A/N: I actually sobbed all the way though this impromptu chapter as inspired by .net/u/2932873/ErinLindsey524 's review.
I actually considered finishing this tomorrow, I seriously couldn't breathe for most of it. I guess I'm really really attached to Jim and Seb. Oh well. I hope this is satisfactory.

Seb.

I wiggled my nose, trying to get rid of that horrible stench of blood… Jim's blood. I felt like throwing up, I couldn't deal with this! No, no, when -if- I made an effort to correct myself, if Jim woke up… God. I don't know what I would do. The fucking bastard slipped up. He slipped and ruined the whole fucking plan. I clenched my fists in my lap, watching Jim die was the hardest thing I'd ever had to do. I would literally do anything to go back and fix it, I just wanted to be sure he would wake up. I wanted so bad… I couldn't stop the flood breaking the barriers and the vision of Jim lying in the bed, hooked up to machines fitted by an actual medical doctor who I may or may not have threatened to get here. I fell onto the side of the bed, placing on hand on his damaged body… just to make sure he was still breathing.

The next morning Jim was awake, but just barely. He looked at me through his eyelashes and I could tell he was in a lot of pain. The doctor told me at an un-godly hour of the morning that he wouldn't survive, the chemicals and the heat of the gun had burned through his lungs and his throat. He told me that he wouldn't make it another week and even if he did he wouldn't be able to breathe properly for the rest of his life.
"Jim, I'm sorry," I said, taking his hand in mine and watching his face closely for any emotion.
He shook his head before seemingly realizing that it was a mistake, made obvious by the pain showing clearly in his eyes. He couldn't speak of course, tubes shoved down his throat in an effort to keep him alive. We didn't have enough money or space for that matter to have a bypass machine until he healed. If he was going to die, then it would be sooner rather than later.
"I can't…" no, stop. Stop please Sebastian. You can't cry now. You'd be showing him that you really really do care. Jim hardly cared about you. "I can't sit here and watch you die. I can't even-" I took a shuddering breath, shutting my eyes, "I can't even fucking have a conversation with you!"
When I opened my eyes again, Jim was crying. I was completely taken aback at the grief behind his eyes. Does this meant he… cared for me? He raised one hand to place it on my forearm. His brown eyes flickered shut and for a second I thought they weren't going to open again and my heart skipped a beat when they did.
"Do you want anything?" I asked, my voice was so thick with emotion it was almost impossible to speak. "Do you need anything?"
He nodded and I felt his hand tense around mine and he winced. I could almost feel the pain myself. What would Jim possibly want? To live, maybe. But what? He opened his eyes again and formed his left hand into an object and wiggled it. Puzzled, I frowned. He rolled his eyes and made it more pronounced. Writing?
"A pen?"
He gave me a thumbs up and half smiled around the tube. I nodded and pulled one from my pocket and placed it in his hand. What could he want with a pen? He shifted his right hand down my arm and pulled it over to him. I was slightly reluctant, wondering briefly if he might stab me with it. But instead he started writing on my hand. I couldn't read it upside down, I could hardly read his messy writing at the best of times, but he seemed to be concentrating extra hard on making it neat. I felt a pang of grief stab me in the chest when he placed a -badly- drawn heart on my ring finger. It was then that I looked back up to his face, his eyebrows were knitted together in concentration and tears still stained his face. He finished and let go of me.

Dear Sebastian. I do love you. Remember that when I die please. -JM

Oh God. Don't do this to me Jim! Please. I couldn't quite swim out this flood and I collapsed on to the side of the bed, Jim's fingers running through my hair as my shoulders shook. I shouldn't be crying in front of Jim. It wasn't right. But by now I could hardly breathe and now my head was fuzzy with panic. I felt his hand clench around my hair, pulling it and alerting me.
"Wh-what?" I asked.
He blinked a few times, systematically and controlled. —…- - …. D e a t h. And suddenly I could feel the life slipping out of my grasp. He looked directly at me and I saw his heart rate start to slow on the monitor. 70… 65…. 60. His eyelids started to droop and the only thing I could think to do was probably the stupidest thing I could ever have done. … —- .-. .-. -.— S o r r y. Was his next message. I held the top of the tube and the beat quickened by a few before I yanked the tube out. Jim cried out in pain, one hand finding my arm and holding on tight.
"I'm sorry!" I cried, placing the tube on the bed. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry…"
He looked me dead in the eyes, desperation, fear and pain running down his cheeks in fountains. "Seb," he managed to choke it out, just barely understandable. "Love… you."
I leaned down to him, kissing him softly on the lips and for a second he kissed back before I heard the monitor flatline beside me.

Two days later I buried him. Behind our house in the country. The one he bought himself after he finished college. I stood at the wonky cross placed in the back corner, the dog tags he made for himself hanging off the middle of it, the detachable tag was inside the make shift coffin I constructed overnight with him. Wrapped around one finger. It wouldn't fit on his toe. The thought scared me. A lot. I placed the shovel on the ground beside me before following it down and sitting cross legged on the grass.
"Jim… I… please. You must- you must hear me out. You- you were never there for me. I never really believed that you…" I could hardly say the words. "Loved me. I thought the relationship was mostly one sided," I chuckled bitterly at that and splayed a hand over the freshly turned earth. "I honestly don't know how I'm going to live after this. I have enough food out here to last me a month… then I'm out. I can go on for seven weeks I guess… that's enough time to cry myself to sleep every night. Isn't it?" I read the words still on my hand. "Maybe I should tattoo these on my hand? At least then I'll never forget you. Even in death the skin will linger and the ink won't fade from it. If I could I would take everything back, go back to the start and save you this pain of caring about someone. I would do anything for you to be back here!"
I fisted the dirt in my hand and watched it fall over the top of it.
"I wished that it was raining today, not sunny. The world should be sad that Jim Moriarty is gone. Mother Nature should cry."