Quick note: Okay, we'll be ending this off soon I promise! Okay….maybe not. I promise to only flatline him a few times.

Dead.

Dead, cold, heart not beating, body not breathing. End. Over. All of these things, that's what Lance was. He was gone, he was staring at his face with those blue spheres staring right back. It was all cold, but peaceful. The body just smiled at him, it smiled and smiled until suddenly a noise made Lance turn.

Bang. Bang. Bang!

The world spun and tilted, the cold hitting him, then the numbness and the unbearable pain. His ribs ached with a brilliant fire, and his head couldn't think. Soon, Sweets moved past all the pain he'd been feeling for an hour now to be met with the view of blood. A deep scarlet pool around his body, and suddenly his legs jerked and he felt it. Something digging into his chest, the right side. He felt a piece of burning metal tearing into his body and then liquid draining slowly out of him. His dark eyes fluttered at the site of the ruby pool, and he heard screaming around him but he couldn't look anywhere but the blood. It reflected his face, and small snowflakes floated on the surface and melted slowly into it. It's funny, so funny Sweets felt himself smiling, but everyone says dying hurts so much.

It doesn't.

His wrists, his ribs, his head, his everything had hurt so much, so violently before but now? Now his body felt like it was emptying, like his soul was slowly moving away from him and he just smiled at the pool of blood. It was fascinating, how the blood swirled and caught the falling snow, and how to puddle slowly grew in different directions. It was blissful, he couldn't hear and his vision had tunneled onto only that pool. Suddenly there was a pressure where he could feel the blood draining from him. The gunshot wound he assumed, he tried pushing the hands away but his hands were still held in place by chains. He liked this feeling, this feeling of finally being free. He didn't want help, he didn't have any real reason to stay anyways. His family was dead, he had accepted that the people he cared about didn't care about him, he had no lover, he had no reason. So instead he just gurgled out the words. "S-s-stop i-i-it." The words tumbled slowly from his face, but they came.

"No, Sweets, the ambulance will be here soon." Came a thick voice, and Lance recognized it. He didn't know why but he he knew that strong, sure, deep voice. Agent Booth! That's who was pressing his chest, who was taking his chance for peace away. "You'll make it, and then you'll get better and it'll be great. Just stay with me." Sweets tilted his head at the agent, finally tearing his gaze from the puddle. He was so confused, he didn't want to 'make it'. He just wanted this unbearably painful and boring life to be over. He was also confused on when he was shot, and where the hell Leo was. He was so confused that he got angry, and he was so angry at being saved that he got sad and suddenly he was laughing. Booth looked down at him in bewilderment, and Sweets laughed harder. He didn't know what the hell happened, and he couldn't figure out why he was so happy, but all he wanted was to laugh.

"L-let m-me g-g-go!" He laughed out, kicking at the snow near his feet. The water had soaked his clothes, and he was shivering and giggling and staring at the most confused looking man ever. "L-let m-me die." Lance howled with giggles, shaking his head as the hand pressed harder on his chest.

"Why is he laughing?" Came a clinical, yet scared voice from behind him. Brennan? Yes, that would make sense. She sounded frightened, and worried, if it was anyone but Brennan Sweets would say she was concerned, but as it was that's impossible.

Why am I laughing? Sweets thought briefly, then recalled why his giggle fit ensued. Because this is so ridiculous! He nodded in agreement with his assumptions. Everyone always saying it hurt to die, well it hurt a hell of a lot more to live.

"I called the ambulance, Sweets, hang on." Booth breathed, his deep exhale curling from his lips like a dragon. The entire world tilted and flashed red as a bolt of pain expanded from Lance's chest in ripples. He took a sharp breath in, catching the scent of bitter winter and dust with oil braided in. He could taste the shrill cold around him, it burnt his tongue along with a few stray snowflakes. The world flashed again, but when it came back there was a heavy blackness around his vision. The world was slowly shrinking away from Sweets, and the pain came as he closed in on death. Sweets heart was slowing, and his blood was draining, his breath was caught in his lungs and his world was fading. Booth face was deep with worry, and he looked several years older.

Flash-bitter pain-Flash-shrieking, deep guttural shrieking-Flash-darkness.

"Sweets!" Booth deep voice howeled. "You stay with me, you idiot, you aren't leaving us. Not until you tell me why the psychotic British guy was after you, not until you hug Christine. Not until you learn to draw the fruit basket Angela was showing you. Got it, kid, you aren't going anywhere!" Booth shouted, he shouted and Sweets ears rang. He felt the hot, panicked breath float across his cheeks but everything was going dark. It was all so blissful. "No, no Lance!" Sweets felt the hand on his chest shake him slightly, and his eyes were heavy but he opened them. "You aren't leaving yet, you're barely a grown up! You have so many girls to date, so many screw ups to make! You haven't even got a tattoo!" Booth voice was angry, but he has cracked and the tears teasing those eyes couldn't really be there? Sweets' vision was hazy, his mind was tricking him. This big, burly sniper, ex-ranger, FBI agent wasn't crying because he was dying. No. Impossible.

"Booth, they're coming!" Brennan's voice was hoarse and broken, she sounded like she was crying. Again, impossible. She wouldn't cry over Sweets, ever since he left Daisy one thing was clear: No one would cry over him. Now he saw two of the most emotionally unmoving, strong people in the world breaking into freezing tears over his withering body.

Doesn't matter. Sweets mused bitterly. You're dying. No, you're not just dying idiot. You're pretty much gone, unlikely you'll ever open your eyes again. Sweets scolded himself internally as he saw the blue and red lights flashing. The twinge of the metallic smell of his own blood invaded his nose suddenly, unaware of the sent until now. He squinted, trying to discover the reason the scent was so close to his nose it scrunched up of it's own accord. Suddenly it became clear as the feeling of a shaking, warm hand on his cheek finally made it's way to his brain. The ruby liquid that dripped from the palm was on his cheek, it was Booth. The agents deep chocolate eyes blown wide with worry, his hand shaking and his face holding a deep denial. The entire sight was heart breaking, and Sweets let his eyes flutter shut to ignore the pain it jolted through him. They didn't care, he didn't care. That was it, wasn't it? The darkness of his eyelids became deeper, more horrible and he couldn't force them open now. They were cemented shut as the iron smell that grazed his senses began to fade. His hearing was going also. Another cry from Booth escaped his ears as the dark swallowed him up. It consumed his limbs, his thoughts, his breathing, this thick velvet darkness took him away. Sweets was sure that this darkness was his end, and that he'd never wake up again. Slightly more disturbing was that he wasn't even sure he cared.

OOO

"Flat line, Kirk!" Yelled an EMT, then darkness.

"Get him into surgery, now!" Screeched a doctor, and again the deep blackness swallowed him whole.

"Family or friends?" A kindly, but tired looking man greeted the group before him. An odd mismatch of people turned bloodshot eyes to him. There was a chocolate skinned woman with a beauty so tantalizing no one could ignore it, she held onto an eastern looking man who whispered in her ear. Beside them was a strange curly haired man whose crystal eyes shot around nervously, and hanging on him in tears was a gorgeous woman in a skirt and curly hair. Shifting further over was a stern, but beautiful woman in the arms of a burly looking man who the doctor was sure could break your neck with one arm.

"Friends, but we're all he's got." The voice was sure, boss like, feminine but broken from tears. The doctor, Dr. Wilson, turned his deep blue eyes to the woman and gave a nod.

"Well, his records support that. I don't know if I should share.." Wilson admitted slowly, looking at his clipboard.

"FBI." The strong looking man said, whipping out his badge with practiced ease. Wilson nodded and gave a sigh, running his finger through his ebony curls.

"Right then, you all look rather professional." He noted the lab coats everyone but the last couple sported. "He flat lined 3 times, and is currently in a comatose state. We have hopes, but his brain function is abnormal, and his heart rate is falling. Though, his heart has been steady for nearly 20 minutes, we're remaining vigilant. Being from the Jeffersonian institute, you all are sure to know what all this together means. We are doing our best, and we have hopes but the possibility is serious." He took in a breath, and the dark skinned woman broke into a new rush of tears. The stern woman on the far left bit her lip and her stormy eyes flooded, and even the man ,who the doctor decided had a military background, was squirming with tears in his deep brown eyes. Wilson took a deep breath of the chemical smells around him, and coughed from the sudden burst of cleaning agents in his lungs. He was still new, and this hospital seemed to use a great deal of cleaning agents, even overly so. "We will keep you informed."

With that the friends were left with a retreating doctor, he was a very short, but skinny man. Well built, but still naturallythin, the scrubs clung to his slim waist barely and he held the clipboard to his side. Booth took in a heavy, wavering breath and could feel the hot tears falling on his shoulder as Brennan buried her face in his neck. He could smell the salt running down his own cheeks, and his face itched but he didn't dare move. It was like if he even shifted it would all come crashing down, and Sweets would die right then and there. Thinking back a few hours, Booth's ears still clung to the sound of manic laughter, and that horrible scream. It wasn't like the scream before, the one that was released when you saw your end coming. No, this was like the high pitched screech you gave when there was such a burning pain your body couldn't handle it. It shook the world, and it was desperate. It stole the air from Sweets' lung, and it held the sound of utter agony within it's notes. The scream had rung out in the air, it had followed that horrible laughter.

Let me die.

That's the phrase that cut through Booth's mind, it sliced at his heart. It had been a desperate, horrible request with the will of a man giving up behind it. It had only been heard by the agent, but he knew he had to tell the others. They needed to know. He opened his mouth to speak, but looking over his broken friends he knew it was wrong. There was a silence, only interrupted by a shuddering breath or sudden waterfall of sobs. This whole scene was horribly wrong. Sweets was just a young man, he was a kind hearted man who only wanted to help. Why was a psycho after him? How the hell did that psycho shoot him? Booth hadn't seen a gun, not even Sweets' gun. How had Leonardo run out before Booth shot him? Was he coming back? Of course he was. He wanted to kill Sweets, it was his goal and now he was on the run. When had their world come crumbling down, and why hadn't Sweets ever mentioned how deep in shit he was?

When had he stopped trusting them? Booth took a sharp intake of breath and regretted it immediately as the biting burn of bleach invaded his lungs. Brennan sat beside him, he inquisitive gaze was dulled, broken and her deep stormy eyes were blank as she stared at the table. In her features the image of denial and grief was so perfectly managed, and it broke the ex-snipers heart into pieces.

"What's it all mean, the stuff Wilson said?" Booth asked his partner, who turned her glazed eyes to him and tilted her head in question. "The doctor, I noticed his name tag."

"The first 48 hours are critical as you know, and of course there is complications due to those previous injuries he had. Altogether the fact s-state…." The woman took in a heavy, shuddering breath and laced her fingers in Booth's as she looked at the floor. "With the TBI Cam mentioned earlier and the gunshot wound and blood loss, it's highly likely he won't...ever...wake up." As her words broke the heavy, chemical filled air everyone stared. They knew, of course they knew they were scientists dammit, but having it said out loud? No, now it was real, the words were out and the reality was biting.

"I'm going to find Leonardo Havist." Booth growled, his deep eyes turned a frightful charcoal as his gaze fell on the wall. "And I'm going to cause that bastard some real pain."

"You won't kill him." Brennan stated, keeping her tone exempt of emotion.

"Nope, but I'll make sure he knows not to screw with my people."

"He'll be coming back?"

"Yes." Booth answered shortly. "And we'll be ready."

OOO

Oh, that took a day and an age. Sorry.

Thanks for reading, reviews are loved and appreciated even though I never reply! I just dunno how.