Warning: Besides alluding to children committing inexplicable acts of violence? Suicide and slash. Yeah, have fun reading!

Disclaimer: Lord of the Flies does not belong to me

Ralph still woke up screaming every night. Most of the times it was due to nightmares; he would dream of conches and glasses breaking apart over and over again. When he told his mum about this she couldn't understand what was so scary, so he just gave up trying to explain it. Really, it was one of those things in which you had to be in the island; how else would you possibly understand the sheer agony and dread of seeing those two objects breaking again and again and again? Those were the only two things that had kept him alive for so long; the things that kept his grip on reality and sanity, no matter how slippery it was.

Other times he dreamt of fire and pig heads. He dreamt of red hair and face paint and running around with nowhere to go. When he had those dreams he could never go back to sleep; he felt like he was still being watched, hunted like an animal. He could feel Merridew's eyes on him, Roger's smirk as he held a spear pointed on both ends, and the littleuns who betrayed him whispering behind their leaders, eager for some new meat. He still felt like at any moment his room would be set on fire, and then transform into the island, making Ralph realize he never truly left the place. Those were the nights when he would wake up his parents and beg them to stay awake with him the entire time; it was the only way Ralph knew he could prove to himself that there were no hunters after him.

Then there was the worst nightmare of them all: The one that was pitch black with chanting in the background. He would relieve that miserable moment again and again and again. Kill the beast! He would see nothing but darkness Cut his throat! and feel nothing but the sheer terror Bash him in! that came with the realization that at one point Kill it! he was no better than Jack.

Then suddenly the dream would change; he would see Simon, sweet Simon, on the sand, his eyes still open, his mouth slightly parted with blood spilling from it. He would see the hundreds of cuts that sliced the smaller boy's skin, tearing the flesh until the skin was nothing but a thin blanket lying on top of uncooked meat. He would see the blood on his hands, he would feel Simon's drenched hair, no longer the ink black it was before, in his cheek as he hugged the body of the boy and cried like he never cried before.

Sometimes he woke up then, tears still fresh on his pillow. Other times the dream went on so he could see Jack's face, as red as his hair, blue eyes as cold as the ocean, as he turned around and left without ever saying a word to his batty classmate.

Ralph regretted not killing him right there. Maybe then Piggy would have lived. Or maybe Ralph would have been able to do something to right the wrongness of Simon's death. It doesn't really matter now. He let the bastard live, and now the son of the devil was back at his town, singing in the church choir, while Simon, the closest thing to an Angel that Ralph has ever seen, laid in the sea. Life wasn't fair, was it?

His parents still couldn't understand what happened to their son during those months. They were still waiting for that little boy they bade goodbye a week before school started to return. They didn't realize that said boy had died with Simon, and all that was left of him was this empty shell of grief and regret.

He still didn't know what the worst part of the situation was though. As he sat in the table and ate his breakfast in silent, never having pig meat, he would think about the batty boy who would disappear from time to time, and when he came back helped the littleuns get the coconuts on the top of the trees. "What was worst?" He would wonder; knowing that Simon knew he would die by his hands, or knowing that Simon had forgiven him? He didn't deserve forgiveness. It doesn't matter what Piggy said, even if they didn't know what they were doing, they still killed the only boy in the island who deserved to be rescued.

In school he would hang out with Samneric. He couldn't stay with his best friends any longer; their naivety rose anger inside of him. It wasn't their fault they weren't in the island, but still, it didn't change the fact that they were young and too carefree. Ralph couldn't just forget what happened to him and laugh at stupid jokes, complain about homework, and make funny noises with his armpit. He may have left the island but the island never left him. Besides, what would they talk about? School? Doesn't seem likely. All Ralph can think is the island, the conch, the glasses, the pig's head, and Simon's body being carried out by the waves. His old friends couldn't understand that. So he chose to stay with Samneric, even though they were bloody traitors and had, indirectly, helped Jack in his attempt at Ralph's life.

His mum is worried, but Ralph doesn't care. He has heard his parents fighting from his bedroom. His mum wants him to see a doctor, someone to help him get over what happened in the island. His dad says that his son is not crazy, therefore he won't be seeing any doctors. The two will argue for hours, unless they realize Ralph can hear them, and then they would smile and pretend nothing ever happened. Either way, it didn't matter. Ralph hadn't smile since the day Simon died.

He is on his father side on this one, though. What would he tell the doctor? About how he was still haunted by the memory of a ginger choir boy and his psychopath of a friend? Or maybe how every time he was close to losing it he would picture the conch in his head, only to see it shatter and come back to reality thanks to his mum violently shaking his shoulders? Should Ralph tell him about the pig's head and his dark eyes that stared into his soul? Should he add the fact he still feared the Beast; the Beast he knew was only a dead pilot and whose true form resided inside each and every person's body? No, the perfect thing to tell the doctor would be that he helped kill the boy he slowly but surely fell in love with.

If the other things wouldn't get him sent to an asylum, then that last one would for sure. He could already picture his mum's face as she realized the island had driven Ralph insane to the point of becoming a homosexual. He could see his dad's disgusted face. But it wouldn't matter, because the only opinion he really cares about is Simon's, and the boy is no longer here.

Was it wrong? To fall in love with the person you killed? The person you called batty and did nothing to protect from the constant teasing he received? Was it wrong to realize you loved him only long after his death? Or was it wrong to hang on to those feelings, to that unconditional love, because that was the only thing that kept him even slightly sane? Maybe that was selfish of him, tainting Simon with his unclean love and passion, but Ralph just couldn't let it go. He loved Simon, every single part of him, and that love, while destroying him and causing him immense pain, was the only thing that kept him going.

Until now.

Now he stood on the top of edge of his window on the second floor of his house, looking down while drawing a shaky breath. It was long after midnight, and both his parents were asleep. He needed to leave this place, leave the island for good. He needed to end it all, finish the job that Merridew was unable to complete. The bloody idiot couldn't do anything right, could he? Maybe Roger should have been in charge, not Jack. This would certainly have saved Ralph a lot of pain.

He takes a deep inhale and closes his eyes, letting the cold wind of the night caress his cheeks. Soon they will be together again. Ralph doubts he is pure enough to go anywhere near the place where Simon is right now, but he is not worried. Knowing the boy, he would probably beg God to allow Ralph to be by his side. And of course God would listen to him. How could he not? There he was, one of his best children, asking him a favor after being killed in the most gruesome of ways. The least He could do was to grant him that wish.

So with a final sigh, Ralph smiles for what feels like the first time and allows himself to fall. He feels his body float for a while, before hitting the hard pavement and every single bone in his body cracked, broke, and shattered, causing excruciating pain. Blood is spilled everywhere, staining his nightclothes and blond hair, but still the boy smiled. He closes his eyes gently, letting one last breath out as he hears his mum's scream.

When he opened them again, he felt sand all around him. He is shirtless, his hair is a bit longer, and the weather is so humid he's already sweating. He looks around and knows, without a single doubt that he is in the island.

But it is different this time. The huts are still there, no longer burned, just like how Simon and Ralph had built it. The logs are still placed in such way that formed a small assembly hall, and on the top of the mountain no smoke is to be seen.

It was peaceful, Ralph realizes. Suppose that's what the island looks like to outsiders.

"About time you show up here." Says a voice Ralph recognizes too well. He turns his head and is greeted by the sight of Piggy, as plump as ever, his rosy skin bearing no tan, and his glasses in perfect conditions. He can already feel the tears of joy coming to his eyes, and is about to hug the other boy when he continues speaking "He's been worried about you, you know?" he adjusts his glasses. "Can't really say I blame him. You looked terrible."

Under normal circumstances he would be offended, but there is nothing normal about this. Ralph is dead. He is finally dead. Dead and free from the immense pain and horror that had been filling his soul since the day his body left the island, but his mind remained. He is dead and reunited with Piggy and, most importantly, Simon.

A quick turn of the head and he sees the boy of his dreams standing not far from him, a shy smile on his face and the conch in his hands. Ralph does not hesitate to run to the Simon, and the boy carefully places the conch aside just in time to receive a bone crushing hug from Ralph.

He knows this isn't a dream, for no dream could ever be this pleasant. He can feel Simon's skin against his own, his breath against his ear as he whispers in that ever so small voice of his how much he has missed him. And when their lips touch, Ralph knows he is not worthy of such sensation, but he still takes it greedily, treasuring every single second of it. He finally has Simon back… And he will never, ever, let him go again.

Okay, I'm really not happy with how this came out. I don't like it at all. Still, I wrote it, so I uploaded it. We need more Ralph/Simon fanfics here. Still, this was not the way I had planned this story to go; I wanted it to be completely angst, but I supposed I was in way too much of a good mood to write something depressing. I hope the tenses I used on this story make sense. Everything prior to the moment where Ralph is in the window is told in the past tense because it is sort of a flash back. Everything past that moment is in the present, so it is told in said tense. I hope it's not confusing…Oh well… Review?