Hey guys! Sorry this took so long to update, I've been super busy, and my muse sort of visited other fandoms for a little joyride. ^^ Anyway, hope you guys aren't too angry at me, or haven't lost interest. I proof read this and ran it through spellcheck, but I might've missed some things. If you find them, point them out, yeah?

Notes: Let it be known I know nothing about Stick-shifts, and if I got everything wrong, well, for the sake of the story, pretend I didn't xD. Also, I named Jim's stepfather. oo" Also Also, it was brought to my attention that they might not have used the in comm badges as a communication device rather than just decoration the movie, and now that I look back, I think the person was right. SI honestly can't remember, so if that person was right, I apologise, and I'll go back and edit in a a handheld comm.

'Jim,' The burly man said, flinging a set of keys at him. 'Go out back and start 'er up for me, will ya?'

The keys sailed across the room and hit him square in the chest. Jim blinked and briefly glanced up from his textbook. 'Huh?'

The man stretched his arms up above his head and extracted himself from the sofa with a sigh. He reached over and ruffled Jim's hair. Jim shied away, batting the hand away. He hiked his thumb over his shoulder. 'Just pop the key into the ignition and turn. Go warm 'er up.'

'Really?' Jim exclaimed, his eyes wide as saucers. 'You mean it?

'Sure, go for it, kid.' His lips twitched into a lazy smirk. 'Just be careful. Don't scratch the paint.'

Jim eagerly nodded and snapped his book shut, pushing it aside. He gathered up the keys and dashed out the back.

'—Just start it!' He heard his stepfather bellow from behind. 'No funny-business, you hear?'

Outside, Jim jogged up to the car, his breath forming a cloud of mist. He stopped and hesitated, wetting his lips.

Jake wasn't his favourite stepfather, but he wasn't anywhere near as bad as some of the other guys his mother had been with in the past. He had his moments of jerkdom, but he at least tried too occasionally make up for it. Maybe this was one of those occasions, Jim thought to himself. Normally, he wasn't even allowed near the car, much less in it.

'It's not like you'll get in trouble,' Jim reasoned with himself, watching the window curtain behind him gently sway back into place. 'He did tell you to do it.'

He quickly pulled the door open and hopped inside, careful to make sure nothing on his pants or jacket would scratch the leather seats. He could see why his stepfather was so fond of this old hunk of junk. Sure, it was an antique, but it looked real nice. He sat there, foot nudging the brake pedal, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. After a few minutes of pretending to steer himself down a bumpy dirt road, top down, wind in his hair, he slid the key into the ignition and the car roared to life. The car rumbled to life beneath him, until it evened out into a low, steady roll. He let the engine idle, figuring the longer the better.

As he was about to turn it off, an idea popped into his head. He knew from the start that it was a bad idea, and that if he didn't want to be known as the boy with no limbs, he would do well to hastily get his butt back into the house. Still, the curiosity ate at him. Timidly, he fingered the gas pedal with his foot, and gingerly pressed down on it. The engine's dull rumble grew to a roar. Jim was delighted. He laughed aloud, barking out a cough from the cold here and there, and, ignoring the chilliness of his fingers, did it again. He waited, his head twisted over his shoulder for any sign of his stepfather. Nothing.

'Okay, that's enough fun.' He slid himself behind the wheel again, something else caught his eye. He palmed the shiny stick shift ball, the metal cold in his hand, and shifted into first gear, second, third, and then back to second. 'Weird.'

I'll just move it a little, he told himself. It wouldn't be a big deal, and his Jake probably wouldn't even notice since there wasn't any snow on the ground. Fastening his fingers tightly around the steering wheel, he gently tapped the gas pedal with his foot, and the car rocketed forward. And then stalled. The sudden force caused him to jolt forward and slam his forehead into the wheel. With a pitiful moan, he sank back into the seat and woozily felt for his head.

He was dead. He had to be dead. Because if he wasn't, he sure was going to be dead.

The next few minutes were mostly a blur; he knew where he was and what he had done, but his head felt like a bowling ball had been dropped onto it. He heard the back door open somewhere in the distance.

'Jim!' A voice yelled. The car door opened, and cold air rushed in. 'Jim!' The voice said again, urgently. He forced his eyes open but saw nothing but white sky.

* * *

'Jim! Hey, wake up, damn it!'

The soundtrack of my life, Jim thought to himself. He couldn't remember drinking, but then again, he usually didn't. He mostly didn't care, though, just wanted to keep sleeping. He needed to keep his eyes screwed tightly shut, for as long as possible. Needed to burrow back into whoever's bed he was in, needed to drift back into the nothingness. He needed whoever was shouting his name to put a lid on it. Something shifted beneath him, creaked, almost. He slowly cracked open one eye, and then the other, and was surprised to find himself huddled in a pile of snow. A shadow fell over his face. He looked up into it, barely able to make out the sun shining somewhere behind whoever was in his face.

'Jim!'

It took him a moment to put his thoughts together.

'H…B'ns?' He said, voice hoarse and hardly there. He searched his friends face as best he could, though clearly his brain was operating on whatever sliver of life was left in him.

'Come on, Jim, get up. We gotta go.'

'How'd y'… Y'wern' here…'

'We don't have time for this, Jim. Come on. Get up.'

"We don't have time for this?" "Come on, get up?" Jim was furious. The urge to slam his fist into McCoy's gut surged through him, supplying him with enough energy to shoot up onto his knees, and then lumber to his feet. His knees buckled and then caught him.

Once up, he seemed to instantly forget his rage; instead turning his attention to his arms. 'Hey! My 'rms'r r'lly—'

'Come on, let's get going!'

They walked for a short while, though he did more falling than walking, and with every step things made less and less sense. Why was it so cold? Where was he? The last thing he remembered was stalling his stepfather's corvette. Wait, no, that happened years ago… He had been with a girl, her name was…S-something.

'You were right, Jim. If we would of gone just a little further… It's right up here.'

Bones? His eyes shot open in shock.

'Wait!' Jim cried.

McCoy turned, his trademark eyebrow quirked.

'Where's… Sanra…Sandra…Sanna… An what're you…' He squeezed his eyes shut and felt his knees buckle again. 'Z'it hot in here? I am r'lly—'

'Jim! We have to go. Now. Now get up. That's an order.'

'Nn.' Through his lashes, he saw McCoy glance around hurriedly. 'C'nt. 'M done.'

'…So that's it? You're just gunna give up? You son of a bitch. You drag me all the way out here, and you just—Jim, sometimes you really piss me off, you know that?'

'Go away.'

Silence followed, and for once, Jim was glad.

'You know,' McCoy eventually murmured, 'I dunno what Pike ever saw in you, Jim. You were a drunk and a lowlife before you joined Starfleet, and now you're just a lazy coward. Can't even stand a little cold.'

Jim squinted up at him from his spot in the snow, trying to make sense of what was being said. 'Whuh?'

'Y'heard me. I only ever hung out with you because I felt sorry for you. Heck, if it wasn't for me, you'd probably'a been kicked outta Starfleet ages ago.'

His head jolted up. 'Th's not true!'

'You just keep telling yourself that, Jim.'

All was quiet, then, aside from the wind whistling around them. Jim shut his eyes, or maybe he hadn't, he couldn't tell. He could feel his mind shutting down again. He had to've already been dead. He figured maybe Bones had left again, either too pissed to want to die together, or to crazily look for a shuttlecraft or something. The man was obviously delusional, Jim decided. What would a shuttlecraft be doing waiting for them out in the middle of the ocean?

'Your father might've only been Captain for a few minutes, but he saved 800 lives. What did you ever do? Sit on your ass all day with that stupid smirk on your face, orderin' everybody around like you deserved to be Captain.'

'Shut up.' When he looked up again, McCoy was angrily frowning at him.

'Why doncha come make me?' He taunted.

'I… am g'nna shove my foot... so f'r up yer—'

'—Do it! I dare ya!'

Jim shook himself and coaxed his legs into working. He stepped forward, arm raised to about his waist.

'C'mere!'

McCoy took a step back, taunting and teasing him, pissing him off more and more. The intense urge to break every bone in his face was what kept Jim hobbling, and then crawling, after that lanky asshole of a friend. Jim gasped and breathed something indiscernible, kneading the snow between his knees. So what if McCoy was a dick, and so what if he couldn't fight him. At least he'd die out here, too.

'Can you get a signal?' McCoy suddenly asked.

Jim caught himself staring up into those piercing blue eyes and all but snarled: 'Wh…th' hell….'

'Jim, you gotta listen to me, I said all those things for your own good. You wouldn't budge!'

'I hate you. S-so m'ch.'

McCoy smirked sadly. 'No ya don't. Now take your coat off,' He instructed.

Jim clumsily obeyed without question, his chest heaving. He was surprised to find it wasn't much colder without his coat. He unzipped it the best he could with his hands, which were practically worthless as it was, and then shrugged the rest off his shoulders. He sat in the snow, it clinging around his waist by the lower half of the zipper that he had not been able to undo.

'Now try your comm. Badge,' McCoy said hurriedly, glancing up into the sky as if maybe he could see the star ship from where he stood.

Jim stared blankly, his eyelids just barely hovering above his eyes.

McCoy knelt down in front of him and grabbed his shoulders, staring into his unresponsive face. 'Jim.' Foggy, glassy eyes slowly met his.

"…Prise to… Come in—irk."

Curiously, Jim's head dropped into his chest, and tilted toward the badge pinned to his uniform. He regarded it quietly, as if maybe he were only hearing things.

'Boost the signal,' McCoy quietly begged.

"Enterprise to Captain Kirk. Captain, do you read?"

'You gunna answer them?' McCoy asked cattily. 'Or you wanna stick around for a while; build a snow man, maybe?'

Ignoring McCoy's sarcasm, Jim dropped his chin and activated the combadge. 'K'rk… here. Cap'n K'rk. Two…t'beam…' Before he could finish, he saw the shimmering lights engulf him. Then, for a second time, his world went dark.