AN: Not going to lie, I don't know much about "John" Shepard (as far as I'm concerned, the man doesn't even exist), so I don't know if I portrayed him right. Parts are left intentionally vague. And why yes, I did put some Harry Potter in there.

I'm not really ready to write ME3 stuff yet. I'm still digesting the game and the ending. I've been thinking about how to incorporate it into Infinite Regress, and I think I've got some solid ideas… I'm just not in the right mindset to start work on it again. But this… Saw the prompt on the kinkmeme and it stuck with me for some reason. However, even though it's a kinkmeme prompt, the rating is T for language.

Don't Pity the Dead

He doesn't wake up immediately. The road back to consciousness is slow and dull, the transition muffled by the throbbing in his head and the sound of explosions in the distance. It briefly occurs to him that he might be dead. He tries not to feel relief, the loosening of a burden, at the idea.

Just pretend it worked, he tells himself. Let it go.

But the explosions grow louder and the pain in his head spreads outward until there isn't a part of him that isn't screaming in agony.

"John." He stirs slightly. The voice is familiar, but wrong. He knows it doesn't belong here, of all places. But it comes again, still gentle but firmer. "John, wake up."

Right now, there's no one else in the galaxy who could make him stir. But this voice, quietly urging him awake, is one he owes this to. Grudgingly, he opens his eyes and sits up. Waits for confirmation that maybe he is dead after all.

And then he sees her. Shimmering blue and not fully formed, but unmistakable. Same scar she got falling out of a shuttle when she was seven. Same hair she's had since she was fifteen. Same N7 armor she earned at twenty-seven. Same way she always looked when she was about to tell him bad news.

Jane Shepard. His little sister, two years his junior. Jane Shepard, who died over a year ago when he himself was still dead.

"Jane," he sobs in grief. The call reverberates in the space around them, filling everything it touches. This is the last wound he ever wanted re-opened. The one he'd spent over a year ignoring. The one that festered quietly and ate away at him bit by bit, but still he couldn't acknowledge it. It takes him a minute before he tries again. "Jane," he says, this time quieter, steadier. None of the anguish left in his voice.

If there's anything odd about this encounter, neither of them acknowledges it. When did their life become so strange that talking with a ghost didn't even register?

Hell, John didn't even know which one of them was the ghost anymore.

"What are you doing here?" he asks. The world outside the Crucible doesn't even register to him anymore. All he sees is Jane, his little sister, back from the dead.

"I'm here to help you."

"Am I dead?" He's surprised at the neutrality of the question. No panic. No despair. Just a readiness to accept her answer, either way.

She seems to think about it, a sadness glazing over her wispy blue eyes. They used to be green, but he banishes the thought. No reason to think about "used to" or "would have" or "could have."

"Not yet," is her answer.

He's not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing. Not sure if he cares anymore. He just gives a nod and winces, hand flying to his side to put more pressure on his wounded abdomen. Not yet sounds about right.

John looks her over briefly. He knows what it's his responsibility to ask. How does the Crucible work? How can I save them? But the questions that burn at him have nothing to do with the people dying out there.

For once he lets his duty slip.

"Are you okay?" It's a stupid question to ask. He knows it as soon as he asks it, but he can't help it.

"No," she says carefully. "No, I don't think I am."

"Is it really you?"

She frowns slightly. The question has clearly been bothering her, too. "I think so. Yes. At least, I'm whatever's left."

"I.. But I destroyed it." I looked for you, he wants to add. I looked for you there even though I knew it was hopeless. I would've traded my whole crew to get you back… Chakwas, Donnelly, Chambers, all of them.

All of them…

Jane's face contorts slightly. "The Illusive Man got enough of it. Gave us back to the Reapers without even knowing it." She winces slightly, trying to pull a memory out of the grave. "We were… integrated in with the rest of them. All the cycles before us. We… I… we weren't really there anymore. Not even watching in the background. Not even an afterthought."

"But you're back now?" John knew he sounded too hopeful. How could there be hope here, of all places? The miracle of his resurrection couldn't happen twice. Not for her. She didn't even have a body left. Just the ghostly blue remnants of a memory.

There's no answer this time. Just the sadness hanging between them both. It was answer enough.

His mouth is dry. He doesn't want to ask. Doesn't want her to have to think about it, to tell him. He can't stand having to hear it. But he has to know. "Jane... Did it hurt?"

He knows she's considering lying to him. But they were always good about that sort of thing. When she asked him if it hurt to get shot, he'd told her the unfortunate truth that yes, yes it did, and you'd better get used to it if you're joining the Alliance. So she sighed slightly, and shook her head to dispel the memory. "They cut me into a million little pieces. Pieces so small you wouldn't even have known they were once a human being. They took everything that was ever Jane Shepard and put her in that damn abomination with the rest of them. So yes, John. Yes it fucking hurt."

"Jane... I'm..." his eyes are tearing up. He watched so many die already. Ashley. Mordin. Kaidan. Thane. Legion. Anderson. Fuck, he was sure his ground team was dead too. Somewhere down there were the broken bodies of Garrus and Liara, ruined because they followed him to the conduit, foolishly believing John Shepard's luck wouldn't run out…

But it had run out years ago. Above Alchera. He'd been okay with dying then, too. Then he'd woken up. Woken up to a world that had gone on without him. Where his squad was out living their lives. A world where Jane Shepard had been sent to Freedom's Progress to oversee defense upgrades...

"I'm sorry Jane. I'm sorry I wasn't there. I could've saved you. If I'd just gotten there faster-"

"John." Her voice is stern. "You remember what Mom told us after Dad's funeral?" Honoring the late Captain Shepard, his two children crying and Hannah Shepard trying to hold what was left of their family together. It'd been a hard lesson to learn, especially so young. "Don't pity the dead."

It's almost a slap on the face to hear her say that. Just like when their mother said it so many years ago. No, there's nothing you can do for the dead but honor them.

He swallows a dry lump in his throat. Time to be Commander Shepard again. Time to save the galaxy. "What are we doing here, Jane?"

"You are the first organic to make it this far," she says, pride in her voice. "Most end up like me, but you really did it. Made it all the way to the end."

"Can I stop it then?" Her frown returns. "What, more bad news?"

"This place, this machine... it can only do one of three things. None of them what you thought." She gestures to three pathways behind her. "You have to make a choice, John." All three glow impossibly bright, all three open to him.

He stares blankly at them.

"What do they do?"

And she tells him. Tells him the sad truth of it all. The lies upon deception upon false hopes that made them put all their wasted faith in this plan.

All in all, he takes it rather well.

The enormity of the decision weighs down on him and he physically staggers under it. He can barely hold himself up on one knee now as he feels himself buckling because of it. "I can't do this," he rasps. "Why me?"

She steps forward and puts a hand against his cheek. The contact buzzes slightly, but he pretends he feels the warmth of her skin and the beat of her pulse. Pretends this is his little sister, whole and alive and safe.

Her thumb moves back and forth, looking sadder than she did even when their dad died. "Because you're the best of us."

He laughs and shakes his head against her hand. "You were always better."

She smiles slightly as she steps back. That old smile that he used to know. "Maybe, but I'm dead. The galaxy will have to settle for you."

For a moment it's good again. Like the siblings had never parted. As though neither had died and been forced back for the good of a galaxy they were finding it harder and harder to care about. But the sky above Earth rings out with explosions and they look up as a Turian fighter nearly hits the Citadel before crashing into a Reaper.

"Which one would you pick?" he asks as they watch, in awe, as the battle rages around them. When she doesn't answer right away, he turns back to her.

He starts to wonder if her frown will ever go away as she fidgets under his gaze. "I didn't know what you know. I… I died thinking the Geth had killed my brother. I... probably would have destroyed them with the Reapers." She turns away in shame. "But I know you couldn't do that."

It's true. He couldn't. Even if he could somehow survive it.

And because he is who he is, because he's John Shepard, humanity's golden boy, the galaxy's last hero, the choice is made for him.

"Will you stay with me? Until the end?"

She gives his hand a gentle squeeze. "Until the very end."

He walks, limps his way towards the end. He hears as much as feels Jane's presence behind him, urging him on.

And as the light envelops him, tears him apart just like he imagined it tore her apart a year ago, he finally understands the awful truth of it.

Don't pity the dead.

Pity those left behind.