Seven Hours (Destiel)

8

I put away the pen, tucking it into my jacket pocket. I read over the note, noticing the errors I made, the blood and tear stained splotches contrasting the light grey of my pencil.

The gun smiled at me, drawing my hand to it as I picked up a half empty whiskey bottle. I slowly drained it, feeling myself get drunker as the amber liquid found a new container within me. I knew I was simply prolonging the inevitable, but I knew it wasn't because I was scared.

It was because I was about to have the peace I craved for so long, and I didn't want it to be snatched away.

Five minutes.

I picked up the gun by its hand hold, the cool metal biting into my warm flesh. I regarded it for a moment.

Four minutes.

I placed the note under the empty whiskey bottle so that it wouldn't get gross. Blood is a bitch to read through.

Three minutes.

I let myself cry, not for my ending life, but for Dean's beginning one. For the one we never had. I sobbed for Sam, and Gabe, and Lucy, and Anna, and that precious baby girl, and Michael, and Dean.

Two minutes.

I prayed to god that he would get this note to someone who would find Dean. That he would read it and fall in love with me all over again, like I did when I wrote it.

One minute.

I finally rested the gun under my chin, eyes fixated on a point beyond my field of vision.

"I'll see you soon Sammy."

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A red headed cop sat on the floor, gory crime scene disregarded as she clutched the note to her chest. Tears poured from her eyes, earning an odd look from her partner.

"Is there anything that could have pointed us in the direction of figuring out why he did this?" The old man griped. He was clearly peeved at having been called away from his dinner with the grandkids when a gun shot was heard by neighbors.

"He was in love." She whispered.

"Charlie, don't get involved with this. Does it mention anything about family, someone you could give the note to?"

Charlie took a moment to compose herself.

"Yeah, uh, Dean Winchester. The mechanic who lives off of Main. I um... Can you call someone else in to help you take care of this Rufus?" Charlie felt bile rise into her throat as the coppery smell of blood filled her mouth. "I want to take this to Dean, if you don't mind."

Rufus' eyes softened. "Get outta here kid, I'll call in Garth." He caught Charlie by the shoulder. "Seriously. Don't get involved. You'll only get hurt."

Charlie brushed away his warnings, wiping a rogue tear away from her cheek.

Charlie rested her head on the wheel of her beat up Volkswagen, sobbing until she could not physically breathe.

The drive to Main was achingly long, agonizing almost. Charlie had seen too many suicides, too many notes to even count. But Castiel's words rang through her head like a song. "I'm sorry Cas."

Charlie approached the doorstep after stopping to check her appearance in her side mirror. If she were being honest, she was a wreck, but right now, she had to do her job.

She knocked briskly, professional-like on the door, stepping back as a courtesy.

A man with close cropped blonde hair opened the door, his green eyes alight in joy.

"Good evening ma'am. Is there something I can help you with?" His voice carried a slight drawl that was almost hypnotizing to listen to.

"Are you Dean Winchester?"

The man nodded, eyes losing their humorous light. "The one and only. Am I in trouble?"

A man appeared behind Dean, arms wrapped snuggly around his muscular frame. "And Michael Novak, I presume?" Charlie felt a heated anger rising in her belly before Rufus' words rang in her head. She couldn't get too involved.

The man snorted. "That's me." Dean elbowed him in the stomach lightly, casting Charlie an apologetic smile.

"I'm officer Bradbury, but you can call me Charlie." She shook hands with the two men. "Would you mind if we went outside? What I have to say is better done in private." Dean and Michael stepped aside, letting her into the warm, comfy home.

"I'm here on behalf of Castiel Novak." She watched Dean, trying to gauge his reaction, but she received none.

Michael, on the other hand, snorted. "What did he do, rob a store? We aren't hiding him here, if that's what you're here about. We haven't spoken to the sick fuck in months." Dean still remained calm.

"No, you jack ass." Charlie seethe, taking pleasure in the way their eyes widened.

"Approximately two hours ago, Castiel Novak shot and killed himself in an abandoned house off the corner of Oak street."

The room fell quiet as the two men toon in this new information. Dean's face paled, and Michael looked horrified.

"No." He whispered into his hands. "Not Cas..."

Dean remained quiet.

Charlie turned to face the green eyed man, feeling as though she had known him for years. "He wanted you to have this." She held out the note, stained with tears.

Dean reached for it with shaking hands. When his fingers caught the paper, Charlie took his hands in her own, patting them softly. "You are a good man Dean Winchester."

She stood and left the house, feeling like she had killed the man's puppy. When she glanced back through the window, all she saw was Dean's sobbing form curled into Michael's body.

I did it Castiel. She thought, looking up at the night sky. Now what?

She could have sworn one of the stars shone brighter.