That's how they found him.

With blood and brain matter encircling his head like he was some invincible deity but he wasn't, was he?

A wicked, cruel smile and forever knowing, obsidian eyes staring straight at the heavens he wouldn't get a chance to enjoy.

Skin chilled, his barely there heart stopped. Blood at a standstill in his ice cold veins.

Never thinking of anyone but himself. Always a selfish one, he was. Never thought of how detrimental he was to more than just the poor victims of London. He meant something. Always had.

Sebastian stared at the ceiling.

His eyes burned from not blinking for the longest time (or so he liked to think) and the fan was going, sending a frigid current over his already frigid body. He peered over at his clock.

It had been 21 days, 12 hours, 17 minutes and God knows how many seconds.

Sebastian wanted to pull the blankets up over his body but he didn't want to. He liked the cold. He generally despised it, but Jim never allowed more than a mid-winter temperature room. Jim liked to sleep with the windows open when it snowed. He made Sebastian clean up the water pooled below the window pane in the mornings.

Sebastian hated himself.

He hated Jim.

He hated the shadow the blinds cast onto the ceiling, hated the damp noise asphalt made when cars would drive by after rain.

He hated a lot of things. Everything, maybe, but he wasn't quite sure yet. He also despised when he thought at night.

Those big thoughts that would make him stop moving and stare at something and think over and over in his head. The ones that made his chest feel tight, like someone was reaching into him and squeezing his lungs.

The ones that made his eyes sting and his throat ache. Where he'd swallow a lot to get them to go away and to stop the burning as if that would make everything better but he'd end up crying into Jim's pillow and laying on his side of the bed.

He went like that for weeks. Sebastian was surrounded by loaded guns, unsheathed knives, himself. It was all really tempting but he had to fight. A never ending war he had stuck himself into when he agreed to Jim.

"You're so warm, tiger. Can't have that, can we?"

Sebastian would answer "Of course not." and let Jim curl up close to him, his cold overwhelming the sniper's warmth.

He wanted his blood to stop rushing around in him. In a hurried attempt to reach every crevice of his being until it was torn away and sent somewhere else. He wanted it to stop, so the thoughts would.

It was like a deadly neurotoxin. Flooding his senses and overwhelming him, poisoning him from the inside out.

Jim was always the good kind of poison.

He could be sweet, he could. Sometimes he would give Sebastian a little kiss and a barely sincere smile and tell him he did a great job and he was proud. Sebastian would hold off smiling until he reached their room.

He wished he would have taken a picture of that smile, whether the gesture was real or not.

He wished he could get the looping visualization of Jim killing himself out of his head.

He was so competitive, so determined and bored he was willing to let his wicked soul float high above London for a final goodbye before plunging downwards to his real home.

Sebastian didn't know where he wanted to go. Frankly, he didn't know if Heaven or Hell even existed.

He really had better things to think about. Jim. And how he neglected to tell him the final step of the plan. How he always wanted a big, huge surprise that wowed everyone.

He really did succeed this time. Really surprised Sebastian.

He just wanted him back.

Didn't care if he had to take his place.

He just wanted his enigmatic best friend back.