"I am married," The words echoed back and forth, rebounding across my head over the next little while. 

It was still dark outside. The low lights of the room my only guide to making out the designs of it. A punished wooden floor. Bare walls. A floor-to-ceiling glass window. The bed and a cupboard. An ensuite tucked around the corner.

A medic, of some kind came inside. He did a quick checkup, swiftly studying my injuries. 

"It doesn't look like you have a concussion at this time," He murmured, writing down few notes, "but we can't know what's caused by the sedative and what's caused by a concussion at this time," 

I sat on the floor against the bed, my head still throbbing. I wanted to sleep. The doctor recommended against it. 

"I would recommend some kind of scan. Until that time, we can't know,"

"Okay," I murmured, my muscles still relatively limp. It was hard to lift them at all. So this is what it felt like to be drugged. I thought to myself.

The doctor turned off his tablet looking to me. I'd been punctured twice by a taser, had swelling on the edge of my forehead from the fall, and was now muddled with drugs as well. On top of that, I'd lost the love of my life.

His eyes softened, "Is there anything I can do to help you?"

I let my eyes lightly close. It felt almost insulting to be treated like a normal human being after the events of the past couple of hours. It stung more deeply than being abused did. A tear slipped down my cheek.

"I just want to go home," My voice was a rasped, broken whisper. 

The doctor breathed in and out for a moment, "I'm sorry, I can't do that,"

"I know," I breathed out. A moment passed, "Do you have a Bible? That'd be appreciated," 

"I'll see what I can do. Stay awake," The doctor instructed gently, standing. I lulled off slightly into another world. By the time he'd returned, I was almost gone. He passed it to me. An English translation. I was surprised by that. 

"Thank you," I murmured. 

"Please stay awake miss," The doctor insisted, "it's very important that you do,"

"Uh huh,"I murmured, my lids partially closed already. I held the Bible tightly to my chest, shuffling closer to the bed frame. 

The doctor sighed, standing. 

Good, he's gone, I thought to myself, my thoughts turning to Cas. A tear slipped out, tracing down my cheek and dripping onto the cover. I wanted to sleep, but it wasn't comfortable enough to do so. I wanted out. To be at home in my creaky, single bed. Where the sheets were made of the cheapest fabric available. I wanted to wake up to the scent of cookies and the warm hugs of my family. I wanted home. I wanted home, with Cas there.

Cas. 

The thought of him seemed to pierce through the fog. I wanted to throw up and cry at the same time. For the first time, I really, truly began to cry. Not just angry, hot tears. Or startled sobs. But a genuine motion that could be loosely described as weeping. A weeping that caused me to lie on the floor, curled up in the foetal position. 

I mourned for Cas. For the man that I'd loved and would be to love. The man that I'd willingly give my life for and who I know would give his life for mine. I wanted to hold him again. To pull him close. Oh, what I wouldn't give just to have one, more day with him. 

Such words seemed overly dramatic in films and movies.

Please, I would often snort, you should've done that all beforehand while you still had them.

But I understood them so well now. It was all so vivid to me. It'd be just Cas and I, in an empty Burbank with no one to see us. Every moment of our final hours, spent fused to one another. Perhaps we'd dance. Perhaps we'd play footsie underneath the table. 

I would pull him close, my his collar. His breath would fan across his face. His eyes would trace mine, taking me in. And as he drew ever closer-.

He would hug me. A tight hug that would never let me go. So that I would never be lost again. And so that I would never loose him again.

I bit down the wail that bubbled in my throat. Waves of pan and anguish washing over me. I bit into my knuckles, still holding the Bible close to my chest. I wanted to scream, and cry, and maybe fire a gun at someone. I wanted someone to blame. 

But I couldn't. 

We'd gone to my house under my recommendation.

Cas had just married me.

Alek had been there for me.

In every way that I tried to work it, it was still my fault. And that made the crushing pain even worse. To know that Cas' death was caused by me.

And not just Cas, but Vlad, and Franciszek.

Like a blanket, it came weighing down even harder. 

And even the floor wouldn't swallow me up.