What If?

WARNING: Suicide themes.

Setting: Derails at the funeral scene in Epiphany.

Rating: Strong T for bare's adult themes.

Chapter Title: Spin on: "Is it I, Lord, is it I?" sung by Peter from Epiphany.

What if?: What if Peter realizes that it's Jason and not him in his dream?

Disclaimer: I do not own, nor am I affiliated in any way with the Bare: A Pop Opera or Bare the Musical. This story is merely for entertainment. Nor do I own any of the lyrics or Shakespearean verse used in this story.

A/N: READ PLEASE. Remember what I said about some of these remaining unhappy? Yeah, well, remember.

Is it he, Lord, is it he?

This dream was getting stranger at every turn.

Was he waving a rainbow flag around; did he have a stamp spelling faggot on his forehead? How did they all know and why were they all attacking him? All of his friends, his peers, his mother, Father.

"Father?"

"Not at a funeral, Peter."

A funeral? But everyone was here taking different stabs whenever he turned their way like this was The Lottery and he had been the one chosen to be stoned by the townspeople. Hardly the landscape of a funeral. But as he looked around, the space gained a solemn air. Unmistakable.

So who was in that casket?

Taking a breath, Peter walked up to it, but he couldn't see into it. There were no pictures or pieces of memorabilia. It was though whoever lay in that casket had never been alive in the first place.

But wait. It wasn't just people from school. His mother was here with everyone else too.

So…was it him?

"Ivy?" No response. "Nadia?" Again. "Matt?" Again.

Peter chilled, suddenly finding it hard to breath. He was dead? Why? What happened to him? And why did no one seem to care?

A premonition. It was oh so familiar. A Shakespearean death premonition.

Oh god, I have an ill-divining soul! Methinks I see thee, now thou art so low, as one dead in the bottom of a tomb…

This wasn't ever how he had imagined it. Not a single person held a spark of emotion on their face. Sure, he wasn't the most popular kid in school, that was…

Jason.

Suddenly Peter's eyes began darting all directions. Surely Jason would be at his funeral, wouldn't he? But he was nowhere. Nowhere that Peter could see, anyway.

Then his eyes lay on the casket.

I dreamt my lady came and found me dead…

"Jason?"

Everyone's eyes turned to him, narrowed into glares as though the name shouldn't have escaped his lips.

"Hate the sinner, hate the sin! Created in his image. Abomination! Abomination! Abomination!"

But it wasn't his fault! Peter's heart began to speed up as everyone started moving toward him, unforgiving faces unyielding. He had no control. Try as he might, he couldn't shake their grips, couldn't change direction.

Please wake up, please wake up, please…

Peter awoke with a gasp. Adrenaline coursing through his system, he frantically patted his legs, his arms, his face, making sure he was all there.

Oh thank god. It was just a dream.

Premonition…

"Let us go forth in peace, to love, and serve the Lord."

"Thanks be to God."

Peter remembered the last words at the last second and then took a last calming breath. It was starting to feel hot. Hot as hell…holy water burns…He scrambled to rip his robe off, practically clawing it off his body. It was smothering him. He ran as he did so. It wasn't just the robe. It was the room. He needed out, he needed to rid his mind of that dream.

Every step of his descent down the spiral stairs from the chapel felt like a step toward salvation as the Hail Mary escaped his lips.

And then he was almost hit by a basketball.

Well…that wasn't normal.

Then he saw a smirking face from across the room. Oh. That made sense.

"Hey."

"Hey," Peter replied, tossing the ball out of his hands, surprised when it actually went in a straight trajectory into Jason's waiting arms.

"So were you conscious for the sermon?"

Peter swallowed, surprised when he felt a lump in his throat. Wow, this dream was really under his skin. "I was awake for the last sentence."

Jason laughed. "That's perfect timing. So how was your nap?"

The word fine was reflexively on Peter's lips, but this was Jason. It was alright to tell Jason. "Not great, actually."

Jason frowned, obviously not expecting that response. "Really? What's up?"

"I dreamed that you were dead." The words felt bitter in his mouth. Jason tilted his head, confusion looking oddly cute on his face. But still Peter had to work to swallow the emotion threatening to come out.

"Aw, come on," Jason said, nudging Peter playfully, trying to wipe the sadness of his face. "It was just a dream. I'm here, aren't I?"

"Yeah," Peter replied, giving a weak smile.

"Okay," Jason reinforced. Then he smiled suggestively. "Now, let's get all that off your mind."

"Wait." As much as that idea appealed to Peter he had to do one last thing to settle his thoughts. "Just, promise me that you're not going to leave."

Jason sighed. "You know I can't promise that kind of thing, Peter. We can't control that."

"Promise me."

Peter saw a subtle shift in Jason's eyes. He took Peter's hand and looked into his eyes with unusual seriousness. "I promise."

Peter smiled, feeling pacified for the moment. "Okay. Now what was that idea you were suggesting?"

Promise.

Webster's defines promise as a declaration that something will or will not be done.

He'd promised.

But was he really leaving if Peter had left him first?

Jason fingered the vial in his hand. I fear, too early: for my mind misgives some consequence yet hanging in the stars shall bitterly begin his fearful date/ With this night's revels and expire the term of a despised life closed in my breast. By some vile forfeit of untimely death…

A rueful laugh almost escaped his lips, barely tickling his throat. Life mimicked art so beautifully.

Peter had left. That meant that his promise didn't matter. He had nothing to feel guilty over. Well, nothing about that.

Suddenly Jason's mind was swarming with thoughts of betrayal and Ivy and babies and Notre Dame and his parents and Peter and the words they'd just shared. He held his head and squeezed his eyes shut as tight as he could. But the thoughts and the images weren't going away.

He needed to forget. This couldn't be the rest of his life.

Before he could think about it too much, he unscrewed the vial and drank it as quickly as he could. He focused on the unpalatable taste so that he could keep his mind as blank as possible while waiting for the effects to save him.

And there it was. Blissful haze.

Eyes, look your last.

Arms, take your last embrace. And, lips, O you

The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss

A dateless bargain to engrossing death.

A/N: I saw this particular scenario going both ways, so I wrote it both ways. Here's the unhappy ending and next chapter will be the happy ending. Meaning the first part of the story will be the same, so obviously skip those parts if you don't want to reread them. Also I'm going to start something in the next chapter that I want to see if you like. Oh, and note that I took some lines from Romeo an Juliet in this story. If you can't tell which they are then...well, I don't know how to help you.