They stay like that for a long time. Jermaine listens, but doesn't watch, as he and his mother and him have a little spat about Finn. His last words to her -- as if he would ever need to be reminded what they were, by a mind dungeon or anything else for that matter -- hit like a sock to the gut. Whatever, Mom, I'm in the middle of something! Just go, everything will still be standing when you get back!

Only it wasn't standing now, was it? Their parents graves sat behind a ruin of ash and support beams. But they were dead, and the dead didn't mind things like that. That's what Bryce told him, anyway.

In some small way, maybe he should be glad he had last words at all.

Finn's were sweeter, but he was sweet and it was only fitting. He stood on tiptoes, hugging her tightly with a bye bye mommy that would rot your damn teeth. Jermaine squeezes the much older, much less innocent boy in front of him a little tighter.

Margaret chirps out a peppy be back soon, boys! and steps outside. The open door she walks through was full of blinding white light, slowly blending the scene with the white that already surrounded them. In moments, the keyhole Jermaine was peering hole was just more nothing.

"Hey." Jermaine murmurs, patting Finn on the back to indicate he was speaking to him. "It's over, Finn. You can look up now."