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Dreams continued to float through his mind, but they weren’t actually dreams. The feeling of falling overtook him, but only for seconds until he splattered all over the ground. Someone threw him off the building, and he knew he deserved it. The feeling was odd, his brains were all over the ground, skull smashed in, and yet he still felt conscious.
This wasn’t the worst feeling in the world. Betrayal and abandonment, those hurt more than that syringe. Yet he forgave Miles, and in the end he was the one that needed forgiveness, acknowledgement.
That’s when the dust storm came. It swirled around him, covering his mangled body until nothing was left.
Bass was lying there, unable to move or breathe. Right, because he was dead. The dust though, it was surrounding him and seeping into his lungs, his skin. He couldn’t breathe and it was closing in on him, covering his fingers and face until all of the light was gone. Bass felt like he was suffocating in his dreams, but he was dead. None of it made sense.
Is this how dying feels? Massive amounts of pain and… consciousness? If suffering different ways to die for eternity was his punishment, he wouldn’t argue with it. The long months he spent drowning in the sea of his crimes taught him that his mind wasn’t steady and the world wasn’t fair. It didn’t mean he should turn from a good man into a monster, yet he made too many mistakes to endure anything less.
What seemed like years passed and he was still suffocating slowly, but surely. He’s on the brink of death again; dying twice. Funny because that sounds like something Aaron could do.
Metal scratching against earth was steadily driving him insane, the continuous sound of digging could be heard around him. It smelled like mud and sweat, but something was wrong. Sebastian wasn’t sure what exactly was going on, but his eyes fluttered open. The closer the sound got, the worse he felt.
At least Miles accepted him in the end, that’s all he could ask for.
The noises were getting louder, and Bass could feel his heart beat racing out of his chest. His eyes grew with fear when he realized his limbs were too heavy to move. Trapped and powerless against his new impending doom. He winced with each new shovel of dirt. Closer and closer, he could hear the rocks scraping the shovel and he wanted to scream.
Above him the wooden lid rumbled and more dirt fell down upon him. It shook and creaked open, Bass was ready to die again.
It’s Rachel. Of course one of his deaths would be brought to him by her. She deserved to kill him as many times as fate would allow. She stood above him, tired and covered in dirt. His fingers wiggled, afraid of the endless torture this hell would bring him.
Instead, Rachel only told him not to try and move. She grabbed his arms and heaved him out of the coffin. Bass tried to help as best he could, but like she said he wouldn’t be able to move much.
All business, she said nothing and only closed the coffin. Diligently, she was covering his grave again.
The idea that this was all some sort of afterlife was beginning to fade, all he could do while she filled in the hole was stare at the stars. His eyes took in all of the night sky noting that there were vast amounts of space above them and they would never be able to travel there again. Without power they lost so much potential to evolve. Everyone relied on it so much, that hundreds of thousands of people didn’t survive when it faded away.
Bass continued staring, realizing that right now in this moment he would have been interested in going to space one day. Maybe to escape all the sorrows of his life and make a new one. No one would know him in space, no one would hate him.
Time passed while he thought about his mistakes, and Rachel was finally done. She disappeared, at least Bass thought she did because no noise was heard from his old burial site. He wondered why she did this, why she saved him and was being civil with him. He couldn’t ask because he felt like his voice was gone, his lips were numb, and his throat still so dry.
Water became his new obsession, and as if she could hear his thoughts, Rachel reappeared beside him and lifted his head as much as she could. “Drink.” She instructed. He obeyed.
“All right, Monroe." Then she pulled him up. The rest was a bit blurry and his mind was fading in and out, but he was together enough to realize they were walking toward a house.
An apology escaped him quietly as they walked. One for everything he had ever put her through, one for Danny, and one for Ben. He explained he was sick then, even though she told him before they were just excuses she listened quietly this time. Bass told her he had time to reflect on his mistakes, a little over six months. Nothing he can ever say or do will bring them back, nor will it make up for that. He thought he voiced all of this, but in reality only the words “I’m sorry” were uttered from his lips.
They don’t talk after his thoughts are done, she doesn’t seem to want to talk to him at all. That’s fine. He owed her before, and now he owes her so much more for saving his life.