Chapter Text
It all happened so fast, Bret didn’t even register what had happened until he was staring at his best friend scraped up, glasses in pieces, his own blood staining the button down shirt he wore. Bret stood there with his ears ringing before the world faded back into existence. He registered the sound of the metal hitting flesh with a loud slam, the screeching of the brakes, and the screams of witnesses.
The funeral was the hardest part. He had been able to block out the experience and remain in denial for a little, but the funeral made it real. Everything came crashing back that day. Bret couldn’t hold himself together and by the end of the ceremony he was dehydrated, he was out of tears, and he was feeling as sick as he’d been since that fateful day.
Bret layed in bed for two weeks straight. He could barely get himself to stand up, and he’d been eating the stale bread that had been sitting in the back of the cabinet. Even then, he struggled to keep anything down. The fact that he would never see his best friend again made him sick. He couldn’t play guitar, he couldn’t go outside, he couldn’t even listen to music. Everything reminded him of Jemaine.
Murray would visit him daily. He’d sit with the other man as he layed in bed, almost catatonic. He wouldn’t speak, he would just stare at the ceiling. Murray would make light conversation, try to discuss the weather, or anything else that wasn’t related to Jemaine. Sometimes Bret would manage a quiet “Thanks, Murray” as he left, but not every time.
After those two weeks, Bret took to pacing around the house for hours at a time. It was the exact opposite of his previous state, and Murray had even less of an idea of how to handle it. Once again, he just sat around trying to make light conversation. Bret was a little more talkative, but still didn’t speak much.
“I know you two had a special relationship, Bret,” Murray finally said out of the blue one day while he watched Bret pace from room to room. Bret had been completely dissociated with nothing behind his eyes, but when Murray said this, Bret looked directly at him. Murray couldn’t quite make out the expression. Was it hurt? Fear? Pure grief? “I just mean…I saw what you two had. It was more than just a friendship. I could see that.” Murray’s voice trailed off at the end of his sentence. Bret stood there for another moment, staring past Murray now. Finally, he walked over to the kitchen and sat in a chair. His thousand yard gaze started to get blurry as tears welled up in his eyes. He buried his head in his hands and sniffled, beginning to cry. “Aw,” Murray said sympathetically. He walked over and placed his hand on Bret’s back to comfort him. They stayed like that for a few minutes, Murray eventually sitting down in a chair beside Bret.
“I loved him,” Bret finally said. It was the first time he’d really spoken since the funeral. “I never told him, but…” Bret trailed off as he began crying again. Murray clicked his tongue sympathetically as Bret lifted his head up and placed it on Murray’s shoulder, crying in his arms.
After Murray left that night, Bret was alone again. He wasn’t sure what brought him to the computer, but once he found himself there, he typed “how do you get over your friend dying” into the search bar. A lot of results came up about seeking therapy or finding a support group, but a few pages deep something caught his attention. His eyes scanned over the word “reanimation.” He clicked the link which took him to an ancient webpage. Its black background and red text was not only assaulting to his senses, but ominous. He began reading about something called “alchemy” and the “law of equivalent exchange” and the unforgivable act of…bringing back the dead. Bret wasn’t normally so superstitious, but he was willing to try anything to bring back Jemaine.