Dinner at 3 (Destiel AU)

stp sayin ur goin 2 kill ur selves over this u liddle dumplings

Two days.

He was lying in a hospital bed for two whole days, in pain, dying.  His entire body on fire, his skin scorched.    

Because of me.

I tried to leap out of bed; tried to run to the top of the hospital so I could leap off the roof crash into the cement down below, like I deserved. 

But I could barely move, so I was stuck there in pain.

I guess I deserved the pain.  Every aching, burning minute of it.  I deserved it all after what I took from Dean.  I took away his future.  I took away his chance to see his little brothers grow up, his chance to stand up to his father, his chance to get a good job, his chance to start a family with someone better than me, someone worthy of him.  I took it all away from him.  All the happy memories that could never happen, would never happen because of me.

It should've been me. It really should have fucking been me.

No one cared to explain to me if he was awake during those two days, or what the final cause of death was.  I guess it wasn't my business, I was the one who had killed him after all.  I was the one who decided it was ok to kill myself while he was in the car.  So I didn't deserve to know if he'd spent those last two days in a peaceful coma or if he'd spent them in agony.  I guess it was the universes punishment for me, to be stuck unknowing, to spend the rest of my life not knowing.  In the end though I was a selfish brat for thinking it mattered whether or not he'd been awake those two days.  It didn't matter.  What mattered was that I took a human life that had so many possibilities and adventures ahead for it in the future. 

I thought that maybe I could end my punishment early by finishing the job and killing myself.  Every morning when I'd wake up I'd think about rushing out of bed and into the bathroom to down a bottle of pills.  But the thing is, Dean died last time I'd tried.  He wouldn't want that.  Didn't want that.  And I had to respect his last wishes, it was the least I could do.  And besides I deserved all the punishment I could get. 

I didn't tell my mom it was a suicide attempt and since I was over the age of 13 the doctors had to follow the law and not tell her either.  She stayed home for a few days but got tired of me constantly screaming at her, so she went back to Ralph's only returning every few days like usual to bring food and pretend she was a parent.  I was content with this.  I'd be content with never having to see another living soul again if I didn't have too. 

I tried to sleep off the pain at first, but the dreams were too much. 

The first night was the worst I guess. 

I fell asleep instantly, and woke up almost as fast. 

It started with a whisper, his whisper. 

"Hey, pretty boy."  I could almost feel it brush past my ear.  I could feel the heat of the breath, it felt so real. It felt warm and sticky and his voice had the same deep roughness that sent shivers up my spine.   My eyes flashed open in a second and I scanned the room, my head wagging back and forth until I saw it.  3 dirty fingers poked out of the crack between my closet door and the wall, and slowly started to grip the wood.  I sat up quickly pulling the sheets around me.  The room was suddenly freezing.  Shakes ran down my spine at an increasing rate, my teeth started to chatter as well. 

"Dean?" 

The door continued to open until I saw him, his full body standing there covered in dirt.  A smile spread across his face but those weren't his teeth.  They weren't the beautiful fresh looking pearls I was used too.  They were dirt brown and cracked like an old side walk.

"You're not Dean." I whispered.  He smiled farther tilting his head back and letting out a belting laugh.  Then his head shot down again a crack like a bone snapping sounded through the room right after.

"You're right, pretty boy.  But I was before you killed me.  Before you did this!"  He reached one dirty hand up and started to peel the rough grime covered skin off his face, revealing a thick layer of red meat underneath. 

"Stop!"  I screeched, but no sound came out, his smile grew as he peeled more and more skin off and blood started to ooze out of his eyes and his mouth and nose and ears. 

"You did this!"  His voice bellowed, but it wasn't Dean's voice.  It was a deep ripping growl, the sound an animal would make.  "You did this to me Cas!  You selfish brat!  The blood is on your hands, faggot!"  I looked down at my hands and sure enough they were coated in blood a thick deep crimson.  And as I tried to wipe it off, my own skin came off and more and more and more.  And then I looked up.  He was in my face, his rotten breath in my lungs, like tar sticking to a road.  It smelt like a dead animal in the baking sun.  His eyes were gone and little chunks of red meat hung off his skull, a single maggot crawled out of one eye and into the other.

"You did this."

I woke up, and didn't sleep again. 

That dream, that Dean, kept coming to me almost every night. 

I kept telling myself that that Dean wasn't my Dean.  That that Dean, was just a dream.  I knew that wasn't my Dean, I also knew he was still right.  I did that to him.  I killed Dean.   

And you can't bring back the dead.