A.N/ Hey guys, back again with a short one. This is my first Supernatural fanfic and only decided to write this because I had to write this thing and class and my friend said it sounded like a good fanfic idea from the ep 'In my time of dying' in Season 2.
So, in a way, this is an alternate ending for that ep.
Disclaimer: Don't own Supernatural. Wish I did, there'll be a lot more Destiel if I did.
Life or death?
Death or life?
I sat, not feeling the chair beneath me as everything was numb, lost in thought. In front of me lay a person I didn't recognise anymore; his eyes closed with red rings of tiredness around them, almost as if they were shrinking back into his skill. His strong jaw slack and almost jutted out of his skin, as most of the bones in his body did, much unlike the firm muscle that was there before. Deathly pale, he lay motionless, not even his fingers twitching. He was dressed in a flannel gown, one of those things the hospital makes you wear that looks like a floor mop, and I hated it. He didn't look happy, or sad, or...anything. If his eyes had been open, the once bright green irises that held so much cheek would be dull and unblinking.
Medically dead. That's what he was. Being kept alive by that bloody machine that had a beeping noise that penetrated your ears. It was hard not to hear.
I stared at him. And stared. And stared. I didn't know how long I had been there before a doctor made his way into the dim room. He didn't look at me. He didn't even know I was there. He approached the bed with him in it, checking the blinking lights and buttons that I assumed no one would ever understand. After he left, I went back to staring at the living corpse in front of me.
His family has visited at first, -well, whatever family he had left, which wasn't much- weeping over his limp body. Only two revisited, gelling up his short dark hair and making him look handsome, even though he wouldn't look at himself again.
That had been two years ago. They didn't visit anymore.
Finally, after a lifetime of just staring, I reached out my pale hand to try and touch him, but my fingers passed right through.
"Have you made your decision yet?" A voice said behind me.
I turned. A figure stood there. A man, dressed in black with sunken eyes and pale skin, much like the man on the bed. I knew his name. I knew where he was going to take me.
After a long moment, I nodded. "Yes" I whispered, my voice echoey and hollow.
The figure nodded and in response, stood and offered me a thin hand. I stood as well, the beeping of the machine stopping as I gently placed my hand on his.
And it was there. At that moment. After years of fighting. I gave up and chose death.