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These Small Hours

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This was it. This was how you were going to die. All those times fighting against monsters and angels and demons, only for it to be this that kills you. A simple illness. How cruel were the fates, to kill you not with a bang but with a whimper. How cruel was this world.

"You aren't going to die," Sam said with a sigh. Evidently you had been speaking out loud. "You still are."

"This is it, Sam. I'm pretty sure I'm going to die. I love you, be good." You coughed violently, the room sent spinning yet again. It had been almost a week since you had come down with what Sam said was the flu, but you were pretty sure was something far more deadly like the the black death. Agree to disagree and all that. "And tell Dean I know he's not a hallucination and I'm not telling him where my Scooby-Doo DVDs are."

Sam made no comment, focusing instead on wiping down your forehead. He'd been sat with you for as much time as he could, which given the lack of hunts recently had been quite a lot and it was quite touching even though you were sure he was going to catch it next.

"I feel like shit," you continued. "You might have to put me out of my misery."

"Well you must be feeling a bit better since you're a lot chattier than you were," chuckled Sam, placing the back of his hand against your forehead. "I think we can avoid killing you."

Better? you'd been lying for about a week in your own sweat, feeling nauseous and dizzy and just about ready for death. Castiel was out of touch for the moment, so there had been no quick fix for this and no respite from Dean and his antics.

"No! I need you to kill me!" You protested, grabbing his hand. "I can't go on like this any more."

Sam smiled softly, leaning forward to place a light kiss on your lips. He still wasn't taking you seriously about wanting to die, instead saying you were just cute and letting you carry on in your suffering. If only Castiel would come back, he wouldn't leave you suffering like this. He would kill you.

"Cas isn't going to kill you either."

Godammit. You needed to stop talking out loud.

"Why can't you just put me out of my misery!"

You'd been trying to convince your boyfriend to kill you for a while no with no luck. He seemed to think this illness was something you would just get over. Well, you'd guess you'd just see how he felt about that when he was the one lying in this bed dying.

You glared at Sam, who just patted you lightly on the head. Stupid boyfriend thinking this is all some kind of joke, laughing at you as you were dying.

"You still aren't dying."