I lay in a pool of my own blood. It was funny that I could approach the situation logically and be so stoic, for I was most certainly dying. But those last moments, they were full of clarity.

I was in some creepy abandoned barn in the mountains of Colorado. I would have loved nothing more than to stand up and walk right out of there, but the cause of my death happened to be a tractor. A tractor. Of all the ways for someone as badass as me to go, being crushed by farm machinery while simultaneously bleeding out from a stab wound was not the way I thought it would end. I had been hoping for a tragic hero's death, like running into a burning building or detonating a bomb or something else poetic. No one writes poems about heroes dying by tractor. The pulsing in my side was a constant reminder that I had indeed been stabbed, and was indeed dying. This particular would was a caused by a sword. Now this was more along the lines of the hero's death I was looking for. I mean, swords are pretty bad ass. Being stabbed by one though, I have to tell you, sucked. Stupid vampire had grabbed the sword I had been using to chop of the heads of his brethren, and decided to stab me. He was dumb, the fucker could have just gone for my own head, or an actual vital organ like the heart. But he hit the fleshy side of my body, making my death one that would be more prolonged, marked by the expelling of blood. In the midst of the fighting and slicing by my own friends that had gone down after I was already on the musty floor, trying not to yell out in pain, someone had tipped a tractor over, and I was too slow to get out of the way.

At this point, the fighting was still going on. Sam and Dean, my hunter friends, were a flurry of movement as they tried to finish off the nest, tried to get themselves an opportunity to tend to me. And I was laying there, weak, my death imminent. I didn't think they would be able to lift the tractor, and even if they did, I knew how much blood one person could loose before they wouldn't wake up again. Years on the job had taught me valuable, albeit morbid facts like this. A few minutes later, with the pool of my blood expanding ever wider, they finished of the last vampire with a sickening thump as the head hit the floor. The boys wasted no time, and ran over to me.

They tried with all their might to pry the tractor off of my body, and to my amazement, their adrenaline proved enough for them to hoist the tractor far enough off the ground for me to wriggle out. The movement shot bursts of pain all through my body, and little black dots danced across my vision. My clothes were sticky and wet and a deep red, bordering on brown from the blood. To be honest I was grossing myself out, and once again I wished that idiotic vampire had taken care of me the right way. The boys ripped clothes and pressed on wounds, and called out my name repeatedly, as if merely saying the syllables would be enough to bring my blood back.

And all I could say was "I'm sorry." The boys didn't deserve this. So many people in their life had died, so many things had gone wrong. Death had been a way of life for them when I stumbled upon the dismal pair. I had been determined to show them that there was another way, that it didn't all end badly. I was going to stick it out and live with them forever, our own little dysfunctional family unit. And then I had to go and fuck it up. I knew better than to drop my sword. Sure, they had twisted it out of my hand, but I should have fought harder, and been stronger. I could hear my voice getting slower as it became harder to talk and my vision dimmed. I kept repeating the two words, I'm sorry, over and over again. They had to know. They had to know that wherever I was going, heaven or hell or purgatory, I would miss them.

I was close now, and everyone present knew it. Deans face was twisted and hard, struggling against tears that he was unwilling to shed. Sam's brow was creased, his long hair straying into his face, his eyes brimmed with red as he too struggled to contain emotion. I wanted to reach out, grab their hands, and tell them I was sorry, and that it was going to be okay. Unfortunately my hands seemed unwilling to cooperate, and I realized I only had moments left.

"Don't bring me back," my weak voice commanded. "Don't do anything rash. I'll be okay wherever I go, and you guys will be okay here."

Dean looked as if he was going to protest, but Sam reached out a hand and put it on his shoulder. "Let her talk," he said.

"I've loved you both more than any human has a right to love. And that's enough for me."

Deans tears spilled over, and Sam was crying as well. "Goodnight," I said, hoping that my flair for dramatics would be appreciated, and I closed my eyes for the last time. The last sound I heard as I faded away was that of the raw sobbing of two grown men, with my name mixed in, contorted by emotion.