Halloween Night: Oh sorry, I didn't mean to make it confusing D: But no, I'm very sure Juno doesn't know what he did. She would probably be calling the cops instead of inviting him to the funeral. And Lucy's father's name is Richard. It's in chapter one.
Rache123: It makes me so glad when I see people have read this all the way through because they loved it so much. Thank you!
Americana Psychotica: And thank you so much for sticking by me for all these months darling!
JacksterGamer: Ever? D: But... -sobs-
RavingSunshine: I don't really think she was being manipulative, just... grieving. And yeah, about Shaun... He's kinda fading out, isn't he? ^^;
Erika Jane: Oh my goodness. Thank you so much! I don't think I've ever got a review that long! You make me feel all warm and fuzzy... It makes me so happy to know that readers actually like my story 8D
DarkCase18: ...Get out. Seriously. I almost wasn't going to reply to this, but I am just to tell you to get the fuck away from my story and take your non-existent grammar with you.

But thank you so much to:
-Rache123, for adding this story to their alert
-Kestrel Faeran, for adding this story to their alert
-cherryblossoms22, for adding this story to their alert and favourites
-kaito kitsune, for adding this story to their favourites
-followedthewaves, for adding this story to their alert and favourites, and for adding myself to their author alert and favourites
-and Erika Jane, for adding this story to their alert and favourites

Screaming on the inside
I am frail and withered
Cover up the wounds that I can't hide
-Breaking Benjamin's Into the Nothing

Desmond pulled up in front of Speed, fingers shaking so hard he could barely get the keys out of their ignition. There were no cars parked out front besides Shaun's. Fantastic.

The blue garage was open in the warm June air, a few bikes lined up so those driving past could see. Desmond made his way past them and into the shop, eyes narrowed as the bright sun turned into artificial lighting.

Shaun was sitting behind a desk, eyes on a magazine he was reading—The New Yorker. His favourite.

Without looking up, he droned, "Welcome to Speed Motorcycles—"

"Uh..." Desmond tried to choke out a "hi", a something but his throat was tight. Just this place reminded him of too much.

Shaun looked up under his glasses, then grinned. "Ditched the funeral? Really sorry I couldn't come with you mate, I—" He frowned, then stood, discarding his magazine on the desk. "Des, what's wrong?" His fingers went to the American's cheek, where they lightly felt his skin. "You're so pale... You look like you've seen a ghost."

Desmond's eyes widened, and he needed to put his hands on the desk to steady himself. Shaun reacted right away, grasping his boyfriend's shoulders, a look of concern etched on his face. "What in the hell happened?"

"I... don't know," Desmond panted, because his heart was racing like he'd just run all the way from the church. "I almost died, Shaun!"

Now it was Shaun's turn to widen his eyes. "Sit down," he demanded, pushing the other man down into a chair, then he scurried around the desk and sat in the other one.

Desmond stared at his lap. "I was going through an intersection. My light was green; I just couldn't figure out why the car coming toward me wasn't stopping.

"I didn't think. At all. It was like time totally stopped. I was just staring at that car coming full speed toward me.

"And then, all of a sudden... My thumb just went to the accelerator. By itself. I don't know what happened. But I definitely didn't save my own life." Desmond stopped and looked at his hand, resting on his thigh. It was shaking so hard he could feel it through his pants.

Shaun's hand was on his shoulder, a way to convey comfort. But Desmond barely felt it.

The sound of boots made him twitch; a biker - a real biker, leather and everything - was entering the store. Shaun's hand flew off the American's shoulder like a startled bird.

"Look," he was saying, "why don't you go home, get some rest? I'll be there in a few hours, and we can talk."

And then somehow Desmond was lying in his bed, but on the wrong side, on Shaun's side, no idea how he hadn't killed himself on the way home. His helmet was still on.

Desmond unbuckled it and practically threw it across the room. It hit the floor with a full thud. But who cared?

Just laying there made him want to move. So he sat up, curled his knees to his chest, resting his chin on them. His eyes began to close.

And suddenly he jerked awake after what felt like hours. His back had relaxed, causing him to fall back and hit the pillow. It woke him.

Desmond looked at his watch. There was nothing there. He rolled his eyes - he'd forgotten to put it on that morning - and instead checked his phone.

"Five minutes?" he moaned. Shaun wouldn't be home for hours.

Desmond decided he would sleep. However, getting off the bed was too much effort, so he just let his eyes close while he lay there in his suit and tie.

His eyes snapped open. He thought he'd heard something. But he was so tired. Who cared about stupid noises?

So he tried again. And again and again, all the while feeling the panic and frustration rising in his chest.

Eventually he gave up, familiar now with the fact that he wouldn't be sleeping.

Suddenly he realized he hadn't eaten all day. It was barely noon, but still.

Desmond - somewhat less reluctantly - sat up, eager to get out of the bed he had been so attracted to just a few minutes ago. He padded into the kitchen, not really caring.

Reaching the counter, he suddenly whipped around. There had definitely been a noise!

But there was nothing there. Of course there was nothing there. Nonetheless, Desmond turned his back on the living room warily, ears straining as he opened the pantry.

Out of the corner of his eye, something moved. His head shot to the left. Nothing. He sighed heavily and, pulling out a box of Shreddies, went to make himself some cereal.

The bowls were in the corner of the kitchen, between the stove and the sink, and as Desmond opened the glass cupboard, something in the reflection caught his eye. He refused to turn around. It felt like he was giving in to his insanity every time he jumped at nothing.

Taking a deep breath, he slowly withdrew a bowl, closed the cupboard, and turned. The bowl and box of cereal left his hands immediately, instinctively dropped to the floor when he saw what was sitting at the breakfast bar.

He stared for a fraction of a second before the bowl shattered on the linoleum, making him jump even more.

"Still wearing your suit, I see," Lucy commented, inspecting her translucent nails.

Desmond's eyes just widened further as he stared at the figure in front of him. He could see a blurry living room through her. "But..." he stuttered. "But you're dead!"

She looked up at him, seeming bored with this whole thing. "Of course I'm dead, you idiot. You can see through me, for Christ's sake."

Her eyes bored into his, the expression on her face now totally serious. "I'm just some illusion your brain has come up with to cope. Maybe it thinks you'll listen to me." She stood, moved her way around the counter so she leaned against the dishwasher behind her, in between it and him. Then she stared him in the face with such intensity Desmond thought he could see her brain through her translucent skull.

And then he realized it. He could see through her skull, at least a little, but he could also make out the room behind it through her brain. His eyes wandered down. Lucy's skin and clothes were translucent as well; he could make out every single one of her digestive and respiratory organs. The heart didn't move, however, nor did the veins, even though the lungs inflated and deflated like they should.

"You need to sleep, Desmond." Lucy's mouth was see through as well - why was he just noticing this now? - and her jaw and tongue moved as she spoke. "You need sleep." Her fingers moved to his face. "Sleep..."

Desmond jerked awake just as the tips of Lucy's fingers went through his cheek. Immediately he slapped a hand to the area, finding nothing.

Moaning a little, Desmond sat up. He was in bed, and it was still light out.

Already the content of the dream was slipping away, even as he tried to grasp it, to remember something. All he could recall was a ghostly Lucy telling him he needed sleep, and his own voice: "But you're dead!"

I'm not quite sure if I'm content where this story is going... it's obviously not what I originally intended to happen. However, I personally really love the psychological aspect of it. I can't decide, though. And this is where you, as readers, come in! I could do one of two things:
a) Leave the storyline as is and change the summary
b) Force Desmond to get over Lucy's death and include more Shaun-ness and more normalness and shit.

Tell me what I should do in a review. I really am leaning toward option A, so if no one tells me what they want, it's what I'll do.