So . . . writer's block sucks. And it's bad enough when it's on one story, but when I literally can't get myself to sit down and write anything, it feels like the world is ending. It's awful. So that's why WDF hasn't been updated yet and I haven't posted any new one-shots. I . . . just . . . can't . . . write. -_-

About an hour ago this idea popped into my head. Since I can't write anything else anyway, I thought I'd give this a go. To get myself back in a writing mood, you know? It's short, but short's about all I can do right now.

Soundtrack: "Say Something" by A Great Big World. This story is rated a pretty high T. Read at your own risk. And grab a box of tissues. This might be slightly AU. Hopefully not OOC. I tried my hardest.

I don't own Lab Rats. Enjoy.

* * * I Lay Here, Dying * * *

Cold cement surrounded me. It was my cradle, my grave. It caressed me and kissed my cheeks, brushing aside my hair and wrapping its icy arms around me. The embrace was far from warm. As the heat left my body, the ground contributed to the shivers going down my spine. The floor was rough and bumpy, harsh and demanding, aloof and silent. Just like ground should be. I had never really thought about it. The thing that I had treaded on and had little regard for all my life was now the only thing I had left. Its cold arms would be the last thing to hold me.

Hope rested in my ear. The device that had the potential to save my life was less than an arm's length away. But that was the problem. My arms no longer obeyed my commands. It was so close, but so far away. I couldn't call for help. My voice was gone anyway. All hope was gone. It sat there, laughing at me, just out of reach. How cruel is fate. How terrible—and how awfully sickening that I was thinking like this. I tried to think of some witty retort, something to make fate second guess it's decision, but for the first time in my life, nothing came.

The real mockers were ten feet away; two enemies who were responsible for the fact that the cement was my only remaining friend. They didn't even acknowledge my existence. Indifference. It hurt more than hate. I almost wished they would come over and mock me. They could kneel above me and boast about their achievements and victories. Anything. Anything but the silence.

Come, I dare you. Come and hate me. Don't ignore me. Please. I can't deal with this. I've been ignored enough in my life. I've been misunderstood so much. I can't die here like this. I won't die with no emotion. I need someone to hold my hand, someone to cry for me. Or I need someone to slap me, someone to shoot me again and again until it's over. But not this. Not the apathy. Give me your hate. Don't look away. Don't act like I'm already gone.

My silent thoughts did nothing to persuade them. They talked together. Something about toxic chemicals . . . I was beyond caring at this point. The image of the men began to blur. The only thing I could still see clearly was the gun tucked away into one man's holster. Oh, how that weapon seemed so innocent by his leg. There it sat, like the piece of metal that it was. In the wrong hands, it turned into something else. It became a monster. It was a beast, controlled by a beast. It was in the hands of a creature so wildly dangerous, he thought it smart to end the life of a teenager. It hung from the waist of a madman. That was the only reason it had become the bane of my existence.

Every breath was agony. Sheer torture. My throat burned. My lungs burned. The hole in my stomach burned especially. Every desperate gasp for breath was another minute I had resigned myself to live. I would make it for another gulp of that fresh air, which seemed to be growing staler by the second. Nothing could inflate my lungs. The air was around me, mocking me just like fate and the indifferent men near the lab equipment. It was there, free for my body to use. Only my body refused to use it. Every sharp intake of oxygen was rejected by my throat.

Why? You need this! You need this! Don't turn it away! Please . . . everything hurts. It hurts more than anything. Give me the air I need. Don't deprive me like this. You can't give up now. Keep fighting. You've always fought. Don't do this now. Don't fail me now. I need you . . . I am you . . .

The pool of blood surrounding my body was visible through my peripheral vision. It was a sickening shade of red, growing darker by the minute. The pool grew and spread across the concrete, the same concrete that was my grave. It satined the ground; it would be a permeant reminder of what happened here today. I never feared blood, though I had a natural dislike of it. Seeing it completely surround me, and knowing that it was my own, was quite a different experience. Somehow I never fully grasped the meaning of it. Thus I was free of fear, free of the confusion and terror of what happened next.

No, I didn't fear what was coming next. It was bound to happen someday. It was shocking that it had happened like this. I lay here, dying, all alone. For the first time in my life, completely alone. It was something I had often longed for, but now I hated it. There was no fear, only hate. Hate of the fact that I didn't live better. I could've been so much better to my siblings. I could've been better to my father. I could've been a better person in general. Instead of complaining and living for me, I could've done something with my talents to make the world a better place.

I did, though. I made the world a better place. Somehow, in the midst of it all, I was a hero. That was why I was here in the first place. Maybe I was bleeding out, but I had bought my siblings the time they needed. They would come in here and find me, and I had put a up fight just long enough for them to complete our mission. They would be proud . . . I hoped.

Would they be sad? I couldn't honestly answer that. Some part of me hoped they would. I certainly hoped they wouldn't throw a party or anything like that. But I knew I could be a pain sometimes. They would shove me aside just because I was different than they were. It hurt. I kept my mouth shut, but deep down it hurt.

Blood had leaked behind my hair, sticking it to the back of my neck. I stared up at the grey ceiling, my eyesight dimming. Breathing was nearly impossible. It was almost over. I could feel my heartbeat slowing down in my chest. It was time to stop fighting. There was nothing I could do to stop this. I taken the bullet because it was all I could do. They had come so close to going out. They would've killed my siblings—my teammates. They thought it was only me. By shooting me, they thought it was done. When two more just like me came through the door, they wouldn't be expecting it. I had done my job. I had distracted them. I bought time—with my life as the currency.

Boots thudded out in the hallway. The two men looked up, startled. I tried to grin, but my face would not longer obey any of my commands. These enemies of mine would fall. They would not succeed in their plans. I helped to stop them. That made me feel better. But would my siblings understand?

Whatever you see when you come through that door, don't think it's your fault. I'm glad I could take this for you. Watching you die would be worse than dying myself. These men are powerful. It will take an ambush. I'm glad I could buy you the time. Don't blame yourselves. Tell Mr. Davenport I love him—even if he designs some really crappy mission suits.

The last puff of oxygen entered my body and went out as carbon dioxide. My eyes closed. The darkness surrounded, and suddenly I was at peace.

"Bree! Bree! No!"

Bree Davenport

1997—2014

A sister, a daughter, a friend, a lover, a fighter, and, above all, a hero.

Yes, I meant to put 2014. That's why it might be AU. Please excuse any grammar mistakes. I wanted to get this up tonight, so I didn't proofread twice like I usually do.

I thought here might be best to tell you guys something I've been thinking about for a while. So most of you know that Chase is my favorite character. Or, should I say, was. Urm, yeah. *scratches neck* Turns out there's someone I think is more awesome than him. Who? Well, who was the epitaph written about? Who's my profile picture? I think that will answer your question. I'm sorry Chase fans; I still love him a lot. It's just that I love Bree a little more.

Anyway, hopefully you won't hate me for changing my favorite character and/or killing Bree. Reviews are appreciated. They make me smile. :3 Hopefully I'll get enough inspiration to update WDF soon. Thanks for reading, and I'll see you all later!