You and Dean had been on your way down to Nevada for a hunt, something about a vamps nest. On the way there, something went wrong with the impala and caused you and Dean to swerve off the road into a pole.

Dean paced the hallway outside of your room, silently cursing at himself for letting you get injured. You were in the hospital bed with doctors around you. He only had to deal with a broken arm but there you were, covered in cuts, bruises, broken bones.

“Dean?” The doctor called out.