Angels Are Watching Over You...
He knew he was dying. He wasn't happy about it by any stretch of the imagination, but he didn't regret it. Dean had always clung to life, cementing it in every drink of whiskey, in the breath he stole from every buxom blond or attractive man that tumbled through his bed. His indulgences a celebration of the fact that he was still alive. But, it was a dangerous job. He knew that. He'd always known that. And he'd do it all over again. They'd saved those children, and however many other poor saps too dumb to realize that the monsters in their closet were real.
So, sure, now he might be facing down big, dark, scary Death, but he'd done some good in the world. In the scheme of things it might not matter. He didn't really believe in the whole Heaven/Hell schtick. Demons were just a particularly nasty brand of spirit, and he was rather inclined to believe that when they put down Ghosts there was nothing but sweet oblivion. But, what he'd done made a difference to him, so, fuck 'em.
Sammy was gone, which left him with the eternal torture that was daytime television; Oprah was the only show he could stand to actually watch. Mostly he thumbed through, hoping to catch the few seconds of what counted as a sex scene on these shitty soaps. It wasn't anything to write home about, but, hey, in a hospital where none of the nurses or doctors that he got to see were hot, it was really the only game in town. The food was shit, too.
There was no way he was living out his last few weeks here. But, he didn't quite feel up to making his way back to the motel just yet. He might be stubborn, but he wasn't too keen on the idea of ending up face-down in the parking lot unless it ended up with a pornstar taking him in and fucking his brains out. And probably shortening his life expectancy down to a few days in the process. But, Dean was of the opinion that it would totally be worth it.
He just didn't think he was that lucky.
So, sure, now he might be facing down big, dark, scary Death, but he'd done some good in the world. In the scheme of things it might not matter. He didn't really believe in the whole Heaven/Hell schtick. Demons were just a particularly nasty brand of spirit, and he was rather inclined to believe that when they put down Ghosts there was nothing but sweet oblivion. But, what he'd done made a difference to him, so, fuck 'em.
Sammy was gone, which left him with the eternal torture that was daytime television; Oprah was the only show he could stand to actually watch. Mostly he thumbed through, hoping to catch the few seconds of what counted as a sex scene on these shitty soaps. It wasn't anything to write home about, but, hey, in a hospital where none of the nurses or doctors that he got to see were hot, it was really the only game in town. The food was shit, too.
There was no way he was living out his last few weeks here. But, he didn't quite feel up to making his way back to the motel just yet. He might be stubborn, but he wasn't too keen on the idea of ending up face-down in the parking lot unless it ended up with a pornstar taking him in and fucking his brains out. And probably shortening his life expectancy down to a few days in the process. But, Dean was of the opinion that it would totally be worth it.
He just didn't think he was that lucky.