Remember Me

What he hates most about dying are the constant looks.

People look at him with so much sympathy, their eyes practically screaming "I am so sorry", when in reality all they're thinking is "Thank god it's not me".

Also, people talk to him differently as soon as they know that his time is running out. They speak with shushed voices, carefully examining every word before they say it, afraid that their words might break his fragile, dying body.

He hates that. Because, let's face it, it really can't get worse. Their words can't do more harm than the cancer.

The only one who doesn't treat him differently, who talks to him like he can still take some sharp words, who looks at him like he's still the fairly good-looking guy he was before chemo, is Dean.

Sometimes his crooked smile can make him forget that he's in a white, cold hospital room. Sometimes his stupid jokes can make him stop listening to the beeping next to him that is counting down his remaining heartbeats. And sometimes his kisses can make him forget that he will never make it to his twenty-fifth birthday.

The day everything changes – well, again, because everything already changed when he got his diagnosis – is the day his second round of chemo starts. He's sitting in the patients' lounge – which is really just a nice word for a crappy room – when Dean's best friend, Jo walks in.

He doesn't really know her, and he knows she's never liked him, so he's pretty surprised when she sits down next to him and gives him a slight smile. "Hi."

"Hi.", he answers.

"How are you?"

He snorts. "Asides from the fact that I'm dying, fine, thank you."

Her mouth twitches and he can't tell if she's hurt or angry. For a moment there's silence, until he asks: "Where's Dean?"

"He couldn't make it." She hesitates a moment before she adds: "He's not exactly well."

Fear floods his body and the words tumble out of his mouth in a rush. "What happened? Is he ill? What…?"

She interrupts him. "He's fine, physically. But mentally… he's watching you die. Do you think he can do that without getting damaged himself? He's a mess, and a part of him is dying with you."

She leaves shortly after that, and Dean comes back that evening, smiling and joking and kissing him like everything's alright, but he can't help thinking about her words over and over again.

Two days later they are laying on his bed side by side, Dean's arms wrapped around him and his warm breath tickling his neck, when the words slip out of his mouth. "Will you remember me? When I'm gone, I mean."

Dean laughs. "Of course I will. How could I ever forget you?"

"Don't."

His eyes widen and he looks at him blankly. "What?"

"Don't remember me. Don't grieve for me. Don't miss me. I'm not worth it. Find someone else, get happy, and never, ever remember me."

Dean's green eyes are full of something that could be pain or love or both at the same time as he says: "You are worth it. I love you, and I…"

He interrupts him. "Please.", he says pleadingly. "Please. I can't die knowing that you'll forever miss me. Just forget me. Grant me this last wish."

As Dean looks at him now, it's definitely pain on his face. His eyes are dwelling with tears and his voice is shaky when he says: "I can't."

In this moment, he takes back everything he said before.

What he hates most about dying are not the constant looks.

It's having to break Dean's heart.