The sudden rush of cold wind stung like needles against their faces, an endless cluster stars stretching and whisking away into the celestial backdrop as they were sucked into the empty vacuum of space. The force of the propulsion made it difficult to hear, or see, or even breath, and there seemed to be no stopping destination in sight. All they could do was cling helplessly onto the small microwave, pray they don't lose their grip and fall into the endless void.

Surviving however, was only second in priority to Mordecai and Rigby. Jealousy had a habit of transcending any other emotion, especially when it fell like a plague on a friendship.

"What's your problem?" Rigby's voice blared through the deafening current. "Why do you have to be jealous all the time?"

Mordecai was quick to snap back, his voice hoarse from their continuing altercation. "SHUT UP! This is all your fault! I finally get a chance to ask out Margaret, but you had to butt in and ruin everything!"

"No, I didn't!" Rigby responded. "I just wanted to see Zombie Dinner Party with my bro, who FLANKED on me, for some girl who doesn't even know he exists!" Rigby punctuated that last word with a shove in Mordecai's direction.

That was the last straw. Mordecai's emotional sanity was pushed over the edge, the hatred and jealousy he had for his best friend at that very instance bursting through like a broken dam. The sound of his own words were forever seared into his memory.

"I'll kill you!"

One push was all it took for Rigby to slip off the microwave. There was a blood-curling scream, and the last he saw of him was a pained, horrified expression-whether because of Mordecai's action or the fact that his very flesh and bones were being dissolved in a matter of seconds by the current, he wasn't sure. Perhaps it was both. What he did know was that it wasn't worth it, not for Margaret or all the gold and riches in the world. He shouldn't have done what he just did.

"RIGBY!" His senses came rushing back, and he looked desperately around for anyone, anything to bargain with to bring his friend back. For a second chance at redemption.

"No! That's not what I meant! That's not what I meant!" Mordecai violently mashed the buttons on the microwave. "Go back!" He cried, "go back, go back go back!"

Amidst his yells, a black, inky mass accumulated and enveloped his surroundings, and a blinding light flashed from its center. Then, there was silence.

"Gyaaah!" Mordecai screamed as he came to with a jolt, his feathers matted in a cold sweat. Images of the nightmare were still reeling in his head; the haunting scream, the look of sheer terror in Rigby's eyes, and the guilt of being responsible for his death...

The horrible realism of it all brought upon a terrible anxiety. He covered his face in his hands, as if trying to smother the flashbacks out of his head.

Rigby. Where was Rigby?

Mordecai scanned across the room, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness as little strange shapes and figures danced around his vision. Eventually the tiny trampoline came into view, and a familiar form huddled underneath the blankets.

A wave of relief washed over him. He let himself sink back to the bed with an exhausted sigh, the weight of the nightmare slowly lifting off his chest.

It had become a recurring thing, the night terrors. For the past two years, they'd come flooding back during his sleep, forcing him to relive the experience over and over again. Guilt and regret consumed him, and it resulted in countless restless nights and decreased productivity the day after. It was a good thing Rigby was there to pick up the slack.

Rigby...he didn't remember.

Mordecai covered his face in his arms and groaned. He'd get over it eventually, they told him. Time healed all wounds. Mordecai found the analogy bitterly ironic considering the circumstances surrounding that day. No, each episode had been just as agonizing as the first, and nothing apart from a copious amount of sleeping pills seemed to ease the pain. To his credit, they were no where near as incessant as two years ago, when his worst episodes were just days apart and his work companions had yet to fully prepare themselves for the severity of his condition.

Such as the first night. Mordecai had been sketchy on the details, but from what Benson had boiled down for him, he'd been screaming bloody murder in his sleep.

The first person he remembered seeing when he finally opened his eyes was of course a frightened Rigby, who'd been shaking him and repeating his name over and over again, pleading for him to wake up. It did nothing to help the situation, and in a fit of blind panic, Mordecai scrambled as far away as the walls would allow him. Pops had burst in not long after, more concerned than Mordecai's ever seen him in his entire life, and did everything in his power to calm Mordecai down. Benson and Skips were next to arrive at the rec home, apparently having been phoned by Pops, who felt the need to gather all the help he could get for Mordecai's well being.

He couldn't will the courage to tell them what spurred the outburst that night, even after they'd ushered him to the kitchen with a blanket around his shoulders and a cup of chamomile tea sitting on the table. The questioning made him uneasy, especially with Rigby there watching him, lost and confused over the whole situation. Mordecai couldn't even bear to make eye contact with him. Benson made a displeased sound as he looked between the two but knew better than to push Mordecai any further. Besides, he was also visibly upset at Pops having gotten involved in their problems.

"Rigby," Benson said as he glanced over to the raccoon. He paused, then picked his words carefully. "If Mordecai doesn't want to tell me what the hell happened back there, fine by me. It's technically none of my business anyways. But I'm leaving you in charge to look after him, understood? If I ever get another phone call from Pops in the middle of the night, you two are finding another place to sleep."

Rigby, for once, offered no complaint to the gumball machine.

"And you," he pointed at Mordecai, but then eased his tone. "I'll talk to you in the morning." He later walked away, mumbling something about paperwork.

Rigby would later present the ever thankful Pops with a couple of (large) earmuffs when Benson wasn't looking, and that was the end of that problem.

The park resumed its regular agenda the day after, except for Mordecai, whose health and emotional state slowly starting to deteriorate with each passing day. Benson cut Mordecai and Rigby some slack every now and then to let Mordecai adjust to the lack of sleep, but that was as far as his sympathies extended, if only because Mordecai couldn't afford to see a therapist and get prescribed some actual medication. It was an awkward position to be in, one where he felt obligated to show some semblance of compassion for the two biggest troublemakers in the park. One would have to keep a keen eye to see it.

Skips, for all his other-worldly wisdom, carried no instant fix solution. That was all there was to that matter, and he was aware there were some things that were better left without his intervention. Although the yeti kept Mordecai in check in his own ways, like by reminding him to eat (he started to lose weight, thin as he already was) and to take a break if he ever felt lightheaded. Pops helped along too.

He found some common ground with Muscle Man, but otherwise their relationship remained the same.

And Margaret, beautiful, amazing, Margaret, had even taken the effort to visit Mordecai and Rigby at the park after catching wind of the situation. Coffee shop visits during break grew more frequent, partly out of necessity for the quick pick me up a cup of expresso provided. For the first time in his life, he truly felt like he'd grown closer to her. She'd occasionally sit down and chat with them whenever her job allowed it, although Mordecai couldn't help but notice how she'd give Rigby an uneasy glance every now and then when she thought he'd least noticed it. Probably wondering how Rigby was handling all of this. He couldn't blame her.

Mordecai's thoughts turned to his best friend, the one person in his life who'd stick with him through storm and hail. He was thankful to still have him by his side, to share jokes with, play games, piss off Benson, and engage in general bro times. Almost like the old days. But even as his physical health started to improve and things took their usual stride, he couldn't help but acknowledge that Rigby's presence alone was the root of his occasional bouts of emotional turmoil, and a permanent reminder of the most horrible act he's committed in his adult life. Rigby would never know, nor Benson, or Pops, Skips, Muscleman, Fives, or even Margaret.

It was his deepest, darkest secret.

Mordecai stared blankly at the ceiling wide awake now, a mess of thoughts running through his head like a movie reel. He needed a distraction.

He sat up on the edge of the bed, letting dizziness fade away, and walked over to the trampoline. He knew Rigby wouldn't mind indulging him in a conversation at this hour. Mordecai looked forward to the possibility of video game session, as long as they kept quiet of course.

"Rigby," Mordecai whispered, for no real reason. It was a habit. "Hey, Rigby."

He knelt down in front of the trampoline, but didn't move to touch it. From this proximity, he could plainly see it was just a pillow stuffed underneath a blanket. Rigby put it there every night in case he wasn't around to rush to his side. He said the image was supposed to be comforting. Somehow, it worked.

"C'mon, dude. I need to talk." Mordecai sat cross-legged and waited.

A stark white arm shot out of the center of the trampoline, bright enough to illuminate its surroundings, and a fuzzy head followed through. Rigby's eyes were wide and glowing, with no discernible pupils as he stared expectantly into Mordecai. The bottom half of his body was still hidden under the trampoline, which rippled like tiny waves around the edges where solid met Rigby's transparent form.

It had taken Mordecai a while to get used to this.

"'Yeah, dude?" It's voice was high and echoed, almost as if Rigby had been talking through a fan.

"Hey." Mordecai smiled. "You've been stuffing yourself with food from the fridge, haven't you?"

"I was huuuuungry!" the ghost whined in a manner similar to the old Rigby. No, this was the same Rigby. HIS Rigby. Mordecai clung to that belief like it was air.

"Dude, we both know you don't need to eat. Plus, Benson keeps his lunch in there. He's gonna be pissed if he finds it missing."

"Nothing a little possessing can't fix," Rigby casually responded with a mischievous tone. He then looked up at him curiously. "I heard you scream my name."

"Yeah, I...," Mordecai rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly fascinated with the ground. A familiar feeling churned in his chest; it was always the worst when Rigby brought it up. "Just another nightmare."

Rigby's bright gaze remained unwavering as if trying to read Mordecai. It made his heart beat fast; what if, somehow, Rigby would find the answer he was looking for?

After a few tense second, he finally answered. "I know."

Rigby pulled the rest of his form from the trampoline. It was identical to his older body, but translucent, and bright. It was a part of him Mordecai didn't get too see often. Floating just happened to be more convenient for spirits.

Mordecai didn't protest when his friend curled up on his lap. "You don't have to be afraid, dude," he reassured. "I'll be here for you. Always."

Only Mordecai could understand the significance of those words. He placed a hand on the fur of his back. It was soft, but cold to the touch.

"Yeah," Mordecai's voice was just gentle, but distant. "I know you will."

In one way or another, they'd grown even closer after his death. Rigby evolved into a physical and emotional extension of his being. It went beyond any definition of friendship, one reserved for special bonds strong enough to survive the afterlife. It took death for Mordecai to realize the kind of attachment Rigby had for him.

Pops once mentioned Rigby was like a guardian angel looking out for Mordecai. He chuckled at the idea in front of his employer, but Mordecai knew he wasn't deserving of someone to protect him. The result was just a fluke. He was afraid even Muscle Man might agree.

At some point, whispered inquiries as to how Rigby died ebbed away, and the world came to accept him as a part of everyday life. Since the first night two years ago when he met Rigby's pallid face looming over his, trying to shake him awake, Mordecai had learned to live with a shadow of what used to be. It was both a blessing and a burden, the closest thing to Rigby he had left. He was afraid to let go.

And Rigby didn't remember. As far as he was concerned, those 23 years of his life never happened either.

"What," A mound of clocks loomed over the smaller bird, its voice booming against the invisible walls. "So you bust into my home, ruin my furniture, and now I'm supposed to bring your friend back to life for you? Please. I'm Father Time, not a genie."

"L-look, I'm sorry about all that, but...Rigby's my best friend. I can't go back without him..." Mordecai's voice cracked under the pressure.

"Well, maybe you should of thought of that BEFORE you killed him."

"I...," he felt the lump in his throat rise, making it impossible to produce words. It couldn't just end like this. They've been through worse. Rigby couldn't leave him.

"Listen, Mordecai," Father Time continued. "You're 23 years old. You should know that there are dangerous consequences to your actions, and a person's life isn't something you can take lightly," his eyes would narrow, if it were possible to do such a thing, "Especially that of your best friend's. This is something you'll just have to learn to live with it."

"I didn't mean to..." His voice was barely above a whisper, more directed to himself than the being in front of him.

"I'm sending you back to your time now. Make the best of what you have left, and learn from your mistakes."

The space behind him cracked open, and Mordecai could feel his body being tugged violently toward the light. He didn't care what happened to him. Rigby was gone.

"Good luck."

Inspired by RS discussions on /co/~