A/N: Yaaaa it's bonesday! Here's a present! I feel so bad that I left you hanging with that last chapter. Sorry! For those who have made it this far, I applaud you. 'claps' I really do owe you a major thank you because this story is quite the Debbie Downer. But don't worry; good things come to those who wait. :) So hang tight, pretty please!!! Time for you to enjoy some weirdness, so read on!

Streaming rays of afternoon sun highlighted the sheltered, bustling street. Buildings towered overhead like mighty Gods, enclosing the energetic neighborhood. Bumping past a chattering couple, Booth whistled an exuberant tune, a light bounce in his easy gait.

Ever the returning hero, his bag swinging with every beat, uniform starched and glittering with medals, Booth rounded the tight corner and waved affectionately at the wiry grocer.

"Afternoon Mr. Gary!"

"Ah Booth, so glad to see you've returned. When you get the chance I could use a hand moving these crates."

"Sure thing Mr. Gary!" Booth finished his walk, halting at the crosswalk, eyes fixed on the diner across the street. The aroma of freshly baked cherry pie drifted through the open door.

There she stood, bathed in the beauty of life, waving gracefully at the passing cars. It was as if the world had ceased—everything in slow motion—with each sparkle of laughter. Booth puffed out his chest and attempted to step forward, but his polished boots had sunk into the concrete.

Her name was called, thick with lust, and she twirled around to meet the man sidling up to her. Clenching his jaw in anger, Booth watched as she jumped into the man's open arms and groan with pleasure as the man ravaged her body with filthy kisses.

Breaking from the concrete's stronghold, Booth charged toward the man blatantly raping the woman he loved. A scream of fury exploded from his throat, but only a choked whisper slipped past his lips. Once again he found himself struggling against the street's binding torture.

The glare he received from the pair pierced his entire body. The greasy, black-eyed man forced the woman closer to his body as she quipped in feigned interest. "I've moved on Booth, something I found extremely easy to do."

The man holding her gave him a devilish grin. "Come on Booth, do you really think a woman like Bones could ever love you. You can't give her what she really needs. You're a murderer and that's all you'll ever be. There's no gray area when it comes to killing someone." Laughing with crazed menace, the pair sauntered off into the crowd of angry pedestrians, leaving a broken Booth in their wake. Everyone was walking toward him, fists waving violently in the air, obscenities bouncing off the brick walls.

He tried to run. He couldn't move or yell as they closed in around him. A bright, red convertible blazed toward him, horn blaring with deafening reckoning. The large driver cackled with sweet revenge, a bleeding hole through his heart as Booth threw up his arms in self-defense…

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Brown eyes fluttering open, Booth found himself staring into blinding lights hanging overhead. Looking around he determined he was lying on a turquoise dentist chair, leather straps securing his arms and legs. His mouth was held open by a metal rod, cotton balls parching his throat and lips. A snap of a rubber glove reverberated through the blank, white room causing him to panic, eyes searching for the intruder. A man donning a floor length lab coat wheeled out from behind him, a face mask hiding his identity. Grabbing a sharp, metal tool from the sterile tray, the dentist fixed the light so it shone into Booth's open mouth.

Now, let's see what your problem is today." The man dug around inside, grunting with dissatisfaction. "That's not good. Nope not good at all." Leaning back, the man took off his mask and shook his head. "My name's Dr. Wyatt and I've had the pleasure of working with you before Booth."

Booth gulped with relief at the sight of his friend who began to unbind him from his restraints. "Tell me Booth, what are you afraid of? Think about it, what are you afraid of?"

The rod no longer restricting his speech, Booth mumbled his answer, but the words never found their way out of his mouth.

"Sorry Booth, that's the wrong answer. I'll give you one more chance. Now, what are you afraid of?"

Nervous sweat puckering across his forehead, Booth found himself unable to form an answer out of his jumbled thoughts. Shaking his head with frustration, Booth pleaded with the Doctor, who only hung his head in shame.

"Alright Booth, this was your choice not mine."

An orange lever was pulled and Booth felt the leather chair shift under him, turning downwards. Peeking over his boots, Booth went numb with fright. The chair was resting on a steep ledge and he was dangerously close to slipping into the murky emptiness that gathered below.

"Goodbye Booth and good luck finding your future!"

With a hefty shove, Booth was sent flying into the mouth of the abyss, sallow lights flickering on around him, revealing thousands of damaged clocks. A distant, eerie ticking mumbled soothingly to him, calling him to his possible future. Urgency scorched his mind as he groped urgently at the clocks flying by him—all broken. Come on where are you! A tiny olive-shaped clock smacked soundly across his head and Booth lurched around to grasp the offending object, cradling the small beating future. Yes! Yes!

The ticking stopped. The lull of the lights faded away, replaced by a dusky fog creeping out of the cracks in the wall. Freezing wind whistled past Booth as long thorny branches clawed at his face, large gashes torn out of his flesh. The dead clock resting in his limp hand evaporated into blinding specks of dust, disappearing into the stony walls of the abyss. Booth plummeted downwards, gathering speed as he hit the muddy floor with a ghastly thud…

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Suffocation; every breath was an intake of oxygen-deprived dust. Water sprung from Booth's eyes, leaving a streak of pale skin, while he lifted his hands and scrapped at the claustrophobic wooden box holding him. Blood bubbled from beneath his fingernails and bruised knuckles as he pounded violently against the wood slates. Booth felt the life in him slipping away, eyes closing heavily with exhausted rest. A muffled clanking above reached his ears and he perked up with hope. A shovel smacked against the lid, which was pried off, exposing the four drained diggers leaning over the top of him.

Bones! Thank God! Ange, Hodgins, Zack, you're all here! Thank God!

"Sorry Sweetie, it looks like there's nothing left but a pile of bones."

What? No, I'm right here guys! Wait, don't leave me!

"You're right, there's nothing left to him. He's just a shell now."

No! Please…I swear there's more to me, I'm still Booth! Don't leave me…

"Come on, let's bury it and get out of here."

Dropping the lid over him, Booth sobbed hysterically as the sound of nails being pounded into the lid echoed through the small coffin. Attempting to breath, Booth choked on the dust as it filled his lungs, twinkling lights bursting in his vision, a sudden pain ravaging his shaking body…

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"OH GOD! MAKE IT STOP!" Blazing agony burned through his veins, ravaging his body in a horrific frenzy. "IT HURTS! PLEASE MAKE IT STOP!" Eyes rolling with hysteria, Booth screamed at the approaching distorted figures, body convulsing against the leather straps holding him down.

Doctor, he's awake!

Morphine drip and the strongest sedative we have, quick!

Floating, white angels flew around him in a blurry haste, passing around glowing bottles of liquid. A stinging pain thudded into Booth's neck; his muscles stiffening, Booth laughed bitterly as a hazy joy coursed through his body. Eyes fighting to close, Booth suppressed a grin as dreamy hallucinations arrived to torment him once more.

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A cool breeze tickled Booth's cheeks, begging him to open his eyes. Cloudy, confused images appeared around him and he squinted at the body wheeling towards him, but he was unable to identify the person.

"I didn't believe it. When they said you had woken up I had to come see for myself," The man reached over and squeezed Booth's shoulder. Well, now, jeez man, I can't believe it."

"Benjamin? Are you real…" Booth croaked out hoarsely, searching the man's jumbled face for something familiar.

"Yeah, and I'm alive and back home with my family because of you. I owe you my life Booth, thank you. I'll do everything possible to help you get better, I promise. No man left behind right?"

"Where…"

Benjamin looked around at the silent, pristine room filled with sterile equipment, taken aback by the air of loneliness solidified into the blank walls. "Well, your about ten miles off the coast of D.C., in a secret military institute for the mentally ill."

Booth had trouble focusing on the man's words, the rhythmic drip of morphine capturing his wholehearted attention.

"Booth?"

"How long?"

"About a year since the funeral." Booth reached over and grabbed Benjamin's hand, questioning his words eagerly.

"Funeral!?"

Benjamin looked down with sympathetic sadness. "The…president thought that due to your current state it would be best for you and your family, friends to…to have you declared dead."

Booth felt as if he'd just been sucker punched, the air pushed out of his lungs in one swift motion. "What!?"

"All the doctors, the medical physicians said that it would take a miracle for you to come out of your hysteria. They thought it would be best if you were declared dead, therefore they could care for you in the most prestigious institute and your family could carry on with their lives, but you woke up Booth."

Panic invaded his mind, speeding his heart to an unhealthy level. He'd been in hysteria for over a year, the memories of the bloody operation, and the thought of Bones moving on—all leading to a surging anxiety attack. His voice cracked, animal-like whimpers passing his sore lips, the nervous stuttering filtering through the open window, "I'm dead. They think…I'm…dead?"

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A/N: I hope the chapter wasn't to confusing! Sorry! Now chant with me, Booth's not dead! Booth's not dead! Booth's not dead! There, is everyone feeling better!