Disclaimer: Didn't create 'em. No money for this. The usual.
Rating: M, for language and overall darkness and angst. Some slashy undertones.
Note: This is a mid-ep, I suppose, for episode 2.1, and I'll warn you it's stream of consciousness. I didn't mean for this to be so melodramatic, but oftentimes our innermost thoughts are over the top. And, for crying out loud, he's on half of a half-ass boat with a shark circling it and a gaping hole in his arm. You can blame the style on James Joyce if you want.
To Die, To Sleep
I swear it's like I'm the biggest damn idiot that ever lived. It sounds all nice…oh, it sounds nice to wave adios to those morons…God, do I hate some of them, and then you feel like you can't breathe you're so scared, except it does no good to be that way. There ain't a soul to drag me out of this mess, and I sure as hell can't begin to…drag myself, God, and then there's Mike crying and I can't do a damn thing for him, no I can't…not sure I'd even know how, but it doesn't help me to see that there's two of us—strong smart tough—and we're floating and we can't move and we can only wait for this stupid ocean to dump us somewhere…
Jin…Sun'll cry, was already crying, was about to get to him, beautiful skinny so stupid that he'd leave her…tough son of a bitch still had to come, and for what? To die. To go overboard…like this piece of shit constitutes a boat…no, to fall off this overgrown life preserver and drown, and now we can't even tell her that it happened for a good reason or really any reason at all. Stubborn. God, I never thought…God, here I'm talking to you now, God…I never thought of my stubbornness as a problem. Gotten me through a lot of shit…crap…oh, hell, you know me God, and you must hate me, or else you have a real wicked sense of humor. Is this saving me or punishing me? You know me, God. Tell me. Tell me so I know before I die where you're sending me. No? Okay, so I won't ask again. I really don't think you're doing a damn thing for me right now. If you were, would there be a good kid floating off with a band of lunatics? You answer that for me and for Mike. Huh? Answer.
Am I gonna die? No telling what blood I lost. God, it hurts. No, not God. But who to tell. Can't tell Mike. Can't say it hurts. Can't tell another soul even if there was one around. Couldn't say "Jack, it hurts." Oh, but is does. Shit, does my arm feel like I could hack it off with a saw, throbbing, burning, hurting in ways I didn't know existed. Jack, it hurts. You could fix it, or you'd die trying. Stupid son of a bitch, you'd have been such a pussy about digging it out, but it would have been better than me doing it alone. Jack, it hurt like hell. I thought I might throw up. Will I die? You got any words of comfort? No, course you don't. You'd tell me to stop whining and fight. Why, I don't know. Why you don't want me to die…well, I don't get you. I never will get you as long as I live…and it hurts, dammit, Jack…this hurts too much and I wish you were here to do anything, even yell at me, because I fuckin love to hear you yell at me, I fuckin love the vein that pops out on your neck and the way your voice gets so high and…and drowning in it, I'm sliding into the pain like it's a part of me, like I've been here forever and I'm never coming back, like I'm outside of time in a place where I can't do anything. I. Am. So. Fucking. Helpless. Let me tell you, Jack, I might pass out or I might just roll myself off these pontoons. Why the hell not? Will I die, even if I stick it out? Won't I just die, rotting slowly and losing water and painful slow fucking miserable fall into pieces and Mike falling off the raft too and both of us joining Jin at the bottom of the ocean?
Cold. Wet, cold, wind, thirsty. Cold as hell, and I never thought anything was worse than the island. And the endless rocking. It's all I got…water splashed my toe, water slaps the other side… splash, slap…back and forth and could be soothing but makes me crazy. Roar of water, quiet roar. Then it's like I hear you sometimes, Jack. Stubborn. The water says "stubborn" and you wrinkle up that self-righteous face of yours and make me believe I'm stupid, that this whole thing was stupid…but you don't really believe that…you just didn't want to see me reduced to…this…and I think you believed that I would die like this and you hated it but you couldn't do anything to stop me.
Would you fix me, if I came back? Would you sew up my arm and call me a jackass and stand over me cussing with your warm breath on my face…warm…am I dying, am I dying, am I getting warm because I'm in shock? No, you tell me. Your big fuckin brown eyes… the only thing I can see, and you're telling me I'm too tough to die. I don't think I am. I don't think I really am, Jack. Stupid and tough are not the same thing. I'm so stupid sometimes, and the stupidest thing was you. You didn't even know…not that it would have made any difference…your eyes, so brown, so beautiful like something I didn't think possible…so many times, so many ways, frustrated like I've never been…so long, it's been so long and maybe, I thought, maybe that explains it, but it's you, Doc. Dammit, it's you, and I don't know why I ever left you. It's you…Jack Sheppard, dammit, listen to me. Tell me, Jack, tell me Doc, tell me if I'm dying or just going to sleep.
Tell me I'm sleeping. Sleep…sleep…hurts still but sleep…wind and cold and sleep…Jack…I think maybe I'm dying…Mike, Walt…Others…take out the bullet. Keep it in your pocket, Jack. Take it out and keep it…keep it…pocket…souvenir… Jack, I want you to hold it for me…make it all stop…stop…stop… Should I sleep? It's you, Jack. I swear…it's you…it's you…splash, slap, splash, slap, splash, you, splash, you, me, you, me, you…you…God, Jack…God, Jack…splash, slap…sleep…sleep… Dying? Sleep.