(A/N: Woo, this fic now has one thousand hits on it! I suppose that means you really are enjoying the fic, huh? I give my thanks to everybody who decided to read this far, whether you reviewed or not. Good criticism is what I crave, you know. Lots of love and hugs and free pie for all!)

It was too warm inside, that was what it felt like, and what Gallows initially thought. The hearth was burning steadily even though it had not yet descended into night, a small circular pit of flame and smoking embers existing in the center of the moderately sized medicine house. It felt hot and strangely dark in here, as all the windows were drawn closed and the only true source of light came from the small hole in the roof, used to let all the smoke from the hearth outside. A table covered in medical tools took up one of the corners of the room, while a shelf or two of magical books and journals held residence on the other side.

This was not an unfamiliar place to Gallows. He had started his apprenticeship as a Baskar priest right here in this very room, many years ago, when he was just a young lad scarcely eleven years old. He had not been a very bright or a diligent student when it came to things like historical study and prayer, but he did have a quick mind and good reflexes, which made him the perfect medical acolyte. Many an afternoon, evening or morning he had spent in this house, assisting those who tended to the sick. That was Shane's job now, he believed.

There were three beds in the medicine house. Two of them were neatly made and fresh, the blankets folded carefully and placed upon the foot of the bed, the flatweed mesh mattress visible to the naked eye. The pillows were soft goosefeather, plucked from game birds during the hunting seasons. Jet was in the other bed, woven blankets of several different ochre colours covering up his body. They were of an earthy, intricate design.

Jet himself was staring into the fire. He was sitting up and his hands were folded in his lap, looking small and childlike in contrast to the large blankets on the bed. There was something about the way that Jet was focussing his gaze on the fire that suggested to Gallows an alert mind was present, possibly one that was too alert. It seemed like Jet was ignoring everything around him, unbearably conscious of his surroundings. The boy was wearing a plain, clean white shirt and a bandage was wrapped around one of his upper arms a little, the smallest traces of blue bruising creeping out from beneath the fabric. His hair was mussed up from a long, long sleep.

Gallows stood with his back to the closed front door and scratched the back of his head thoughtfully. What was he going to say to him? He didn't have a clue. He had been ushered in here as the first one to see Jet after his second heart attack, and though Shane had said Jet was conscious and coherent, he was acting in a way that was befitting of a vegetable. Didn't he hear him coming inside? Wait, hadn't Jet asked for him in the very first place?

"Um…" Gallows began, stepping forward a few paces and blocking Jet's view of the fire. He saw a slight flicker of something in Jet's eyes as the boy's thoughts were disturbed, along with his view. The Baskar priest had always gotten his best responses out of people by playing to who they were, and in Jet's case, he was an exceptionally witty youth. "Hey there, kid. How are you feeling?" Gallows crouched down a little, so that he could look into Jet's downcast eyes. He cocked his head comically, still searching for that initial response.

Something connected. Slowly, Jet met his older comrade's gaze. His pale lips curved into a satirical smile. "Gallows…" Jet breathed, looking behind the Baskar rather than directly at him, as if his eyes refused to focus properly, "If you bend over near the hearth like that, your ass is gonna catch fire."

Gallows snapped up to attention immediately. He actually did feel a little bit of too much warmness on his derriere. "Oh Fengalon, you're right! Ouch…" Righting himself, he patted his own butt experimentally, making sure nothing had charred. It all seemed to be alright.

"When are you ever gonna grow up?" Jet scolded, looking annoyed. Whatever he had been thinking about before, the strangely faraway look he had been giving the fire was no longer visible on his face.

The older man rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Sorry. I guess I'm always going to be like this."

Jet looked at him strangely, confused. "What? Who are you going to kiss? I can't hear you, you're standing on the wrong side of the bed." He pointed to a stool positioned on the other side firmly. "Stand there. All I can hear is mumbling."

Oh yeah, Shane had mentioned something like that. Jet had lost a great deal of his hearing in the tunnels, so what he could hear and not hear depended on what side he was on. One of his ears was working better than the other. Gallows obligingly moved towards the stool and sat down, resting his hands on his knees. "Is this better? How'd you lose your hearing?" He asked curiously, prepared to give up the issue if Jet didn't want to talk about it. He didn't know if the question was taboo or not. With Jet, everything was trial and error, especially in conversation.

The drifter was also strangely willing to engage in conversation today. Usually Jet didn't like to talk at all. Jet lightly scratched behind one of his ears. "Yeah, I can hear you now." He stated, nodding. "I think it was because of that mosquito monster, the damn thing busted one of my eardrums when I was getting close to it. It wasn't because I am… you know…"

"Rotten luck?"

"'Think so."

Gallows shifted uncomfortably. What was there to talk about except for Jet's condition? But it was a depressing subject, probably one that Jet wouldn't want to hear. He tried to think of something lighthearted and cheery to say, but his mind was blocked up with indecision. The Baskar priest always tried to be an optimist when the chips were down, but what could possibly be optimistic about what Jet was going through? Finally he just decided to continue on at the pace he was going at. "Shane said you can't walk or stand." He stated, tonelessly.

"That's right." Jet agreed, with neither a positive or negative swing to his voice. He was just stating a fact. The silver-haired boy leant forward a little and ran his hand down along the shape of one of his legs, under the blankets of the bed. "My heart isn't working hard enough to get enough blood throughout my whole body. The doctors say it's compensating for that by only keeping the necessary parts of my body alive. If I want to stand up, I need a crutch, an' if I want to go anyplace, I'd either need someone to carry me or use a wheelchair."

"How does it feel?" Gallows found himself asking Jet, regardless if the question was tactful or not.

"'Doesn't feel like anything." Jet replied, shrugging. "How am I supposed to feel? There's nothing I can do about it. I really want to go outside, out the back or something like that, but like this I can't even stand up, and the doctors won't let me out of bed. It's too hot in here."

The Baskar priest smiled. "That's as bad as house arrest. If you want to go outside, I could always carry you there."

Jet had tried to hide his look of hope. "Just for a little while?"

"You're sick. I dunno if you know about this or not, but sick people always get what they want. Ice-cream and jello too, but maybe that can wait for later. How does a couple of minutes outside sound?"

"It sounds great, actually."

Jet pulled back his blanket and grunted a little as he set both hands on the mattress and tried to lever himself up with his arms, a small frown of dismay on his face. But Gallows had dealt with people with paralysis before and leant over his friend, wrapping one arm behind Jet's back with the other arm going under Jet's knees. With this, his center of balance was perfectly proportioned and he effortlessly lifted Jet off the bed. The young drifter was so light, there was practically nothing to it. Vaguely he recalled the warning Shane had given him about Jet staying in his bed, but damn, this was what Jet wanted, and denying a dying man of his wishes at a time like this just seemed beyond sinful.

If Gallows was caught out, then it would be Jet's fault. Gallows was satisfied with that. As he straightened up again he shifted the boy in his arms, favoring his right arm so that Jet would be better secure. He leant against Gallows' chest and reached a hand out to grasp a fold of the big Baskar's vest, making sure he was safe. The silver-haired youth glared at his friend evenly. "If you drop me there'll be hell to pay." He warned, a tone of venom falling from his tongue. "I'll slash your ankles."

"Is it really true that you can't feel anything in your legs?" Gallows ventured, daring a question as he carried Jet to the back door. "None at all?"

"Most of the time, I guess so." Jet replied, removing his hand from Gallows' vest in order to manipulate the doorknob, as his friend at the moment did not have a hand to spare. He leant down a bit to do so, wincing a little from a hidden pain. "But there are some times when I do feel stuff, but all it is are sensations of hurting. I'd rather just feel nothing at all." An awkward pause, in which Jet turned the handle on the door and added in thought; "I miss walking. The doctors here treat me like a fucking mentally challenged baby."

Turning on his side slightly, Gallows nudged the door open with one shoulder. Cooler afternoon air wafted in and met with the warmer, gloomier atmosphere. The Baskar priest blew slightly at the lock of white hair in front of his face, trying to get it out of the way. "They just want you to be comfortable." Gallows defended, his initial unease at speaking with Jet again melting away as time went by. "They've probably never dealt with anybody like you before, especially someone who looks and acts like a young adult, is really only the age of a child, and is suffering from an old man disease. You're pretty much unique, Jet."

"Yeah, but I still wish I could walk." Jet grumbled as Gallows brought him outside, but then he looked up and grinned when he realised where he was. "Voila! The great outdoors! I thought I would never get to see it again." He admitted with a strange kind of satisfaction , then he put his hand over his mouth. "Oh shit, I shouldn't talk so loudly. Clive and Virginia are out the front, aren't they? They might hear me. It's goddamned difficult to talk right when you can't hear yourself properly."

"I pretty much think you're safe." Said Gallows, kicking the door closed in order to keep the heat in. "Where should I put you down? Or would you rather me keep on holdin' you? It's not a problem."

The drifter looked around a bit. There were barrels and ceramic pots lined up outside the back of the medicine house, some covered with a fold of cloth or a lid to keep the freshness of the items inside intact. There was also a pile of freshly cut firewood too, a project that had been undertaken by Gallows and Jet himself. Had that only been two days ago? It felt like forever and a day. A particularly clean patch of ground was reserved for nobody, or somebody had removed the supplies from there the day before. Jet pointed to it. "Down there's good." He stated decisively. "Put me down."

Gallows obeyed him, dropping to one knee and laying Jet up against the side of the house. There was enough room for two, so the Baskar scooted over as well and sat down beside his friend, draping a hand over one arched leg. Jet leant his head back and sighed deeply. "God, that's better. I felt like I was gonna suffocate in there."

"Don't tell Shane I let you out here." Gallows muttered quietly, keeping one eye on Jet. "He'd tattle on me as quick as a flash, and I dunno, Granny might decide to give me a caning. I wouldn't put it past her. Hey… are you listening?" His words had changed course when he noticed that Jet no longer seemed to be paying any attention to him, he was looking at his hand in the grass. "How do you feel?"

"I won't tell anybody." Jet promised, halfheartedly running the palm of his hand over the patch of prickly, short clipped grass. He was staring at it with an expression more kindly than any he would turn upon a fellow human being. "It'd be like one of those so called existential things. Once nobody remembers it, it'll no longer exist." He started to pluck small strands of grass from the ground. "If you forget about it, the truth'll die with me."

"Existenti-what?" Gallows appeared to be confused.

Jet smirked at him. "One of those tree-falling-in-the-forest kind of things. You've never really thought about it, have you?" For a moment the boy almost looked dismayed at this, disappointed, but he must have decided something secret in his mind and his attitude became secure again. Jet rested both of his hands on his lifeless legs and shot out a rather bold question directly at his friend. "You're a priest, so do me a favor. Can you tell me about God?"

This took Gallows completely aback. He sat up straight immediately and raised an eyebrow. "What God? Which God?" He had always pinned Jet as the last person in the world who cared about religion or anything like that. Jet was regarding him steadily, expecting a proper answer. Gallows raised a hand in protest. "Listen, I'm a Baskar priest, and my people worship a great many different gods, the Guardians, you must know that by now. I can really only tell you about them, and even so, I never really understood much of what they taught me to-"

"Tch, that's not what I'm talking about. I don't wanna know about what the Baskars think about gods and all that crap, I want to know what Gallows the fucking priest who's gonna bury me thinks about it! Why else would I ask just you and not one of the doctors back in that house, who obviously have three times the IQ that you do?" Jet snarled, anger in his eyes. There was fear in them as well.

Gallows had calmed down a little, mostly because the shock of hearing Jet's words had settled inwards by now. He sighed, looking at the ground. Jet was still expecting him to say something. "You really want to know what I think?" He asked softly. "And… you really want me to be the one to bury you? That's sickening, you sure you want that? There are better priests in this village than I. Really."

"I do want to know what you think." Jet stressed powerfully. "The only opinions I can find value in are the opinions of the people I really know and trust. People who I've defended in combat, and in turn defended me." He laughed a little. "It sounds so moronically noble when I say it out loud, but that's how I figure out if people are worth it or not. An' the other thing…" The drifter went quiet for a moment, thinking. "The same goes for that, too. I'd rather be buried by someone I trusted, rather than some uppity bastard waving a magic stick around. Gallows, you're the only priest I know and trust."

It seemed like Jet had formed a rather accurate perception of the other priests in the colony during his stay there. Gallows smiled and patted his friend on the shoulder, then leant closer towards him, in the telling of a secret. "Well then, listen up, Jet." Jet nodded and was all serious ears.

"We all know that Guardians are the foundation that supports the world. They are gods in their own right, there's no doubt about that. They have earthly incarnations and can even be summoned into the physical world. But honestly, who made them? For there to be a proper foundation for the world, there had to first be a foreman. Something responsible for existence itself. I don't know what it was exactly, maybe the Guardians split from one huge entity, or were children or creations of one huge entity. I don't know. To be honest, I don't think that's the important part or even if we're meant to know. What's the important part, to you? What do you wanna know?"

Jet's voice was a mere whisper. "I want to know where I'm going to go when I die. Sometimes, lately, when I sleep, and I think even before that, I have visions of… something. I'm not sure what they are exactly, I always forget them right after I wake up."

"Is there anything at all you remember, any small little detail?" Gallows pressed, curious.

The boy put his hand against his chin. "Not really. It kind of felt like the whole vision was filled with something I just couldn't describe in this world, so my mind made up some stuff in my dreams in order for it to make sense." Jet's hand slid up his face and pressed against his brow. "I remember… black sand. And maybe a tree. I think. No, maybe it was red sand. I just can't remember right."

"That's alright." Gallows replied kindly. He began to muse out loud, half talking to himself and half explaining things to Jet. "Maybe the afterlife is a little bit like that. It could be whatever we wish it to be, like, the afterlife doesn't form around our souls, but our souls form around the afterlife? That's why everything seemed subjective to you? Damn, this is just too confusing for me. I wasn't made to think like this."

Looking away from Gallows now, Jet haphazardly reached over and pinched his upper leg hard, firmly enough to leave a bruise. It probably would bruise up nicely, but the drifter did not feel a thing. It was like pinching somebody else, a feeling Jet would never ever get used to. "What is God to me, Gallows?" He finally asked, "And what the hell can He do for me?"

As Gallows got into it more, the role of counseling priest was becoming easier as he practiced it. He didn't know if he was speaking truth or just the dumb waffling of his own mind, but if it did help Jet's frame of mind and make him feel better, it was time well spent. "It's not His business to do anything for you, I think. You need to take a bit of your own advice, the things you used to say way back when all of us just met. Do you remember what you used to say?"

Jet shook his head wretchedly. His voice was thick with emotion. "I don't remember much of anything anymore. I try, I really do try, but it's all shrouded in so much fog. It was so long ago. What did I say?"

Gallows was beginning to get pretty choked up with emotion himself. "Jet Enduro used to say that on this harsh world of ours, the only being you could have any real faith in was yourself. Don't believe in any kind of god or creature, any belief or gathering of people. You are the only person in the world who will always trust you back. Being exempt from that is paradoxical."

Nodding, Jet looked to be satisfied. "'Sounds like something Jet Enduro would say. Except for that last part. You must have added it in yourself." He murmured, wrapping his arms about himself unexpectedly. He shivered. "It's cold. …Why is it so cold?"

The older man hadn't detected a change in temperature that he could feel. It was the same as it had been when they both had come out here, a nice and pleasant afternoon, not too hot and not too cold. He had been complaining of being too hot before, why had he suddenly just changed his mind? Gallows watched Jet huddle against the side of the medicine house, shrinking from some kind of frost that only he could feel.

Of course. That was it. The medicine house has been so overly heated for a reason. Jet's thermal temperature wasn't working properly by itself and needed coaxing to stay at the right level, hence the continuously burning hearth. Being too hot was better than being too cold, because hot things stayed alive. It was the lesser of two evils. "Come here." Gallows said as he reached out and picked up Jet again, pushing himself to his feet. He noted that Jet had resisted the urge to cuddle against him because of Gallows' warmth, so despite his problems, he still had an admirable amount of restraint still left in his body.

"In… side. No grass… Cold…" Jet rasped nonsensically, shaking his head.

"That's right, there's no grass inside. But that's okay, because its much warmer in there. You gotta go back to bed." Gallows agreed hoarsely and simplistically, hating himself for beginning to treat Jet like a 'mentally challenged baby', as he had complained of earlier.

"Fuck you… Gallows…"

The Baskar nearly laughed. Yes, Jet was still alive and kicking, somewhere inside the boy he was carrying. Gallows had left the back door open a small fraction in order for him to open it again without using the doorknob, so all he had to do was push it in with a toe and go inside. He did as planned, depositing the young drifter onto the bed. Afterwards, he strode back to the door and closed it firmly. Hopefully Jet would animate soon enough, now.

He remembered a time when he had only been a young child himself, when his little brother Shane had developed a cold-related breathing problem sometime late in the night, and he had sat up until the early hours of the morning with his mother, who had held the small toddler in her arms a safe distance away from a boiling pot of water, the steam from the pot relaxing Shane's constricted air passages. It had been one of the few memories he had left of his deceased mother. This problem with Jet right now reminded him a little of that night, many years ago.

Gallows sat down on the small stool, placed by the side of the bed where Jet could hear him best. Talking to him from the wrong side of the bed would be pointless, as he would not be able to hear him. "Is that better?" He asked cautiously. "It's much warmer in here, right?"

"Yeah…" Jet answered, looking up at him from where he lay on the bed. He looked a little pale, but then again, Jet always looked a little pale. "Guess you should've listened to Shane, huh?"

"Oh yeah, it's all my fault, isn't it?" Gallows smiled, reaching over and covering Jet up with the blanket again. "If you don't tell Shane that I took you out into the cool air, then I wont tell him that it was all your idea in the first place."

"That seems fair." Jet concurred, getting his composure back a little. The look on his face suggested that he had a question he wanted to ask, but was still mulling over whether or not he should mention it to his friend. He decided there was no serious harm. "…Would you believe that I knew that was going to happen? But I just really wanted to see the sky and the grass and stuff outside. I guess I knew you wouldn't let me get too bad before you brought me back in here. I think it was worth it."

"You really trust me that much?" Gallows wondered, just a little bit incredulous.

"About as far as Zephyr can throw you." Jet reassured him, tilting his head to the side and pressing his cheek against the soft downy pillow. He closed his eyes. "Hey Gallows, all this talking is making me tired. Do you reckon you could let Clive in after about an hour, so I can take a nap now or somethin'?"

So Jet was tiring and was now asking Gallows to leave. That was alright, because he needed his strength in order to speak to the others. Gallows couldn't just hog Jet's time for himself. He nodded solemnly. "Sure. I'll do that. But one last thing." The Baskar ran a nervous hand through his long brown hair. "Did I… was I of any use to you, really?"

"They say you should talk to a priest right before you die." Jet explained softly, from a land seemingly far away. "So that's what I decided to do. I just need to know that wherever I go, Gallows will always be Gallows. You're never gonna grow up. No matter where I end up after all is said and done, I can at least know that Gallows will be somewhere on Filgaia, chatting up women and saying dumb shit. That's the way it's going to be, right?"

Gallows' eyes threatened to fill with tears. He wasn't one to cry over sentimental stuff, especially when Jet was involved, but it really did feel like Jet was saying goodbye. "I reckon so." He whispered, taking Jet's hand that was lying outside of the blankets. The drifter gave his hand a hard squeeze. He still had a pretty firm grip, even now. "I'll be doin' all that, and I'll be knowing that Jet's gone off on one of his solo adventures. Listen, I don't know much of anything about who or what the heck God is, but if what we're led to believe is true, the Guardians and God loves you, Jet. They really do."

"And you're gonna bury me, at the end?"

The priest smiled sympathetically. "We can't let some guy with a magic stick do it, can we?"

Jet laughed. "Thanks." He said, rolling over onto his side. "Now piss off and let me get some sleep. Make sure Clive is here in an hour." He paused, thinking, then spoke again. "It was good talking with you."

Gallows rose to leave. He was biting the inside of his lip hard. "See you tomorrow." He pledged firmly, the words sounding more like a demand than a farewell. As he left the medicine house, closing the door behind him, all Jet did was faintly mimic the words of his friend, softly.

"Yeah… tomorrow." He said.