Maybe it was karma; maybe he deserved that — or maybe he didn’t, but one thing was sure, Dean knew he was going to die from this massive heart attack. He felt like the life-source had been sucked out of his body, the tiredness that tugged and wouldn’t leave anymore.

The incessant bip of machines and the number of doctors going in and out of the hospital room were starting to irritate Dean. Why couldn’t people just leave him alone to rest a bit? Perhaps it was because soon, he would rest forever.

And while Sam was nowhere to be found, Dean had no distraction — nothing to stop his thoughts from spiraling over the fact that he had been stupid to use his taser with puddles of water around.

All he had wanted was to hunt this Rawhead and leave, saving two children by the same occasion; but no. No, because things never went the way Dean wanted them to.

His heavy head rolled onto the white pillow of the hospital bed — his nose crunching at the smell of detergent usually used in sterilized places like this. A plate of food was placed on a rolling table, untouched, cold by now. Dean could care less for now; and where the Hell was Sam?

The door of his room opened and for a second, Dean thought it would be his younger brother, but no. It was you, the pretty nurse that had been taking care of him (as if it wasn’t just your job) and distracting him.

“You again? If I wasn’t on this bed, I’d swear you are becoming obsessed with me.” Dean smirked, using humor as a coping-mechanism for what was happening to him. That way, he didn’t had to think about what was going to happen later; tomorrow, in a week, in a month.