Booth squinted in the bright light, wondering why he was flat on his back. Then he heard a familiar voice.
"Wake up, Shrimp!"
"Pops? Am I in Heaven?"
"Yep...some bastard pushed you down some stairs, remember?"
"There wasn't a priest to administer Last Rites….am I supposed to be here?"
"About that…" Pops smiled. "Pete says there's been a slight mistake. You're not supposed to be here for another 50 years or so."
Booth sat up. "Pete?"
"You know, St. Peter? Keeper of the Pearly Gates? We're fishing buddies so I get to drop the saint part."
"Oh." Booth tried to shake off his dizziness. "Can you say 'bastard' in Heaven?"
"Yeah. The guy who pushed you is really a bastard. You gotta go back, but I've got two messages for you. Nana says your next daughter should be named Elizabeth after her, and your Uncle Bobby wants the next boy named after him."
"Uncle Bobby?"
"He was my older son. He died when your dad was 17...car accident. Oh, your dad says hi, too."
" Dad made it in? How'd that work?"
"Well, it's none of your business, but if you must know, Shrimp, he repented before he died."
Booth smiled. "I'm glad. Wait, Pops...did you say next daughter and next son? That'll put us up to five…"
"I know." Pops smiled and slapped Booth on the back. "We'll be watching, so make us proud. See you in 50 years…."
The light faded. "Booth?" Brennan was standing next to his bed. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I got hit by a truck." He smiled at his wife. "I'll be fine. Can I go home?"
"The doctor wants to keep you overnight for observation since you have a bad concussion."
Booth nodded. "Okay. By the way….we're gonna need a bigger house…."