19. Memories

Summary: They say your brain replays its best memories in the last seven minutes before finalized death.

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*Kicks legs and twirls pubes cutely*

Hey chat

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They say your brain replays your best memories when you die.

Jack had never assumed that to be true. He hadn't experienced it when his body was pierced entirely by a metal endoskeleton, and he hadn't expected to experience it now. As he stood amidst the flames, tearing at his body, he was convinced he had his peace. Everything was done and he could finally be at rest, was his last thought before the remnants of his body fell to the floor.

Peace; that was the first thing that entered his mind when it reawakened after the impact. He looked ahead of him, but he saw something different from the flames: a forest, illuminated by the low sun. Despite his better instincts, he felt himself relax into the warmth, the rays of sunshine sparking even more freckles in his young face. From where he sat on a picnic table, two bright tents surrounded him, one of which was partially zipped open

It was comfortably early in the morning, and Jack had been the first to have awoken. He sat patiently, working on some homework assignment he couldn't care less for. A time where his only concern was the annoyance of schoolwork during the holiday; a better time. Despite this, he still felt a sense of comfortable familiarity wash over him, tapping his pen as he relished in the scent of an early morning in the forest. Soon, his parents and brother would awaken, and they would gather for breakfast like a family.

"Hey Jack, catch!"

A voice chimed from aside him; speak of the devil. Peter threw a ball towards him, landing on the table where his work lay sprawled out. His brother, standing in pajamas that he'd outgrown long ago, approached him. He was a few years older, although hardly any taller, and glanced at Jack's schoolwork. Raising an eyebrow, he questioned why he was working on that now and Jack simply shrugged his shoulders:

"Has to be done sometime, right?"

Peter scoffed, being the older and therefore the more rebellious of the two; he thoughtfully shook his head at Jack before he took the sheet and crumpled it to a ball in his hands.

"Now's not the time for that, nerd!"

He threw the paper ball at his head, and Jack could only laugh. He had hardly a care for school, and almost immediately jumped up from his seat to chase after the ball Peter had initially thrown at him. His brother was quick to catch up from him, tackling him before he was able to reach it. Both fell to the damp grass, laughing and cheering loudly. Jack could only relish in the feeling of content and genuine laughter, unbothered to get up as he clutched the ball to his chest.

Just as Peter got up and began tugging at him, the zipper to their parent's tent opened. Out came his mother; her hair a mess and her expression as if she was still asleep. She held her stomach with a gentle hand, rubbing a circle over it with only the care a mother could have. A third sibling, they'd known for a while now. They'd almost blown their annual camping trip off, but his mother had insisted that she would manage despite her pregnancy.

"Boys! What did I tell you about being noisy in the morning?"

She hardly had to yell for them to pay attention to her, and her voice was as gentle as always. As Peter had his head turned towards her, Jack took the opportunity to roughly push him away. He still had the ball closely clutched to his chest, determined to keep it from Peter.

"Yeah, don't be so loud Peter!"

He shot his brother a glare, already opening his mouth to vocalize a protest before their mother interrupted:

"You too Jack, you know dad needs his sleep."

She said, and he muttered a quiet apology. They both retreated to the picnic table, where their mom was spreading a rich layer of peanut butter across two slices of bread. She handed them to the two boys, before preparing one for herself. They sat and held conversation during the entirety of it, unbothered by the world outside their campsite.

It was how Jack always wanted it to be; simple. Hearing his mother's voice made him feel warm inside, made him forget about the concern that wouldn't matter in a month's time anyway. He smiled into a bite of his sandwich, trying to keep hold of the conversation Peter had with his mother. But alas, the words began to fade along with the faces of his family. Every memory had to end somewhere, and there was nothing to keep this one running any longer.

He wanted to reach forward to the image, grasp it and hold on to it for as long as he could, but his physical body vanished along with the rest of the sight. For a moment there were only his thoughts, only the worry of what was to come next, and then he was holding something. The scene came into view, and he blinked against the bright hospital lights before his attention was drawn to a soft cry in his lap.

Looking down, a baby looked back towards him. People rushed all around him, his dad kneeled beside him with a hand resting on his knee being the only one who seemed focused on him. He reached a hand forward to stroke the thin hair of the baby, a color that bordered between light brown and ginger, before the crying ceased entirely. Her face gave a gentle smile, reaching little hands up at him.

"It's a girl, Jack."

His dad said, reaching a finger forward for the baby to grab. Her little hand wrapped around it with a cheer, and her face contorted into that of a smile. Jack could only look at her; at the life that he got to hold in his arms, at his little sister. His dad only smiled at the sight of it, the look on Jack's face was so full of care that it warmed his heart.

"We've decided to name her Dee."

He pried the finger encapsulated by her hand free, and almost immediately her smile faltered. With a crack of his knees and hand supporting himself, Jack's father stood up. Soft cries began emerging from Dee, flailing her hands in the air. Jack softly hushed her, very carefully rocking her in his arms. She went quiet again, closing her eyes as he continued the motion.

"You'll be a great brother, I can already tell."

His father said with pride in his voice, roughing up Jack's hair with a hand. Jack looked up at him and nodded with determination, before returning his attention to Dee. It was the first time he felt such immediate endearment towards someone, and he could only relish in the humane experience as he reassured his dad:

"I'll always take care of her."

He'd said it himself, he'd made that promise himself, and yet his subconscious mind understood what was to follow. That loving feeling began to falter, guilt taking its place as the memory began to fade again. He grasped for her as she vanished from his arms, desperate to protect her despite the understanding that it was merely a memory. Then she was gone, and there was nothing again. His own words repeated in his mind, and he couldn't help but curse himself for failing to live up to that promise. In a vain attempt, he called out to her.

"Yes Jack-?"

She answered, this time with the words of a young child instead of a baby's cries. Her face beamed with excitement as she held a small cup in her hands, occasionally sipping from it as if she was royalty. He'd forgotten the original desperation behind his calling, and replied as he remembered the situation:

"Can you hand me the teapot?"

His sister nodded eagerly, setting her cup down and reaching for the teapot. As she picked it up, she halted in her movement to lift the top off.

"Oh! It's empty..."

She pouted with the innocent sadness only a young child could have, looking inside the teapot as if its content would magically reappear. Caroline stood up from her spot on the floor, walking around to take the pot from Dee's hands.

"Come here, I'll refill that dear."

She walked back around towards the kitchen, stopping briefly to press a kiss to the crown of Peter's head as she went. Dee let out a melodramatic noise of disgust, and Jack immediately followed in even more of an exaggerated tone. Peter playfully scoffed at them in response, poking his sister in her side.

The three of them were seated on the floor, a set of small teacups sprawled out between them. It was Dee's christmas gift, she'd specifically requested it and had whined about wanting to have tea parties from then on. Although it was hard for Jack to manage while working several jobs, he'd found a gap to visit Peter and his wife, Caroline. They were always welcoming, and Dee was especially fond of Caroline. She must've been five by this point, Jack estimated

Caroline returned with the ceramic teapot, handing it back over to Dee. The water in it wasn't boiling, just warm enough to create the illusion of tea without Dee burning herself. She took Jack's cup from his hand and poured rather gracefully, all while her face still beamed with a smile equally as big as Jack's own.

"There you go!"

She extended the cup to Jack, which he took with an elegant nod and a pinkie raised. As she fell in conversation with Caroline and Peter, Jack took the opportunity to sit back and observe the four of them. To any outsiders, they wouldn't seem like family; they lacked an older man and woman. But to Jack, they absolutely were. No matter how tough times got, they had each other and they had the joy that came with it. He released a heavy breath, met with the content feeling that they would be alright together.

He looked towards Dee, towards her smile and towards the ways her eyes lit up when she was particularly engaged with a topic. Much to his dismay, it began to fade. As she vanished from his vision, he called out again but the words disappeared along with the memory. And then, briefly, there was nothing. He had no physical body; he tried to look around but had no eyes to see from, no lungs to breathe from, no hands to feel from. He was merely his consciousness, which could only repeat one thing to him:

This can't be everything.

There had to be more memories, it was impossible for it to only consist of those three. He tried to blink something into his vision, but was again met with the inability to do so. Instead he remained in this odd state, waiting for something, anything, to happen. It became evident that it was resemblant of a large gap in time as a ceiling came into view, trying to adjust his eyes to the dark surroundings.

He was in a dingy motel room, blinking at the harsh neon lights that blared outside flimsy curtains. That peaceful feeling reestablished itself again, but much differently this time; he was high. The butt of a joint was still stuck between his pointer and thumb, several others in an ashtray on his nightstand. He reached to his side, nudging the body beside him only to hear a familiar grumble.

At first, he tried to push the memory away. His time after the accident was horrible, and he had always held the past for a better time. It didn't make sense to him that Dave was here, his memories should have been of his parents, his brother and sister, not the man who helped contribute to the death of his idealized past.

It was this weed induced panic that queued him to sit up, frantically looking around the trashed room. Dave caught his eye, following in a slow movement. He lay a hand on Jack's shoulder, and he didn't protest. This was how he remembered it, and no matter how much he'd wanted to: he couldn't alter the past.

"Woa- You alright, old sport?"

The New Yorker's voice spoke from beside him, softer than usual. He relaxed into the touch, letting himself fall lifelessly against Dave's side. It only now hit him how tired he really felt, his eyelids in a narrow slit as he eagerly inhaled from the remnant of his joint.

"Yeah- Yeah, I am... Sorry, I dunno why I- I dunno..."

He mumbled, rubbing his watery eyes. His head swerved and he felt dizzy just sitting up, which Dave seemed to notice as he pulled Jack along when laying back down. With the way he was leaned against Dave's side, his head ended up resting on the man's chest. He allowed himself it for now, too high and tired to allow himself much protest. Dave hugged him nearer, rubbing gentle circles across his back seemingly successful in soothing his nerves.

The room went quiet, and Jack took the opportunity to reposition himself in such a way that his ear would be over Dave's heart. Dee had always said that she found it comforting to listen to his heartbeat, and since he'd never tried it himself he might as well do so now. But, much to his surprise, he never heard the gentle thrum of life. Confused, and slightly worried, he reached a hand across the other side of Dave's chest. Afterall, he was incredibly high and could very well have mixed up his left and right. It was fruitless though, as he still found no sign of a heartbeat.

"Dude, where's your heart?"

He asked Dave with a rough voice, not bothered enough to raise his head from where it lay so comfortably on his chest. The repetitive movement along his back briefly halted, and he watched a cloud of smoke appear from the general vicinity of Dave's face.

"You're askin' me, as if I know sports-"

He coughed briefly, waving the cloud of smoke away with his free hand. Jack's stoned mind did not recognise the implications of his statement, feeling Dave's chest rise and fall with every ragged breath that emerged from him.

"I mean, ya' got springlocked too! Didn't ya, old sport?"

It was the first time Dave had acknowledged it since they encountered each other. He hadn't even noticed during their time at Freddy's, courtesy of Jack's copious amounts of foundation, but it quickly became evident in their shared room in Vegas.

"Yeah, but my heart still beats!"

He spoke the truth; his heart still had a beat, albeit an irregular one. While the springlocks pierced the majority of major organs, it was near impossible for them to reach deep enough to damage the heart itself.

"Guess I jus' had bad luck."

Dave concluded, bringing his tragically inburnt joint to his lips. And that was that; silence embraced them again, comfortable in mutual confinement. Jack stayed against Dave's chest, relaxing into the soft motion of Dave rubbing his back. It was the first time in a long while that he had felt comfortable in such a manner. They were both fucked up; there was no denying that and moreso, there was no running from that when they were together.

He'd recognised something in Dave he never thought he would, and he suddenly felt a sense of friendship he hadn't experienced after his sister's death. It was wrong, and he understood that, but it was nice. And that was what made the memory so important to Jack; the comfort in recognition, the mutual acceptance that things were bad and all they could do was make the best of it.

He could lay there for hours, silently and pressed against Dave's cold body, until the weed-induced exhaustion would inevitably force him to a dream filled sleep. Comfort, but in a form that was different from the one he received around his family. His blinked away sleep, his joint long having burnt out, and the visuals before him became less and less clear. Just as he tried to reopen his eyes, Dave wasn't there anymore and neither was the surrounding area.

Despite knowing better, he desperately reached forward with the hopes of grasping anything close to him. Instead, his hand landed in a bright green substance, immediately retreating it upon feeling the gross structure. The intervals between memories were getting shorter; his mind was rushing to show them all before the flames turned them to ashes. And yet, without any real thought, he reached into the silly putty. Almost automatically, he pried a good amount of it between the springlocks of the suit that sat before him.

"I'm back, old sport!"

Dave's voice reappeared from behind him, before his figure came in view.

"How's the riggin' coming along?"

He gestured towards the fredbear suit, in which Jack had just stuffed another load of bright green putty. With a vague smile on his face, Jack raised his hands between the two of them with a fabricated tremor.

"My hands are coated in silly putty."

"Yeah, I should hope so, old sport."

Before Jack had the opportunity to provide any input, Dave continued:

"I may have shot a man. I also got the beers, old sport. Want one?"

"Hell yeah. Pass one over!"

Dave planted a lewd-warm can into his extended hand, before enthusiastically exclaiming:

"Hell yeah! Crackin' open a cold one with old sport!"

The synchronized sound of two cans of beer being opened chimed through the echoey saferoom, filling the brief silence that fell before Dave spoke:

"You wouldn't have known Henry, would you have, old sport?"

The questioning initially startled him, sucking in a harsh breath before he lied towards Dave's face. When taking in consideration that Dave spoke of Henry for a while, it didn't make sense for this memory to be here; Henry was the one that started this, afterall. But then again, it was one of the first times Dave had opened up about the life he lived before they met properly. It was the honesty that laced his otherwise heightened voice with something foreign, something fragile.

It was interesting to gain an insight into Dave's motivations, only just beginning to understand the littlest bit of the mystery that called itself Dave Miller. Of course, Jack couldn't agree to it, given his history with Henry, but he wasn't in a place to argue with his criminal history. So he just listened, tried his best to understand Dave while he was presented with the opportunity.

They fell in more lighthearted conversation shortly after, filled to the brim with jokes and banter typical to Dave. There was something so unique about him that always managed to make Jack enjoy his presence, something unique that almost made Dave's company irresistible. As he spoke Jack found his eyes drifting to him on several occasions, pausing his mission of stuffing silly putty in the suit to study his features when he was particularly invested in a story.

Jack had never fallen in love. He'd never paid much attention to the idea of it during his teenage years, and when his parents passed he was much too invested in taking care of his sister to even consider the possibility. Then there was the whole ordeal of him dying, which didn't make him a particularly attractive participant in the dating pool. He had no idea what it was like, and yet, he suspected he began to finally understand.

When he looked at Dave, he felt something blossom inside him, something that he suspected was long gone in unison with his soul. Although he hadn't known what love was like, he could only imagine this was the closest to it that he'd ever experienced. When Dave smiled he couldn't help but grin too, and when they touched he could only lean further into the contact.

Dave could do, say, almost anything and he'd be behind him, ready to defend him when necessary. And from the way Dave continuously trailed around him, from the way their eyes met when brief silence fell, he suspected the feeling to be mutual. And that was a comforting thought; finding love in similarity amidst violence, the fact that it was possible alone made Jack full of warmth.

Eventually, the suit before Jack consisted of more putty than air, and Dave proposed he headed home. While sad to see himself go, he agreed anyway because of the absolute exhaustion that was slowly consuming him. He waved to Dave as he set his hand on the doorknob, opening it and stepping foot in the darkness that lay outside. There was nothing outside that door, Jack understood that the moment he watched his foot phase through the floor.

He looked back a final time, watching Dave's smile vanish from his sight as darkness surrounded him. While he was sad to let the memory go, he was simultaneously happy to have lived it again. The visual went, but the feeling of adoration stayed as he phased into another location; a dimly lit Vegas pub.

Immediately, he knew where he was. It was the pub they'd become regular to for a while during their second stay in Vegas, having spent many restless nights there. He frantically looked around in search of Dave; he knew he'd have to be here somewhere, he was never far. Before he consciously registered it, he brought a glass to his mouth. The taste vaguely stung, and he noticed intoxication settle in along with the adoration.

Drunk and in love, a combination that could be either wise or incredibly stupid. To Jack, who hardly ever expressed emotion when sober, it was certainly a foreign experience. It was another minute or so before Dave emerged from the toilets, scanning the crowd in search of Jack. He waved to his companion, and Dave immediately headed towards him when he caught sight of him.

"Davey!"

He cheered happily, once Dave had settled beside him against the bar. His voice must have sounded unusually enthusiastic, because Dave gave him a surprised look before mumbling out:

"What? Ya' miss me, old sport?"

Someone walked by behind Jack in a rush, nudging him and pushing him further forward against Dave. He mumbled a vague threat towards the stranger, oblivious to the way his hands rested on Dave's chest when he caught himself. When Jack looked up to him, neither made an effort to divert from their position.

"Sorry- You were sayin'?

He could vaguely hear Dave's accent in his own words, and he only now realized how intoxicated he must've been. Then again, he could only presume Dave was equally as far gone when he answered with a darker shade of purple spread across his face:

"I- I dunno- What was I sayin'?"

Dave laughed with his words and Jack synced, hands still resting against Dave. Their contact had been more than verbal as of late; brief touches that no longer seemed accidental, nights where gentle arms held him through the night. Despite the vivid image, he couldn't remember what had prompted him to do what he did next. In a hurried and nervous movement, he grabbed the fabric of Dave's shirt.

"You always make me forget stuff- I hate that I love that about you-"

His voice was a low whisper, slurring his words ever so slightly. His face was close to Dave's, closer than usual for them, and he could smell the alcohol lingering on his breath.

"I hate how you make me feel, you know that?"

Now that it finally came out, he couldn't stop the stream of words anymore. All that effort in suppressing it, broken by one drunken bender in a particularly adoring mood; Jack only now saw how fragile the walls around him were.

"I hate that, when you smile, I have to smile to- And when you ramble, I just can't stop listening- And, God- I fuckin' hate you-"

It was his way of saying it; there was a mutual understanding that it could never be another way. They were united through violence, in their past and presence, and hadn't known otherwise because of it. But no matter how tragic that may have seemed on occasion, it was a language shared and understood between the two of them, something that united them.

"I hate you too, sportsy..."

Dave laughed with his words, breathless and mesmerized by the way Jack's face contorted into an unreadable expression before him. In one swift movement he pushed Dave's back against the bar, pressing up against him and trapping Dave between himself and the bar.

"I'm going to kiss you."

He stated, plainly and directly, as he loomed before Dave.

"No obligations?"

Asked Jack, to which Dave hurriedly shook his head. He had to stand on his toes to compensate for his height, only leaning further into Dave when it threw him off his balance. It was chaste, sloppy and rushed with emotion as if this might very well have been the only chance they were ever granted. It was exactly like they had known each other, and Jack could only relish in the warmth of the other's lips against his.

It was the only time he remembered having kissed Dave up until that point; he was certain there had to have been more when he was blackout drunk, but those were never brought up in his memories. The look on Dave's face was clear, even after several decades had passed; it was mesmerizing. His mouth hung open in slight surprise, his breath hot and his face even warmer, hands clutched in Jack's shirt

"Oh."

Dave breathed, not breaking eye contact with Jack. Neither moved away, oblivious to the questioning glares a few strangers shot at them.

"Oh."

Silence had never felt quite this heavy, and for a moment Jack considered that he'd done too much. Emotions never came easy to him, and he could hardly predict the consequences of them.

"I had no idea you felt that way sportsy-"

Then Dave spoke, and he snapped out of it. He released the fabric of his shirt, rumpled where his hands once were, and backed off.

"Me neither."

He concluded with a shallow breath, averting Dave's gaze. Jack was ready to run off then and there, internally cursing himself for more reasons than he could keep track of. Even when taking Dave's feelings towards him out of the equation, he understood how inherently wrong this was. He couldn't look at Dave, couldn't bring himself to apologize in fear of the rejection he was certain would come afterward. That, after betraying everything that once resided in him, it would result in nothing.

But he didn't have to, not when Dave coaxed his face back towards him with a careful hand along his jaw. He gently smiled, the faint lights of the club illuminating his features in a way that was beautiful to Jack and to Jack only. He wanted to speak, still adamant on mumbling out a rushed apology or explanation, but wasn't allowed to as Dave reconnected them. It was much more gentle than the first, still laced with emotions but in no way rushed; like the world revolved around them just to allow them all the time they desired.

"Sportsy- You could've just said so..."

When Dave distanced himself to speak, he hardly retreated more than an inch. Both his hands had moved to cup Jack's face, the entirety of it so sweet that it almost made Jack melt. He wrapped his own arms around Dave's neck, coaxing him close again. He pressed an open mouthed kiss to Dave's, before speaking in a whisper:

"I think I like this more..."

He kissed Dave again, and something inside him shifted. He recognised it by now, keeping his eyes tightly shut just because he knew Dave wouldn't be there anymore once he opened them. He relished in the memory of another person's love for as long as he could, trying desperately to cling on to that warmth before all physical sensation vanished. He tried reaching out, hopeful despite knowing how nihil it really was.

A long interval, merely accompanied by his thoughts and that peaceful sensation that had settled in them. He thought it was all over, waiting for his consciousness to vanish along with the memories. While he would've wanted to, he didn't struggle anymore. He'd made peace with his fate long ago, he was content to move on and put the last period to a story untold. And yet, a sight appeared before him.

He blinked against the bright screen that displayed a camera layout, giving him a view of the dingy horror attraction he currently resided in. It was his first attempt to bring his promise to completion, continuously activating a sound effect to lure Davetrap away from him. It was a horrible experience, having sat there night after night, but something about seeing Davetrap again made him melt into his own hand where it supported his head.

Even when he knew he was going to kill him, he couldn't help and smile at the sight of him, cluelessly roaming empty halls. He'd always understood that this was how they would end, it was the moments where he believed otherwise which he cherished. Sighing, he flicked through cameras in search of Davetrap, blinking against exhaustion. At a point like this, there was no other choice beside acceptance; this was how it would end.

And that realization brought just a little bit of comfort to him as he sat there, chest feeling heavy as he watched the other. Content to simply observe him, a final moment before death where they could be together, albeit through a screen. He wanted to watch forever, reside in that state of acceptance where he wasn't worried about the future or past, but the memory was short and began to phase.

"Wait!"

He exclaimed suddenly, as if it would make a difference. It just felt wrong to end on such a bittersweet note, he thought to himself.

"Is something wrong Jack?"

His sister asked him, her voice morphed into a more mechanical one this time around. He looked ahead of him, Dave and Dee standing alongside each other as they'd turned back to face him. Dee had taken the form of the puppet and they stood in familiar halls; he was in the third layer of the flipside.

"My legs hurt- Can we, maybe sit down?"

They'd been roaming the halls in search of another soul for a long time now, and a burning sensation ran through his feet. Dave and Dee seemed unbothered, they didn't have a physical body attached to this part of their soul that held them back. Dave began walking back towards him, thoughtfully nodding his head.

"Course we can sportsy-!"

He gave Dave a thankful smile, sinking to the floor with his back against the wall, uncaring for the grime he was setting himself in. Stretching his legs ahead of him, he released a deep sigh and let his head lol back against the wall.

"I'm guessing I don't get a say?"

His sister said, no real bite to the words despite the content of them.

"The adults are talking sis!"

Dave bit back, unable to resist the smile that crept up on his face with his words. It was good to see them get along, albeit in an unconventional way. As Dee approached them with a scoff, Dave settled on the floor beside him.

"I would've been like fifty by now if it weren't for you, Afton."

She murmured, just loud enough for Dave to hear as she settled on the other side of Jack. He swallowed, and Jack could almost hear the guilt coursing through him. Dee rested her head on his shoulder, and he wrapped an arm around what he imagined to be her shoulders. Almost immediately, she melted against him and settled into a comfortable position, oblivious to the way Dave nervously toyed with his shirt.

"Be nice to him Dee, I also wouldn't have found you if it wasn't for him."

Jack said with a gentle voice, holding his arm out towards Dave as an invitation. He scooted closer, resting against Jack's side with his head settling on his shoulder.

"Sorry."

Dee mumbled in a stubborn voice, much like a child who was just told to apologize. And in a sense, that was really what she was anyway.

"Nah, I deserved that."

This time it was Dave who spoke, a sad laugh to his words. Dee only hummed approvingly in response, having closed her eyes as her body lay limp against Jack's. On the other side of him, Dave's face nuzzled into his neck with a low purr. Jack let them, held them both as close as he could while the time granted him an opportunity to do so.

That was how he sat there, Dave on one side and Dee on the other, resting his legs. This wasn't how he had pictured it, but even despite that; this was all he could have asked for in life. He had loved them both equally during his lifetime, no matter how much it felt like he had failed them. They saw him for what he wanted to be; a brother, a partner, but a savior most of all. To both of them, he was a good person.

Dee and Dave had made peace together, and in turn he had made peace with their fates. Acceptance, of all that had happened, crashed over him. He accepted that he would definitively die, that the memory could burst into flames any moment now. For the first time during that trip, he didn't grasp for the memory when it started to fade before his sight. He just closed his eyes and held on to Dave and Dee for as long as it lasted, and the harsh flames felt just a little more comforting when he imagined it was their warmth.

He whispered a quiet goodbye to the both of them, followed by an even shakier I love you, but his body had already lost its physicality. And as his story finally came to an end, there wasn't only nothing surrounding him; but there was nothing within him. His consciousness died along with his body, and he finally got the rest he deserved.

Jack Kennedy died with a smile on his face, putting the final sentence to his story.

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[5767 words]

wat is bdsm -Lovely note by my friend (again (say hi everyone))