Note: Here we are at the ending. I apologise for delays. I also apologise because I can't seem to get the story right in so many parts. Either way, I hope you have enjoyed reading this somewhat. And I hope the ending does not disappoint you. THANK YOU for your support, for the many reviews, favs, for reading this lil fic. Till next time. Onwards, loves.

The Breaking
Epilogue

There was a faint smell of something exotic wafting through his nose when he inhaled, the first breath hurt as his whole body was forced awake. It felt like his mind was racing, showing him events of his life as his body moved out of its own accord, pushing up into a sitting position. His hands seemed to be reaching out for nothing, the nerves sparking with energy as his fingers flexed.

It was cold.

Unbearably cold. Colder than he had ever felt. Shivers racked through his frame, his skin struggling to calm to room temperature but was not fast enough. Sparrow coughed. The exotic smell had become stronger, its thickness staining the back of his throat. His loud breaths echoed in his ears now, like his heartbeats did; something was wrong. Voices came at him; he could not tell who was speaking or what was being said. The words were garbled when they reached his ears. But when a hand touched his cheek, Sparrow jerked away from it, landing on the floor in a painful mess. He scrabbled on the tiles, crawling away from whoever it was, crawling towards a source of warmth that stroked his skin. The haziness in his vision made him uneasy. The voices still came at him. Sparrow's heart increased its pace as his sight slowly regained its focus. His whole being finally felt like it was properly complete, like his soul finally had sewn itself back into his body when he opened his eyes now and saw his bare skin staring back at him. It was white. Milky, deathly, white skin shone in the light from the fire crackling behind him.

"You don't look a day older, Hero," a familiar voice said to him. Sparrow stilled. His eyes shot to the man standing in front of him. A familiar smirk slowly graced the handsome face as the gaze travelled up his skin and a kind of heat washed over him. The shiver that ran up his spine was one of insecurity. As soon as the man took a step towards Sparrow, he jumped. He pulled himself up and shuffled away till he hit the edge of a table. As the man took another step, Sparrow's hand closed around a fluted glass on the table. He grabbed it and thrust it forward, aiming it straight at the man.

"Come now, love. I thought we were past this."

That was it. They were past this.

A long time ago.

"Sparrow." At the sound of his name, Sparrow's grip tightened around the glass. The glass broke in his hand. Sharp pieces sank into his flesh and Sparrow hissed at the pain, the remaining shards of glass dropping to the floor as rivulets of blood trailed down his arm. In that pause, strong hands grabbed him and pushed him onto the table, pinning him down. He struggled with the weight on top of him, faltering because he realised how very weak he was. Sparrow felt drained. Looking up at the face above him, Sparrow choked on a breath. He had never thought he would see that face again, that face trained in the expression that tore him to pieces. "Sparrow…" was whispered into his ear and Sparrow shuddered at the warmth he felt there. Palms gently cupped his cheeks, thumbs tracing his lips before parting them. "Have you forgotten me already?"

No. Sparrow remembered this man. He remembered the caresses, the warm skin, and the grey gaze that watched him with something like love but was not.

The only thing was; Sparrow remembered dying as well.

"Why…?" Sparrow asked, his voice a mere whisper. He was strangely exhausted, as though he had not just woken up from very deep slumber. Through narrowed eyes, Sparrow took in the room he was in. He caught sight of resurrection machine; its metal casing had rust on it.

"Make your children stop calling me 'Uncle Reaver'," was the unexpected reply. A small smile tugged at his lips. He had not been dead for too long, then.

"Reava-" his question was cut off by a deep kiss.

"I did not give you the love potion." That confession stunned Sparrow, because he had expected the opposite. Sparrow gasped as he was lifted off the table and held close to a firm chest. He felt himself be carried. "You see, love. You can cope with death. But I cannot." They climbed up a flight of stairs. "Fortunately, I have forever to figure that out. With you, of course." Sparrow turned to face him. "That is all I can promise you, really," Reaver added. It was a huge promise; one that Sparrow was not sure Reaver could keep. Frankly, he did not even want to take that chance. It was not even a promise was it? Sparrow was… undead. He wanted to go back to permanent slumber. Sparrow wanted his own death to be absolute, just like his sister's. But, now… he was permanently undead. Sparrow wriggled in the arms that held him in place but he was already weakening. He sighed.

What could he do, anyway?

Reaver was right. They had forever. And Reaver, had forever to make good of this promise, at least. With him.

A faint sigh left his lips as he was laid onto soft sheets that felt very much like silk. It was very quiet in this building, wherever he was. Sparrow could pick out very faraway sounds, like birds and crickets outside. Hands encircled his waist and they both lay on the sheets, pressed against each other like the way they used to. It was… warmer than death. He saw their entwined bodies reflected in the mirror beside a huge dresser. Their equally pale complexions seemed to glow in the light. Taking in all these sensations, Sparrow strangely felt content, at peace with the world.

"I missed you, love." A kiss descended upon his lips. "For decades, perhaps. But time is irrelevant, now." Another kiss. "Death, too."

"Aye, love." There was blood on his hands but the wound on his palm had healed. Slowly, Sparrow laced his fingers around Reaver's, staining his hand with red as well. "Aye."

He closed his eyes. Forever was a very long time to try to save someone.

End