Disclaimer: I own nothing, and I get paid nothing for this. And I am not requesting anyone pay me for this.

Note: I haven't written anything in YEARS. I loved the movie, and I think it was perfect. And tragic. And beautiful. I realized halfway through that no one was going to survive, and I'm grateful for that realization. I hate spending 2+ hours growing attached to characters only to have them die unexpectedly at the end. However, every time I see the movie (yes, there have been multiple viewings), I walk away angrier at the ending. I understand why the producers decided to have literally everyone die, but I actually don't think it was necessary to the plot. So I tried to fix it. I haven't decided if there will be more.

Cassian feels cold air blowing on him. This isn't right, he mused idly. Dead people should not be able to sense temperature variations. He lays still, and tries to pay attention to his surroundings. There's a machine whir. A metallic clanking. Water running, and then being shut off with a click. Footsteps. Muffled voices. He slowly becomes aware of bright lights on the other side of his closed eyelids. Can the dead hear and see, as well? Surely not. His eyes open with a start when he feels something sharp on his forearm.

"Welcome back, Captain." A weary-looking doctor directs a wan smile at him while efficiently completing her task.

He assumes the individual to her left is a nurse or a technician when he speaks. "How are you feeling?" The voice sounds oddly shrill coming from the muscular man. Then again, perhaps it was just the way his ears and brain are processing sounds. Everything sounds odd.

"How are you feeling?" The man queries again. "Are you in pain?"

Cassian thinks about it for a moment before responding. Pain? He's been in pain since he was six. He doubts that the nurse was asking about existential pain, though, and slowly shakes his head "no." It's true enough, he figures. He's not in much pain. Or at least he wasn't until he shook his head. The subtle movement caused starbursts of colored lights to flash behind his newly closed eyelids.

The doctor addresses him, her tone empathetic. He is not really listening, and drifts off wondering if she has to force the empathy now, after all she's likely seen and treated. Did she start off caring about things the way he did? Does she find it harder to muster any degree of "care" now? It occurs to him that the doctor is still speaking, and he attempts to narrow his focus to the words she is saying to him. It takes effort to drag his attention back to the present.

"…injuries to your back, hands, and arms should be healed in another day or two. Do you have any questions for me?"

He misses the important parts of the recitation. Some intelligence officer he is. Didn't even pay attention to the brief.

"Leg." He grunts out, voice sounding rough to his ears. How long has it been since he last spoke? He vaguely recalls searing pain in his leg on Scarif. Jyn dragging and carrying him off the tower to the beach, each step agony.

"Hmm. Yes. The leg is set. Pelvis, too. Both were fractured. Your femur was displaced. You're quite lucky, you know." She smiles at him, and he blinks. He reminds himself to pay attention this time. A hand gently pats his hand. "An unstable pelvic fracture can easily sever the femoral artery. You could have bled out."

She must have understood that he hadn't heard her assessment of his injuries, because she continues unhurriedly, patiently repeating her earlier words.
"You broke four ribs. Those will take longer to heal, because we can't splint them. You took a blaster to the right side, and that did the most damage. We had to remove a portion of your liver, because the damage was too severe. Don't worry, though, because it will grow back." She pats his shoulder this time. "You're lucky it didn't hit an artery. It will still be a few days before you're up and about. You received a stim to hurry bone growth, but we have to allow the broken bones enough time to knit back together before you bear weight on them."

The doctor stops speaking, and Cassian's eyes slip closed involuntarily. How did he get here? He tries to recall, but everything is foggy. Trying to think is like moving through mud. He feels slowed down. Heavy. He blinks his eyes open to ask a question, but the doctor is gone.

Cassian is unsure how much time has passed when he next regains the living. He supposes they are the living, although he still is not sure. Shouldn't he be dead right now? The lights have dimmed in the infirmary. Night, he supposes. He takes stock of his injuries, attempting to recall the doctor's words from earlier. Femur. Pelvis. Liver. Ribs. Something about hands and arms. Slowly, as if he is unsure it will work, he lifts his hand up to inspect it in the dim light. His arm is peppered with soft, pink skin from the elbows to the tips of his fingers. The backs of his hands fared no better than the elbow. It hits him, then, like cylinders in an old lock falling into place.

The beach is beautiful and terrifying as they sink into the sand. The heat and glow from the explosion travels rapidly over the water. He knows they will not make it out alive. The game is up. The chances are spent. They did it, though. They were successful. His life was never going to be long and illustrious anyway, he figures sadly. It may as well end here. He can join his family now. He hasn't really lived since he was six years old, anyway.

A hand in his feels foreign, but he gives it a gentle squeeze. He is unaccustomed to the touch of another. "Your father would have been proud of you, Jyn." The words sound hollow as he says them, but she smiles sadly back at him, eyes glistening with unspent tears. He was sincere, and he wants to tell her that. He wants to say so much more, but can't find the words. What is the point of it, anyway? In a few seconds they'll both be dead. Platitudes and promises will not change the outcome. They will die on this beach. Their bodies will join the others littering the sand. Collateral damage. The price of war. He never feared death, and at times openly welcomed it. At least he accomplished something before it all ended, he muses, as he watches the shockwave approaching. At least he's not alone. Ignoring the pain in his hip and side, he rises to his knees, tugging Jyn up with him. Wordlessly, he reaches for her, and draws her to him. How long has it been since he had contact like this? He can't recall, but the thought is pushed aside quickly by another, more important question. How long has it been since someone drew Jyn into a warm embrace? How long has it been since she knew the comfort of another person? He considers speaking again, but the words stall on his tongue. Her arms have wound themselves around his neck. Rather than sully the moment with talk that won't affect the outcome, he tightens his grip, crushing her against his chest. In another lifetime they could have been something. Perhaps. Then again, perhaps it was always destined to end right here. The heat is upon him, and he swallows hard, more of a gulp, almost choking on the too-hot air. The last thing he can recall is turning his back to the blast to shield her. The searing heat on his back feels like it will melt his skin, and he knows that this is all in vain, but he still tries to protect her. At least he can do this one thing – this one small thing – for this girl who gave up everything for his cause.

"You're not the only one who lost everything." He regrets saying those cruel words to her as the words reverberate in his memory. They both lost everything. There is no need to tally whose losses are greater.

He feels the blast knock him forward with a force that sucks the air from his lungs. His last thoughts "I'm sorry." An unspoken apology to the woman in his arms, confined to the same fate as his. Dying on a beach on a faraway planet.

"I'm sorry." He whispers aloud.

Cassian blinks a few times, and slowly turns his head from side to side. Gently this time, so that he doesn't repeat his mistake from earlier, he cranes his head to the left and right attempting to take in his surroundings. The infirmary is a place with which he holds an unpleasant level of familiarity. Open bay. Rows of gurneys on either side of a central aisle. If she's here, he should be able to find her.

"I'm sorry." It plays on repeat in his mind. Over and over. I'm sorry.

He recognizes are few faces, but most are new. The bay is nearly empty; a testament, he assumes, to the death toll. There's not many patients to treat when everyone is annihilated. The grim reality makes him frown here in the darkness. He can't quite see the face in the last cot; the lights are too dim. Groaning, he hauls himself to a seated position, and moans softly as he stands. The doctor warned him to stay put, he recalls, but he makes forward progress slowly and painfully toward the back of the room. It takes longer than he cares to admit to get close enough to make out the features of the patient on the gurney. He holds his breath as his eyes take in the familiar planes of her cheeks. The long lashes framing closed eyes. Full lips parted, and chest rising and falling rhythmically.

"Jyn." The syllable strangles out of him like a prayer. Jyn. He is vaguely aware of the sounds of metal crashing to the ground, then running footsteps and hands grabbing at him, heaving him up again. Urging him backward. He tries to fight, to explain that he needs to stay with her, but the pain in his hip and side are throbbing, and he can't catch his breath. Jyn. He claws his way through the fog in his mind, forces his eyes open, and wills his hand to reach out and grab the elbow of the doctor.

"No." He rasps. No more meds. No more sleep or stupor. He realizes that he fell. Collapsed. Likely in relief, but the metallic crashing was the sound of him taking down a tray of instruments as he hit the ground. He briefly hopes that he didn't ruin anything valuable, but pushes the thought aside. "Jyn." He manages to get her name out through clenched teeth, swallowing the pain, as his eyes search for the doctor's gaze.

"Sergeant Erso is alive." Is the only response he is offered, and he pauses for a moment before continuing to fight.

"I'm staying here." He tries to sound authoritative and commanding, but it comes out pained and thick. He will not move from her side. They can't force him. There are plenty of empty beds here. He's staying.

"I'm not used to people sticking around." Her words surprise him again when the memory flashes through his thoughts. What surprised him more was the steadfastness with which he growled his next thought.

"I'm not leaving."

Please be kind. Wow. Formatting in this program is awful.