in a place that he was not wanted. Inside he was broken, but it was rage that was painted across his face. He of course was running from his problems yet again, but that's all he knew how to do. The alcohol pulsing through his veins along with the tears filling his eyes, blurred his vision. But that wasn't going to stop him from slamming his foot down on the gas.

It was 11:45pm when it happened. Dean will swear he came out of nowhere, he didn't mean to hit him. He had never hurt anyone, anyone but himself.