Cowboy Bebop Fan Fiction ❯ Beyond the Fallen Star ❯ Another Beginning ( Chapter 1 )

This story is a work of fiction. All characters except Jonathan are under the Cowboy Bebop copyright of Bandai and Sunrise, Inc. Be kind-please read and review, but beware: this story is going to be long.

Chapter 1: Another Beginning

Darkness. Solid; unending, and complete. That's the way it was supposed to be. There was no sense of self, no worries or fears…just the comforting darkness. In a way, it was better than some higher realm. Dealing with some kind of pissed-off deity wasn't the way he wanted to spend eternity.

Just drifting here with no thoughts…like a deep sleep. No dreaming this time…I've finally earned it. Wait, was it that simple? And then the lazy swirling of vibrant colors disturbed the restful darkness. Whatever consciousness he still had pulled back in resistance. The colors swarmed around, filling in his dark world and coalescing into wordless shapes.

There was no way for him to block out the scenes that began to play before him. No eyelids to close, and no head to turn away. There was no escaping the images that told his life. Whatever part of him still existing tried to scream, tried to block out all the misery and the pain that had existed for him and still tormented him now.

This was no blissful oblivion. There had never existed a bit of hope in his heart that he would ever make it to the heaven that so many religions reached for, but Hell has never been far from him. Every aching year of his live had further proved that life was only a brief respite from hell. But this never-ending loop of his life playing before him was almost more than he could bear.

It was almost as if someone was taunting him. Each piece of his life displayed in front of him drew up the accompanying memory, often more painful when remembered. The colors wrapped themselves about him and played out his own personal drama until they suddenly disappeared.

He would have looked around, but the colors and images were gone as fast as they could come, and then he was no longer in that strange otherworld.

~

The first thought that came to him was a small nagging at the back of his mind that something had happened. It scratched at him, pawing at a memory that seemed to slip past his grip. He made a grab for it, but only caught enough to remember that he had been somewhere, and now he was somewhere else.

Too vague. He stretched again into the recess of his mind, but stopped short when he realized the scratching he had associated with his memory was actually an itch begging for relief on his forehead. Once he had recognized that factor, millions of other complaints came to his attention.

Everything hurt. And knowing that, he slowly took a mental inventory of his injuries. Shoulder, stomach, leg…all pulsing pain in time to the quick beating of his heart-wait, back up. That wasn't right. And then, like a cold splash of water, everything came pouring back to him.

The fight, his death, and even…Hell? Had that been it? He didn't want to think about it, didn't want to think about anything. The pleasant nothingness before the colors and memories had been a good idea, and he wanted to go back. It was too exhausting to be alive, not to mention depressing, considering his track record. He decided to go back to being dead right after a drink of water to unstick his throat, which felt like someone had wedged an entire peanut butter sandwich down it.

Spike cracked open one eyelid, and immediately shut it again, brows furrowing against the cold sterile overhead lights. Come to think of it, the rest of him was cold too. He rested a minute, and for the first time, heard the rhythmic beeping of a machine. Machines? That means I'm probably in a hospital. The intense loathing that rose in him was the urging he needed to fully open first one eye, and then the other. The ceiling blurred, and came into focus as he blinked several times.

He was aware of being cold again. With a little effort, he rolled his head far enough to the left and right to look at his surroundings. It seemed like his was lying on a cushion in the middle of a large laboratory, but looks could be deceiving.

Grunting lightly, he raised his head. Oh, wonderful. At least we've solved that problem. His chest was bare, and there was only a slight cloth covering his midsection and groin. Well, that was the answer to why it was so damn cold in this room. Some modesty, maybe a pair of pants would have been nice.

All he wanted to do now was to get the hell out of whatever place this could be, hopefully with his dignity intact. The only problem was, neither arm would obey his mental commands, which would make it significantly difficult to do much of anything. The day's exertions had already been enough for a guy that had most likely been dead a while, and the green-haired man dropped off into a normal sleep.

~

He looked so innocent lying on the defrost table that the nervous young man standing near the door hesitated, syringe in hand. It was so easy to imagine his patients as whatever he wanted while they slept, but they had all disappointed him upon reawakening. Still, his orders were clear, and the young man wasn't about to defy them.

His soft-soled shoes squeaked loudly as he made his way across the linoleum, but the lanky man took no notice on the table. He only sighed lightly in his sleep as the young scientist gently inserted the final dose of the post-stasis drug into his system. With a final glance back, the young man made his exit; first from the laboratory, and then from the building, tossing his lab coat and identification into a trash compactor in a nearby dumpster.

All his hopes dwelt on the sleeping green-haired Lazarus, who would receive the best anonymous care possible in the next two weeks, and then released into an anonymous life by an anonymous order, no questions asked. It was time to set his plan into motion.

WELCOME BACK, COWBOY…