#he's brave to choose death but you gotta admit it's a little easier to do when you know it's only a matter of time and everyone you love

[gone-daddy-gone]

Pairing: Villian! Kiribaku x reader

Word count: 4,752

Rating: Mature! (noncon/dubcon, anal/ vaginal penitration. oral. refrences to kiddnaping. slight yandere) Violence, mentions of death. I DO NOT CONDONE THESE ACTIONS IN REAL LIFE THIS IS FANTASY, NOT REALITY. All characters aged up.

Genre: Smut, slight Yandere, perhaps?

DT: @writerbyaccident and their fics here (1), and here (2), and @the-grimm-writer piece here

                                    Tag team. 

 Being a pro hero is all fun and games until you run into Bakugou Katsuki and Eijirou Kirishima. The two were an absolute power house couple. Kirishima’s hardening quirk made it so he never got hurt by his overzealous partner. Something that only bonded them stronger. 

 You had heard they both wanted to be heros at one point, and now look at them, the biggest douches in the world. Or you could call them villains. Either one worked really. They take whatever they want, or whoever they want whenever they want. The two were a disgusting tag team. You didn’t want to think about what they did to those who were unlucky enough to not escape their grasp. 

 Your job was simple. Take out a few bad guys, make some kiddies smile and go about your day. You trained hard, but not so much to the point where you were too big of a hero. You had been raised to be grateful for what you have and if you get blessed with more, then the lord had smiled upon you. 

 However, you find it increasingly difficult to be thankful in your current situation. Feet pounding on the ground, chest heaving up and down, throat sore from breathing so fast and hard. The explosions and objects being thrown at you didn’t comfort you in the slightest bit either. 

 “Get back here!” The loud one yelled from the top of his lungs, explosions propelling him even closer. 

 “Common now! You gotta be tired sweetie!” The red one commented, while a street lamp was thrown your way. 

 You of course were of the right mind, and were not gonna respond. 

 You weren’t even sure how you got in this situation, really. 

 You were on patrol for one of the smaller cities, mostly old people and families occupied this city. When you arrived, there was no sound. Everyone was gone, nobody was out at the park like they usually were. The bakery, old Mrs. Moniko ran was closed. The eerie feeling of danger began to settle into your tummy. 

That’s when you saw it, a kid, and she was crying. She was peering at you through blinds, wiping her face of the snot and tears. You began to walk towards her, acting on impulse to a child in need. 

 She viciously shook her head. 

 Causing you to be more worried, the next step was to pick up the pace. You always did have a weak spot for kids. But the closer you got, the better a view of her mouth you got. 

She was mouthing something. 

None? Mom? Done?… and if on cue it hits you, the cold feeling of fear. The realization dawned, mixed with the need to protect.

 “Run.”

 Before you had much of a chance to do anything, you heard a thundering voice call out to you. 

 “What do you think you’re doing here, hero?” It was Katsuki. It was the first time you ever got a good look at him, in person at least. He was tall, and built. You felt guilty in admitting to yourself that if it wasn’t for his scowl, he would have been attractive. 

 “Well, I could ask you the same question, villain.” Your attempts to sound cool and brave were coming off more like a bratty kid. Even you can tell that. 

 “Tsk… Kiri? Why don’t you tell the girl what we’re lookin’ for?” Your eyes widened in fear. They couldn’t be together right now, why were they together right now? Of all the villains to run into, why did it have to be that team? The stories of how they like to take their time reverberated in your mind. 

 “Bakubro!!!” You frantically looked around for the red head. It was a mistake on your amateur part, they knew they had you right where they wanted you. He came out of the shop, hardening himself and bursting through the wall. You couldn’t help but gulp at that flashy way to make you feel scared. A cheap move, but subtle enough to get the fear growing. And they could smell it. 

 “Well we’re looking for money. Gold, drugs, whatever these nice rich people have.” He said to Bakugou before laying his eyes on you. “Wow and who do we have here? What’s your hero name again?” He smiled and cocked his head, just so that he could have almost looked innocent, almost. 

 “Well it’s actually-“ 

 “I don’t think it matters.” The curt words commanded your attention back. “You certainly don’t look familiar, so you must be a loser!” The ash blonde shut you up. “I mean really, look at you! You were shaking like a leaf when it was just me and now you look like you’re gonna piss yourself! I mean how pathetic can you hero’s be!” 

  Hearing him be cruel in person was way worse than the stories. At least in the stories they left out how evil Bakugou could be, how low he could scoop. 

“Aw are you gonna piss for us? Go on do it hero slut!”

 The words “slut” coming out of his mouth felt so accusatory. “Are you a little hero slut?” 

 Kirishima let his face drop his smile, replacing it with a slant. Like he wanted to scold him. Like he cared how you felt. 

 “Oh common Baku that’s a bit harsh, huh?” 

 “Common it’s gotta make you mad doesnt it? How unmanly these guys are? How self righteous they are.” The words of manipulation rolled off of his tongue as beautiful as it ever had. 

 Kiri pondered, letting the thoughts hit him. Before letting his gaze wonder all over your body shamlessly. Thoughts struck his head. The thoughts Bakugou knew would stir him up. 

 “Yeah… they do think they’re so much better, and if you believe in something you should fight for it! I have a good idea Bakugou!”

 “And what’s that Kiri?” 

 “Why don’t we make her prove herself, and if she’s really a coward she’ll run.” He looked so sickeningly proud of his own little sadistic idea. His hand forming into a fist. 

Realizing you’re either gonna have to get pounded to a pulp in a battle you would never, and could never win. Or run for your life and become an absolute failure, and give these monsters the satisfaction of seeing it. 

 It was a beautiful plan. A fun plan. Bakugou loved winning, dominating really. The thought of getting to take down and humiliate a self righteous hero, well that clearly made him excited from your view, and Kiri’s view. 

 “That might be a great idea, shitty hair.” 

 “Ok slut you win, we let you go. You lose, you die.” The conditions weren’t in your favor, no matter how strong you wanted to be; you broke. Tears welted i’m your eyes as your knees threatened to just give up on you. 

 “I don’t, I don’t wanna-“ Was all you could muster, mind racing to find a way to survive.  

 “Don’t wanna what?” Kiri asked, a dark smirk growing. 

“I don’t wanna die.” You said meekly, tears flowing freely at this point. 

 “Well then, you are weak and pathetic.” Bakugou said effectively kicking you while you were down. Like the bully he always was. 

 “Let's make her run for it then! Don’t you think it’ll be fun? Like a little race, and she’ll be our prize?” His optimism is ever present. 

 “I don’t know if she even deserves that hope. She’ll never win, and she’ll never out run us either. We’re gonna dominate her either way. She can run until her soles are bleeding and her lungs give out. She’s weak, and pathetic.”

 “But It’ll be so fun to watch her little ass run until she’s all red in the face, heaving and begging us to stop. That’s the best part.” You felt a cold realization how excited he was too. 

 And if you saw it, Bakugou saw it too. 

 “Alright, that seems like fun. You have to count of ten to start running. One,” One second was all you needed to process what he was saying.

 “Two.” Your eyes frantically look for the safest route for not only you, but the civilians. Maybe you could run and find help. But Bakugou was right, you were weak. 

“Three.” The seconds were slipping away faster than you could ever hope to grasp them.

 “Four.” Sobbing as you forced yourself to choose a path and run for it. Mind going numb with the only thought being survival. 

 “Five.” The smallest, trivial amount of hope bubbled up in your belly from how far away the “five” was.

 “Six.” It was barely audible now. Placing a hopeful smile on your face and wiping away the tears, you forced yourself to carry your legs farther. Being clear and out of the way of the hollering made it easier for you to think. You decided that running as hard and as fast as you could was the best plan for survival. Didn’t matter what direction. While the buildings were flying by, the two began to tail after. While you were daydreaming of escape, they were swapping ideas on what to do to you. That was the optimist in you, deep down, you knew you were as good as gone the minute they saw you.

 “Where do you think you’re going!” A tense sense of dread overcame your whole body. You begged yourself to just carry on a little further. You could make it out! You could get help and all this would be behind you. 

“You look so pretty from the back!” The sickenly sweet taunting from the red one made your stomach lurch. Their angry and skilled footsteps were coming even closer, and at a faster rate than you were ready for.

 “Come on now stop running you’ve already lost! We can get to the fun part now!” When he finished his vaguely perverted threat he threw a mailbox straight into your back causing you to tumble and spin. Ripping parts of your hero costume up, leaving you vulnerable in undesirable places. 

 “Damn Kirishima, didn’t know you had it in you.” You could feel the smirk in the way he talked. Every single part of your body begged to just lay down and take what's coming to you. However, that was not the hero's way. On bloodied knees and elbows, costume already half falling off of your body you made yourself stand. Getting into position to fight. The two were not that far from you, letting their eyes take in all of you. You went to force your costume together, anything so they’d stop staring and getting ideas. 

 “We already saw love! No use in hiding from us now. And besides…” Kirishima took another step forward. “We’re gonna be seeing more of you later anyways.” 

 Feeling fully threatened and backed in a corner the best you could do was talk out of your ass. “You’re disgusting.”

 “Well that’s not very nice.” Kirshima pouted, like he was a child. It made you wince in disgust.

 “I don’t have to be nice to the likes of you! Now, in the name of-”

 “Shut up you aren’t taking us in anywhere you damn hero whore. In fact quite the opposite, you’ll be coming with us. It’s been awhile since we’ve had pretty plaything.” You knew the words were meant to make you scared. You knew you shouldn’t show any weakness. But that was becoming increasingly difficult. 

 “You’ll have to knock me down first.” The smirk on the blonde's face caused you to get this itchy, angry feeling. He had always been so goddamn smug. Before you had time to process he had punched you square in the stomach. Causing you to collapse onto your knees. Letting out an agonizing whine, letting your fingers grasp your abdomen. 

 “Wow that was fast! Nice going Bakugou!” Kirishima yelled out, pushing his fist out with an obnoxiously childlike enthusiasm. 

 “Spoke too soon Kiri.” Bakugou retorted back to his partner, watching you as you pulled your knees off of the ground. You ran towards them, throwing out a small jab and uppercut in the direction of the loud one. He dodged them, almost too eager to put you down. He let his knee come up in an attempt to hit you in your already sore abdomen. You reflectively stepped back, avoiding the hard ligament. That was a short lived victory before Kiri, striked, making you stumble back not quite falling flat on your ass. You held back your tears, trying to focus on standing your ground to fight. 

 “Just give in… common I don’t wanna hurt you like this…” Kiri cooed, laying his fake sincerity on thick. You grimaced.

 A last ditch effort, using up all the anger and strength you had left you launched your foot into an attack. The confidence you had in yourself was the most powerful thing about the attack. And for a few seconds, you felt you could actually win. That was until the bone crushing grip on your ankle snapped you out of your day dream, and you were left standing there. Foot in the air and losing balance. Weak from pain and exhaustion. You felt your body lurch backward, the tight grip on your ankle the final debilitating blow of excruciating pain as you finally fell to the ground with a hard thud. They had won. And you had lost. Something you had already known, deep down inside of you if you were being honest. 

 “Look at you… pathetic.”

 “But she sure is pretty! Look at her…” “Kiri” made his way to your crumbled form, letting his intrusive fingers grip either side of your cheeks. Pinching them together, making you unwillingly pucker your lips out. 

 “Look at those blow job lips… can we keep her Bakugou?” Bakugou smirked down at your terrified form, letting out a mocking chuckle at your fear.

 “I don’t know shitty hair… you broke the last one really fast.” Your mind raced, your facial expressions refusing to help you out in this situation. As they both could easily tell what you were thinking. 

 “How did you do it again, you fucked her to death didn't you?” He sneered at the word death.

 “Yeah well… sorta. She wasn’t very willing to do what I wanted.” You let out a moan of agony at his disgusting words. 

 “I hardened my… ya know. I warned her! I told her it would be ok if she would just stop crying. I asked her nicely to listen to me! I swear.” He said, with an almost guilty look. Letting his eyes leave your form and go back to the one who clearly held the reigns of the relationship. You let yourself sob. Tears running over his fingers that held your face in place. 

 “Bakugou I’ll be more gentle this time! I swear! I wanna keep this one. Just look at how useless and defenseless she is!” You watched in absolute horror as they talked about you like you were some stray dog. Again, to your horror he spoke again.

 “Alright. We can keep her. Why don’t we test out how good she is…” This caused another surge of adrenaline to surge through you. Feeling the weight of a possible sexual assault, and enslavment weghing over your head, you bit his fingers as hard as you could. Instead of letting you go, he hardened his fingers. Causing you to cry out in pain, and you let go.

 “How feisty… but I think that little defiant outburst is grounds for a punishment. Wouldn’t you agree, Kiri?” The red one let his face fall from hurt to one of lust. 

 “Couldn’t agree more…” That was all you needed to hear as you rolled over to try and crawl away on your hands and knees. Muttering no to yourself like a madwoman. It was a cute attempt at freedom as you felt someone’s hard boot dig into your back, pushing you down. 

 “And where do you think you’re going, whore.” You struggled for words, anything to make it stop. But nothing was coming to your petrified mind. All that came out was another whine as he dug his fingers into your hair. “You’re gonna take what's comin to ya, and you’re even gonna thank us.” 

 After he finished his sentence he yanked you up by your hair, pushing your face near his crotch. Pants tighter than ever.

 “Take it out and suck.” You swallowed deep, shaking your head no. Begging him with your eyes for him to just let you go. That wasn’t gonna happen. Not today, not ever. Your defiance was met with a harsh smack to your cheek. Letting out a “stop” and a whimper, you let your nimble fingers work the button and zipper on his pants. Pulling the fabric down, as his erection basked in the slight freeness it was experiencing. With one last glance upwards into his eyes, you watched as he raised his palm in a silent threat. Quicker than he thought you would, you pushed his boxers down, letting his erection spring out in the open air. He hissed in relief, waiting for your lips to wrap around his large appendage. 

 You followed his orders from earlier, first gently suckling his tip with your mouth. A slight grimace made its way onto your features as you tasted his salty pre cum. Slowly but surely, letting your whole mouth engulf his member. He let out a guttural moan before letting his fingers find their way back into your locks. Pushing your head down further, causing you to choke and grip with desperate fingers, clawing his hips. You sputtered on pre cum and saliva. While he stood above you, smirk plastered on his features.

 “You got a nice mouth hero, ah. Now suck if you want it to be over faster.” With nothing else to do but submit, you put your mouth to work. Letting his moans encourage your lower region to warm up. It was ridiculous, your body preparing itself for what it knew would come next. That’s all it was, you weren’t enjoying it…. You weren’t.

 “Bakugou…” While still sucking like your life depended on it, you averted your eyes to see Kirishima stroking himself in full view. He was rather thick and long, the tip of his shaft starting to glisten with pre cum. A flush of red returned to your face before you got another smack to the cheek.

 “Pay attention to what you’re doing dumbass!” You moved your eyes back to him, keeping the tears that were forming in your eyes from spilling over. His angry hands still in a vice grip in your hair, a silent command to do more. You pushed yourself to take in more, even if it would only please him a little. 

 To your dismay, he was not very pleased and he decided to take it out on your throat. With his hands practically ripping out the strands of hair embedded in your scalp he forced his cock all the way down your tight throat. Your little whines and begs were muffled with his cock buried inside of you. A groan of pleasure came from him as he felt the vibrations from the tip of his cock, to the base.  He continued pulling you so that your lips were just wrapped around the tip before shunting his hips to the point where your face was forced to breathe in his hair. The feeling of precum dripping down your throat as his member was steadily bruising the back of his throat. 

“Do you want a turn Kiri?” The red heads already hard cock twitched at the idea. 

“That sounds great bakugou!...but I think I’m going to use a different hole.” After the words fell out of his mouth and slipped into your ear you couldn’t help but groan out in agony. The groans only made Bakugou that much more pleased, he let out a deep moan before pulling his cock from the back of your throat. 

 “I was just thinking the same thing…” You let your hands find their way to the ground, digging your nails into the dirt. “Please...please I’ll get you whatever you want...money...I’ll do anything just please-” 

 “I want you to shut up and take what's coming to you. And you better get used to it because this isn’t going to be the only time it happens. We’re gonna fuck you every time we feel like it, till all you can think about is how to make yourself wet fast enough for us.” Bakugou took your hair in his hands and pushed your face back into the ground as you felt Kiri lift your hips into the air. You heard your hero suit rip in two; your low whimper could also be heard if anyone would have cared to listen.

 Kiri got to fast work ripping off your panties, letting a finger find its way into your tight insides. “Wow look Bakugou!” He pulled out his finger with an almost childlike glee watching as your wetness came out in a trail. 

 “Well, I’ll be damned, she is a little slut. Do you like being raped, slut?” The words he was saying shouldn't have made you wet, but it was dribbling out of you. You could feel it, you could feel it. You felt the finger return and begin to play around with your insides, he curled his finger and you let out a shameful moan. You tried to push your legs together, hoping that somehow it would make him slip his finger out, maybe put up a barrier between you two. It was short lived before he pulled your legs apart, rutting his knee in between them to make sure they stayed apart. He kept scissoring into you until he felt like you were ready for two cocks. That was of course a long while of you whimpering and moaning as he found every spongy spot of ecstasy he could. He let out his fingers one final time, letting all the juices he had accumulated dribble off his finger and onto his cock. He moved to take the tip and play with it in your folds, he let out a nice, loud moan of pure ecstasy from your velvety walls. You couldn’t see it but he looked at his partner and nodded, he nodded back before teasing your walls with his own cock. It took you about one second to realize what was about to happen, for the second second you spent in complete shock, and the third, the third was when the agony set it. You howled in pain and agony, you could immediately feel the blood begin to drip down your thigh. You had never taken two guys at one, let alone two guys that were so well endowed. Your sobs to stop and to take at least one of them out was ignored. The pain was so much you could have swore you were going to throw up. 

 “God you’re so fucking tight and wet…” Kirishima muttered under his breath, as he forced his cock in all the way to the base.

 “I think that’s actually blood Kiri.” You let out a desperate “Please…” But all that earned you was a harsh smack on the ass. Your pussy reacted for you giving them a good squeeze. 

 “Hey I think she likes it!” Kirishima shouted as he did it to your other cheek. 

 “Please be gentle…” You begged for mercy to the sadistic villains. 

 “Please be gentle.” Bakugou mocked before he landed another painful smack to your behind. “I can feel that you’re enjoying this, I can even hear your whimpers you’re trying so hard to repress.” He was right, the sick sadistic bastard. You were beginning to feel a sick twisted pleasure as one big cock would come out and one would move in to take its place before it was barely out. They were pumping you stupid and all you could do was moan and hiccup. Bakugou let his fingers find their way back into your hair before gripping it and yanking you back so hard you could barely breathe. 

  “Open your mouth.” He commanded. When you didn’t immediately do as you were told he gave you another harsh smack on the ass. When you squealed out in pain he spit directly into your mouth. 

 “Swallow it and say thank you.” You could barely process the request as you felt yourself begin to come closer and closer to an orgasm you never consented to. You did as you were told like a good hero whore you were.

 “Are you a hero slut?” A hum escaped your lips as you got fucked harder. “Answer me whore!” He took his oher hand and wrapped it around your throat, giving a tight squeeze. 

 “Yes! I’m your hero whore!” 

 “Who do you belong to?” 

 You let out another pitiful moan as their two cocks pounded into your sensitive pussy. They were coming undone and so were you. “I- I belong to you and Kirishima!” 

 “What’s my fucking name whore?” 

 “B-AHH!” You didn’t get the chance to reply to him, your orgasm cutting you short. They both stopped moving inside of you, causing you to open your eyes, the look in their eyes told you that they were not happy with you. 

“Did I say you could fucking cum?” You felt a surge of cold fear run through your veins.

 “I didn’t-I-I I’m I-”

 “Shut up!” He smacked your cheek once, hard enough for your nose to bleed. With his grip still in your hair he began to rain smack after smack on your already sore ass. It didn’t take long for you to start crying and whispering apologies, some begs of mercy mixed in.

 “That’s right you’re gonna be fuckin sorry!” He ended his words with another harsh smack. “Kirishima, spread her little asshole open.”

 “NO...nonononono please I’m sorry! I won’t do it again!”

 “You’re damn right you won’t do it again.” 

 He let another smack fall onto your now purple ass cheeks. You could feel a thumb and a pointer finger begin to spread you open, it was painful and uncomfortable. You moved and squealed like a pig beneath him, hoping to escape his grasp. You only got so far as your hair in the villains grasp would let you. Before you had time to plead more Kirishima was already shoving his cock inside of your tight asshole. You let out another painful scream, your throat was beginning to feel sore from how loud you screamed earlier and how loud you were screaming now. 

 “You’re splitting me in two!” The pain was too much and you began to black out, feeling Bakugou pull out was the last thought you had as your head hit the ground. The feeling of Kirishima's boney hips painfully smacking at your abused ass lulling you to sleep. It was a short lived break before you felt him grip your hair and pull you up. He used his thick fingers to pry your jaw open, letting his cock find its home in the back of your throat again. You winced at the taste of your pussy juices, throat already numb. Even with a cock in the back of your throat you began to drift off again, not without receiving another smack on the cheek to keep you awake. 

 “Ah, fuck I’m gonna cum, and you’re going to swallow it” You hummed in quick response not wanting to get abused anymore. 

 “Good...that’s a good girl, you’re starting to catch on now.”

 “I’m-I’m gonna come to Bakugou...her asshole is so tight.” And they were right only a few more pumps and you felt your asshole being filled for the first time. Soon feeling hot sticky cum go down your throat, you swallowed it all while looking into the eyes of the man who had just used your unwilling body however he wanted. After his cock was good and limp he finally pulled out of your throat, letting you finally fall to the ground in peace.

 “I like this one a lot Bakugou! I haven’t had this much fun fucking someone in a while!”

 “She was alright.” Bakugou replied, a smirk playing on his lips.

 “Does that mean we can keep her?”

 “Like I’d ever let a whore like that walk free after that. Of course we’re gonna keep her...can’t wait to see what else we can do to her.”

[primalrageanddumbassery]

But Now I’ve Come Back To Wash Out The Stains

Summary: Jon and Martin have been wandering through the Fearpocalypse for Fear Gods only know how long (cause we all know that gods are vicious two-faced pricks). One day (or what passes for a day), they happen upon an Avatar of Death who thinks that they deserve something nice and offers to bring back Sasha and Tim for twenty minutes. Or The One Where Jon and Martin Can't Stop Being Tooth-Rottingly Sweet and, Oh Yeah, Tim and Sasha Are Here Too

CONTENT WARNINGS- Existentialism Long Musings about Death Description of Death Mention of Religion-Related topics (Heaven, afterlife)

Words: 6,827

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26982298

Jon took a deep, shaky breath. The door ahead of him was plain and gray with a simple black knocker. It was set in the frame of a drab little house painted completely white. There was no color around it- no grass, no trees, no bugs to decorate the dull black earth. Even the sky was clouded over here. He knew exactly what lay before him.

"Jon?" Martin's voice brought him out of his thoughts. Jon glanced up at him, trying his best to look brave. He certainly didn't feel brave, but he hoped his acting had improved since last he checked. Apparently it hadn't, as Martin reached out and gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

"What do you see?" Martin asked. Jon smiled, even chuckled a bit at the repetition, the familiarity.

"You. Of course, you." Martin nodded, satisfied with that answer.

"And I'm not going anywhere. Unless, of course, you have to do a statement, but even then I won't be very far away." Jon hummed happily.

"You're better than I deserve," he said. Martin chuckled.

"I must respectfully disagree, but thank you." Jon turned his eyes to the door again.

"Well, into the valley of death, I suppose." He raised his free hand to the knocker and let it fall once, the door swinging open before he could knock a second time. Jon jumped back in surprise, bumping into Martin who rested his steady hands on Jon's shoulders.

The man who had answered the door was very tall and built like a twig. He had dark brown skin, frizzy black hair pulled back into a ponytail, and wore a torn and dirty blue shirt with a red and yellow bird sporting the letters 'KU' on its side. Even with the filthiness of the apocalypse that hung around him, like everything else, he was the brightest-colored thing for miles around. His brown eyes surveyed the both of them.

"Oh. Okay," was all he said. He had an American accent. Jon glanced up at Martin.

"We're- um, we're-"

"-The Archivist and a former Avatar of the Lonely. I know. You've been well acquainted with my patron, the way I understand it," he said with a smile. Jon couldn't tell how genuine it was.

"Unfortunately, yes," he replied, hoping he betrayed no emotion. The man nodded.

"I'm Elliot," he said. "Please, come inside." Elliot disappeared inside the house. The two exchanged a look.

"He seems... okay," Jon reasoned. Martin's brow wrinkled in thought.

"Yeah. I guess he does." His eyes trailed to where Elliot had just been standing. "Well, Death isn't in a huge hurry, right? 'Cause it happens eventually? We probably won't, y'know, die in there or something... right?" Jon shrugged.

"Sound reasoning. In we go, then."

The inside of the house looked as normal as it possibly could, other than the lack of color. A small mudroom led into a sparsely decorated living room with high ceilings. Elliot gestured to a gray couch.

"Sit." It wasn't a request. They quietly complied as he took a black armchair.

"This, um, this is a bit different than most of the other domains," Martin pointed out. Elliot nodded. When he said nothing, Martin tried again. "It's not exactly what I'd expect for the domain of Death itself." At this, Elliot raised an eyebrow.

"No? How so?" Martin gestured around them.

"It's, you know, cozy. It's a home. I'd think death would be more... I don't know, dark? Gloomy?" Elliot smiled as though he'd been expecting that answer.

"The way I see it, this is just as likely a place as any to house Death. A living room for a wake. A home where somebody quietly passes in their sleep. The site of a cooking incident, fall down the stairs, a slip in the tub. There's a reason people don't want their parents living alone in their old age. It may not be a traditionally violent place, but Death knows the home just as well as anywhere else." Martin squirmed a bit. Jon grabbed his hand in a way that he hoped read as reassuringly, rather than 'wOW I'm freaked out too, babe hold my hand' (which it was).

"That's... fair enough, I suppose," Jon said.

"But enough about this place," Elliot said. "We have business." Jon's grip on Martin's hand tightened.

"W-we do?" Martin asked. Elliot nodded.

"Of course. Did you think I would just invite you in to chat? I assure you, Freeman, my patron has no shortage of Avatars. If I just wanted some company I have plenty of compatriots to choose from." Martin frowned.

"Um, no, no, my name isn't 'Freeman'. It's Martin Blackwood."

"Didn't ask for your name, Freeman, and I didn't misspeak. You're one of the few who got away from a fear. Do you know how rare you are? Sure, people touched by entities escape them every day, but to be claimed, fully claimed, and find a way to walk out..." Elliot's eyes were almost glazed in fascination. "You're a freed man. Hence, Freeman. It's a high compliment with those who see past the obsession with their patron." Martin looked lost in thought.

"Huh," he said quietly. Elliot's gaze turned to Jon.

"As I was saying, I have an offer for the two of you." Jon's eyes narrowed.

"We aren't making any deals," he said firmly. Elliot looked exhausted and annoyed, like he'd been trying to explain astrophysics to a very dull child.

"Archivist, did I say that it was a deal?" he asked slowly. Jon crossed his arms, taking his hand out of Martin's.

"You expect me to believe you're just offering us something that we'd want with no catch?" Elliot sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose.

"Something that I think you fail to grasp, although I'm not sure how, is that I'm getting anything I could want because of this apocalypse. I thrive off of the fear of death, I hope you at least understand that at this point?" He waited for Jon to reply, which he did reluctantly with a nod. "Then you understand that the fear of absolutely everyone in existence is feeling me more than well enough. This 'ruined' world that your..." He thought about it for a second."...boss is so proud of ruling is more than enough for me, my peers, and my patron to thrive off of. You'd be hard pressed to find anyone who isn't afraid to die in the apocalypse. As such, we hardly have to do anything at all to keep satisfied. So no, I don't want or need anything from you."

"Then why would you want to help us? We only just met you," Jon pointed out. Martin softly elbowed him.

"N-not that we aren't grateful for your help, of-of course," he added. Jon nodded. Elliot leaned forward, propping his elbows up on his knees.

"Simple," he said. "Pity." They frowned.

"I'm sorry?" Martin asked, incredulous.

"You heard me," Elliot said. "I've heard about the two of you, what you've been through to get here, and I gotta say- I don't envy either of you. When it comes down to it, I just feel bad for you. Like I said, you've become well acquainted with death, whether it's brushes with it yourselves or losing loved ones. While I can't permanently fix either of these, the latter I may be able to temporarily undo." Jon's eyes narrowed.

"You don't mean... you can't-" Elliot sat back in his chair.

"If you would let me finish, Archivist?" he requested. Jon's mouth closed. "Thank you. As I was going to say, all Avatars have specific skill sets that they are gifted to serve the one who claimed them, as I'm sure you know. More often than not, these skills are unique to the individual. I, personally, was given the power, for lack of a better word, to temporarily control the souls of the dead. I usually force my victims to see their loved ones at their last moments of life, especially if it was grizzly, amongst other things. Anyway, to my point- I think you two deserve something nice. As such, I will allow you each a chance to speak to anyone you please for twenty minutes, one person each. How does that sound?"

They were speechless and pale.

"I-" Jon exhaled, trying to determine his next words.

"We... we need time," Martin said. "We need to talk for a few minutes? In private?" Elliot nodded.

"Understandable, take your time." He stood up and went into another room. "Let me know when you've decided," he called, then shut the door.

They let out a collective breath.

"So," Jon said, but it was clear he didn't have anything to follow it up with.

"So," Martin agreed. They looked at each other as if the other's face might hide the answer.

"We... we have to make a decision," Jon whispered. Martin nodded, sighing.

"I mean, the obvious choice for me would be my mum, but I don't... I don't really want to see her?" he admitted, his cheeks flushing. Jon took his hands.

"Martin, that's perfectly okay. And very understandable with the way she treated you," Jon added. "You would be much better off choosing somebody who was good to you." Martin scoffed.

"Well, that narrows down the list significantly."

"Good, now it's easier to choose. I mean, obviously it's not good that your 'list' is populated by so many people who were unkind to you, I just meant-"

Martin kissed him on the cheek.

"I know what you meant, Jon, it's alright." Jon smiled.

"Let's see... oh! You could pick Tim or Sasha," he suggested. Martin's eyes lit up, but immediately dimmed.

"Oh, Jon, I couldn't pick just one of them! No, no, I'm better off picking my mum."

"You don't have to choose one, then," Jon said. Martin frowned.

"Um, yes, yes I do, remember? One each," he reminded Jon. Jon shrugged.

"Sure, but if you pick Tim and I pick Sasha, we can have both. So no, you don't have to choose just one." Martin eyed his warily.

"Jon, are you sure? Don't you have anyone you want to see?" Martin asked.

"Of course," Jon said with a shrug. "Tim and Sasha. I miss them too, you know." Martin thought about it.

"O-okay. Okay then. So... Tim and Sasha? Final decision?" Jon nodded, unable to stop a smile from creeping onto his face. Martin grinned back, feeling a little childish. "Alright. I'll go. Tell him, I mean." Jon gestured towards the door Elliot had disappeared into. As Martin went over and knocked on the door, Jon set to thinking about seeing his friends again, if he could even call them that. With a sudden chill falling over him, he remembered the state of his relationship with Tim right before he... before the Unknowing. Would Tim even be willing to talk to him? Would Sasha, after learning about what he'd done? Maybe this wasn't the best idea... well, it was too late now. Martin was excitedly telling Elliot of their decision. If nothing else, it would be worth seeing Martin happy, if only for twenty short minutes.

"So, Timothy Stoker and Sasha James, huh?" Elliot said. Jon nodded as Martin sat back down next to him, taking his hand again. "Friends of yours?"

Jon hesitated.

"Yes," Martin said firmly, seeming not to notice Jon's lack of confidence. Elliot nodded.

"Alrighty then. Now, it'll take a few minutes for them to show up, and I can only call up one at a time."

"Wait, we can't see them together?" Jon asked.

"That's not what I said," Elliot reminded him. "When both are here, you can see both together, but I have to call them separately. Does that make sense?"

"The twenty doesn't start until they're all the way here, correct?" Martin asked.

"Correct. And, just because I'm feeling strong today, I'll give you twenty minutes starting when the last one has arrived."

"Thank you," Jon said.

"Yeah, thank you so much," Martin echoed, his huge, sunshine-reminiscent smile lighting up his face and Jon's entire heart.

"Now, I'll need complete silence to do this, if you don't mind," Elliot said.

"Of course, of course," Martin said, looking around. "We'll..."

"-be in another room if that's alright?" Jon finished. Elliot nodded.

"Please. You can wait in the kitchen," he said, pointing to a wide doorway that they hadn't noticed.

"Okay, thank you," Martin repeated.

From the kitchen, they could see the back of the couch they'd been sitting on and it front of it where Elliot was kneeling, whispering things.

"How do you think it'll go?" Martin whispered. His eyes were full of so much emotion that it seemed a wonder he didn't burst on the spot.

"Truthfully, Martin? I don't know," Jon admitted. "I want it to go well so badly." Martin's kneejerk reaction was to say 'of course it will go well!', but knowing their situation, knowing who was involved in said situation, he couldn't rightly promise anything.

"Whatever happens, I'll still be here afterwards," he promised instead. That was the one thing he was positive of. "I said I'm not going anywhere and I meant it." Jon smiled as he was enveloped in a hug which he happily returned.

"I'm glad." There was a very brief silence. "Martin?"

"Yeah, Jon?"

"I love you so much. So, so, so very much," he said into Martin's jumper-clothed shoulder. Martin's arms tightened around him ever so slightly.

"I love you too, Jon. More than you know." Slowly, they pulled away. Jon glanced over at the living room and the Avatar.

"Wh- Martin! Martin, look!" he stage whispered, remembering their promised silence but still very excited. There wasn't a lot to be seen if you didn't know what you were looking for, but when you did you could tell that there was very visibly some pigment where there wasn't before. Some lilac purple in the vague shape of a skirt maybe? A hint of brown where hair could be? It might have been Jon's wishful thinking, but he swore he could make out the shape of a woman. A woman he knew he wouldn't recognize, but one that he knew he should.

"Sasha..." Martin breathed. As they watched, she slowly became clearer and clearer, although she stayed statue-still.

"I... I forgot that we didn't- we don't know what she actually looked like," Martin said softly.

"We will soon," Jon replied with a smile.

She was mostly there now. It was like looking at her without glasses on; unfocused, fuzzy, some color from one place bleeding into another. It was, Jon noticed, oddly similar to how he'd imagined her all these years. He knew what she wore, knew that her skin was light brown (courtesy of Melanie), knew her big, round glasses that took up a large percentage of her face, ones that were almost the same as Martin's (leading to plenty of 'twin' jokes from Tim). But as much as he knew about her, what she was supposed to look like, he could never even begin to picture her. This blurry, out of focus freeze-frame was the closest he really ever got. The current situation was oddly reminiscent of a dream where you're anticipating something you want more than anything, but you wake up the second before it happens. He didn't know who he was praying to, but he prayed that wasn't the case.

It was two whole, agonizing minutes before she was clear. And there she was.

"Almost done with the first one," Elliot called. He whispered one last thing, and then stepped back. She was still frozen, Jon noticed, his heart sinking.

"Why isn't she-"

"Patience, Archivist," Elliot hissed.

Sasha gasped, her eyes suddenly coming into focus.

"Wh... where am..."

"Hey, Sasha, it's okay," Martin said calmly, jumping at the chance to help. He slowly made his was towards her. She squinted at him.

"Mar...tin?"

"Yeah! Yeah, it's me!" he said, laughing a little. Tears that had been waiting for her to show pooled in his eyes immediately. Her face softened.

"Martin, what's- oof!" He bowled into her, enveloping her in one of his huge, warm hugs that almost knocked her over. His chest shook with sobs.

"Sasha, I'm so sorry we couldn't save you! We would have in a heartbeat, I swear! It's been hell since you..." He faded into sobs again. The look on her face was nothing short of confused, but she rubbed his back gently.

"Martin, it's alright, it's okay. Easy there..."

Martin pulled away when his breathing had evened out, almost a full minute later. He wiped his face with the sleeve of his jumper.

"Sorry that I'm... a mess," he chuckled. She smiled.

"It's alright, love, it's perfectly fine." Her eyes drifted around the room until they locked with Jon's.

"I'm sorry, is that- Jon? Jon Sims?" He smiled, giving a small wave.

"Hello, Sasha. It's really, really good to see you again." The double meaning of his words were lost on her.

"Good grief, your hair! Jon, your hair is so long! And almost completely gray! What on earth is going on?" Jon frowned, his brow creasing slightly.

"Do you... do you remember what happened?" he asked, keeping his voice as calm as he could. She pushed a stray strand of oak-brown hair behind her ear, as she always used to do when she was thinking. Her simple habits were so familiar that it hurt, even if the body doing her habits was alien to him.

"It's really fuzzy," she admitted. "But... the institute was attacked by Prentiss. Right?" Jon and Martin nodded. "And then we realized Tim was gone, I tried to save him, I talked to Elias, then..." Her face paled. "Oh. Oh, I remember," she said quietly. She looked at her hands. "How am I here?"

Jon gestured to Elliot, standing quietly off to the side.

"Avatar of Death. Wait, I forgot- you weren't there when we learned about-"

"I know about the Fears," she said, her expression cold. She glanced at Elliot. "Are you sure you can trust him?"

"For the most part, we think," Jon spoke up.

"Gee, thanks," Elliot said drily. "Now, do you want me to bring up your other friend or not?"

"Ah, yes. Sorry. We'll go back to the kitchen," Jon said apologetically. They led Sasha out of the living room.

"Other friend?" she asked. Martin smiled.

"He's bringing Tim back too, we get twenty minutes with you two," he explained, unable to mask his smile.

"Just... just because?" she asked, her eyes narrowed.

"He said he feels sorry for us," Martin said. "And quite honestly, I'm too tired to be suspicious of him anymore. I just want to spend twenty minutes with my old friends, alright?" Sasha surveyed his face, slightly red and bordering on annoyed. Jon took his hand, rubbing his thumb over Martin's knuckles to soothe him.

"Alright, Martin, if you're sure," she said finally, offering her own smile. "Now, I haven't really gotten a good look at my boys yet." She stepped back, looking them up and down. "Wow, you two look old," she said. Jon laughed abruptly.

"Thanks, Sasha," he said with an eye roll. She watched him, clearly amused.

"And Jon, you're so much more... expressive." He smiled.

"Well, I don't have the stick up my ass anymore, so that certainly helps," he quipped. Sasha roared with laughter.

"I imagine so," she said. Martin chuckled, putting an affectionate arm around Jon's shoulders.

"He is a lot better and I'm very proud of him," he said, the love in his eyes spreading to his smile. Sasha shifted her weight to one leg and crossed her arms, but said nothing.

"Suppose he's almost done with Tim yet?" Martin asked, straining his neck to see over the couch. Sure enough, Tim was almost completely visible, but there was something different from the way Sasha had appeared. While Sasha had slowly faded into focus, it was almost like Tim was burning in reverse. Small, almost imperceptible fragments at a time, but they could still see the bizarre process. The parts of him there were frozen in a stance with his knees bent, one arm clutching his torso and the other up at an odd angle with his hand in a fist. Like he was holding something.

"Oh my," Martin breathed.

The boys knew exactly what he was supposed to be holding.

"What is he doing?" Sasha asked, squinting. Jon turned his head away, his eyes clamped shut. He subconsciously rubbed the burn on his side from the blast.

"It's... how he died," Jon said quietly. "Explosion." Sasha looked like the wind was knocked out of her.

“He- oh, Tim,” she whispered.

“So you didn’t, you know, see anything?” Martin asked. “From, like, heaven or something?” he elaborated. Sasha thought about it for a second.

“I remember… some things, but I don’t think I can tell you any of it. I mean literally, if I tried I think something bad would happen.” Martin looked a little disappointed.

“That makes sense, I suppose,” he said. She put her hand on his arm, unable to rest her hand on his shoulder due to his enormous height.

“I wouldn’t worry about it, Martin. You have a while yet before you have to deal with the afterlife, I’m sure.” He laughed humorlessly, opening his mouth in what was probably a protest, but she interrupted him. “That wasn't a suggestion. I’d better not see you there anytime soon, Martin Blackwood,” she said, leaving the threat open. He shut his mouth, blushing. “And that stands for you too, Sims,” she said pointedly. Jon gave a small smile.

“We’ll certainly try,” he promised.

“Hey, you three,” Elliot said. “You’ll want to be over here when he comes to.” Sasha’s eyes lit up.

“Tim’s almost done!” she gushed. She grabbed their wrists and dragged them back into the living room. Elliot was just stepping back when they reached him.

Now that they could see him clearly, the desperate, crazy, pained, and triumphant look on his face was that much clearer. It was terrifying, in all honesty. Sasha tried not to dwell on it, instead waiting in earnest for him to come to life.

“You might back up, Sash, so you don’t overwhelm him,” Martin suggested. “Last he knew, you were dead; seeing you might be a bit of a shock.” Sasha reluctantly took a few steps back, but no more. At last, Tim gasped, looking around wildly.

“What the hell?” he muttered. His eyes caught on Sasha, softening.

“S...Sasha,” he whispered. She smiled.

“Hi, Tim,” she said softly. He searched her face almost hungrily, drinking in every detail.

“Holy shit, I’m dead,” he said finally, more to himself than anyone else. Elliot seemed to have enjoyed the last sentiment, so he piped up.

“Usually, yes, but not right now you aren’t,” he corrected. Tim squinted at him.

“And who the hell are you?” he demanded, crossing his arms.

“My name is Elliot, but what’s important to you is that I’m an Avatar of Death,” he explained. Martin stepped forward.

“He’s agreed to help us, Tim,” Martin explained. “He brought back you and Sasha for twenty minutes for us.” Tim’s eyebrows raised gently, a smile slowly growing on his face.

“Martin,” he said. Martin grinned.

"Hi, Tim." Tim's smile suddenly dimmed.

"Wait… us?" he asked, looking around until he spotted Jon. Jon seemed to shrink into himself under Tim's gaze.

"H…hi, Tim," he said quietly. Tim's expression betrayed nothing, positive or negative. It was almost worse to Jon than if he'd been outwardly angry.

Sasha frowned, looking back and forth between Jon and Tim, visibly confused. She opened her mouth to say something, but Martin caught her eye with a fierce glare and swiped his hand in front of his neck, miming to stop. Sasha closed her mouth.

"Hi, Jon," he said stiffly. Jon winced, his eyes misty.

"Look, Tim, I-I know this means nothing, but I really am-"

"Oh, save it," Tim interrupted. Jon's mouth hung open, mid sentence.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"You heard me, Sims. You've apologized before. It didn't work then, definitely isn't working now, but if we only have twenty minutes for this, there's no sense in spending it at each other's throats, right?" Jon's eyes were filled to the brim with gratefulness. And tears.

"Thank you, Tim," he said softly in disbelief. Tim shrugged slightly.

"Yeah, yeah. Just remember that you aren't off the hook. The second you get up there, it's pure spite 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, got that?" he asked. Jon chuckled, wiping his eyes.

"Yeah, yes. Yes I do." Tim lightly punched his arm. Jon fidgeted with the ends of his sleeves, smiling a small smile.

"Awww, my boys!" Sasha gushed, pulling them all into a surprise hug. "You three are such a mess without me," she cooed.

"Can't argue with that," Martin chuckled, leaning over a bit so he didn't completely tower over the five-foot-four Sasha. Jon let himself be smothered by the hug, melting into the arms of everyone around him. It had been so long, so long since he'd felt anything resembling safety, even longer still since he'd been around so many people he trusted. Martin was the greatest thing that had ever happened to him, no doubt about that, but there's only so much void one man can fill when there used to be three.

"Oh dear, Jon," Martin cooed, taking his arm from around Sasha's shoulders and using his sleeve to wipe at Jon's damp cheeks. He hadn't even realized that he had been crying.

"Oh good grief," Jon sniffled, swiping at his own eyes. "I'm s-sorry, I didn't mean-"

"It's alright, love," Martin said softly, lightly touching his forehead to Jon's from across the hug circle. Jon smiled, letting out what was somewhere between a sob and a laugh. Tim made a sound of surprise.

"I- I'm sorry," he said, pulling out of the hug so he could gesture at his living friends dramatically. "Is that what I think it is?" Sasha chuckled, pulling away as well to look them up and down. Martin wasted no time putting one of his free arms around Jon whose eyes were slowly drying.

"I knew it!" she said, grinning. Tim turned to her, a betrayed expression on his face.

"You knew about this? And you didn't tell me?"

"To be fair, Tim, we've been reanimated for all of about three minutes. 'Hey, Tim, by the way, I think Jon and Martin are a couple' wasn't exactly at the top of my priorities." Martin let out a small chuckle. Tim turned back to them.

"So it's true then?" he demanded. Jon looked up at his much taller partner with an expression nothing short of completely in love.

"Yes, Tim," he said finally. "Martin and I are… a couple." Martin's face lit up and he planted a kiss in Jon's long, tangled hair. Tim whipped around to Sasha.

"I am so mad," he declared. Sasha raised her eyebrows.

"Tim, they look really happy together…" she pointed out, the look in her eyes a vibrant blue Tread Lightly, Stoker sign.

"Oh, I know," he said, "I've known for five years, Sash. I made a bet about it with you," he hissed, punctuating 'you' with a pointed jab into her sternum.

It was clear that he wasn't actually angry in any way, but when Tim went off about something, he went off.

"You what?" Martin demanded, his voice going up several octaves. Tim ignored him and kept going.

"And you know what, Sasha? We're dead! We don't use earth currency anymore! Meaning you can't give me the 15 pounds you owe me!"

Sasha threw her head back in laughter, her fringe bouncing. Jon made a point to remember this action. It seemed like it should look so familiar to him. It was something he knew she had done frequently when she laughed, he knew that. He decided to ask Elliot if he had any Polaroid cameras around before their twenty minutes was up.

"Seriously, you two bet on whether or not we'd get together?" Martin squeaked. Sasha smiled sheepishly.

"To be fair, Martin, you two have been at least a little bit in love for pretty much the entire time you've worked together," she pointed out. Jon thought about this.

"I… I suppose that's true," he said quietly, blushing. "On my side, at least." Martin looked down at him, brow wrinkled and mouth upturned in a disbelieving smile.

"Uh, Jon, did you even see me the first year we worked together?"

"Yeah, mate, he wasn't exactly subtle," Tim pointed out, chuckling. Jon frowned.

"Really?" he asked, looking up at Martin. Martin nodded with a small giggle. Jon hummed.

"News to me," he said. Sasha snorted.

"Martin Blackwood is morosexual, part two-hundred-and-four," Tim muttered. Jon laughed in surprise.

"Shut up, Tim!" Martin cried, trying not to laugh (and failing). Tim grinned that shit-eating grin of his.

"I'm right and I should say it." He glanced  at the arm chair behind him. "Okay, was anybody going to tell me I could've been sitting down this whole time or was I just supposed to figure it for myself?" Sasha rolled her eyes, taking a seat next to him. He shifted to sitting on the arm rest so she could have the whole chair.

"Tim, it's a perfectly big chair and you have the width of a telephone pole. We could've shared," she pointed out. He shrugged.

"Curse of the bisexual, Sash; you know I can't sit correctly." Martin and Jon sat on the sofa together.

"Oh my gosh, Jon is the same," Martin interjected. Jon froze, legs already contorted into some weird version of the pretzel. Martin laughed. "Case in point." Jon pulled his ponytail over his shoulder so he could mess with it, a little embarrassed.

"Guilty as charged," he admitted with a small smile. "Sitting normally is awful." Tim waved his hands at Jon, keeping perfect eye contact with Sasha as if to say 'See? He gets it!'

"You're both weird," she said with a shrug.

"Seriously," Martin agreed. Jon gave him a playful shove. "What?" he said with a laugh. "You are!"

"To quote one of the greatest minds of our time," Tim said, promptly clearing his throat, "'We know, but hey!'" Sasha exhaled sharply in place of a laugh.

"Did you just quote John Mulaney?" she asked.

"Of course I did. I'm ashamed you had to ask."

With his own laugh, Jon recalled the week that Tim discovered John Mulaney. You were lucky to hear him say anything that wasn't a quote for at least a month afterwards. His favorites were "I said, y'know, like a liar" and "y'know those days when you're like 'this might as well happen'?", or so it seemed, as Tim used the two religiously.

"You are the only reason I know that," Sasha said, shaking her head.

"And I'm very proud of that," he returned. Suddenly, his face fell.

“Tim?” Martin asked, ready to get up if necessary.

“I just realized that Mr. Mulaney is either dead or in a fear prison,” he said quietly. “Holy shit, so is literally everybody else. Holy shit.” Jon looked at the ground. He felt Martin’s huge hand envelop his and give a gentle squeeze. It’s not your fault and you know that, the squeeze said. You were manipulated. We don’t blame you, love. Jon smiled ever so slightly, putting his head on Martin’s shoulder.

“That’s why we’re going to the panopticon. We’re gonna kill Elias," Martin said firmly. Tim looked pleasantly surprised by this.

"A- you? You, Martin Blackwood, are going to kill Elias Bouchard?"

"Jonah Magnus, actually," Jon corrected. "But yes, that's the plan." Tim whistled.

"That's some intense character development, right there," he said. Jon smirked up at Martin.

"He's been… more murder-y, of late," Jon said teasingly. Martin's jaw dropped.

"Out of context!" he cried.

"So you have been more murder-y, then?" Sasha asked, the awe visible on her face. Martin flushed red.

"In broad terms, yeah, I guess so. I have been a bit…" He sighed. "Murder-y." Tim howled with laughter. "To be fair, most of them deserve it!" Martin added.

"Most of them!" Sasha wheezed.

"He hasn't actually killed anyone yet," Jon assured them.

"Keyword- yet,"Martin muttered. Jon snorted. "When we find Simon, though-"

"Martin, we are not killing Simon Fairchild," Jon said sternly. Martin pouted.

"Oh, come on, not even a little murder?" Jon laughed abruptly.

"A little murder? Sure, I suppose, as long as you only murder him a tiny bit," Jon chuckled. Martin smirked.

"Score."

"How does one murder a little bit?" Sasha whispered to Tim.

"Frankly, Sash, I'm too afraid to ask at this point." They all erupted into laughter.

Jon had missed this more than he could say. Meaningless chatter, conversations that had no purpose other than enjoying the company of those around you. Sasha's motherly tone, Tim's easy smile… he absorbed everything around him and held them close to his heart. They were so familiar to somebody he used to be, somebody he was glad that he was not anymore. He tried to relax back into their patterns, even with his part having changed. The Jon whom Sasha never met, the changed man Tim was too hurt to see, he fit well into their little group. The old archival staff, bruised and battered and torn and traumatized, but together again.

But as hard as Jon tried to relax, he Knew their time was drawing to a close. At first he ignored it, too overwhelmed with joy to pay any mind to that itching knowledge. As the time went on, though, the voice grew louder in his head.

You have three minutes, Archivist, it hissed now, sounding like old, crinkly paper and whirring tape recorder and knowledge itself.

"Jon?" Martin asked softly, bringing him back to the present. Jon looked up tiredly.

"Three minutes," he said quietly. Martin's face fell.

"Oh." They looked at Tim and Sasha in the armchair.

"Well," Tim said grimly. "I guess we should… finish up, then." Suddenly, Jon remembered his idea about the Polaroid. He stood up abruptly.

"Hold on," he said. "Elliot! Ellioooot!" The avatar poked his head out of his office.

"I'm death, Archivist, not deaf," he deadpanned. "What do you want?"

"Do you have a Polaroid?" Jon asked timidly.

"Like, a camera?" Elliot asked. Jon nodded. Elliot thought about it for a second.

"I mean… I think so? Yeah… yeah, in my laundry room, I think."

"May I borrow it?"

"Oh, I suppose. I'll look for it, you go spend spend the rest of your time with your friends." Jon nodded.

"Thank you." He rushed back over to the three of them, locked in a hushed circle, not sure what they could possibly say that would mean enough.

"Tim, Sasha," Jon said, breaking the silence. "I- that is- I'm- I'm glad we had this," he said at last. "It meant the world to me that I was able to apologize, to… say goodbye…" He sighed deeply. "I miss you two."

"We both do," Martin added. Jon nodded.

"Yeah. I…" He took a deep breath. "I love you guys so much," he croaked, his throat tightening as he felt the tears return.

"Oh, Jon," Sasha cooed, closing her arms around him. "We love you too." Tim followed suit, then Martin. They cried, oh they cried. Everyone cried into the fabric of everyone's clothes, all too much of a collective mess to care one way or another. A great, messy group hug featuring two almost-ghosts, a puppet for a malevolent eye god, and an ex-errand-boy for the spirit of loneliness itself in the living room of a junior angel of death. What a sight.

"I got it!" Elliot called. They all looked up, disoriented, having forgotten about him entirely. He waved a Polaroid camera at them. Jon's face lit up.

"Oh! Yes, thank you!" Jon said, wiping his eyes. "Guys, could we take a picture? Just so I'll believe it actually happened tomorrow," he said, only half joking.

"Oh! Sure!" Sasha said, readjusting her glasses. Tim groaned.

"Right after we've been bawling our eyes out? This is when you decide to take a picture? I look awful, and I'm the hot one. You guys don't stand a chance!" Sasha elbowed him.

“Be nice, Tim.” He put his hands up in defense.

“Basira said it, not me.” Jon wracked his brain for when that could have occurred. He frowned, the realization dawning on him.

“Timothy Stoker, were you listening in on me and Basira’s conversation that day?” Tim grinned.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Jon rolled his eyes. “Wonderful. Alright, guys, everybody group in.” He held the camera out to take the picture but Martin sighed and took it from him.

“Wh- Martin!” he whined.

“You have the shortest arms of anyone I have ever met, my love,” Martin said in his defense. Jon pouted but didn’t protest. “Smile, Jon.” Jon forced on a smile that looked just as fake as it was. Martin kissed him on the cheek, making him erupt into a fit of giggles just as the camera clicked.

“Martin!” Jon complained between laughs as Martin took the picture out of the camera. Sasha cooed.

“You two are legitimately made for each other,” she said. Martin pressed a kiss to Jon’s mess of hair.

“I certainly like to think so.” Tim scoffed.

“Sasha, you always complained when I was that cheesy! What is this ridiculous double standard?” Sasha stood on her tiptoes to kiss Tim’s nose.

“Because you were bad at it, Stoker.” He sighed.

“There’s just no pleasing you, is there?”

Martin made a small squeaky sound, the Polaroid picture fluttering to the ground.

“Martin?” Sasha asked, concern written all over her face.

“You’re… you’re fading,” he said softly. They looked down. Just as they had appeared, Sasha was starting to become less visible and Tim looked like he was fading into dust.

“Good lord,” Jon breathed. Sasha had a mildly panicked look on her face. She gathered all of them together for one last hug.

“Hey, give Elias a hard time for me, a’right?” Tim said.

“Be careful, take care of each other, we love…” Sasha’s “you” was barely audible. It might not have even been there; maybe the sound Jon thought he heard was wishful thinking, but he clung to her voice as the last bits of their friends disappeared. Then it was just the two of them, hugging each other and crying in the empty, monochrome living room. Jon couldn’t say how long they just stood there, holding each other as tight as possible. Jon marveled at how Martin was so solid, so here, one hand on Jon’s back as the other held the back of his head, buried in his ponytail. Jon rubbed his back gently, admittedly just as much for his own comfort as it was for Martin’s. After a few minutes, the sobs having died down to hiccuping, Jon cleared his throat.

“Martin?” Martin hummed in response. “I’m so glad you’re here.” Martin pulled out of the hug just enough to look at Jon’s face. He cupped Jon’s jaw with a big, soft hand.

“There is nowhere else I’d rather be. Even if we weren’t in the fearpocalypse.” Jon smiled, turning his head to kiss Martin’s palm.

After a while, Martin remembered the picture he’d dropped on the ground. He picked it up and turned it over.

“Jon, have a look at this.” Jon took it from him. If not for the slightly shimmery state of Tim and Sasha (apparently having started to fade even before Martin pointed it out), it could have passed for a normal picture of a group of friends. Tim was winking, Sasha’s head was tilted back in a laugh, Jon was blushing profusely and caught in a giggle, and Martin’s lips were pressed to Jon’s rouged cheek.

“We look happy,” Jon said with a smile. Martin put an arm around Jon’s shoulders.

“Yeah.”

“Great, you’re happy, fantastic. Will you please get out of my house?” came Elliot’s voice from behind them. They both jumped.

“Oh, uh, right. Right,” Jon said. Martin caught his eyes, mouthing 'Forgot this was his place'.

Jon tried to stifle a chuckle, mouthing 'Same here'.

"Thank you for this," Martin said. "Really, it meant the absolute world to us." Elliot nodded.

"You're welcome. Good luck, you two," he said as he showed them out the door. It was closed in their faces before they knew it.

"Well," Jon said, breaking the already minute-long silence.

"That was… a lot," Martin said. Jon nodded.

"I hate to ask this, but shall we press on?" he suggested. Martin shrugged.

"I suppose we should."

And so they pressed on.

THANK YOU FOR READINGGGGGG

The song used for the title is Aged Pine by Della Mae, PLEASE check it out! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xvDO2-b2JF4

Hey! You! Yeah, you! I think you're pretty neat, and that's saying something because yesterday I saw a cat perched on somebody's shoulder like a parrot. And you know what? You're neater than a cat perched on somebody's shoulder like a parrot. Drink some water, eat if you haven't eaten in a while (or if you have!), take your meds if you need them, and remember that I think you're pretty damn cool.