Title: Coping
Pairing: Christopher Sullivan / Cal Vandeusen
Rating: G
Warnings: Pre-slash? lul idk

Summery: Sully and Cal help each other cope with death. Their own deaths, that is.

The chill rushing over his body caused him to shudder noticeably. He would have wrapped his arms around himself, but he couldn't find himself able to move. Surprisingly, this didn't bother him. It soothed him. The ache in his chest was gone; there was no need to be afraid anymore. No need to be afraid.

The sound of a far-off voice's presence occurred to him, but he just lay there. Why do anything standing, if you can lie? His eyes remained closed. The voice was getting louder, closer, clearer. He remembered it, to some extent. The image of someone standing on their own, separated from the group. Why wouldn't they talk to him? He was an outsider.

He recognized this person. He bonded with this person. Another wave of ice hit him as he regained feeling in his limbs. His eyes fluttered open and he groaned as the illumination from everywhere struck him at once. He felt dizzy. He felt helpless. All he could do was bring his hands to his eyes and moan in agony as the brightness enveloped him.

A shadow broke through the intense shine, like a cookie cutter taking a piece out of the sun. He felt a moment of relief, before he realized who it was that was shielding him from going blind. His mouth opened barely, and he croaked out a weak, "Cal?"

The form grinned at him and pulled a lock of blonde hair out of his face, tucking it behind his ear in such a feminine way, that if he hadn't been so numb, he may have laughed. "Hey there, Sully."

Sully reached up and rubbed his eyes. There is no way. There is no way he was talking to a dead guy. He'd seen with his own two eyes, Cal, poor, helpless Cal, being impaled through the neck by Wakefield and tossed over the side of the bridge. There was no fucking way that he survived that. Even if somehow he'd survived the stab, Chloe had fallen right after him, plummeting most certainty to her death. And even if he'd some how survived both of those seemingly fatal things, he'd landed facedown in the water. And not moved. One way or another, the dude was dead.

"Cal… how are you… where did you… you…" Christopher Sullivan was speechless. What do you say to a dead guy? Usually, nothing, as you don't exactly get the chance to talk to them too often. But if you did, it probably would be along the lines of, "What the fuck are you doing alive?"

Cal apparently found this incredibly humorous, because he roared with laughter, falling over on his back from his crouch over his friend. Tears streamed from his eyes, his shoulders shook violently and his cheeks tinged pink from the lack of oxygen.

Sully found none of this funny.

Once Cal had regained his composure, he sat, cross-legged across from the still spread-eagle Sully. "What am I doing alive? Same as you, I should think," He said.

"… What are you talking about? You got killed, dude!"

Cal fell silent. He mulled this over, then looked over at his friend, face a bit pale. Considering he was like, a ghost, this wasn't all that alarming to Sully. "…I… I what?"

He didn't know. How could he not know? If I'd gotten a sword-thing shoved through my esophagus, I think I'd know. "Wakefield. He… he got you." Sully breathed, making Cal's face tinge and unhealthy green.

"No… No he didn't. He… we were running from him… and then I just… I blacked out… then I woke up here!" He gestured around himself, and Sully had the chance to see where they were. A very woody area, like the forest on the island.

"Cal. I hate to tell you this, buddy, but he caught up with you… and when Chloe was climbing over the fence, he grabbed you and…" White hot flashes crossed his vision as he recalled that moment he saw the killer's grip clamp down on Cal's shoulder. He at known at that moment, it was all over for the poor guy.

Cal's face was in his hands. He shook his head, absolutely horrified. Sully could feel for him. "Look…" He sat up and leaned over, taking a hold of his collar with one hand. He lightly pulled the fabric over the other man's shoulder, reveling a puncture wound going straight through his chest under his collarbone. It looked just like a scar, now, but a wound nonetheless.

Cal parted his fingers to look at the indicated area and whimpered, slapping his hands back over his eyes. Sully watched him breath almost silent 'no's to himself, his entire body shaking. The convulsive shudders made way for sobs, and Sully felt his heart plummet into his stomach. Oh man. Of all the people for the guy to break down in front of, it had to be insensitive Sully, who couldn't comfort someone if his life depended on it?

The man bit his lip. What to say to console a dead guy? There isn't too much you can say, if truth be told. 'Now you have the rest of forever to do whatever you want!' Not gonna help. "Hey, look, Cal… um, don't cry, okay? It's gonna be fine."

"Fine? Fine! How is this fine?!" Cal glared down at him, wrenching his shoulder out of Sully's grasp. Great. Now he was going through the spectrums of emotion. "This isn't fine! Why are you so calm, anyway! We're dead!"

Sully frowned. Now he was being ridiculous. "I'm dead? No I'm not. You're dead."

"You must be too! If I'm dead and we're both here, that would automatically make you dead!"

"No, I'm just seeing your ghost. Even look, Henry's right h-"

Where's Henry?

"Henry's right…?"

"Um, somewhere … around here…"

"Sully, look."

"What?"

"You're bleeding."

Sully's blood ran cold as he stared down at his shirt. Small spots of red began disturbing the otherwise perfectly pristine white sweater he couldn't remember ever putting on. Or owning, for that matter. Soon the spots began to grow, spread. A single trickle of blood ran from under his shirt and onto his jeans. It didn't hurt. He didn't feel it.

"Here, let me see." Cal took his shoulder and forced him to lie down. Sully didn't fight it. The dude was a doctor, anyway. He watched as the suspicious sweater was rolled up to his chest and the other grimaced. "Jeez. I don't know what to tell you… I'd say it was fatal… but, you know…" he glanced down at his friend and shrugged sheepishly.

Sully stared at him a few times, almost taking comfort in his shy smile. But didn't. "I'm… I'm dead? B-but… I… who got me?" he tried desperately to remember what happened before he arrived here. He was walking with Henry through the forest, heading to the marina to be picked up by the coast guard. What was Henry saying? It was all fuzzy, such a blur…

'I'd be pretty pissed too if I was lied to all my life.'

Henry.

No.

Fucking.

Way.

His best friend. His best fucking friend, Henry Dunn, killed him. That must have been what it was. Who else could it have been? He just… didn't want to think about it. He stared back at Cal who was giving him a very sympathetic look. "Um, Sully… if it makes you feel better, I'm dead too."

Sully blinked a few times. He had really just said that. That's what he wanted to comfort him with. The chuckle bubbling from the back of his throat couldn't be stopped, and soon he was leaning over his lap, laughing hysterically. Even Cal realized how stupid it sounded after a minute, and had begun laughing along with him.

Being dead sucked. But if he had to choose one thing to do with the rest of eternity, laughing with Cal Vandeusen was sure near the top of his list.