Living With Jared Padalecki

35/ who says

Author's Note: This chapter is very very short (sorry) but it's kind of sweet so enjoy :)

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     I absently run my fingers through Thomas's hair as he sits next to me on the hospital bed. One week, I have been here, and two days, I have been awake. The doctors say that I am getting a little better (physically, anyway) but I will have to stay at least a few more days.

     Thomas says nothing as he examines the action figure in his hands and lets me stroke his soft brown hair in silence.

     Gen comes in and quietly pulls Thomas out of the room, taking a second to explain that he needs his sleep, though I already knew that. However, a permanent frown etches across my face at Thomas's absence.

     I put my arms behind my head and stare up at the TV, where Gilligan's Island plays quietly. I watch it in amusement, momentarily forgetting my earlier frustration at the fact that they never play Supernatural in the hospital rooms. Oh well, there's nothing I can do about it.

     Feeling intensely bored, I look up at the ceiling and count the tiles. Except, when I get in the mid-twenties, my room door opens.

     Misha comes in, much to my surprise. I have not seen him since I have been in here. He does not look nearly as bad as the others, which leaves me feeling relieved. At least someone gets some sleep around here.

     "Hi," he says, closing the door behind him and walking across the room to sit next to me. I just nod my head once in his direction and go back to counting ceiling tiles, at least until his voice interrupts me again.

     "The doctors say that you are doing a lot better, huh?" Misha says, but it's more of a statement than a question. I cannot help but roll my eyes. I can see that they are sincere when they say they want to help, but that is all I have been hearing since I woke up. It's honestly getting very annoying.

     "Awesome," I reply, "Can we not talk about it?" I increase the volume of the show with the remote at my left side so I can hear better. Misha groans and I can pretty much hear the eye roll.

     "This show sucks," he comments, putting his hands behind his head, like I'm doing. I can't help the small smile that breaks out onto my face.

     "I know," I agree. "They never play anything good. And also, the food here sucks. Don't eat it." This time, he smiles.

     "Gotcha." We watch the show in silence for a few minutes before I realize that it's eight o'clock, which means visiting hours are pretty much over. However, Doctor Krane said she won't be in here again until nine, so it probably wouldn't hurt if he stayed a little longer, right? 

     "Do you want me to leave?" Misha asks suddenly, taking me by surprise.

     "No," I say, because I am tired of lying to everyone. The episode of Gilligan's Island gets over, and I am bored once again. I look down at my wrists, which are still bandaged, just not as much as before. They don't feel as bad, either.

     "Those still hurt?" Misha asks, noticing what I'm doing. I swallow thickly and keep my eyes away from him, nodding my head slowly in response. 

     He moves, hesitantly sitting on the side of the bed next to me. I freeze as he takes me hands and looks at the bandages, being very careful with his movements.

     "I can't understand why you did this," Misha says quietly, his face serious, like Castiel's. I sigh and turn away.

     "Misha—"

     "You don't want to talk about it, I know," he says, releasing my hands, but remaining at my side. "I just... I want to understand. How would killing yourself help you with these problems?" I keep my eyes on my hands as I feel his eyes burning into me. "Charlie," he says after a long silence.

     "Because if I go, my problems go with me," I reply quietly, feeling the tears brimming in my eyes.

     "And it never occurred to you that maybe some of us don't want you to go?" Misha says, still quiet, and that's when the first tears falls down my face. I close my eyes and clench my jaw.

     Misha wraps an arm around me hesitantly and pulls me against his chest, allowing me to cry freely.

     "I'm sorry," I croak between the tears, wondering if he could hear me or not since my voice was muffled against his shirt. He tightens his hold on me.

     "I know," Misha replies. "We're going to be here for you whenever you need us, okay? We hate to see you hurting."

     Of course, this only makes me cry harder.