If I owned Cowboy Bebop, I highly doubt Spike would have died, though I will say that the ending was appropriate.

Ed was not a stupid girl.

Rather, she knew that change happened and people's lives would intertwine and tangle briefly before splitting off so suddenly that a bittersweet taste would remain forever and ever, like a band aid violently ripped from the skin.

She realized that in all likelihood, she would never see the Bebop crew again, or Faye-Faye, again.

That the probability of her finding her father in the rock ridden aftermath formerly known as Earth was much too low.

That Ein, her faithful companion, would grow white around the muzzle and move on to doggy heaven, that Jet would someday retire and send fables dancing across a bar, and that Faye would one day wake up and in her mirror would be a sad-eyed old woman.

But Spike? Spike was invincible, young and limber and taunting death with that easy smirk and the butt of a cheap cigarette hanging limply from his lips.

He was there. He defied explanation. He existed.


She had put off looking them up, hacking their system again.

She'd done it once, and she refused to believe history repeated itself.

Not now, not now.

Regret, she thought.

Regret for doing it now.

She had seen it, there. On that TV show, the one that had replaced Big Shot.

The anchorman had looked so pristine, his hair combed neatly and his classy suit all straight and black and pretty. She had giggled- well, guffawed- at his expressions, tumbling about at the sight of such a doll-person.

"The bounty hunter Spike, infamous as one of the best in his career, has been discovered dead…"


It couldn't happen. It didn't work, didn't fit in even Ed's jumbled-up topsy-turvy world.

Spike was not allowed to die.

Never, never, never.

He couldn't die, because it wasn't supposed to end that way.

It wasn't…