A thousand years later Sky was sitting on the white couch of Cody's living room.

There was a blanket around her shoulders. She had no idea who had given it to her, or why, but it wasn't helping, she was so cold, her blood had turned to ice, her heart had stopped. A shiver after shiver ran through her aching body, as she wrapped the blanket tighter, trying to keep herself from falling apart.

Cody's blood that was coating her hands and soaking her clothes had gone cold too, just like the blood in her veins, cold and sticky, and dark. Its metallic tang filled her senses with every broken, shallow inhale turning her head light, dizzy. Someone had offered her wet wipes, she couldn't remember who, to clean her hands, her face, but what for? There was no point. The blood was on her hands, and it always would be. Let everyone see her guilt, her horror. She could never wash it off.

She was shaking. There wasn't a cell in her body that wasn't trembling, shivering, shattering, turning into ice and dust, and shadows.

His blood on her hands—

Cody—

He can't be dead. He can't be. Sky stands in the doorway, frozen, but only for a heartbeat, and then the panic turns into action. She runs to him, throws herself at him, screaming his name so hard that her voice breaks, her throat turns raw.

Cody—!

She has to save him. Losing him is not an option. She loves him, she needs him, she can't let him die, there has to be something she can do to stop this from happening, to turn back time, to stop the blood that's gushing out of him—

No, no, no, no, no—-

Her hands are on him, gripping his shirt and shaking him as her tears break free and fall onto his lifeless face. The scream that leaves her lips shatters every part of her body and soul, but Cody doesn't even blink, he doesn't wake up, but how can she give up? This is Cody, who was always there for her, who never gave up on her, who believed in miracles—

She needs a miracle now. Angels, God, Heavenly Grace— She's not a religious person, but right now she forgets that. She's begging for someone to help her, any god, any power, she doesn't care who, someone, anyone, please help— because this is Cody, and she can't give up on him.

This is Cody, and she knows the taste of his lips, the scent of his skin on that spot where his neck joins with his shoulder, Cody, whose beautiful, long-fingered hands are always warm, always, never cold, Cody whose smile can lit up the whole room, but whose tears taste like the ocean, Cody who is kind and gentle and smart and funny and Sky knows him, knows him better than anybody else, Cody who just wants to be loved, Cody whom she has failed, completely, utterly failed, Cody, Cody, Cody whom she loved but too little and too late and he can't die, he can't die, he can't die and she has to save him.

She's on the bed, crawling on top of him, crying out his name that comes out as a broken whine now, thick with tears and fear. Her hands are flying with panic, and his blood is hot, it's pouring out of him, turning the white sheets red. So much blood, so much, just like with Kat— there can't be that much blood in one person, can there? This has to be a mistake, this has to be fake, just like in the play— fake blood on his cheeks, on his lips. But Cody doesn't wake up, he is limp on the bed and the blood keeps pouring out of his head. Jesus, help— I have to save him—! But there's too much blood, and her hands can't stop it, it keeps running out of him and Oh Lord help me, his eyes are dead, filled with tears that are still rolling down his cheeks but he sees nothing, his hazel eyes are glassy and staring at the ceiling, and they are dead, dead, dead eyes—

No. Fix this. Fix this. I have to save him— God help me—!

Her hands are cupping his head, and she doesn't even hear the sounds that leave her trembling lips, the broken, desperate whines - Cody, Cody, Cody, wake up, don't do this, wake up, ohmygod, Cody, please—! Tears stream down her face as her hands thread through the thick, dark strands of his hair, now sticky and hot with blood. She tries to put his head back together, to stop the bleeding, but God, God, God, it's not just blood that pours out of him, and her fingers meet sharp pieces of bone and soft, spongy tissue of his brain and—

and—

and—

Sky blinked, returning to the moment. She was still on the white couch of the living room, the blanket wrapped tight around her shoulders, and Cody's blood on her hands wasn't hot anymore. Time moved weirdly, she was slipping in and out of it, unable to control its unsteady flow. The house was full of people, their voices came and went, like currents in a sea, or distant winds, she could hear them but the words made no sense. Slumped on the couch, her eyes downcast, the only part Sky could see of the people in this room, was their slow feet, the heavy police boots on that white, fluffy carpet, just standing there, as if there was no hurry in the world, as if the worst thing hadn't just happened, as if the reaper hadn't just walked through these rooms with his rotting feet, his black robe sweeping the dust off the hardwood floors.

These people knew nothing. They were people who didn't belong there. Sky wanted them gone, with their stupid shoes and their too-loud voices and their wet wipes and their blankets that did no good. She wanted them gone from this house, from Cody's room where they were going through his stuff, poking his body, putting him in a black body bag—

Sky screwed her eyes shut and swallowed, swallowed, swallowed until the bitter bile went back down instead of climbing up into her mouth.

Cody—

He can't be dead. She refuses to believe it. Even when the police rush into the room, she won't let go of him.

They have to drag her off of Cody, they have to peel her fingers from around his head—

—and it falls apart the moment she lets go. Blood pours out of the side of Cody's head which has exploded to pieces. The sharp splinters of bone fall to the sheets but Sky won't let go, she tries to grab them, to put them back in place, she can't let go, she has to save him, she has to fix him, she has to, they don't understand, they don't listen no matter how hard she screams, and that scream is all she has when they pull her away from him with force, that scream that just goes on and on and on and on and on, until it suddenly stops, returns to her stomach where it was born, and steals all her words with it, leaving behind nothing but silence.

That silence was sitting with her now, in the living room, a lifetime later.

Those people who didn't belong in this house had tried to talk to her, to ask questions, but her voice was gone, her words were shapeless lumps somewhere deep in her gut, as unreachable as if they'd been buried at the bottom of the Mariana Trench.

Gone.

Gone, dead, just like Cody—

"Can I ask you a couple of questions, Sky?" said an almost gentle voice, and someone sat on the couch next to her. A man. An older man, wearing a nice pair of black polished shoes, but Sky only saw his feet on the carpet, the cuffs of his pants. Her glance was glued to the white, fluffy carpet, the emotion was squeezing the air out of her lungs. On that carpet, Cody had once laid her down and made love to her. It had been the morning after the Halloween dance, and he had been sad— Sky's heart ached. She would never find out why he had been crying that morning. Too many regrets. Too many unanswered questions. All that remained was the memory of him, kissing her on the kitchen counter, carrying her here into the living room, and laying her down on that carpet. Cody, whose hands were hot and soft and gentle, Cody, whose breath tasted like peppermint toothpaste, Cody, whose hips were narrow between her thighs, whose heartbeat was fast and heavy when she laid her hand on his chest, Cody, who had loved her and whose head was now in pieces all over his room, his blood coating her hands.

"Sky? Can you hear me? I'm Detective Leon, and I'd like to ask you a couple of questions," the voice asked again, distant, coming from another universe, coming from this very couch right next to her, where the man sat, holding a pen and a notebook in his round fingers.

Sky opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Nothing. Not even a whine, and she sealed her trembling lips. Her voice wasn't in her lungs or her throat or her tongue anymore - it was a tight ball somewhere deep in her gut, getting tighter every time someone asked her something. The taste of Cody's blood in her mouth had taken the space of her words. It was salty, sweet, with a sharp tang of iron, and it filled her head making it light, making her feel like she wasn't really here, like she was floating in the ceiling instead, like she was just watching this all from afar, like it wasn't happening to her at all.

"That poor girl is in shock, Rick. Can't you see? Give her a break."

"I'd love to give her a break, but it would be easier if she gave us some answers," the man on the couch muttered. He smelled of tobacco and sweat and Sky's stomach was a tight knot, waves of nausea and cold were making her shiver, bringing the bile to the back of her throat. She was so cold, so cold, she would never be warm again.

"Who can we call, Sky?" the man asked, leaning closer to Sky. "Who can come and pick you up? Do you have a mother? A father? Someone needs to come and get you, or we'll have to call the social workers, Sky. You do understand that, do you?"

She understood, of course— they were just doing their work. It wasn't this man's fault that Cody was dead, that his blood and his brain coated the wall of his room, the white sheets of his bed, Sky's hands—

It was not the fault of this nice detective or the woman who had brought Sky the blanket and a glass of water that stood untouched on the table in front of her. It was her fault. She had caused this by first breaking Cody's heart and then causing him to go back to selling drugs—

His blood was on her hands. This was her fault. She had killed Cody.

That realization was a spear through her chest. The pain burst out of her as a wave of hot, salty tears, and she bent in two, her face almost touching her knees. She had killed him. He was gone and he was never coming back. Sky felt like her insides were falling out through the hole in her chest, but all that came out were the silent, burning tears.

"Now, now—" the man spoke. "Take this. It's going to be alright—"

He offered her something, probably a tissue, but Sky paid him no attention, didn't even open her eyes. Her hot tears fell to her cheeks, splashed to her thighs, soaking through the denim into her skin.

"Sky— that's your name, right?" His tobacco-smelling words were soft and almost gentle. "You're not a suspect. We already know what happened here. No one is accusing you of anything. We just need the name of your guardian, to give them a call, alright? Can you tell me, what's your mom's name?"

Mom. Who'd been dead for 15 years—

Just like everyone who had ever loved her was dead. Mom. Kat. Luke. Cody. All of them had loved her and were now gone. She had more loved ones in the afterworld than in this one.

Only Hawk and Dad remained.

Oh God. Dad. Oh God—

Dad would be so upset. He had loved Cody. He had never said that, but Sky had known nevertheless. Dad had a soft spot for troubled teenagers, for the boys who were lost. They reminded him of his younger self, he had once said, and now— Sky gripped the blanket harder with her bloodied hands, shivers and waves of nausea running through her weary body. Dad had fucking loved Cody, and Sky had killed him— Dad would be devastated, he would hate her. She had failed, utterly, awfully failed. After everything Dad had done for her, she had still turned into a slut and a liar and a cheater and a murderer and Cody was dead, his blood was all over the bed and all over her hands and all over her clothes because she had killed him, as surely as if she had pulled the trigger herself.

Her tears wouldn't stop flowing, she was drowning in them. If only she was dead too. If only the bullet that had gone through Cody's head had hit her too - just like the bullet that had gone through her shoulder had killed Kat. Death in the blink of an eye— God, how she wanted that, wanted that now more than anything.

"We found her backpack in the car," someone spoke from the other room. "There's an ID. Sky O'Brian. Should be enough to locate the parents."

The man stood up from the couch, letting out a long sigh. "Right. Start calling. Anything else I should know?"

"Looks like that school Counselor knew what she was talking about. We searched the boy's room. Found a large bag, full of pills and other stuff. A couple of burner phones too, and a lot of cash."

"Oh jeez. Just another drug dealer then. Wouldn't have thought— in a house like this one. But you never know, do you?"

Their voices moved to the next room and were drowned under the ringing of Sky's ears. Just another drug dealer. Had Sky had any strength left in her body, she would have punched that man for saying such a thing. Just another drug dealer? As if Cody hadn't been a thousand splendid things, as if his life could be diminished into those four, awfully short and blank words? These people knew nothing. They didn't know the way Cody laughed, as if he was afraid of no one, they didn't know the way he ran his hand through his hair when he was confused, they didn't know the shine in his eyes when he stood on the stage and spoke his lines, they didn't know anything about his dreams, his love, the things he found funny.

They didn't know he loved blueberries and white chocolate and books and skiing and his siblings—

David and Leigh.

No. God, no—

A desperate whine escaped Sky's lips as a new arrow pierced her heart. She didn't want to be here when David and Leigh came home from school. She didn't want to be here when they were told of what had happened. She could barely take her own pain - there was no room in her heart for anyone else's sorrow.

Sky pressed her face against her knees, crying into her blood-soaked jeans, pulling the blanket up, over her head. She wanted to shut out the whole world, this room, these people, their voices, their shoes, the bloodstains on that white carpet—

But there was no escape. The only place her mind could go was the room upstairs, where Cody lay on the bloodied sheets—

Cody's glassy, hazel eyes stare at the ceiling as the police force Sky to let go of him. The grip of their hands is strong, unyielding, and she's so small and so broken, but still, Sky kicks and fights them all the way to the door. She can't just leave him— He needs her, needs her help, she can't just leave him like this— But they force her out of the room, and the last thing Sky sees before she's carried into the hallway is Cody's blood-stained face. The tears are still running down his face, his lips are red, his cheeks flushed, as if he is still alive, and yet not— the stillness of death has already descended on him. It breaks her. In her gut, she knows that he wouldn't want to be alone. He looks so scared. It's not at all like with Kat, who just looked mildly surprised, as if she hadn't even realized what happened, a ghost of a smile still playing in the corner of her full lips. But Cody— he looks like he's terrified, his lips are drawn back, revealing his teeth, his eyes are bright with tears and Sky can't take it, she can't take that he died alone and that it's her fault, her fault, her fault—

And then, suddenly, after an eternity, Dad was there.

His hands were on her shoulders, then his arms were around her, and he didn't care about the blood in her clothes, on her hands, he picked her up as if she were a baby and held her against his chest in a way that said with no words that he was never going to let go.

Dad—

An ache in Sky's chest was unbearable as she tried to cry that word out - Dad, Dad, Dad! - but no sound came. Defeated, she pressed her face against his shoulder, her tears soaking his shirt as she fell apart.

"It's okay," Dad rasped, holding her tight, tight, tight, holding her together. "It's okay. I'm here. I'm here. Everything's gonna be alright."

It was a lie, of course. Nothing would ever be alright again. All the thousand splendid things Cody had been, were gone. The only thing that remained was his blood on her hands.