March 2001.

Dean Edric. A boy who was barely 6 and his life was crumbling around him.

He cradled his little brother in his weak and small arms, sitting in a chair outside of the emergent room. Jeremy was only two months old, and now they were both growing up without a father. Their mother never payed attention to the signs, but Dean knew. He saw the empty bottles of beer in the trash can, the many bottles of pills in the cabinet labeled with his dad's name in bold letters.

Zoloft.

Prozac.

Celexa.

None of those pills worked. Jacob tried to act like he was happy, but Dean could see right through his act. He was his father. His best friend.

And now he was in a hospital bed, slowly wasting away to nothing. It wasn't his first attempt.

But it was his last.

Dean didn't know why his father was sad all the time. He didn't understand the depressive episodes, the lashing out. He had everything he wanted. A good job, a beautiful wife and a family. They lived in a nice house in the woods, and kept to themselves.

Why on Earth he kill himself, Dean would know soon enough.

The doors to the other side of the hospital opened, and a young woman in light blue scrubs walked over to Dean with a sad look on her face. He met her before, the last time his father attempted. Her name was Melissa.

"Is my dad okay?" Dean asked in his usual soft, gentle voice. Melissa sucked in a deep breath and wrapped an arm around the boy, and he knew.

His father didn't make it. He got what he wanted.

Dean couldn't breathe. He had already been crying before, but now the tears were flowing hard. Melissa gave the young boy a hug. She understood what this boy would go through, growing up without a father. Her own son rarely saw his dad.

Dean hugged Jeremy tightly, squeezing him hard enough to wake the little baby up and make him cry. Melissa guided the boy to where his father had been staying, seeing his mother in shambles.

Tory noticed her two boys walk in, quickly sniffling and running over, hugging Dean as tight as she could, apologizing over and over again as if her husband's death was her fault.

𒊹︎𒊹︎𒊹︎

January 2005.

Tory got sick. A disease with no cure and no name. Dean wanted to call it the take away, since it seemed to be the thing taking away what little happiness he had left.

Dean was forced to start taking care of the house and his little brother. He really didn't mind, he enjoyed being around Jeremy. He was a quiet toddler and nice.

He would spend day and night making sure his mom was okay, fearing that if she left him too that he'd be separated from Jeremy. Dean didn't want to risk losing the last person in his family he had left.

Dean was walking up his driveway when he could smell the burning wood. He knew it had to of been the Hale's, they were the only other people that lived in the woods.

He was afraid to move from his spot on the pavement. He could hear the screaming, and it shocked him since he knew how far they were. The Hale's weren't close enough for him to hear the screaming.

It was a tragic day. Peter, Derek and Laura Hale were the only survivors. Merely because Derek and his sister weren't in the fire, and Peter somehow escaped, but was in a coma.

Dean wasn't close with any of them, so he lacked remorse in the situation.

He was sorry, but at least he was further away from people he didn't have to fear losing.

𒊹︎𒊹︎𒊹︎

Yeah, this chapter sucks and is rushed, but I promise it will get better when I realize what I'm doing 😀