What The End Looks Like | ✓

32: lacey

"Your mom is pretty pissed at me," Grayson says, sitting in the seat next to me.

I shrug, getting up, "I knew she would be. She's going to have to get over it. I'm sorry if you regret saying yes, I'm sure I could ask someone else to be my power of attorney."

"I didn't say I wasn't going to do it; I said your mom is very upset. I do need to know if you've changed your mind about anything though. It's different planning ahead than actually facing the moment."

I lift my arm up that's hooked up to an IV and I motion to the nasal cannula giving me oxygen because my heart is failing at a quicker rate than expected. "I don't want the surgery. I want to be able to leave this hospital and not be hooked up to a box that's going to pump my heart for me. I've had so many surgeries and I'm not going to do another. I don't want to be treated."

He nods, "Alright. I'll stand by whatever you want to do."

"Thank you so much, Gray. You have no idea what this all means to me."

Grayson rests his hand on mine, "I just want to make sure you get a voice. Don't worry about anything, I'll have it handled."

There's a knock on the door and I hold my breath hoping it's Dean. Probably not a great idea to hold my breath right now since I had a heart attack not even twelve hours ago.

And it is Dean. His curly mop of hair is the first thing I see and then the hesitant look on his face. Grayson clears his throat and pats my hand, "I'll be back later. I'm going to run home and shower," He says and I smile appreciatively at him.

"Thanks again. Take your time, I don't think I'm going anywhere." I try to joke and Grayson laughs lightly, shaking his head at me.

I don't hear what he says to Dean, but Dean nods and steps forward to resume the seat Grayson had been occupying. "Hey Lace."

"What's up?" I ask lamely and he gives me a sad smile. Right. Time for questions and answers.

"How long have you been sick?" He asks first, starting out with a bang.

I let out a shaky breath, that's how they all are now. "Since I was born. I've got H.L.H.S. which is typically fatal within days of birth. I used to know the statistics but now they don't matter. I've lived long past my expected expiration date. Hypoplastic left heart syndrome is rare but it happened to me."

Dean looks confused, "But you've seemed so healthy?"

"I've got an array of meds I'm on which is why I can't drink. That one night with you was the first and only time I've been drunk. I've gotten a little lazy with them lately because I know they're not doing much for me anymore. I don't like being seen as the sick girl and I never wanted you to look at me that way. I have trouble breathing sometimes, my pulse is irregular, and I get really tired. I'm always cold because I have poor circulation. Other than that, there's not much to see."

The next question he has is the hardest one to answer. I don't want to tell him. The bubble is being popped.

"How long?"

Dean deserves the truth. I look him in the eyes and I pop the bubble, "Before last night, I had until the end of May, maybe June. Gray told me this morning I've got two weeks if I'm lucky. I need a transplant, but I have a rare blood type and hearts don't come around all that often."

His eyes widen and I know that wasn't what he expected to hear. It wasn't what Dean wanted to hear. This isn't fair me to ask him to stay. Sam he couldn't handle it. I thought that not telling him was the right thing.

And then Dean gets up and I expect him to walk out the door, instead he smiles at me. "Scooch over."

A short sob escapes from me because I seriously underestimated Dean. I'm so glad I was wrong. He wraps his arms around me and holds me to his chest. Oh thank god.