Dean was laying in his bed, staring up at the ceiling, just as he had been for the last week and a half. He, Sam, and Cas had been out hunting a Rawhead when he'd fallen down the stairs and broken his leg. It wasn't even cool, for fuck's sakes. And why was it always Rawheads? First the electrocution bit, and now this. "Aghhh," he groaned out. "I'm so freakin bored!" He complained. Cas looked up from his seat on the couch and shook his head. "Relax, Dean. The doctor said you can get your cast off in a few more days." Dean raised himself up to sit against the headboard. "Where's Sammy?" he asked.
"At the library. He was looking something up about the local killings to find out about this ghost problem the McKee's are having." Dean tapped his head against the headboard, then did it again, and again. Tap, tap, tap. "DEAN!" Cas said in exasperation. He groaned. "I want to do something! I hate sitting here!" Cas stood. "Well, maybe I have something that could help...", He said, and started to unbotton his shirt. Dean wasn't sure he'd ever taken off his clothes that fast, with or without a broken leg.
Guys that was crappy I'm sorry don't hate me.
