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Thomas wakes up, and then after a moment realizes how unexpected that is.
The sky is blue above him. Just a simple ordinary blue; a seagull flying above him in an elegant arc. Clouds scattered near the horizon. No swirling bruise-purple storm, the canopy over a world spiraling into ruin —
He gets up, slowly. His muscles tense in expectation of soreness from the beating he took, but there is none. He feels… fine, actually. His clothes that were nearly in tatters no longer are. He picks up the Duel Disk that was lying next to him, looks around, and realizes he’s standing in the place where — where he died.
Ah. So, turns out the afterlife is a mirror image of the real world after all. It looks peaceful and everything, like the Heartland he knew before everything started going to shit — but he’s not kidding himself, he knows he’s more likely to be in hell than anything. No doubt the curtain will be torn away sooner or later. What a pain.
Anyway. He figures there’s not much to do but head to the afterlife-mirror version of home, right? Or, well, headquarters — that would be a better term to describe it. Nothing has really felt like home in — well, that doesn’t matter now he’s dead. He sets off in that direction, trying to regain his bearings — the route to the place where he died wasn’t one he was previously familiar with, and everything looks very different when not bathed in ghastly pink apocalyptic dusk.
There are people around him. A great many of them, in fact; the streets are full of people wandering dazedly, aimlessly, looking the way he feels. Well, that makes sense. The body count from recent world-ending events was pretty high; there must be a lot of new arrivals in this afterlife. Come to think of it, is the world still ending, over in the world of the living? Has it already ended? He’s going to have to ask someone who died later than he did — who maybe stuck around long enough to see the outcome.
Streets and buildings and overpasses; the tower, paused mid-repair, anchored in the distance as he makes his slow way through the city. It’s Heartland all right, as familiar to him as the back of his hand, bathed in a comfortable sunny light; it would be more familiar if not for the cars parked in the streets in disarray. Do people’s cars generally come with them to the afterlife? Or is this an early sign that this is a different world from the past one?
He’s been walking for a while now, and starting to feel it in his leg muscles, and vaguely thinking that dead people shouldn’t be getting tired like this, but on the other hand if he’s in hell it would make sense to preserve all the bodily pains of living — when a distant voice shouts “Thomas! THOMAS!”
His head jerks up, at the sound, at the familiarity of it like a bullet to the heart, and he has just time to register a pink blur speeding towards him before the wind is thoroughly knocked out of him.
“Get off me!” is his first reaction, as soon as he’s found his footing and can breathe properly, and then, “What are you doing here?” With a sudden drop in his stomach he adds, “Don’t tell me you died too?!”
Michael lifts his face to meet Thomas’ gaze, his arms wrapped so tight around him it hurts. “I — How did you know?”
There’s a lump rising in Thomas’ throat and he’s thinking no, no, no — They weren’t supposed to, he wasn’t supposed to —
“Well,” he says with difficulty, “you’re here, aren’t you?”
If he’s in hell, and Michael is here, sweet gentle Michael is here with him, then there’s no justice in the universe.
“What — Thomas,” says Michael, and gives the arms around him a little shake, “we’re not dead anymore.”
“We — what?”
“We’re alive,” says Michael, smiling gently, and momentarily lets go of Thomas to wipe at his eyes. “We’ve been brought back, somehow, I don’t know why but — we’re alive.”
Oh.
Of course. The world shifts around Thomas, spins on its axis and readjusts itself — the dreamlike tension melts away. This is Heartland, just Heartland, ordinary living Heartland, and the people wandering dazedly around have been brought back just like him — cars in disarray from the chaos of when the two worlds began colliding. And Michael is here, not because he’s gone to hell with him, but because he’s —
“You idiot,” he whispers, returning the hug and feeling Michael solid and warm and alive in his arms. “You could have told me sooner —”
“You should have told me sooner you thought we were still dead!” retorts Michael, and gives a laugh choked with tears. He buries his face in Thomas’ chest and — oh, he’s gotten taller lately, he’s growing up, Thomas hadn’t even noticed until now, what with all the… “You’re alive,” says Michael, muffled into Thomas’ coat, and repeats it like he’s savoring the moment. “You’re alive… I thought I’d never see you again — Well, I did, but not like this —”
And that reminds Thomas — he pulls away. “So — you died.”
“Well — yes. Chris did too, actually —”
“The two of you?” He shakes Michael by the shoulders. “Really? Can you two just not take care of yourselves when I’m not around?”
“You were the one who went and got yourself killed first,” says another voice, and the shock of its familiarity snaps Thomas’ head up.
“Chris,” he says, and his voice catches in his throat for a moment; his voice cracks. He swallows, and tries again. “Chris.”
“Good to see you too,” says Chris, his face becoming the beginning of a smile; awkward, hesitant, as though he’s not sure what he’s supposed to be doing. Michael lets go of Thomas with a soft “oh!”, runs back to where Chris is standing, and tugs him over, then wraps his arms around the both of them in a three-person hug.
Thomas finds himself pressed against Chris, head up against his collarbone, in a closeness they haven’t had since they were very young, not since Thomas became too old to demand piggyback rides. It’s strange. It’s a little awkward. He doesn’t think he knows how to go about this; doesn’t know what to do with being so close to someone he’s regarded mainly with occasionally bitter distance for the past few years. But — but it’s warm and they’re alive and they’re alive and Michael is holding them both tight, his face buried in the joining of their shoulders, and Thomas hasn’t held or been held like this in a long time. Something is melting inside of him.
“I’m glad you’re alive,” he says, and fuck, he’s getting all choked up, the tears are about to come, this is so embarrassing, they’re alive —
“I am too,” says Chris, softly, and slides an arm around Thomas and Michael. The gesture is awkward and uncertain, it’s been so long since Chris last hugged either of them, but it feels right. It feels like something long ago and something new at the same time — a beginning again.
Thomas wraps his arms around his brothers, holds them tight, holds their living warmth miraculously alive and together again in the rebuilt city, and lets himself cry.