Chapter Text
Bear woke up.
He wasn't sure where he was. It looked like a dimly lit office stretching over the horizon, and he didn't recall what had just happened. He couldn't recall anything other than his name.
Then it started happening. His head pulsed and throbbed, his temperature rose, and it all came crushing back.
Every minute of it, every tear, every shout. Every moment.
There was the wish. Oh, how he had hated that part. Then she started acting differently. If only he had worded it differently, she could have liked him properly instead of being such a creepy thing.
Then there was the car accident. He heard her head crash against the wheel repeatedly, his own clothes getting splattered by her blood, and the nasty smell that crept up his nose. Her deranged face, the twisted thing saying it was his fault. How could it be when it was she who killed her?
He could feel the pills in his throat. He wanted them out so bad.
Life really hated Baron Bailey. He was certain of it. Things had never gone his way. Every time he reached for happiness, something tore it away from him.
If only Nikki hadn't made that wish.
If only someone had stopped her.
If only...
"Hey, man, can you hear me?"
Baron snapped upright.
The office wasn't empty anymore.
A man sat behind a tidy wooden desk, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit. A black fedora rested neatly on his head. He was writing with the sort of concentration people reserved for tax forms.
Bear looked down. Somehow, he was already sitting in the chair opposite him.
"Good," the man said without looking up. "You're awake."
Bear swallowed.
"Where am I?"
"One moment."
The scratching of the pen continued.
"Almost done..."
He flipped the page.
"Right."
Only then did he look up.
"Full name?"
"Baron Bailey."
"Occupation?"
"Music shop clerk."
"Date of death?"
Bear frowned.
"...What?"
"Ah. Right. First day."
He glanced at the file.
"My apologies. Humans are usually a little disoriented when they arrive."
"So this is Hell. I'm the Keeper."
Bear gulped.
"Coffee?"
He thought for a moment.
"No... most people prefer something stronger on the first day."
Bear shook his head.
Then the Keeper muttered something under his breath. Before Bear could say a word, he found himself in a big theater.
It stretched and stretched farther. It was empty, and the Keeper ushered him toward the first row.
Then the screen started turning on.
"Is this what I get, watching a movie?" Bear asked.
"It's about you," the Keeper chuckled as he brushed Baron's hair.
Bear tried to stop him. It felt weird, but his arms didn't move.
He tried to look to the side, but his head wouldn't move.
He tried to get up, but his legs wouldn't move.
The Keeper didn't seem to notice, and if he did, he didn't show it. Then the movie started.
Bear watched as he bought the willow, as he made the wish, a wish that was never granted properly. What was the point of letting him watch the wish fucking him up again? It must have been some monkey's paw or something, now that he properly thought about it.
The scene replayed.
He made the wish again, and there was Nikki creeping up on him. Why did she have to make him feel so weird about it? Why couldn't she just be normal?
The scene replayed again.
And there she was, wanting to be a writer. Why did that even matter to her that much? Why couldn't she have stayed in the shop for more time? He would have never had to make the wish.
Then,
Him.
The shop.
The car.
"I want to be a writer."
"I want to be a writer."
"I want to be a writer."
Writing.
Writing.
Writing.
Writing.
"Just stop it already!"
The scene replayed again.
"Say something!"
The scene shifted. He was trying to get to the park. Bear could feel the cold of the night. He could feel his body connected to whatever was on the screen. Perhaps he could try to control that version of himself.
His body hadn't moved.
Then there was that line.
"Kill me, Bear."
"What's so wrong about being with me?"
"I've never been with you, Bear."
He left the room. Well, the Baron on the screen left the room, but the camera hadn't followed him. It had stayed in the room.
Nikki cried. The real Nikki. Bear could hear her shouting. He wanted it to stop. He felt so uncomfortable. Why couldn't the Keeper see that?
And then it started again, and again, and again.
Bear had lost count of how many times he had seen those moments, how many angles, how many different ones, but the Keeper hadn't. Sometimes he would say, "Take 500," then, two scenes later, it was already 1000.
There were other moments, of course, quite memorable indeed. He wanted to talk about them with the Keeper, but he quickly realized it was pointless, and somewhere down the line he had lost that ability.
He hadn't slept for so long. Nor had he eaten anything. He just watched.
He smelled bad. After enough had run down his legs, eventually there was nothing left.
At some point, he had thrown up bile, just the same way Nikki had at one point. He couldn't tell how long ago that was.
He had seen Sarah's head hit the same brick so many times now. At first, he couldn't help but notice how bad it made him feel, how ugly it had looked.
But then he tried picturing how bad it would have felt to be in her place. With nothing to do for a while, you'd start wondering about all sorts of things. And as if on cue, he somehow felt just that. It seemed the Keeper could read his mind somehow.
It had felt awful. But he had gotten numb at some point.
He'd seen the lunch Nikki packed him again. He'd tasted the same rotten, cursed meat in his mouth so many times.
And at some point, he noticed the pictures Nikki had put there, how one of them said, "Not me." He laughed. He hadn't laughed like that in a while. How many more tiny messages had Nikki Freeman given him?
Did she think he would have helped her?
Had she known he was the reason for the way she was? Or did she think that he'd stop if he knew that she never wanted this?
She certainly got her answer. He couldn't forget that.
Somehow, he even thought about his grandmother, how she had spent her last days alone, how he had celebrated when she finally died and he got the place.
He thought about Sandy, how she had relied on him for everything and he had failed her completely, how he had wrapped her in a plastic bag and thrown her in the trash can, how she had probably ended up finding the pills because she was hungry and he hadn't given her food before leaving. He thought about the way he had used her to get his friends' attention.
Why did he even think of these things ?
It turned out that with nothing to do except think, people became reflective whether they wanted to or not.
It's not like he had any sort of motivation to do so. The more he did, the more he had to come to a terrible conclusion.
The more he did, the less excuses he had.
His decisions, and his decisions alone, had fucked so many people's lives, whether he wanted to admit it or not.
He tried to stop thinking about this. He tried to focus on the many foul smells coming from him. Was that what Nikki had to put up with the other time?
Nikki. He tried his best not to think about her, but the screen didn't really help, did it?
He took a person who cared for him as a brother and made her do things no one would even think of. He took her free will, her dreams, her whole life, for the selfish reason of being with him.
Although she never really was. And when it came to him ending things, he didn't even have the guts to do it. And it certainly wasn't to save her or anything. It was just because he knew he had fucked up, and he knew he couldn't live with it like that.
At some point, the camera followed what happened after he died. Nikki was in jail for things she hadn't done. She was the victim, and there she was, suffering for things she hadn't done.
Then there was Sarah. She had feelings for him. He could tell now. The signs had been everywhere, hadn't they? Bear had truly been blind. She deserved someone who actually noticed her. She didn't even get the chance to find out she'd been admitted to Luther.
He had stolen the chance for there to be an "us" in the first place.
He deserved to suffer for what he did. That much he knew by now.
And he deserved to stay there for as long as he had, and for as long as he would.
That much was clear. He just hoped there was a way for him to have never existed, a way for the people he had hurt to have a proper life, because they deserved that much.
But life was never fair to those who deserved fairness. He wasn't one of them.
"You've been awfully quiet," the Keeper said.
Bear opened his mouth, the words didn't form for a second, but then he could hear his voice again, it felt alien to his ears.
"I haven't got any excuses left. I did this."
"Huh."
He scribbled something in the file.
"Didn't have that one."
Bear didn't reply.
"I was expecting you to cry over it again," the Keeper added.
"I deserve this, but they don't," Bear said.
"What?"
The Keeper looked up for the first time.
"I said they don't fucking deserve any of it. I do. I won't complain anymore, so just play the fucking thing again."
"No no no, shush, shut up okay ? I'll put it on again, don't say-"
A phone rang somewhere.
Then it was in the Keeper's hand. He picked up the call.
"Hello there. Yes, yes." He nodded.
"Wait, what? No, no, you can't seriously think this is a good idea," he added.
"The last one ended up back here in two days. What makes him any different?"
"But he wants to stay."
"Whatever. I'll bet my chocolate savings on him being back here. Just pay up when it's your turn."
Bear kept his eyes fixed on the screen. He didn't know whether he was still being forced to look at it or not, but it didn't really matter.
"Get up, Bear," the Keeper said.
"No!" Bear replied. He wasn't sure he could still move, but it didn't really matter.
"Yeah, man, I know you'll miss me as well, but the higher-ups want you back there."
"Back where?" Bear asked.
"You know, the real world. Before you made the wish. They're calling it... ugh... a second chance."
The Keeper looked Bear in the eyes.
"Yes, I know. It's very stupid, but they do that sometimes. Anyway, I have to send you back now. Just let me..."
He snapped his fingers, and Bear's clothes became new again. It wasn't just the clothes. A moment later, they were back in the office.
"I don't want to," Bear said.
"Yeah, too late. You shouldn't have said what you said. Anyway, I'll need you to sign here, and here."
He handed him the paper, and Bear's fingers moved by themselves.
"See you soon."
The Keeper snapped his fingers.
At first came the warm breeze against his skin. Then the dryness in his mouth. Then the colors returned to his eyes.
He was looking at the waitress in the diner. Ian was beside him, and he had just finished saying something.
"Ew, man, that was cringy. Don't do it again," Ian said.
"Aw, I think it was adorable," the waiter said.
He didn't know if this was real. He wasn't even sure he could move.
Then he just stood up.
"Bear, you good, bro?" Ian asked.
He ran for the toilets. When he found a cubicle, he got into it and shut the door behind him.
He threw up and stayed there for a while. Ian kept knocking on the door.
Sometimes he would say something. Other times, he would stay silent.
"Sorry, man, I didn't know you'd react like that. I should've said something else, okay?"
"Bear, you good?"
"Bear?"
Bear stared at the floor.
Then it hit him.
Sandy.
He got up quickly, wiped his mouth clean, and opened the door.
"Finally, bro. The fuck was going on with you?" Ian said, blocking the way.
"I'm fine. I've got something to do, Ian. It can't wait," Bear replied.
"Are you sure you're okay?" Ian repeated, still blocking the way.
"Yeah, man, just get the fuck out of my way. I'll see you later," Bear said as he shoved him aside. He'd have to apologize for that, but now wasn't the time.
"It's trivia night! Be there!" Ian yelled.