#aasb

[jo-harrington]

You weren't some spectacular beauty, or otherworldly siren, or heavenly angel that he would expect in a fantasy novel or a DnD game. You were, quite frankly, a mess. But as you turned and nodded your head along to the music, Eddie swore his heartbeat was louder than Mickey's relentless assault on the drums. He approached you at the end of the set as you sat at the bar nursing a cherry coke and circling want ads in the classified section of the Hawkins Post. He asked you if you liked cheese fries before he even said hello. And the laugh you made was loud and honking, but it was nevertheless perfect. You were a disaster made, he hoped, just for him.

From the AASB Prequel: Heaven

Ok this was something incredibly self-indulgent. Thank you to the supremely talented @floredaqueen for this amazing character design sheet for Heaven-era Knight from As Above, So Below.

Flo saw the vision, she helped me hone in on some of the character design that I've been struggling conveying on my own when I commission pieces with Knight and Eddie together. Aside from my original self-insert sketch sheet from Kelso (don't look at me), I usually tell artists "if you want to draw a fem!Steve/Stevie that's totally ok" and while this is not far from either of those things, it's like...I'm squealing. That's her. That's Knight on the page, not going to kick monster ass yet...but soon.

I'm already in love with Flo's art and style but the whole experience was just amazing and the absolute attention to detail that went into this whole thing. (I know I'm only posting one piece/aspect of it but there are LAYERS to this that are gonna stay in my little AASB ref folder and my heart until the end of time.)

And if you're thinking of any kind of art, need help with character design, I cannot recommend Flo enough.

Thank you again Flo!

[areyouwell]

also have a snippet cuz this dynamic is already super fun <3

[lampyoil]

Evangeline!!!!!!!!!!! I spent like 6 minutes looking for a full drawinf of her as a ref but we 🆙

Mlp version also.. Pony brainrot!! Ignore the background jusy being a galaxy i wasnt sure what to do ther gulp

@vivizzy !!!! ^_^

[deny-the-issue]

As Above So Below

Chapter Ten: A Different Perspective

Previous Chapter, Next Chapter coming soon

As Above So Below Masterlist

Summary: Your friends try to help you, and Silco attempts something reckless.

Thank you to @silcoitus for beta reading! <3

AO3 Link

Ko-fi Link

Taglist: @arcaneincorrectquotess, @lazycondensedmilk, @zauns-eye, @crunchlite, @alva-dore, @roxannadanna831, @astudyincontrasts, @mmartos, @ilikemymendarkandfictional, @juniper-sunny, @roxnpens, @a-gal-with-taste, @artwithvivien, @leave-me-alone-doctor, @fantadym

[Explicit Language] [Demon!Silco] [Silco x reader] [silco x fem!reader] [gore] [angst] [medical equipment] [3.6k words]

Grim

He knew he shouldn’t have bothered you yesterday, but he was just so bored going from shop to shop with his mother. Seeing you Topside was too good to pass up. 

How could he have known you and his mom had such a violent history? 

Besides—that was like forever ago. He doesn’t care what his mother says; people can change, and you certainly did. You helped save the Lanes! 

What kind of monster would do something so heroic? 

The anger keeps his rationality from catching up to him. No matter what he says now, he knows there is a world of trouble awaiting him at home now that he’s run away. 

Starting from the tunnel entrance you caught him tagging, he zig-zags methodically through the streets looking for any sign of you or your home. Hands firmly tucked in his pockets, his lost feet kick some rubble out of the way as he trudges through the streets of the Undercity. Even in the daylight, the air has a bite to it, forsaken by the sun. 

With each abandoned street searched, uncertainty chills the obstinance within him, and he thinks about heading home. He can’t hide forever, and he knows what Ekko would say if he went to the tree. 

A heavy sigh passes his pouty lips, and with slumped shoulders, he turns down an unsearched path that leads back to the lift. The way is lit with dim electric lamps, unlike the others, giving a sense of welcoming from the otherwise dim atmosphere. 

His heart jumps with hope at the sound of a door handle turning, but the joy lodges in his throat like a pill at the sight of a stranger in a long black coat. The man sees Grim out of the corner of his eye and freezes. This was not a reaction of surprise but of calculation. Eyes unblinking, the man turns to face Grim. 

He steps back, the hair on his neck prickling with the sense of unknown danger. Like a flip of a coin, the man’s face relaxes into a welcoming smile. 

“Hello. Are you lost, boy?” 

Shaking his head, he answers nervously. “No—I’m just headed home.”

“To the lift?” The man inquires, taking a cautious step closer. 

Grim nods without thinking, an uneasy feeling stirring in the pit of his stomach. 

“Do you mind if I join you? I so easily lose my way,” the man pleads. 

Grim shrugs, “Sure.”  

Ever the polite young man, Grim tries to hide the discomfort the stranger causes him. Shoulders tense, he averts his gaze when he starts the journey again. The man joins Grim’s side, matching his pace. 

“You must spend a lot of time down here,” the stranger breaks the silence, “but I wonder—do you know the history of the Lanes?”

“Only what they teach in school.” Grim knows that it’s the glorified version because of Ekko, but he withheld most of the details.

“Well, let me give you a little lesson on the way. They say a ruthless revolutionary started the war, but in truth, it was his daughter. He dominated the Lanes with an iron fist; so much so, people began calling him the Eye of Zaun after a local religious deity.”

This sparked Grim’s interest—he never heard this before. The culture of the Lanes only lives on in the people who lived it, but this man doesn’t seem old enough. Grim wonders how he knows and listens with rapt attention. 

“If you like, I could show you the statue that was built in their honor.” 

Grim wants to agree but listens to his gut. “My mom’s waiting for me, sorry.”

“Oh, but it won’t take long at all! It’s just around the bend, see?” The stranger urges, pointing around the corner. 

Grim turns away from the man to look in the direction he indicated. 

Brow furrowed, he squints at the dark alley in confusion. “I don’t see—“

He feels a sharp pinch in the side of his neck and then the stranger is on him. Grim thrashes against the man’s hold, but his arms and legs grow heavier by the second. It takes more and more effort to move until his mind feels as foggy as the Pilt on a cold autumn morning. 

He clings to consciousness just long enough to hear the man say, “I never understood why he gave it all up for a child.”

When Grim comes to, he has no perception of time passing. Groggy mind and heavy eyelids—the panic doesn’t set in until he tries to move his bound arms. 

He wiggles about trying to get free, but the effort makes him feel woozy. What happened? The stranger's face floats up from his cloudy memories. He did something. 

With wet cheeks and panicked, shaky breathing, he starts to look around for anything that could help. He spies a sharp scrap of metal on the ground some feet away, near the piled-up equipment. Horrific screeches drown out his grunts as the chair scrapes across the floor with each flail of his body. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Sine sneers from behind, grabbing the back of Grim’s chair and dragging it back into place. 

“Piss off!” Grim spits, just as fierce. 

Sine stomps in front of Grim, brandishing a knife threateningly. “Listen here, boy. I don’t normally kill children, but it’s not a moral—it’s self-preservation. You kill one little shit and the whole city hunts down the killer. But that’s not the case with you, is it? The Lanes are treacherous—who knows what could befall an adventuring kid. Why, you could just disappear, never to be found again.”

For the first time in his life, Grim feels the icy tendrils of death licking at his back. The fear lodges in his throat as he holds back a silent sob. 

“So, be a good boy, and stay quiet. One more outburst and I’ll kill you in front of our mutual friend; is that understood?” Sine waits for Grim to nod before gagging him, pleased with his compliance. 

What does he mean by “mutual friend”? Dread seeps into his veins, slowing time to a crawl. Sine strolls past a set of doors on the far wall and hides behind one of the protruding metal beams. 

The minutes tick by, measured only in the sounds of leaky pipes and the groaning of a derelict building. Waiting, watching, feeling like a foot blindly searching for the next rung of a ladder that isn’t there. Grim’s thoughts spiral, dizzying, pulling him down into the pits of drug-induced sleep. 

In and out of consciousness, Sine’s voice rips through the vale. The next moments rush by like water in a stream, memories slipping through his fingers just as easily. 

He doesn’t know why he was let go, or even remember what you said. One fact remains in his frenzied mind as he staggers through the Undercity: you need help. 

Shredded knees and bloodied hands, he bolts toward the first human voices he hears. 

“ELI!” His mother cries as soon as he rounds the corner, running to catch him as he falls. 

He did it—he’s safe. 

He notices Ekko and another burly man standing close by, and relief washes over him at an alarming pace. Fearing he could fall asleep at any moment, he tugs the collar of his mother's shirt, urging her to listen. 

“I know you hate her, but she saved me. You need to help her, Mom! Please help her.”

“Where is she?” Ekko interjects, knowing instantly that he is talking about you. 

“T-the old factory—the bloody one…” Grim slurs, fading fast. 

It was up to them now to decipher what he meant. He did the best his frantic mind could muster. His mother looks to the others with pleading eyes.

“These knees haven’t run in a long time, but I can stay with him and call for help,” Ekko offers. 

She takes one last look at her son, kissing his forehead before making a makeshift pillow for him out of her jacket and placing it under his head. 

Ekko dials for the enforcers on his cell, anxiety twisting his face as he watches them sprint off. 

One last prayer echoes through Grim’s mind like a lullaby, singing him into slumber. 

I hope you’re ok. 

Silco

Molten breath fogs the window Silco faces with unseeing eyes, too stuck in his head to truly be aware of his environment. Face tense, brow furrowed, his lips pressed together in a thin line. Shadowy tendrils wisp off of him like smoke from a fire as his demon magic seeps through his cracking facade. 

Silco is seething. 

And you’re the cause. Of course, he could have handled that better—why didn’t he?! 

All of his bedroom furniture vibrates with the physical manifestation of his rage like a frightened animal. 

Precious and fleeting though it may be, life is worth living. Your life is worth everything. You see him and do not flinch. He is the visage of nightmares, yet you do not turn away; you embrace him in a grotesquely familiar way. 

Why did you have to wrap your fragile human hands around his demonic heart? Perhaps you remind him of himself in his past life. 

Damned if he knows. 

His face twitches and the glass cracks as the building groans under the building pressure of his unrestrained magic. 

Instead of staying by his side—staying safe—you’re running towards danger to get away from him. This feels fitting, somehow; like it’s what he deserves, and it cements his feet to the ground while his mind chases after you. 

A dusty, faded painting crashes to the floor as his mood grows more turbulent, finally pulling him from his stupor. Grumbling, he leaves his home in peace. He means to haunt the Lanes, but somehow always manages to fixate on the revolutionary statue like a nail to a magnet. 

What is it about this hunk of metal that draws him to it? He chose his name off the placard because it felt right. It’s the only thing that felt right in this new world. 

He knows he has lost so much—he feels it in his bones. He wonders as he peers at the metal figures before him. Was it a lover? A child—no, a daughter? Or perhaps a brother? 

He should tear the damn thing to shreds and be done with it! Someone already started; it wouldn’t be hard. But the flames of destruction peter out, extinguished by the cool breeze. With fresh air filling his lungs and caressing his face, he finds it hard to dwell on his emotions. 

Clean air mixed with earth from the sheer depth of the Lanes. He doesn’t know why, but it feels like victory running its fingers gently through his hair. 

Silco enters a familiar, meditative state, drinking his fill of lost memories at the fountain’s edge. Until the rushed sound of footsteps pounding across the stone ground pulls him back to the present, and his mind instantly thinks of you. 

Listening closer, there are two sets, their steps jumbling together in a cacophony of panic. With the stealth of a ghost, he hones in on their location and stalks them from the rooftops. 

Something is happening in his Undercity, he feels it bubbling in his chest like one of those infernal fizzy drinks everyone is obsessed with nowadays. 

He watches intently as the large man and blond woman bolt through the gate Silco himself broke. Why here, of all places? Did they not take the violence as a sign?

Silco grits his teeth as he prepares for another massacre. But when the pair enter the building, a scream follows soon after. Silco’s in the factory within the flutter of a butterfly's wing, rushing to the source with inhumane speed. 

He expected blood, he expected death, but he did not expect you. Your final breath rattles from your lungs and he just stands there. An all-powerful demon, completely helpless to save your already extinguished life. 

Silco pushes the woman out of the way roughly, cuts his palm with one of his claws, and places it on your stomach. Red light pulses from him into you, but nothing happens. He growls, high-pitched and broken as he fruitlessly tries to revive you with every ounce of magic he has. 

The crimson glow fades with a fizzle, taking his hope with it. Bowed and bent, he cradles you in his arms. The familiar feeling sparks something within—a memory. A recent one, at that. 

You talked of a scientist, didn’t you? If he could help a demon, it’s possible he could revive you. Is it mad and desperate? Yes. But you’ve left him no choice. 

With the look of a war-torn man, he rises, determined to carry you into the next life. The burly man looks to block his way but thinks twice about it, instead running to check on the woman. 

It’s the best decision he could have made. Silco is in a mood that would obliterate all who stand between him and this scientist. 

He walks to the place where the maniac fell all those nights ago holding your broken mask. The physical trail is long gone, but a demon’s senses are far superior to humans’. Even from a good distance away, he can smell the rotten decay of magic and meat. He follows the scent deep into the Lanes until he comes upon the cavern. Viridescent light seeps out of the mouth with echoes of someone tinkering within. 

Silco’s heavy footsteps are greeting enough, and when he stands in the middle of a cluttered laboratory with a surgical table in the middle, he feels an odd sense of nostalgia. 

“I see you too have forsaken death,” rasps the huddled form of a man emerging from a side alcove. 

Silco can see the human underneath the monstrosity of black oozing veins creeping up the man’s neck and face. The skull of one, perhaps. 

Silco brings forth your body, laying it on the table with utmost care. 

“Help her,” Silco commands with fire behind his eyes. 

The man drags himself closer and examines your body with a series of pokes and prods. “How much for the body?”

Silco grabs the man by his throat, snarling over him. “Bring her back to life!”

When Silco releases his hold, the man lets out a wheezy cough, desiccated hands leaning heavily on the table’s edge for support. 

“It would change her, possibly beyond recognition. The past experiments were quite—“ the man takes a long, gurgling breath, “unpredictable. This may be a side effect of the shimmer; the compound is as chaotic as the results.”

“Would another power source work?”

“If it is stable, the subject might undergo less transformation,” the decrepit man nods. 

Silco holds out his palm, igniting a blood-red, magical flame. The scientists' eyes light up and the veins crawling up the side of his neck wriggle and pulse with excitement. 

The cogs of his mind go to work, all too eager to begin his next experiment. With the flick of his wrist, one of his sharp nails slices a gash into the flesh of your arm but sighs dejectedly as the wound barely bleeds. Limping over to one of his many tables of equipment, he peers into a large, hand-written book. 

He mutters to himself as he runs a shaky finger over the page, “...blood from the living body.”

Silco’s conviction wavers, and he sinks further into despair. Looking down at your cold corpse, he hates himself for what he said to you. 

Spewing endless poison without an ounce of the care that resides deep within his cold heart; that’s the last impression you had of him. He wonders if you loathed him in the end. Gently, he removes the strands of hair covering your face, trailing a claw down your cheek as his face trembles, threatening to break. 

The scientist teeters over, pulling a tray table with a scalpel, fabric scissors, and medical pliers on it. Without an ounce of care, he goes to work, cutting a long line up your sleeve. 

“Silco, please fetch her blood from the freezer,” he asks as he hastily discards your bloody clothing. 

Silco’s demeanor perks up, hope restored. Confused about how he came in possession of such a thing but unwilling to question it, Silco remains vigilant as he strides to the large commercial freezer. It was big enough to hide a large human body, and it probably has at some point. 

Cautiously, he opens the hinged lid. Cold air freezes his face as he peers in. Vials upon vials of blood fill the interior, each with a different name. Yours is close to the end of an unfinished row, but surprisingly not the last. 

Did every one of these people willingly give him his blood? Unlikely—but he knows you did. You would do anything for the people you care for, even if you wouldn’t admit it. That’s where he was wrong. There is a fine line between suicidal and selfless. To be honest, Silco himself does not know where it lies, and he shouldn’t have pushed so hard. 

The lid closes with a heavy thump, and he offers the vial to the scientist. It quickly exchanges hands and is placed on the tray beside the scalpel, rolling to clank against the raised lip. The scientist works with surprisingly deft hands, and your naked body is exposed to the ambient air in no time. 

Without consulting Silco, the man begins to carve runes into your skin with the scalpel. Starting from your wrists, and traveling up your arms. 

Uncomfortable with how he’s handling you, Silco’s skeptical mind returns. “How did you know my name? Did she tell you about me?”

The man wheezes, and Silco cannot tell if it is from humor or bad lungs. “How much do you remember?”

Silco sneers at the strange question, defenses rising. But seeing you on the table made him remember his promise. 

“I remember nothing of my life before, only the carnage of the spell that brought me back to this world and everything that has happened since.”

The scientist hums, one brow raising with interest. “That is unfortunate, old friend. We accomplished quite a lot together before your untimely death. You may call me Singed.”

Silco blinks, stunned that this man has the answers he’s been looking for. Then, confusion twirls his mind in knots. 

“You knew me as Silco… before my death?” he asks for confirmation. 

Singed nods, continuing his work all the while. The runes are running down both your arms and one of your legs so far. 

That statue, those people—they call to him from beyond the grave, through the infinite webs the magic has weaved to shield him from the truth. It is no wonder he keeps finding himself at its fountain edge—why the deep, sinking loss weighed like an anchor on his soul. 

Nothing breaks a man more than love and loss. 

Singed finishes the line of runes down your torso and the scalpel clangs as he drops it onto the metal tray, his good eye closely inspecting his work. Next, he shatters the glass vial on the tray, picks up bits of frozen blood with pliers, and places them in some of the wounds in your abdomen. Singed thinks deeply for a moment before remembering the last step, then fastens the table’s straps firmly around your wrists and ankles.

Satisfied, he looks to Silco. “Empower the runes with your magic. It is imperative you do not stop until the magic has run its course. The transformation will be torturous, but, as we know, you cannot have eternal life without pain.”

Steeling his heart, Silco holds his palm just above your damaged abdomen. He falters as he thinks it through one last time. Would you even want this? 

Could you forgive him if you come back as a monster? 

He grits his teeth, the tension showing at his temples. Damn you! Damn you for dying on him. Damn you for growing on him like mold. 

Selfish though it may be, he has to try. 

Shadows seep from Silco’s form and his hand begins to glow as his power gathers. The room dims unnaturally, and Singed steps back just before a needle of red-hot light shoots into your body. 

A crimson wave of magic whips through the room when Silco’s hand is pulled flush with your wounds by the wild magic. The light spreads through the marks on your skin like wildfire until your whole being is lit from within. Wind howling, loose pages swirling around the room, glassware clatters and crashes to the floor while bolts of red lightning shoot from the illuminated runes and ricochet around the room like ethereal bullets. 

Singed quickly retreats behind a heavy door leading deeper into the cave, bony hands held above his ducked head for protection. Silco’s magic continues to build, a thaumaturgic tornado full of broken glass, torn paper, and scarlet hail. 

The destruction and sheer intensity are a window to what’s within him. Too much to control, he lets loose an inhuman roar as he unwillingly transforms into his demonic form. He towers over you like the beast he is, eyes and horns blazing with ruby flames as his torn clothing flaps in the arcane windstorm. 

Ethereal and dancing like the sparks of molten steel, Silco pours himself into you, willing to tear himself apart to imbibe you with new life. 

[birrdies]

hiiiiiiiii love your work just gonna let you know I’m a real big fan of your work ‘as above, so below’ gotta say it’s a masterpiece

*chefs kiss*

and so the Minecraft rendition of double O Diner (so far)

My friend you cook so well keep, writing stuff YesYes

!!! AHHHHHH!H!!!! I LOVE THISS!!! Oh it's so cute ((: thank you! If you do more with it I'd love to see it!

[evalli]

Shuffle your favorite playlist and post the first five songs that come up, then copy/paste this ask to your favorite mutuals! <3

Thank u... ;_;

I'll do the AASB playlist:

The Alien (Annihilation Soundtrack)

The Yawning Grave, Lord Huron

He Is, Ghost/HEALTH Remix

Which Witch, Florence + The Machine

Vex, Chelsea Wolfe

Bonus: All Must Choose, Ramin Djawadi :o)

[solynaceawrites]

AS ABOVE, SO BELOW [1]

Rating: Explicit Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death Fandoms: 七つの大罪 - 鈴木央 | Nanatsu no Taizai | The Seven Deadly Sins Characters: Estarossa, Mael, Original Female Characters, Original Male Characters, Moth (OC) Relationships: Estarossa/Moth, Implied Mael/Moth Tags: Alternate Universe, Romance, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Slowburn, Alternate Universe - Demon Hunters, Horror Summary: There's a thin line that separates the planes, and a delicate balance to be kept. Moth, a demon hunter with a dark past, works to put any creature that harms a mortal back underground. Yet when her encounter with a devil hound ends with a strange mark on her wrist and seductive whispers in the dark, she finds her circle of trust growing smaller and the world more dangerous. The devil is playing his fiddle, and the tune is as alluring as it is lethal. [A vaguely modern AU in which Moth is a demon hunter, Mael is a priest, and Estarossa is a prince of hell.]

»»————-　⚜　————-««  

The city is suffocating. Weathermen offer apologies full of self-deprecation as the heatwave they swore would pass the city by digs in its claws like a cat curling up for a long nap. The air is thick and oppressively humid; hair and clothes stick, sweat-damp, to anyone unlucky enough to find themselves outdoors, while air conditioning units and fans chug to bring a semblance of relief to those taking refuge. Children idle indoors, dogs pant and sprawl in what little shade they can find, and the streets shimmer. There is no birdsong. No traffic. There is only the low, persistent hum of machinery pushed to its limit and the quiet rumble of distant thunder, too far off to yet be a true threat.

Yet covered in dirt and clots of blood and the remnants of a rather unfortunate cat, Moth finds that she cares little about the heat. In fact, she almost hopes that her heart gives out. Dying would be preferable to the hours-long trek through back alleys to reach her home while mud dries into another layer of skin, and even breathing as shallowly as she can through her nose she can still  taste the rank odor emanating from her ruined clothing.

Her boots squelch as she trudges down another narrow path. The viscera coating the soles is fast turning to glue where it comes into contact with the overly warm cement, and that faux glue is in turn slowly peeling her shoes apart. She reaches up to brush an errant lock of hair from her face and black flakes shake from her like fleas.

Fucking kelpie, she thinks, and kicks a can viciously.

Read the rest on A03!

[goldenfox3]

Suggestiveness, sincerity, and service with a smile.

Jody lends Stewart her mechanic. They hit it off better than expected, especially for John.

And today on my pairing roulette: Stewart/Tanaka 🥳

[pixiestickjoker]

just want to say,

as a die hard fan of as above, so below that has watched it so much, including on repeat for more than a month once,

papillon and zed definitely had a thing going on.

when papillon was getting pulled into the car and right before he died, he was only directly calling out for zed

he didn't call for george or scarlet, just zed

that is all

[morphitime]

Amazing artwork of my players for our campaign. 

Gragnar our Sorcerer Kobold who just picked a fight with death. 

Steel-Toed Sam our Rouge and hot mom of the group. Also, the only levelheaded/sane person in this madhouse. 

Phraan the Bard/Rouge who betrayed his country and sold his soul for love.

Seraphina the runaway prices who would do anything to find her dead husband.

Art By: https://twitter.com/LustriaVT - @lustriavt

Check out our camping: https://www.youtube.com/@AASBTTRPG

[jo-harrington]

As Above, So Below - Chapter 9: Deus in Absentia

Previous Chapter: Chapter 8 - Miserere Mei

Summary: What are you to do when God has abandoned you?

Word Count: 15.6k

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Fem!Original Character (Written in 2nd Person POV - You/Your - No Use of Names of Physical Descriptors)

Warnings/Themes: Van Helsing Inspired, Kas!Eddie, Religious Themes, Criticism of Religion/Catholicism, Fate vs. Free Will, Death and Injury, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Discussion of the Upside Down, Resurrection, Supernatural Encounters, Grief, Major Character Death, Gore, Body Horror, Angst, Disturbing Imagery, Heavy Religious Imagery and Implications, Biblical and Other Literary/Media References. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

Note: Thank you to @pastel-pillows and @dr-aculaaa for the quick beta reads of the few snippets (you know the ones). This one is...I'm not even sure what it is but it's heavy and confusing and I'm so fucking proud of it. We've got 3 more chapters left until the end, it still feels like there's so much more to go, but we've really taken a turn for the worst...and now maybe we're heading for the better with this one.

Please note that after this chapter, I will be taking a brief hiatus from AASB (maybe til mid-november/december?) to wrap up some WIPs. (CCFest Halloween, the next installment of Gospel According to MV, the next chapter of Stranger Than (Fan)Fiction, etc. I need to clear it out. But we're not on so much of a cliffhanger this time.

This series will not be for the faint of heart, nor is it something that was written with a general audience in mind. Please check the above warnings and ask yourself if you are in the correct headspace to proceed. I am happy to answer any questions via PM or Ask.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

“Because I lie and sign myself to lies! Because I am not worth the dust on the feet of them that hang! […] I have given you my soul; leave me my name!” - Arthur Miller, The Crucible

October 30, 1987

The world passed by in a blur and you avoided looking at everyone and everything.

Except for Steve.

It was almost impossible to look anywhere other than directly upon him.

His head.

His body.

Both.

Either.

It didn't really matter anymore. They were both Steve, and at the same time, neither of them were.

They were pieces of him shorn apart in vile rage and wrath, one that something inside you--that the last lingering part of Eddie that resided deep in the pit where your soul should have been--said was unconscionable. But you somehow couldn't bring yourself to agree.

Probably because you, yourself, didn't have a conscience anymore either.

You tried to feel, tried to scrape together some piece of humanity from the leftover parts of your own jagged soul that clung to the corners of your being.

It was a futile task; from the moment that Mary Victoria's screaming stopped, you felt emptier than you ever had.

You couldn't move, couldn't bring yourself to do anything.

Billy regained some control of his body; he dropped Steve's head and ran but Steve's friends didn't give chase.

Mary Victoria scrambled to Steve's side in some futile attempt to reattach his head; she spoke broken words that sounded underwater to you. Whispers, then another scream, then whispers again. She turned to you and shouted something, and then broke down in tears.

Nancy and Dustin hauled him to the car, their own grief temporarily set aside, and debated where to put him. Where could they put him? Had they even figured it out? How many other friends had they done this to? How many slaughtered family members did they have to steel their hearts towards? Did it even matter?

Dustin even wrangled you at some point, shuffled you into the car. Where had you sat? In the front or the back? Who knew? All of a sudden you were back at the Harrington's leaning against the mailbox for support as a few people carried Steve's remains into the garage.

So you just stared.

You never broke eye contact; you barely even blinked.

Time passed.

Your body got weaker and wearier.

The sun rose, an ominous glowing red dawn, on a new day.

Everyone left the garage and disappeared inside.

But someone left the garage door open for you to come in when you were ready, and when you finally were, you trudged towards it.

Towards him.

You would've thought that the ground would have tried to grab you and hold you back, that your body would've broken and failed, that God Himself would smite you for even thinking of approaching Steve like you did.

But it was surprisingly easy to close the distance between the driveway and the folding table that had been erected to hold the body of a dear friend.

The body of a leader. The body of a hero.

Your eyes raked along his form and you punished yourself committing every inch of him to memory.

His clothes, his skin, the stains of blood on both, the way his eyes were not quite shut, the distinct lack of tension in his jaw, the remnants of a scar that circled his throat, and the jagged wound that had severed his head.

The wound seemed to follow along that scar like a guide; maybe it had been one, a weak point Eddie knew would be there to enact some ultimate retribution.

Your footing faltered and you grasped the edge of the table to keep yourself upright, but that only made you lean over the body.

Suddenly all of the feelings that eluded you from the moment Steve's body hit the ground--maybe even from the moment you had returned to Hawkins, as terrible and detached and inhuman as you were--barreled into you.

Steve Harrington wasn't the first dead person you'd seen, or the first that had died alongside you, fighting some monster. Shit, he wasn't even the first one that died because of your stupidity.

He was only the first...what?

What was Steve Harrington?

Who was Steve Harrington to you?

You gritted your teeth and thought about it, wracked your brain for some answer.

He wasn't a friend or family, he wasn't a neighbor or a coworker. He was a comrade in arms by sheer luck, and if it hadn't have been for that night in the tunnels, you doubted the two of you would have ever crossed paths.

He was a friend of a friend of Eddie's. Some coincidental flirtatious fling of Mary Victoria's. Mary Victoria who, you realized, was just as much of a stranger as Steve was. You didn't know her. She wasn't a friend, no matter how much you could hope or think that she was.

You didn't know any of these people. Didn't care about these people. They were just friendly neighbors who unfortunately became collateral damage. They were nothing.

Steve Harrington was nothing.

But that was the reason that whatever was left of your humanity was torn up as he lay dead before you.

An innocent life. Lost. Because of you.

So many lives lost, so many families broken, because you chose to act like some selfish and well-intentioned God, protecting the light when you yourself destroyed the light with everything you did and everything you touched.

They all tried to stop you--even fate; even God Himself--but you refused to listen.

No wonder your prayers went unanswered.

You felt a presence beside you, surrounding you; Eddie's phantom hand slid into your own and squeezed, offering some sort of comfort, but you simply clenched your hand into a tight fist in refusal. Then his hands were on your shoulders and his ghostly lips caressing your ear.

"You could heal him."

No, you couldn't.

"Bring him back."

It was impossible, actually impossible; maybe if you were whole, you could do it, but you knew if you tried, you'd only be confronted with how far you had fallen and how miserably you'd fail.

"But you'd heal him if you could," Eddie whispered. "You'd fix all of this if you could. That's what makes you good; you haven't failed yet, sweetheart."

You wanted to believe him, you really wanted to, but then you thought of Eddie, the other Eddie, the rest of Eddie...and the other you, the rest of you...and all of you together and separate and broken and whole and...and...

Your legs wobbled, your knees gave out, and you finally crashed to the floor. Eddie had the good sense to vanish.

And there, on the ground, you finally broke down in tears.

Because you could get no lower than this, short of burying yourself deep in the dirt where you probably should have stayed all those years ago when the collapsing tunnels had swallowed you. You should have died to spare Hawkins--all of Hawkins, Eddie and Wayne included--of this misery that your existence brought.

You could get no lower, short of diving straight into the pits of Hell itself.

Where you belonged.

November 6, 1983

You did your best to try and keep things calm after Eddie vanished.

You could still feel him and you were still a part of him, but he simply refused to let you follow; however, with no body to speak of, and the Upside Down seeming to rejoice that the chaos it desired won over peace, you had to pick your battles.

So you picked Wayne.

You sat by his side and provided all of the comfort and support that you could; you healed him as much as you possibly could, even though his wounds kept weeping and his body kept rejecting your efforts. You wondered, for a moment, if the serene acceptance you'd felt earlier was the cause of his prolonged demise; if he had accepted death on his own, you couldn't force him to continue living.

But then you felt the waves of fear emanating from him, as he lay there, and stared up into those eyes in the sky that watched you both, and you knew that whatever was causing him to perish was beyond what you could control.

So you soothed his worries, just like you'd soothed Eddie's when Vecna preyed on him.

"It's ok," you whispered the lie to him. "It'll all be ok."

It was also the lie you told yourself.

You tried to distract him from his anguish and fear by telling him a story; the nonsensical memories of your first time meeting him kept him calm, let him focus on his breathing, on keeping his heart going.

You weren't even sure that he heard you.

What he did hear, though, was Eddie's anguished roar as he reappeared on the barren plane of Lover's Lake.

At first you though it was the rage that had overtaken him before, when he'd pulled you from Billy's consciousness; you weren't expecting him to be crying bloody tears, raking his talons into his hair, and muttering repeatedly,

"What have I done? What have I done?"

"What happened?" He ignored your question, so you asked again. "Eddie, what happened?"

He shook his head and kept pacing; as you watched him, you felt like it was a very you thing to do, so you decided that the only way to get through to him might be the only way you'd get through to yourself.

You were by his side immediately, latching yourself onto him like the parasite you'd been to him for as long as he'd been under Vecna's control. The edges of your being melted with his as you ran your soothing hands over his face, his cheeks, his eyelids. You thought of the countless times that he'd done this to you to show you his affection and calm you down.

Finally, when he stopped torturing himself, you whispered into his ear, "tell me."

His shoulders heaved with labored breath, and then he finally nodded, eyes shut as he basked in the feeling of you.

You rejoiced in the feeling of being wanted by him.

"I killed him," he said with a broken voice, sending a shock down your spine. "I killed him."

"Killed who?" you asked, and his lip trembled.

"I didn't mean to," he whimpered. "I got carried away."

"Eddie," you said his name sternly.

"I'm not a monster," he continued. "I'm not, I'm not."

"Eddie, who did you kill?"

"Tell me that it'll be ok," he demanded suddenly, eyes shooting open. He stared...not quite at you, but through you. You wondered if he saw the concern in your gaze, the fear for him, or if he only felt it. "Tell me, please; I need to know."

"I'll tell you," you began slowly. "If you tell me what you did."

He took a breath, building some sense of courage, and then swallowed.

And what followed was one crushing blow after another.

Because as soon as the name "Steve" fell from Eddie's lips, a horrible sound came from Wayne.

A death rattle.

He choked and shook, more than he had since the time his body broke upon impact with the ground.

The rage and sorrow that you might've felt at the revelation that Eddie had killed Steve suddenly transformed into worry and fear for Wayne. As his body convulsed weakly and he struggled to find air.

You and Eddie both abandoned your anguish to go to his side; you hovered over him, hands locked together as you tried to guide him back towards life, but the fight was over, it seemed.

Wayne used the last bit of his strength to place his hand over Eddie's, his mangled, blood-stained fingers locking with Eddie's inhuman clawed ones.

Then with one last look towards you, he was gone.

October 30, 1987

The door to the house opened some hours later.

You had stayed on the ground and cried the whole time, the minutes ticking away--literally thanks to the watch adorned on Steve's cold wrist that punctuated every second that passed, like the telltale heart--between heaving sobs and silent tears that stained your cheeks and soaked the collar of your shirt. Your eyes felt swollen and painful, throbbing inside of your skull.

You knew you should take a minute, recompose yourself, and give your body a break from the constant barrage of thoughts and emotions, but you supposed this was a punishment of sorts.

Still, it wasn't punishment enough.

"Come inside," a gentle voice said from the threshold after a beat. "There's food. Or if you'd like to wash up. I don't know if you've slept out here either, but you could come and sleep in a real bed too."

"No," came your gravelly reply.

There was a sigh and footsteps, then Nancy dropped to the ground beside you. She folded herself as small as she could get, tucking her knees against her chest to rest her chin upon them, and stared up at Steve's body.

You weren't really sure what this was. You couldn't say that you were surprised that Nancy was out here with you at all. Out of everyone who resided in that house, who was left to tolerate your presence? What surprised you was how soft she was. Her voice, her posture, her presence. You supposed she was mourning Steve too, just like everyone else; you could see her own red-rimmed, puffy eyes in your peripheral vision.

But if she was here, you expected some sort of tongue lashing, heavy with accusations and blame.

Maybe she knew that she didn't need to do any of that. You blamed yourself plenty.

"So what do we do now?" she asked, voice devoid of emotion. "What's next?"

"What do you mean?" you questioned in return. "Steve's dead; you bury him or burn him...whatever you do with the rest of your dead."

"No," Nancy shook her head. "What's the next move to closing the gates and sealing the Upside Down for good? Wasn't that the grand plan?"

You hummed in response, a non-committal noise that seemed to irritate Nancy enough to turn and look at you.

"Weren't you here to save Hawkins? Save us."

"And I'm doing a great job of it," you gestured to the table, "aren't I, Steve?"

She scoffed, a very judgmental sound, and then turned away again.

There was a long stretch of silence, padded with muffled noises from inside the house and that ever-present ticking of Steve's watch. You could hear sharp and sudden intakes of breath from Nancy every now and again, and you expected some kind of jab to be sent your way, but none ever came.

Eventually she said, "I know how it feels to want to give up."

"Yeah?" you croaked in reply.

"I think that's all I've wanted since this all started," she continued. "For it to be over."

"Well, people like us...we don't ever get what we want." You didn't quite like the way the bitterness of your words tasted on your tongue but you supposed it was a flavor you needed to get used to.

"People like us..." Nancy trailed off and then nodded. "People like us can't give up, though, no matter how much we want it. I certainly can't do that, not with Holly relying on me. Actually, a lot of people in that house rely on me, so I have to keep going for them."

"That's nice."

"They rely on you too," she said matter-of-factly, and if you didn't know better that Nancy Wheeler hated your guts, you would've thought that there was even some laughter in her voice. "You made them believe in you, with your big words and your speeches and promises. They don't particularly like you. But they believe in you."

"Get to the point Nancy," you finally tilted your head to meet her gaze.

"Do I have a point?"

"It sounds like you're trying to get me to do something and I'm not sure what that something is."

"I'm trying to get you not to just give up," she held her hands out in some sort of offer to you. "I'm trying to get you to get back on your feet and fix this. Because you're the only one who can."

"Sure," you snorted.

"It's true!"

"I don't know if you noticed but I'm not doing so hot. A few days away from ending up like our good friend Steve here, I'm sure," you gestured to your body. "I had time to think and...I guess that's what happens when a vampire starts to suck out your soul? People probably never noticed since the blood loss kills them first."

"Then go back to the Upside Down and tell Eddie to fix this before you die," she snapped. "Let the gate shut behind you, I don't care."

"Never thought that you'd endorse me making a deal with the devil," you snarked.

"Is that what you think of him now?" she asked. "That he's the devil."

"What else is he?"

"He's your boyfriend, the love of your life," she threw her hands up in the air and shouted. "That's what you've been saying all this time right? 'I came back for Eddie, I love Eddie.' That's why Dustin made us keep it a secret. But even when you found out that he was alive and that he was a monster, that didn't change anything. But suddenly he does what? He kills Steve right in front of you and he's suddenly evil. You didn't care when he killed people before."

You couldn't help the laughter that suddenly bubbled out of you.

Where it came from, you couldn't really know for sure. Whether it stemmed from some sort of guilt or discomfort or realization that everything was futile and idiotic since you were dying anyway.

"No," you giggled. "I guess I didn't."

Or maybe that Nancy was actually right and you didn't care at all; it was that dark pit inside of you that swallowed her accusations and spit out the laughter instead.

Maybe Eddie wasn't the evil one, maybe it was you all along.

It was in your nature, after all; hadn't Jinette told you that time and time again.

But then Nancy, with her big words and fiery eyes and ferocious gentleness that laid just beneath the surface, started laughing too.

You were sure, if someone was looking down on the two of you right now, it would be a sight to see: you and Nancy, with your previous adversity towards one another, laughing hysterically and falling against each other.

Little by little though, that laughter produced tears, and then more tears fell, until the two of you were huddled together, crying once again. You were right, all that time ago, thinking that you and Nancy Wheeler were a mirror of one another. The strength, the loss, the perseverance, and the sorrow that lingered just below the surface.

"Eddie killed my boyfriend Jonathan," Nancy whispered. "And I hated him for it. I still do. It hasn't even been two months and it feels like there's this gaping wound in my chest, like my heart's torn out without him, and it's been like that for a lifetime."

"I'm sorry," you muttered back. "I'm so sorry Nancy."

"And then he started helping us," she ignored your apology. "He killed so many people but then...for some reason...he decided to help us and I almost killed him right then. Itchy trigger finger. But Steve...and Dustin...and my brother Mike...they all said to give him a chance. The Eddie who killed Jon, that wasn't the Eddie who was helping us, and I had to believe them, even though the hate was still there.

"Then came the battle. The end, or so we thought. The last stand against the Upside Down. Vecna...he killed so many people. He killed my family. My parents and Mike...and I was so close too, I could've died alongside them, and in those last moments I thought...I might even see Jonathan again. But somehow I was spared; Vecna even took that from me."

Nancy gritted her teeth and choked on a sob and her voice got progressively louder, until those last words, then she was quiet again.

She took a calming breath and kept going through her tears.

"Mom used to make us go to church, but I'd gotten too old for stuff," she shook her head. "Seen too much of this nightmare to believe in a god anymore, especially since the pain just got worse as more and more of the people I loved just kept dying. That wound got bigger, my hate got bigger.

"But then there was Holly...so I must've been spared by some god so that she wouldn't be alone, right?"

She paused and looked at you now, like you'd give her some sort of reassurance. But you couldn't bring yourself to do it. Was there a god? If there was, he wasn't in Hawkins.

Nancy just sighed at your silence and wiped the tears away with the back of her hand.

"There are more people, of course, more people who survived. Mike's friends and Joyce and Steve...and Robin. Steve and Robin lost everything too--their parents and Robin had this friend Vickie that must've been like...it doesn't matter--but they had each other. And yeah, Robin's been there for me, probably more than anyone else in this mess. She's put up with me and helped me and kept me sane when I thought I couldn't handle it anymore. There's nothing I could ever do to thank her. Now she's lost another person and I can't even repay her kindness. But...and I feel bad for thinking of Holly this way...but everyone else had each other, and all I had now was this pain and this hate and this burden.

"Then Eddie Munson betrayed us for the Upside Down again."

You closed your eyes at her words, felt the pang in your chest at the hate in her voice.

"And then you came along," she sneered. "And you killed Barb. That was my friend too, you know; Barb was my best friend. The first time I saw her after Eddie...after Eddie did that to her...I had hope for the first time in a long time. But not for Barb. For Jon. That he could come back too, but Eddie couldn't even do that for me."

"Stop talking about Eddie," you pleaded, trying to stop the tears from starting again, but it was too late.

"But I have to," Nancy insisted. "Don't you get it? I have to talk about Eddie Munson. Because...because you love him. Just like I love Jonathan Byers. I hate Eddie and I thought I hated you too, but you love Eddie Munson. Eddie is a monster and you love him...and he loves you. Loves you enough to kill his friends for you. And you love him even though you're dying because of him and I keep having to remind myself that...that I would do the same thing if I was in your shoes and Jon was a monster too."

She was fully sobbing now too.

"I would do anything, anything, to have Jonathan back," she exclaimed. "I would let the world burn for him, I would die for him. But before I died, I would ask him to fix this mess, for everyone else I loved, because I know how much he loved me too."

There was a knock on the garage door that startled the two of you, and then a muffled "Nance, you ok in there" through the thick wood.

"Yeah," Nancy choked out in response and cleared her throat. "I'll be back inside in a second."

"Kay."

There were footsteps and then you were alone in silence again.

"Sorry," she shook her head after a moment. "I'm sorry. I don't...know what came over me."

"It's ok," you tried to reassure her.

"Are we good?" she asked.

"Are we?" you parroted.

She paused and inhaled shakily, then nodded.

"If we have to get out there and fight again," she started. "I'll have your back."

Without another glance at you, she got to her feet and placed a trembling hand on Steve's chest.

Then, with a clear and steely voice filled with a sense of finality, she repeated her earlier statement, "but you need to fix this. You're the only one who can."

November 6, 1983

Eddie stayed there for hours. Days. He stayed hunched over Wayne's body, further soaking his uncle's clothes with those bloody tears until there were no more left.

And there was nowhere else you would be, even if you could leave, than by his side.

The anguished roar of grief that escaped Eddie's body after Wayne took his last breath had shaken the very earth beneath you, and in your heart, only rivaled the scream he made when Vecna had finally broken him and he'd given up his soul.

You'd never seen him like this.

Never.

Broken and beside himself; he could barely function, could barely respond to your words or touch.

All of the other creatures in the Upside Down knew to leave him to this; you saw neither hide nor hair of them. There were no footsteps, no flaps of wings.

You felt awful at the triumphant feeling that bloomed in your chest to know that he wanted you there, that he accepted the comfort of your presence, however little of it that he allowed.

When he was tired, he clutched Wayne to his chest, and nestled into your embrace. When he was hungry, he closed his eyes and found your wrist, then drank deeply from veins that would only sustain his heart, and not his stomach. And when he felt anger again, he used you; you let him use you like he had during the eternity that he was trapped as a soulless puppet under Vecna's control, unwillingly faced with his humanity.

He slashed at you with his claws, he roared and yelled and lashed out, he fucked your phantom body to find some cathartic release. It was never enough, not like it would be if she had been there, and you had to come to the acceptance that although the two of you were two parts of one whole, you were not home to him the way that she was.

Instead you could only hold him, run your hand through his hair, brighten the void deep within him that got darker with his despair, and soothe the pain.

"Why do they leave me?" he whispered into you in the aftermath of one of those instances. "Why am I destined to lose everything?"

"I don't know Eddie," you replied gently.

"Why did he have to die?"

"We all die."

"No," he growled, unwilling to accept it.

"You've died before," you reminded him, and then you contemplated your next words. "And so have I "

"No," he repeated, snarling this time. He clutched you to him. "No, you'll never die. Not if I have anything to say about it."

"She's dying," you spoke of your other self now. "She's out there and dying."

"Please," he wept. "No."

"Death," you began. "It's not the end, it's just the beginning. You'll always have each other, even if you can't be together like this."

You were talking out your ass, you knew; an empty promise. Half of a lie. Even if he didn't have her, he would have you.

"Just like you'll have Wayne," you continued, "and he'll always have you."

You stared past Eddie now, at Wayne's body just yards away, resting in the pit that Eddie had dug and clawed in his rage. Neither of you particularly wanted his body to remain here, but what else could you do? Wayne needed to go back to Hawkins, and neither of you could take him there.

"Fate is cruel," you whispered to Eddie again. "Wayne knew how much you loved him."

"I know."

"Do you remember the story I told you once?" you asked suddenly. "About the oneiroi?"

It had been a long and hard day for him, still mourning your other self's departure from Hawkins. Dark thoughts had filtered through Eddie's head more than once after she left, and you had no choice but to intervene. To soothe him and heal him, to love him, just like you always would. And to do that, you told him a story about meeting the loved ones you missed the most in your dreams.

You cracked a smile when you felt Eddie nod against you now.

"You'll meet Wayne again one day," you whispered. "Maybe in your dreams. Maybe...maybe in heaven."

Another lie.

The remnants of his soul had long-since vanished though, and you'd said a prayer for it to find its way to heaven, where he belonged. But you knew better, and it was a bitter feeling to sense it...lurking in some unknown distance until it was time for him to make himself known to you.

"Maybe even here," you finished.

Just like Eddie's soul had.

At first, you thought it was a trick of the eye. But you weren't easily tricked; in fact, you had no eyes, no really. Then you wondered, and you couldn't know for sure, if you wished it or willed it into being.

You could see it, even from a distance. The twitch of Wayne's body inside the pit Eddie had dug. It wasn't a deep pit; a divot in the ground, more than a true grave. You could see the convulsions, and then the shifting.

Then you realized with some horror, that those things you'd tried to rationalize--the wishes and the tricks--none of those things had caused Wayne's body to move again. Or breath again, as you saw the soft rise of his flannel-covered chest.

This wasn't your realm; it wasn't yours to control. But you'd been here long enough to know better than to think you had any control. Maybe if you were real, maybe if you were her, you could change things. Maybe you could've stopped it. But you were you, and you'd witnessed time and again what happened to the dead that found themselves in the Upside Down.

They either perished, their bodies consumed along with their souls, or they were revived. By Vecna's hand. Or by Eddie's.

So how was Wayne moving now if the attempts to revive him had failed?

You watched in horror as his hands flinched and twitched, and then reached for the edge of the pit. You froze as he hauled himself upright, and then turned his head towards you in a stiff and unnatural way.

He stared right at you and you stared back at him, unable to look away.

Eddie hadn't ever truly been able to witness your form and Wayne had only been able to see you because he was dying. But for Wayne to be able to be alive again and look at you, see you, when you weren't really there? There had only been one set of eyes that had really looked upon you during your time here in the Upside Down.

And they were no longer in the sky.

You clutched Eddie to you, as if to smother him in your presence, in your being, so that he wouldn't see Wayne standing there. Healed. Alive. Whole. Other.

But it was too late.

The gasp that came from Eddie was the first nail in the coffin.

The tears that dripped from his eyes as he got to his feet were the next.

Each of the words that spilled from his mouth as he rejoiced in the resurrection of his uncle were like the strike of a hammer against the coffin lid to ensure it was secure.

And the embrace that he pulled "Wayne" into, a death bell.

The ground trembled beneath you, starting from the place where "Wayne" stood and radiating outwards; you could sense from all distances, the creatures of the Upside Down rejoiced the his presence. At their release.

You were frozen in terror at all of it.

Vecna, when it came down to it, was only human--even with all of his power--and, in a way, so were you. So was Eddie. For all that time, you'd done your best; you'd used your love, your tricks, to counteract the poison of his curse. You could fight against a human to spare Eddie from pain and death and his ultimate demise.

But this?

You were only human. And so was Eddie.

You didn't know how to protect Eddie from this.

October 31, 1987

You woke to the sounds of trick-or-treaters outside of the Harrington's garage.

It was an unexpected thing to hear and it startled you, their little voices shouting in tandem, followed by laughter. It seemed strange and out of place, especially considering the grimness that lingered in the garage with Steve's decaying body just a few feet away on that table.

The fact that it even was Halloween surprised you, but you hadn't really been keeping track of the date, especially not after your time in the Upside Down.

You forced yourself to your feet, body aching, and lifted the garage door to step outside.

The late afternoon sun greeted you, as did the crisp fall air; the neighborhood wasn't flooded with children trick-or-treating, but there were a few groups going around. All followed by parents with their weapons to protect from any horrors that lurked in the shadows; the Upside Down still posed the greatest threat, even if it was a holiday.

But there was just something so human, so normal, seeing them. Even in the face of danger and death, here they were, looking for a little bit of joy.

Your heart ached at the thought, and you wondered if that was Eddie reacting to their participation in his favorite holiday.

You watched as two little princesses, their taffeta dresses donned over matching turtlenecks to protect them from the chill, walked up the driveway hand in hand, scurrying between the parked cars, to approach the group hanging about on the Harrington's porch.

"I hope you guys like cookies," Dustin told them after their greeting, and he held out a bowl with plastic-wrapped treats. "Mom baked them fresh this morning."

Once they were gone, Dustin--who must've noticed you as soon as you stepped outside--waved you over.

"You remember Max and Will," he gestured to his friends who were situated in lawn chairs. "And maybe you remember Lucas too?"

"From the tunnels," you greeted. "Hi."

"Hey," Lucas shot you a tentative little wave, and then tried to get up to offer his seat to you. You motioned for him to stay seated, and then leaned against the side of the house.

"And Lucas's sister, Erica," he gestured to the girl sitting beside Max, who was the only one dressed for the occasion. A witchy purple dress and glitter makeup expertly applied on her face; it was cute and spooky and fitting for a young teenager like her.

"No trick or treating for you guys?" you asked, mustering up a small smile.

"We were going to," Max piped up, and then gestured down to the object in her lap. "Brought my trusty Michael Meyers mask and everything."

"I was actually going to go and spend the night at my friend Shelly's house," Erica interjected. "We all planned to dress as witches and do a seance."

"Oh yeah?" you asked, the part of your brain that always collected little tidbits about spiritualism and the supernatural activated. "Well, be careful. It's Samhain...spirits can travel between worlds easier. You don't want a ghost to follow you home."

"It's Halloween, it's make believe," Erica narrowed her eyes at you. "Besides I can't go."

"Why not?"

"Our moms asked us to stay close," Will explained.

"We're, uh," Dustin shuffled in his seat. "We're..."

"We're having a memorial for Steve later tonight," Lucas finished for him.

All of the kids looked a little somber at those words, shifting in their chairs uncomfortably.

"Oh," you replied softly, unable to really say anything else.

Dustin, of course, had to make light of the heavy moment. He held out the bowl of cookies to you.

"It's a potluck dinner," he explained and then gestured to the cookies. "Mom was already baking, so she figured she might as well make some extras."

"I'm ok," you tried to refuse the cookies.

"You didn't eat dinner last night," he insisted and you guiltily shifted your gaze away from his. "Or breakfast this morning."

He shook the bowl, and you sighed and took a cookie anyway, not willing to explain that you had no appetite. And even if you did, you knew it would turn to sawdust on your tongue anyway.

You stood there and basked in their conversation and in the trick-or-treaters that came. The boys all ooh'd and ahh'd at the visitors costumes; Erica continued to pout about not being able to go to her friends house until her friends actually showed up for treats, then she stood on the lawn and chattered with them until it was time for them to go; and Max...Max just sat there stiffly until the conversation started back up again, her unseeing eyes somehow always locked on you.

Like she was acutely aware of your loathsome presence.

You wondered for a second if she knew something was wrong with you, sensed it through any sort of lingering connection that you left behind when you'd made the journey into her mind. Had you left a bit of yourself in there too? Or maybe you were just reading into it too much?

"When was the last time you celebrated Halloween?" she asked suddenly, startling you from your thoughts. All of the kids turned to you with curious expressions.

"Uh," you frowned and thought about it.

When was the last time?

"Last October I was..."

You knew where you were in November; Nonna had passed away. That anniversary was coming up, wasn't it?

"...I was in upstate New York, trying to stop this old man...Goodrich...from sacrificing virgins in exchange for endless riches."

"Woah," all the kids sat up a little straighter in their seats.

"You know, all the crap we've seen, it would've been nice to have some variety," Will joked. "What else? The year before that?"

Ok...what was that...you remembered wishing you could be back in Hawkins.

"I was in Italy actually," you recalled. "Someone stole the shroud of Turin to invoke the Anti-Christ. It didn't work; that's not what relics are for."

"Ok that's still cool."

"Relics? Like in DnD?" Lucas questioned.

"Yeah," Dustin laughed. "She's a paladin."

"I am not a paladin," you rolled your eyes.

"Yeah you are," he insisted.

The boys all started tripping over themselves asking questions and bickering--even Erica getting into the mix, spouting off facts and stats about DnD gameplay--but Max had to interrupt them with a laugh.

"Halloween! Hello!" she clapped her hands. "You nerds can argue later; I haven't heard an answer to my question yet."

You smiled at them, feeling something akin to relief that they got to behave like silly teenagers amidst all of the bullshit that was brought into their lives.

You didn't want to leave Max hanging though, so you thought back again, and said very casually, "1984...I was in Hawkins that year."

But then you all got quiet.

Because you all remembered what happened, to each of you respectively, in 1984.

You, especially, felt your stomach churn. Not about the tunnels or Eddie or Gabriel or anything else. You remembered where you were on Halloween. Not that far from here, actually. At a party where you came across a drunk Billy Hargrove, Max's brother.

A party where you were dressed like Judith...with the decapitated head of Holofernes.

Your mind raced at all the parallels, at all of the strings that tied everything together. A severed head and Billy Hargrove, these kids in the tunnels, the looming threat of the Upside Down. That even the knife that you'd worn on your belt that night had been the one you'd told Mary Victoria to take from your glove compartment just a few weeks prior.

What was next? Was Gabriel going to show up and lead you on some other fated path? Or was this the end of said path all along?

Speaking of fate...fate was cruel.

Because just like it had three years ago, as the night fell on Hawkins, the horrible creatures of the Upside Down came out to play.

It was almost uncanny how quickly they attacked when the sun finally dipped below the horizon, like they were waiting for the brief reprieve that Eddie had afforded the town to expire so they could go on their hunt.

And you'd just mentioned Samhain, and spirits--monsters--ability to travel between worlds easier; you should have kept your big mouth shut.

You heard the wash of screams first, echoing down the street; initially, it just sounded like the screams of the children, excited for their tricks and treats, but then they grew in volume, and mixed with snarls and death cries.

All of the kids got to their feet, Dustin and Lucas with their weapons of choice in hand, as thundering footsteps seemingly shook the ground below you, and a sea of creatures spilled down the street, all tripping over one another to race to get to their prey first.

You all watched in horror as teeth ripped into flesh and one parent sacrificed themselves so that the other could flee with their children. As a group of younger teens used their treat-filled pillowcases to swipe at the monsters before they succumbed to the overwhelming attack.

Then the bats began to swarm, darting over the tops of houses and swooping to claw and whip and bite from the sky.

"Get inside!" Lucas finally shouted, arm already around Max to lead her towards the door. "Go! Now!"

But his screaming alerted the creatures to your presence, and several of them shifted their momentum to run towards the Harrington's house.

Dustin grabbed your arm and pulled you behind him, as you all scrambled to get into the house. The door slammed shut just as the heft of several demogorgons rammed into the side of the house; they roared from being denied their hunt.

There were shouts from further inside the house as everyone began reacting to the barrage of bodies ramming against windows and walls, and the screams from outside. Joyce had pushed her way past the others to get to her kids, her arms enveloping them in the biggest hug she could. As if she could protect them from the horrors of the world.

In fact, everyone crowded together, holding their loved ones, shushing each other with each and every scream that came from beyond the safety of the house. They chattered over one another, coming up with plans to keep the house secure, barricading doors and possibly boarding up windows. Nancy was at the back of the group, crouched down, trying to comfort Holly who was crying softly and saying something inaudible into Nancy's shoulder.

And then Mary Victoria, who wasn't even part of the group; she just stood back, wringing her hands together nervously.

Mare looked...

She looked fine, but the devil was in the details. Eyes puffy from crying, obviously anxious as you had already observed, she wore the same bloodstained clothes from the other night when you'd brought Steve back.

Guilt ate at you again, another little nibble to your insides where it had taken great big bites before; you hadn't even thought to check on her once you'd gotten back. Instead you'd sat in your self-imposed punishment in the garage, surrounded by guilt and self-pity and death while you waited for the decay of your own existence to consume you.

You were a bad friend...if you were even her friend; you'd doubted that friendship once in the past 48 hours and now here you were, doing it again. Because here the two of you stood, amongst this crowd of family, friends, and neighbors all facing their own demise, staring at each other across a great and unfamiliar void. Each of you alone, but Mary Victoria even moreso.

Because you'd brought her here, you'd left her to her own devices, you'd encouraged her to make friends...and now she'd been abandoned by all of them. By choice or circumstance.

You glanced between Mare and Nancy again, and you were about to open your mouth to address the group, to calm them and come up with a plan when a vicious and unforgiving BANG came from behind you.

The room went silent, and you turned on your heel to stare at the door. Another BANG and then another. The whole group startled as a series of roars also sounded from the other side of the door, and there were even a few frightened sobs.

You, however, stayed rooted in your spot; in fact, you even took a step forward, closer to the door. If something managed to come through, it would deal with you first. Powers or no powers.

At the very least, if it was Eddie controlling the creature, he might even decide to spare you.

Surprisingly, the roaring and the banging stopped, and instead there was scratching at the wood of the door. A single scratch, and then a fast, repetitive barrage of scratches. Then back again to several, single scratches. It was not like a demogorgon. Or a bat.

Something else.

You took another step towards the door and everyone shouted for you to stop.

"What are you doing?" Mary Victoria pushed her way through to the front of the group and grabbed you by the meat of your upper arm, her fingers digging and pinching painfully to hold you back. "Do you have a death wish? There's something on the other side of that door that wants to kill us."

"It would've given up by now," you tried to pull away from her. "Let me go, I think we're fine. This is different."

Mare pulled you closer and you turned to face her to try and get her to let up, but she was quicker.

"You're gonna get us all killed," she hissed at you. "All of these people. Because you have this inherent need to be right, to do whatever the fuck you want. Because you have this savior complex and victim complex and inferiority complex, somehow all at the same time. So can you just. Give. Up."

Each word was said with such bitterness and hatred, and it was justified; if anyone could tell you those things and you'd just stand there and take them, it was her.

That didn't mean you'd listen to her though.

"Maybe I do need to give up," you agreed. "Maybe I am this...awful blight upon the earth."

She faltered, her eyes and voice losing their hardness, and tripped over herself to say, "Well, I didn't mean--"

"You didn't," you interjected. "But I do. You don't need to think all of those things or any of those things about me Mare, I think those things myself. So yes, I am actually all of those things, and probably a million more. But you got one thing wrong. I don't just need to be right.

"I am right," you said with a tone of finality and freed yourself from her grasp.

God, wouldn't this be the moment to prove yourself wrong; here goes nothing...

You reached out and grasped the doorknob, and twisted it.

What was on the other side of the door was unexpected.

A shock, but a good one.

A single demodog, its flesh mottled with cuts at various stages of healing. Its cone shaped head opened and it roared--well,squawked--at you, and then it pushed its body against yours, rubbing against your legs.

"Cerberus," you muttered in surprise.

The group behind you all chattered together and Mary Victoria even said a snide "I didn't know you could domesticate one of those" but you ignored them to pay attention to your little friend.

He was alive; he made it. A little worse for wear, but he made it. The same joyous, light little creature that huffed and batted his head against your hands until you gave him the pets he desired. The same little monster that you felt some kind of affection for because of how much he felt like Eddie, how much he felt like home.

You had so many questions, ones that you knew Cerberus couldn't answer.

Why were the creatures attacking Hawkins again? What did that mean?

Was Eddie enacting some kind of plan to get you back? Had he sent Cerberus because he was the only creature he trusted to find you?

Or worse, was this in response to some kind of devastating loss? Had Wayne finally passed? Was it too late?

As if sensing your flurry of thoughts, Cerberus opened his petal-like mouth and gently clamped down on your wrist, shifting his body back towards the door to pull you forward.

Maybe it was all of the above? Or maybe it was a trap.

"Ok," you nodded and tried to free yourself from his grasp; even though he was a friend and his teeth weren't piercing your skin, you would rather not risk it. "I'll come."

That, of course, wasn't the right response according to the whole group behind you.

"Are you crazy?"

"That thing's a monster; kill it!"

"It was nice knowing you."

Cerberus stomped impatiently when you stopped and turned back to them. Your eyes roamed over each of their faces; you absorbed it all, the hate, the anger, the fear, the uncertainty. No one was going to follow you now, not that many had in the first place. But you had lost any hope of people being in your corner, especially now that you were seemingly making an idiotic choice.

Your gaze finally landed on Nancy, though, who stood protectively in front of Holly, and she hesitated for a moment, then nodded in some sort of pseudo approval.

Her words echoed in your mind: You need to fix this. You're the only one who can.

"I'm doing what you all wanted," you announced to them. "I'm going out into the darkness and either getting myself killed or fixing this absolute mess that I've only made worse since I got here. So either way, you come out ahead."

"We don't want you to die too," Dustin exclaimed with tears in his eyes.

"Dusty," Claudia shushed but you shot, what you were sure was, a tired smile at him.

"They can't really kill me," you explained. "Not if I'm dying anyways."

Dead was dead; you were ending up in the same place, regardless.

"What if," Mary Victoria began then. "What if we just...went into the Upside Down and torched the whole thing?"

"What does that solve?" you asked.

"Nothing, I think it would make me feel better though."

You snorted and laid a hand on her shoulder.

"How about," you raised your eyebrows and tilted your head conspiratorially, "if I do actually die, you get to use all the fire you want to avenge me?"

She contemplated it for a minute then nodded.

"I think I could accept that offer."

Your hand moved from her shoulder to clasp her own for a moment.

"Thank you for coming on this journey with me; see you around, Mary Victoria," you bid her farewell, and then followed Cerberus out into the night.

You were really getting tired of all this walking across town.

If Eddie wanted to chat, there was a perfectly usable gate right around the bend, but no, you needed to go over hill and dale, across the tracks, and now you were in the middle of nowhere.

Shit, if you were smart you would've just driven; gotten in the car and went. Cerberus could've had his head out the window.

Would that be as fun for a demodog as it was for a real dog?

"Maybe if reincarnation is real, in another lifetime, you would be a real dog and Eddie and I would have taken you out for walks. Instead of whatever the fuck this is," you told him when you'd stopped for a rest.

He just stood there and panted at you cutely...or as cutely as he could, considering he was a monster.

"You'd like that huh, Cerbie?" you reached out and gave his little head a pat and he basked in the attention.

Cerberus was doing his best to keep you safe, though; any flapping of wings overhead or snap of a twig and he would turn, hackles raised, and growl to fend off any potentially ill-meaning predators. However, there was one rustle from the trees that didn't sound like anything else, and it had startled you more than any of the other sounds had, but Cerberus seemed to ignore it.

Or maybe tolerate it?

His comrades were out here--the other creatures of the Upside Down--even if he rejected them to stay by your side. The brides could very well be flying overhead, looking for a quick kill and Cerberus knew he couldn't fight them. And Billy was also out there, as far as you knew.

Maybe even back under Eddie's control.

You tried to stay calm, tried to stay brave, and in order to do so, you convinced yourself that Lucy was out there in the darkness. Yes, that must be it; she was following along in her towering Splinter Cat form, as some sort of unseen protection, and Cerberus could sense she was a friend.

You knew better than to call out to her though, to be sure; it would be stupid to invite something to you on a dark and dangerous night.

So you continued your blind belief that it was Lucy.

It was a nice thing to think.

Eventually, you reached...well, you weren't quite sure about it until you got there, but when you got there, you were sore and tired and probably more than a little bruised. Climbing a hill in the dark with a weak body and only a dog-thing for assistance wasn't exactly an easy task. You grumbled and yelped and cursed.

But when you got to the peak of Weathertop, and saw the sprawling landscape of Hawkins below you, you felt some kind of...peace.

Well, as much peace as you could feel, as smoke and glowing fire and the ominous, ever-present red of the active gates illuminated the town.

Aside from the distant silhouettes of bats flitting by, the sky was serene.

That inky black that wasn't really black, but blues and violets and who knew how many other colors that were unseen to the human eye. Stars freckled that infinite and endless expanse of space, twinkling and winking down at the world. Watching, waiting, begging for someone to just look up at them.

The closest someone would ever come to witnessing Heaven before they died. The star-filled sky was a promise.

Living so close to the city all your life, you hadn't ever witnessed the true majesty of the stars and the sky until you ran away from home, and you really never got the opportunity to enjoy it until you came to Hawkins and met Eddie.

In hindsight, it was more special when it was with him.

The closest you might ever come to Heaven had been your time with him too.

"Where is Eddie, anyway?" you tilted your head away from the sky, away from the heartache, and looked back down at Cerberus, only to find that your little friend had vanished.

You called his name once, then again, squinting into the darkness to see if you could make out some shadow of his body running around the grassy hill. You even tried calling for Lucy, on the off chance she was around, but you received no response.

"Just great," you huffed and wrapped your arms around yourself. "When someone finds a demogorgon using my femur to floss its teeth tomorrow, at least Mare will know she was probably right about this being a trap."

You sighed and looked around.

"Or maybe he just got distracted by a squirrel," you rationalized, unsure of the last time your friend got to have a decent meal.

Still, you were alone.

And being alone in the night and the dark had never truly bothered you before; it was knowing that you weren't actually alone that was frightening. Knowing that something was out there, itching to kill you, was the scary part.

At least before, you had your power to protect you.

"What do I have now?" you huffed a sarcastic laugh. "God?"

You looked up to the sky again; hadn't you just thought that the sky was the closest thing to heaven that a human would witness in life? Was he up there watching? Protecting?

"Gloating?" you asked. "Maybe this wasn't Eddie leading me here, maybe this was you leading me on another path so you could gloat. Well here I am! I'm waiting for the 'told-you-so.'"

You held your arms out and tilted your head back and waited.

But nothing came. No voices, no lightning...nothing.

"You could've at least sent Gabe to stare at me with those dead eyes," you finally continued, and folded your arms against your chest once again. "But I know that's not your M.O. No I have to learn lessons myself, I need to earn forgiveness myself.

"Actually," you looked back up at the sky with raised brows, "actually, I have received forgiveness. Eddie gave it to me in the church. So hah. I think I win this battle. I'll be up in heaven soon to lodge my complaints to you in person. And I have a long list."

You laughed at the joke and then really thought about that night in the mirrored version of the church with Eddie. How beautiful and perfect those moments had been. After that, you'd really started to believe that you were worth salvation...and instead, you began your descent into decay.

"Is that what you actually wanted though?" you continued, asking a God that was probably not listening and would never answer. "To be done with this? Just like I am? Done with this curse and this family and this damnation? Done with me?

"I know I haven't been the best, but I think I've done my best, haven't I? Saved so many people, stopped the darkness time and again. How many years have been devoted to your service, to goodness, to the light? Not just by me, by all of the Knights. My nonna? What had she ever done to deserve what she got? We've all done the right thing, done what you've wanted, even if it hasn't been the right way for some of us.

"There had to be a reason for you to have chosen us? Why did you choose them, us, me? When it could've been any old so-and-so off the street. Why did you choose me when you expected me to fail?"

You shouted the last words and then heaved several deep, shuddering breaths, heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Your body was a battleground of sensations and emotions as you tried to recompose yourself: pain and tiredness and sadness and anticipation and love and hate and hate and hate and fear.

And for what?

"Why did you let me taste the light," you muttered desperately, "when the plan all along was for me to die in the dark?"

"We could wait til the morning," came an oil-slick, smarmy voice from behind you. "If that would make you happy."

You whirled on your heel and came face to face with the instrument of your demise.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" You shouted up at the sky, rage engulfing you once again. "You're gonna let Fred kill me?"

You weren't even surprised that you'd die this way. Caught with your metaphorical pants down, yelling at an invisible god, crying pathetically. But if a demogorgon ate you, at least you'd have some kind of dignity; this was just cruel.

"For what it's worth, I'm not the only one who volunteered," Fred sneered.

"That's so comforting," your head snapped back towards him. "And you won? I'm sure you're elated."

"The others got to taste you," he hissed. "It was my turn."

You did your best to stop from gagging; there was no way that Eddie would let him get his hands on you.

"I need to talk to your boss," you demanded. "Put him on the line."

"Eddie's not the boss anymore," Fred spat.

What?

"He won't be taking any calls."

"Then I need to complain to someone in charge," you snarled, trying to keep your sudden panic under control.

Eddie wasn't in charge? What did that mean? The Brides and the other vampires were engaged in some sort of fuckery that you'd witnessed in the Upside Down; you thought that was just to get rid of you, to remove Eddie's distraction, to get some kind of freedom. But to depose him completely?

You expected for Fred to either laugh in your face or cut you down, but instead he did what all of your adversaries tended to do with you: tell you their plan.

How many times had it happened? You must've just had one of those faces...

"When we died," Fred slunk towards you, one slow step at a time, wings dragging on the ground behind him. "Vecna needed us. We became a part of him, a part of the Upside Down, and in return, he regained enough power to cross back into Hawkins and enact his revenge. Our family and friends were killed...and we couldn't do anything to stop it. Until Eddie saved us."

His words were both reverent and wicked, that he saw Eddie as a leader, as a hero.

"He was ours," he said it with such devotion and desperation. "He saved us, gave us our lives back, tried to give us our souls back. And we all belonged in the Upside Down. It kept us whole, alive, together."

You took a step back at that; it kept them whole? The Upside Down? Hadn't you thought that you felt something shift in the realm itself, that it was laughing at you and mocking you? Was it alive?

"It's home," he said, as though he was answering you, and he smiled his terrifying, fang-filled smile. "It takes care of us, it keeps us alive, and in return, we keep it safe. We keep it fed. It just wants to live...and be left alone. Eleven...she opened those doors, and then Vecna kept them open for his own selfish needs...and now Eddie is doing the same.

"Because of you!" Fred lashed out with a claw and you shifted back to dodge it, only to trip on your own two feet and tumble to the ground. "You and his little friends. He clings onto his old life when we've given him everything! He betrays us for all of you! Why does he need them when we're his family now?"

"He deserves to come home," you argued weakly. "He wants to come home; I need him to come home."

"You were just about to give up," Fred taunted. "You were just about to die."

You closed your eyes for a moment, guilt filling you; he was right, you were about to give up.

"What is waiting here for him? What's waiting here for any of us? People who never bothered to mourn us? Who didn't care for us before Vecna? Who see us as monsters now?"

Then there was a shift, a change; something changed, something drastic. The slimy, smarmy, hateful voice of Fred changed--even his posture--and in its place was something different. Something old. The life behind his eyes was gone, and in its place something ancient and eternal and dark.

Not God Himself--not your God--but a God in a way. It was all true, or none of it was; that was your belief. This was the proof of the former. And now the Upside Down would use Fred to cast its final judgement of you.

"They're home," it said, stiffly and forcefully, like the words were difficult to say through this unfamiliar mouthpiece. "Let the doors shut once and for all. They belong with me. They were alone and I kept them safe within me."

It spouted off their names, both ones you recognized and ones you didn't.

Patrick, Barbara, William, Christine

On and on it went.

Frederick, Heather, Wayne, Edward

"Wayne is mine," you snapped at it, then you roared at it. "Eddie is mine."

"Then come and take him," it hissed.

"Or die trying," Fred regained control again and lifted a clawed hand to deliver one final, devastating blow. "Oh no! Too late."

Involuntarily, you closed your eyes to steel yourself from the pain...to prepare yourself for death...and you thought of Eddie. Both as he was before--imperfect, innocent, human--and now--vicious, monstrous, but still so him. You'd done that before, thought of him in the tunnels when you willed yourself to fight for him. Heaven or hell be damned; he would always be your salvation, it seemed, no matter what.

And now?

Now it was too late, and you'd die for him.

At least he'd be the last thing you saw, in your mind’s eye, before you died.

"I'm sorry," you whispered to him, tasting the saltiness of your tears on your tongue.

And you waited.

And waited.

For some sort of pain or blood. Maybe this was how death was, endless nothingness.

But there wasn't just nothing. There was a rustle of grass and leaves of the nearby trees and distant sounds of roaring and screaming from the town as the creatures attacked.

How long were you supposed to wait?

You cracked an eye open, and then blinked them both, and you stared awestruck at the sight before you.

No Fred. No nothing.

Well, not nothing.

A man, unassuming, hands folded behind his back. Dust floated on the air around him, and he stared at it rather than you, no expression on his face other than indifference. Boredom.

Gabriel.

"You fucker," you spat at him.

His brow lifted in amusement, and he spoke softly, "if I recall correctly, we’ve discussed your foul language before."

"I ignored your advice."

"An odd choice. But nothing that I shouldn't expect from you."

You sat up and looked down at yourself; no gaping wounds and nothing untoward, save for the cuts and bruises and scars you previously had.

"Am I dead?" you asked.

"Why do you think you're dead?" he questioned in return.

"Because I was about to be slaughtered by a vampire!" you shrieked.

"Don't you call me your guardian angel?" he shrugged, as if his response was the most obvious thing in the world. "I guarded you. Vanquished the demon."

You struggled to find the words to respond to that, as shocked and confused as you were.

"You...killed Fred?" It was the only thing you could think to ask, and Gabriel seemed irked by the question. "Where the hell have you been--"

"Hell," he repeated distastefully.

"--all the other times I was about to die and I needed you."

"Did you die?"

"What?"

"Have you ever died before?" he clarified.

"I needed you!"

"You thought you needed me," he explained. "You were always capable to solve it yourself. I would like to believe that tonight was a...lapse of judgment."

You let out a dry laugh and pushed yourself back to your feed; Gabriel just watched, no helping hand or anything, fucker.

"Well, thanks," you smiled. "I guess you're gonna leave me high and dry to handle it from here, so I'll be seeing you."

You turned on your heel and started walking down the hill when you blinked and Gabriel appeared before you again.

"It's a coincidence I was already on my way to you," he said, "when your Fred attacked."

"Oh lovely," you snorted. "You heard my little pity speech."

"He did."

It was a record scratch moment, and you balked.

He. He?

"David Lee Roth?" you whispered, trying to seek some comfort in humor even though you knew that this was...you didn't even know how to put to words what this was.

He. The man. The Big Boss. The almighty. God.

"He believes that you are ready," Gabriel nodded, ignoring your joke.

Your throat got tight and your eyes went wide.

"Ready...for the curse to be broken?" you asked.

The corners of Gabriel’s mouth quirked the slightest bit.

"Curse," he repeated, amused this time. "What curse?"

"The...Gabriel, so help me, if you're about to tell me that there hasn't been a curse this whole time..."

"Have you ever wondered," he interrupted you, "what your existence was for?"

"To save the world from the darkness," you replied matter-of-factly. "To end the curse on my family so they could go to heaven."

"Not yours. Humanity."

There was a beat, but then you couldn't help the laugh that escaped your mouth.

Actually, you started laughing uncontrollably, because only you, only you and only on this hill, and only with this angel would you have this kind of a conversation as monsters attacked innocents just a few miles away. After you almost died at the hand of one of those said monsters.

Do you know what the existence of humanity is for, asks the archangel to the lowly human. Good one, Gabe.

But Gabriel just stood there staring at you, earnestly expecting a response.

You sobered up enough and asked your own question, "why?"

Something that you'd come to learn about Gabriel over years of dealing with him was that he didn't like to draw things out. In fact, it seemed like he didn't liked to be here on Earth at all. Which wasn't your business as a human to know why, but was your business as his charge and the only person who could see him. He might have been a confusing bastard, but when information was important to convey, he cut to the chase.

Which was why it was odd when he said, "I'll put this in terms you'll understand: would you like a job?"

"A...job," you parroted. "What do you mean, a job? What job? I already have a job."

"You," he inhaled an unnecessary breath. "You are in training for a job. The job. His job."

And you started laughing again, maybe so you wouldn't start sobbing. But the tears came eventually, as you lost your balance and fell to your knees.

Gabriel was quick to catch you this time though, your body falling against his, arms tight around you. It was such a strange sensation, buzzing, and you weren't quite sure that you'd ever felt his touch before. This holy and pure and burning thing. Maybe when you were a small child and he was a companion instead of a constant reminder of the burden of your existence.

He was quiet as he let you cry in his arms like you had when you were a child, though. He gave you the time and patience that your confusion demanded.

The job. His job. You were ready; He believed that you were ready. The curse. The Knights. The power of heaven that coursed through their beings.

"Gabriel," you finally croaked. "I need you to tell me right now...that the Knights aren't the precursors to becoming God."

"Thou shalt not bear false witness," he recited.

"Are you kidding me?"

"I am not."

"But why me?"

"Why wouldn't it be you?"

"Because God...and the Knights...they're good," you fumbled over your words.

"And you are a Knight."

"But I'm...dark," you choked. "I'm dark and covetous and mean and evil. I'm empty."

"In the beginning," Gabriel raised a brow and looked at you intently with his fiery gaze. "There was darkness."

"And the knights protect people from that darkness," you nodded.

"But if there was only darkness in the beginning," he continued, "doesn't that mean He also came from the Dark? Like you, like everything else. From the Dark, there comes everything. From the Dark, here comes the Light."

You felt like you were losing your mind with how much it made sense; all of the things you knew, all of the things you'd learned and seen. The unjustness and hypocrisies of the church and of humans and monsters alike, all of your beliefs and the beliefs of others. It was all true, all of it.

This...this was the truth.

"But look at me," you grabbed at him desperately. "I'm..."

"You are kind and good," Gabriel began and you couldn't help but let the tears fall at his words, at the negation of every doubt you'd had in yourself over the years. "You protect those who need protection, and you inspire good in others. You see things that are wrong and unjust and you seek to fix them, and when you can't, you don't force them to be fixed. You honor the will of others."

Like every story you've heard.

"But I'm--"

"Made in His image." He nodded. "And ready to take the next step."

"Why this, why now?" you demanded.

"You often say how tired you are. He is tired. It shouldn't have taken this long. He has waited."

"Can I say no?" you whispered.

"No."

You scoffed and shooed him away from you so you could stand on your own and pace.

You tried to come up with every question, every excuse, every...everything that came hand in hand with becoming a God, and you simply couldn't say them fast enough as the answers poured into your head of their own volition. As some sort of...Godliness was anointed upon you, even though you hadn't verbally accepted.

It was all beyond understanding, yet somehow so easy to understand. Knowledge that you were never meant to know, but suddenly knew, and still couldn't reach in its entirety unless you wanted to reach it. Both tangible and intangible. Beyond a fragile mortal mind, and still made to exist in it, as though it was always meant to be there.

Made in His image, indeed.

"What about the Upside Down?" you finally said aloud, and gestured to the town behind you. "What about Hawkins?"

"There are more things in heaven and earth than can be dreamt in your philosophies,” Gabriel recited, surprising you.

“I thought you only knew how to quote religious texts,” you snarked.

“Some doors were never made to be opened," he ignored you. "And it's best if they stay shut forever. I'm sure you'll find your friends will be spared their suffering if you hasten the process of shutting that door again."

Just like Fred had said, just like the Upside Down wanted.

"What about me? My powers? I'm dying."

"In time," he explained. "your soul will heal. If you can recover the rest of it, the process will be easier. You won't die unless you're careless. I will not be able to save you again."

The rest of your soul, the other you, the piece of you that was in Eddie.

"Your power," he continued. "It's been there all along. You always had the capability, it was your lack of faith that led to your weakened state."

You frowned at him in disbelief, but as his words sunk into your mind, you felt the surge inside of you. Heavenly light spread through your body and although you still felt weak, it wasn't a superficial weakness from your wounds anymore. It stemmed from that gaping void at the center of you where your soul was shorn.

There was still that twinkle though, that warm piece of Eddie's soul that seemed to smile and basked in your strength.

Eddie.

"But what about Eddie and Wayne?" you finally asked, desperately.

Their souls, the souls of countless others, all trapped in the Upside Down thanks to Vecna and now the Upside Down itself. You couldn't just leave them there...

You couldn't leave Eddie there.

Gabriel's gaze got stormy then.

"It seems you've made up your mind, Little Knight."

And then, without another word--without so much as a good luck--Gabriel vanished.

November 6, 1983

Eddie spoke a mile a minute in relief at "Wayne's" resurrection; you could barely keep up.

Not that you were really trying to.

You were trying to hold yourself back, not to scream and cry. Not to pull Eddie away from this thing that had stolen his uncle's body.

He wouldn't understand. He wished for things to be better, he lamented being left alone, left behind. And now Wayne was back and everything was alright again.

How could you take that away from him?

He was happy, he was boyish and lively, and the antithesis of everything that his grief had allowed him to become. Not just in the days since Wayne had died, not in the days since she had left, maybe not since he himself had succumbed to Vecna's blight.

It hurt to watch him have hope, when you knew it wouldn't last forever.

And you prayed, to whatever god might be listening--you saw the corner of "Wayne's" mouth quirk--that Eddie would simply sense your apprehension and use some caution at his uncle's so-called resurrection.

But it was pointless.

"How are you alive?" Eddie asked through his relieved tears. "I couldn't heal you; I couldn't help you."

"A miracle," Wayne answered stiffly. "Maybe it was a delayed reaction; you saved me, son."

His words felt wrong; they felt like Wayne's words coming from Wayne's mouth, but there was an underlying lie to every syllable.

He was a predator, and Eddie was the prey.

Prey that walked right into his embrace, willingly.

"We'll get you home," Eddie continued. "Get you back to Rick's and set you up in that armchair with a beer and the tv remote and all of your bonanza tapes. I don't care how many ho-ho's you get at Bradley's for me, you're never coming back here again."

"No!" Wayne snapped at him, startling Eddie.

"W-what?"

"No," Wayne replied in a gentler tone this time. "No, I would rather stay here with you. How could I leave you when I just got back? Why would I ever want to leave you again?"

You felt sick at the manipulation. "Wayne" had been listening the whole time; the Upside Down always listening, ever-knowing, and always aware. Planning and biding its time until...this.

But to what end? Why was he trying to get Eddie to trust him; it wasn't like he could leave?

Oh.

But Eddie wanted to leave. He wanted to go back home, to his friends and to Wayne and to her. He wanted his old life back; he craved it. That home that he'd made, out in the wildness of the dimension past the edges of the mirrored Hawkins; it was a memory and a wish.

But wasn't that exactly what this place was? A memory and a wish and a trap to get you to stay?

And a place that everyone seemed to want to leave.

Vecna had been banished here, and the Upside Down had made a home for him while he'd recovered. Found the mechanisms of his revenge.

Countless souls trapped here--trapped--but instead of letting them wither without a vessel, the Upside Down kept them safe. But souls sought heaven, not whatever restless waste this was.

Eddie had been broken by Vecna, and then rebuilt; just like Vecna, his body couldn't sustain itself in the real world. He was more to the Upside Down than any of the others had been before; he was one of them, a part of the hive mind, part of a greater whole...and still he wished to go home.

Because of you.

You'd been getting him to hold onto his humanity this whole time; you were the only part of his soul he couldn't give up. It wasn't his to give.

Because of her.

She had been helping him. Helping you. She wanted to get him home, and whether she realized it or not she'd been pouring her soul into Eddie bit by bit, mouthful of blood by mouthful of blood; you recognized that as you got stronger and she got weaker. If it wasn't for you, he wouldn't have regained his humanity and she would've just perished.

You realized, horrified, that Eddie, who was torn in two between this world and the real world, now had a choice to m--

Eddie and "Wayne" both doubled over in pain, Eddie clutching his uncle's body in worry, even as anguish ripped through him. Roars echoed from the distance, great monstrous calls of loss. Even you felt the jagged sensations encroaching on the light within the void.

Eddie screeched a sorrowful screech, even more than he had with Wayne's death, and then fell to his knees.

"Wayne" dropped to his knees and pulled Eddie into his embrace; you could feel the dark tendrils of the Upside Down slither across your light as it penetrated Eddie's being once again looking to influence him. You dug your metaphorical feet in and stood as strong as you could against it.

"What's wrong son?" he asked. "What was that? What happened?"

"Fred," Eddie choked. "Something happened to Fred."

He rambled on, as if he couldn't put to words what it was that he felt.

"One minute he was there," he shook his head. "And then the next...I've felt them die before but this...it's like he doesn't even exist anymore.

"Where was he?" Eddie's eyes lost focus as he cast himself into the hive mind, as he tried to reach the other brides. "Hawkins? Why? They all went? Come back!"

He roared into the sky and "Wayne" tightened his grip on Eddie's shoulders.

"They need blood. You need blood. When was the last time you fed?"

"I'm fine," Eddie dismissed.

"Please," Wayne lifted his wrist to Eddie. "You need your strength."

"Eddie, no!" you snapped, interfering for the first time. Both Eddie and "Wayne's" heads snapped towards you, and Wayne even bared his teeth at you, seemingly on instinct. "No."

"No," Eddie shook his head, whether at you or "Wayne" you couldn't tell. Still, he refused his offer, and hauled himself to his feet. "Fred is gone, the others need to come home. We regroup and we figure out what happened; I can't...I can't lose anyone else."

He took a step away from "Wayne" and his wings flapped as he readied himself to take to the skies, but "Wayne" stopped him.

"What if," he began. "What if you could guarantee everyone stays safe? What if we all stayed here?"

"I don't," Eddie's brow furrowed and he paused and you closed the distance and latched yourself onto him again, staring right at Wayne as you willed the light to shine brighter.

"Why would you stay here?" you asked him. "Why should your uncle want to stay here? Think about everything waiting in Hawkins for the both of you. TV and beer and friends and music and..."

"Close the gates and protect yourself," Wayne pleaded. "Protect the friends that you have left. If your friend Fred is gone, you need to protect the others, they're the only things you have left."

It was a battle of wills as "Wayne" spoke to Eddie in one ear, and you spoke to him in the other. It was a battle that you knew you would never win; not against some eldritch being, some sentient deity of another dimension, while you weren't even whole.

"They aren't. Eddie you have them, you have them all. Your friends. Your friends. You hurt them and still they trusted you, still they believed in you. To fight against Vecna."

"They left you, they don't care about you. They always leave you. They've never understood you. Never wanted you. You're an outcast. A freak."

"I'm a freak," Eddie frowned, tears glistening in his eyes once again. "They never wanted me."

The thing about that was that you were human, and so was Eddie. That was some advantage that this thing believed it had over you, to use Eddie's humanity against you.

But then, you realized...that was the only advantage you had.

"Home, Eddie," you whispered desperately now and let the seed of the idea be planted deep within him. Not just for him, but for you too. "You want to go home. She's there, she needs you. She's waiting for you Eddie. You can cross the gate and go to her; I know you can."

"I want," he shook his head and looked at Wayne, his own internal battle going. "I want..."

You could feel it, it was on the tip of his tongue; he wanted to go home.

Get there, Eddie, say it.

But he couldn't.

So the battle raged on between an angel and devil on either of his shoulders.

October 31, 1987

The walk back to the Harrington’s was another solitary one.

Thankfully, you had the strength to do it this time.

It was also strange having your powers back.

Back, as though they'd gone anywhere according to Gabriel.

At first, you thought that was a bullshit response—you lost your power because you believed you lost your power; you felt the Upside Down or Eddie or whatever drain you, so you willed you’re own demise—but you knew that beliefs were important. You'd once told Eddie, on the anniversary of his mother's death, that Heaven was anything that she wished it to be. Anything that he wished for her, too.

And in some way, in your newly-acquired God-knowledge, you felt some sort of reassurance that Eddie's mother had received exactly what she believed Heaven to be. It was a warm feeling and it bloomed inside of the void as your Eddie rejoiced in it too.

You giggled at the feeling; it almost tickled.

"Gonna have to get used to that," you rubbed the space over your heart.

You tried to conjure other thoughts, other truths--what Heaven was for your Nonna, your entire family line now that you knew the curse dead broken, for all intents and purposes. You questioned what taking this job really meant...did that mean endless power and immortality? What were your responsibilities? What could you control? Did that mean that you were Gabriel's boss now too? Would he come if you called? Prayed?

That just brought the question of prayers themselves/ You couldn't hear any, from anyone; did that mean they never made it to God in the first place?

However, your thoughts were cut short when you sensed something dreadful happening ahead. It was innate; someone was in danger, in pain, and you knew.

With your restored strength, you took off running, each footstep taken with surety. Until you came across a pack of demogorgons tearing into the flesh of a still-screaming woman.

It didn't take much to kill them.

You reached out and conjured the fires from the depth of the earth to melt their flesh into the ground. You were shocked to find that the fact that their bodies and spirits and minds were not of this earth affected you. It was like a static shock, surging up your fingers. You winced when the last of them let a death cry out into the night, and rubbed your fingers together to ease the sting.

Killing monsters hadn't ever done that before; was that the Upside Down reacting to an adversary attacking it? Or perhaps it had something to do with your soul still being fragmented?

Now that you were aware of the complexities of your existence, fragmented wasn't even the right word in the first place; missing was the more accurate description. The part of you that Eddie had, the other you, was more you than you were right now. Exponentially so. You already knew something was missing, that you had scraps, but...you didn't even have scraps.

You had threads.

What did that mean? Did that mean if you let your soul heal that there would suddenly be another you out there? Would she eventually fade away? Did she just belong to Eddie now, like the Eddie in you belonged to you? How could you even heal it, when there was so little of you left? Your God-knowledge reassured you, but there was still so much confusion.

"Help," the choking voice of the woman broke you from your wondering, and you closed the distance and lowered yourself to her side.

It was a horrific sight; she was bleeding, dying, disemboweled, and missing chunks of flesh. And in the dark, you could see the wisps of her soul begin to depart from her body, ready to make the ascent. It was a sight to behold, one that you only really sensed before and never saw.

"My...daughter," she gasped. "I...can't..."

"It's ok," you shushed her, and cast out a calming energy. "It'll be ok."

With the shackle of your curse and of the church finally broken, you did what you'd always known was right; you reached out and set your hand on her torn shoulder and you cast your healing light into her, poured life right back in as it escaped from her body. Her skin knit back together, her midsection and her other wounds healed in the blink of an eye, until she simply lay there, whole, in the puddle of her blood and demogorgon guts.

It felt good, it felt right, like this was what you were meant to do all along. Your nonna’s words echoed in the back of your mind: you were made for miracles.

You held the woman as she cried, shushed her and reassured her, and then you realized that there was someone else that needed you more than she did right now.

You left her with a soft touch to the top of her head, and then set forth again, running as fast as your body could bear. It still wasn't easy, you hated running--

What good was being a God if you still sucked at running?

--but you finally made it to the Harringtons.

In fact, you bypassed the house entirely and threw open the garage door to reveal Steve's body still on that table.

There was a horrible pang in your heart as you laid eyes on him.

The wisps of his soul had almost fully departed his body; they were thin and faded, and he was almost gone. Gone to heaven, you knew instinctively, whatever that looked like for him.

Could you heal him? Revive him?

Should you?

He'd fought this fight against the Upside Down for a long time; would it be better to let him go? Maybe if you'd have realized that you were the one holding yourself back right after Eddie had done this to him, you wouldn't have had such hesitation and you would've resurrected him immediately.

But now?

Was this what being a God was like? Making decisions. Or, more appropriately, not making them? Making the wrong ones?

You continued to contemplate for a moment, then you reached out to try and touch one of the wisps of Steve's soul. They were intangible, but they intrinsically felt like a finely woven cloth, so many aspects of Steve intermingled with his friends and his family and neighbors.

You even felt a little bit of Eddie in there, the tiniest bit; echoes of the two of them walking amidst a cropping of trees in the Upside Down...talking.

Steve was one man...but his friendship and his protection touched and affected so many. Nancy had said how long he'd fought and how much he'd lost; you knew that feeling, and if you were to die...you'd probably wish to stay dead instead of continuing fighting for longer.

"That's a lie and you know it, sweetheart," Eddie whispered inside of you.

For a second, you were distracted by the smug realization that he wouldn't be able to call you Angel anymore.

"You'll always be my Angel."

And he'd always be the pain in your ass.

"So what are you gonna do?"

"What would you do?" you asked aloud.

He had the good sense to remain silent, though.

You sighed and hung your head, then moved your hand down to place on Steve's forehead.

"I'm sorry I caused this," you whispered to him. "I'm sorry I got the ball rolling on this chain of events; if only I knew what I was doing, things could've been different. I could've saved more people instead of being so selfish; I could've found a way to help and I could've gotten myself here some other way."

Could you have, though? Or had this always been the path?

"But there's no use in dwelling in the past," you continued. "I need you to know now...if I bring you back, it's not going to be easy. I need to fix this, I need to end this. And I'm going to need your help to do it. Save Eddie, save Wayne, save as many of our friends as we can, save Hawkins. You might die again. Shit, Gabriel said I might even die if I'm not careful."

You sensed a bit of apprehension in the lingering soul of Steve Harrington; he wanted to live, but he also didn't want to die again.

"This time, though, if you die...you die protecting your friends, instead of getting your head torn off because of me," you offered him. "So what do you say Steve? You up for one last hurrah? For Hawkins?"

And you couldn't help but laugh as the shape of Steve's soul shifted and almost looked like someone standing with their hands on their hips.

You pressed one hand to Steve's forehead and the other to his chest and you closed your eyes; you thought back to that night in the rain, the way that Billy...Eddie had torn into him, the sound of him choking, the breaking of his spine.

You let the images repeat themselves over and over again as you stayed there on the ground, helpless.

Eventually though, as the scene began again, you picked yourself up, and you walked over to Billy and Steve. You reached out and you stopped Steve's body from falling, and you stepped into him. You didn't need to pour yourself, you didn't need to imagine the threads of his being knit back together; no, you pushed the very essence of life and survival and love and friendship and everything that Steve was back into him.

You let your nimble, phantom fingers stitch his severed head back on with the threads of his soul that had escaped. You willed the blood to flow through his veins instead of spilling onto his clothes. You breathed life back into his lungs; you took every breath for him and with him, until you felt his chest rise and fall under your touch once again without your guidance.

You opened your eyes and stepped back; with baited breath, you watched as Steve's limbs twitched. He groaned and pushed himself upwards with those limbs until he was seated upright. He held his head with his hands, and then shifted them downwards to touch the now-thicker scar encircling his neck.

You cast one more wave of yourself, of your knowledge and plans, into him. You gave him one last chance to turn back and deny another chance at life.

Why did you ever think he would deny it?

Finally, he opened his eyes and locked them right onto yours.

"So," he said with a gravelly voice. "Are we gonna save the world, or what?"

"You are the light in a dark place. You are the water to my drought. You are everything I never knew existed and everything I wanted all at the same time." — Shelly Crane, Catalyst

Next Chapter: Atonement COMING SOON

[areyouwell]

Ut Supra, Sic Infra Masterlist:

Ch.1, Memento Mori – Remember Death

Ch.2, Alea Iacta Est – The Die is Cast (coming soon)

[lampyoil]

I dare you to draw an AASB character

i didnt have my phone all day so this was the first thing ive drawn,, forgive this for being a bit under rendered im very sleepy

Still need to draw haniel..

[deny-the-issue]

As Above So Below

Chapter Nine: Tides of Fate

Previous Chapter, Next Chapter

As Above So Below Masterlist

Summary: Unintended consequences catch up with you.

This chapter is rough, but please hang in there! Remember, there are four more chapters after this <3

Thank you to @silcoitus for beta reading! <3

AO3 Link

Ko-fi Link

Taglist: @arcaneincorrectquotess, @lazycondensedmilk, @zauns-eye, @crunchlite, @alva-dore, @roxannadanna831, @astudyincontrasts, @mmartos, @ilikemymendarkandfictional, @juniper-sunny, @roxnpens, @a-gal-with-taste, @artwithvivien, @leave-me-alone-doctor, @fantadym

[Explicit Language] [Demon!Silco] [Silco x reader] [silco x fem!reader] [Major Character death] [angst] [mentions of suicide] [gore] [torture] [5.3k words]

Every fiber of your being floats on a cloud of bliss, coming down to earth one sense at a time. First, it’s the slightly dusty, sex-tinged scent reminding you of a night well spent. Then, the feeling of Silco’s fingers lazily massaging your scalp, prolonging your drowsy state as your face rests on his warm, gently rising chest. And lastly, the ungodly ache settling in between your legs and in your throat. It’s almost enough to keep you from feeling the straps of his vest digging uncomfortably into your cheek. 

You lift your head, eyes weepy with sleep, barely noticing the string of saliva still connecting your face to him as you try to rub the linear indents from your cheek. When you do, you’re too exhausted to be embarrassed and clean off his vest with the corner of a blanket, flashing him a reassuring smile that’s not returned. 

“What did that accomplish?” He asks, gesturing to the slightly damp blanket with a small, irate flick. 

“To clean it? Do you not know what cleaning is?”

His face scrunches up, bewildered, before his voice rises with well-practiced contempt. “By soiling the bedding?”

“Even more, you mean?” You flash him a puckish smile, and his face relaxes almost immediately. 

In another moment, he can’t stop the crooked smirk that curls his scarred lips. And you can’t help but kiss that beautiful curve, pushing yourself up with a hand on his chest for a quick but adoring peck before falling back down. The accosting affection happens too fast for Silco to guard his expressions, and you catch a delicious glimpse of vulnerable shock before it washes away as quickly as it appeared, leaving only a notable color on his unmarred cheek. 

“I’m relieved that you’re feeling yourself again—I worried the position caused lasting brain damage.”

“I mean, maybe. I was upside down for a while. And if that didn’t do it, the finale certainly did.” You nuzzle your face into him again with a content smile; straps be damned. 

Silco’s arms tense around you as he speaks slowly and deliberately, “Brain damage is not a good thing.”

You bark out a laugh, unrestrained. Silco twitches, slightly perturbed by your outburst, and loosens his grip on you. Slightly embarrassed but unable to quell the storm, you cover your mouth and roll onto your back as you unravel into sleepy giggles. 

“No shit!” You finally manage to say after a few shakey, deep breaths. “Of course, it isn’t. I’m just a troll.”

His brow raises, head nodding in agreement as he traces your jawline with a finger. “Beautiful menace.”

You smile like a fool, all too proud of the title. 

“Let’s get cleaned up.”

The thought of using your legs has a low groan escaping your pouting lips. 

“I don’t want to go home yet, Silco.” You say, eyes pleading. 

“Why go home,” he pauses with a proud air about him, “when you could use my bathroom?”

You prop yourself on your elbows as it dawns on you. “There’s running water?!”

No sooner does he nod that you’re sprinting to the bathroom on weak, wobbly legs, shouting behind you. “Good, ‘cause I really gotta pee!”

Silco is still on the bed when you return as fresh as you can be without a shower. His clothes are changed—rich blood-red silk drapes his body in shimmery decadence, and the mattress is now on the floor next to the broken frame. It’s quite the elegant sight; seeing your devil lying there, hands behind his head, dozing off. You’d prefer him without the clothing, though.

You bounce Silco awake by flopping onto the mattress, pulling a pillow under your head as you lie on your side, facing him. 

“Can I tell you something?” you inquire, biting your lip nervously now that the process has started.

He nods lazily, teal eye half-closed as he fights off sleep.

“I… dreamed about this. About us,” you reveal, confidence waning.

Are you being stupid? Probably. Do you regret mentioning it? Yes. Do you now have to explain it anyway? Also yes.

There’s just no putting the cat back in the bag. You take a deep breath and prepare to continue when he interrupts your slow thought process.

“I know.”

Two words. Two, simple, words. How can two words break your brain so thoroughly? 

“What–how?”

He answers with silence, one eye closed as the other drifts up to the ceiling, his breathing slow and relaxed. 

Did he seriously fall asleep while talking to you—after revealing something like that?! 

There's nothing like curious determination to put the wind back in your sails. You shake him awake, not even taking the time to appreciate the heat of his body bleeding through the rich fabric.

“What do you mean, ‘you know’? HOW?!” 

He groans, giving you an icy glare as he removes your hands from him.

“I possess the power to dream-walk, but it was you who made the connection. There are those among your kind that share these magical abilities—you call them ‘mages’.”

“I’M A MAGE?!” You explode into a fit of excitement. 

“NO—let me finish,” he chastises, continuing after you settle back down, “As I was saying, you are not a mage. It was just another side-effect of the flowers’ pollen.”

“Yeah, but, how do you know I’m not a mage?” You ask, very disappointed but still hoping. 

“You lost the ability to dream-walk, yes?”

The past few weeks have been quite lonely for you, and only now do you have a reason. You sigh as your hasty hopes of becoming a powerful mage dissipate. 

Wait. He can dream-walk. He was IN my dreams. 

And he has fucked you in every. Single. One. 

“Hey!” You playfully punch his arm, “You could have said something! And why did it always have to be a sex dream?!”

Silco smiles a mischievous, proud display of amusement, devilishly handsome. “You pulled me into the dreams—if you are searching for the perverse, you need only look in the mirror.”

You roll onto your back as your mind goes into shock, both from the whiplash of his sass and the grand revelation. 

“I would also like to confess something.” 

His voice has a strange, hushed tone, and you prop yourself on your side to face him again. The amusement fades from his features slowly as you wait patiently, sensing this is not the time to push him. 

“I cannot remember my past life—my human life. Only the shadows of memories remain, and they contain more feeling than anything of use.” His eyes never leave the ceiling as he speaks. 

You gently take his hand and say the only words your aching heart can find. “I’m sorry.”

He squeezes your hand, accepting the small gesture of comfort as his eye flutters closed, heavy with sleep once again. Unfortunately, this is the perfect moment for your brain to remember something that may help him. 

“Hey, so, I know this guy—a scientist, mostly. He might be able to tell you something useful.”

He perks up, eyes settling on you curiously. “What makes you think he can help a demon?”

“He’s not exactly human himself. He was—at least, I assume he was at one point. Oh, and don’t be mad, but he did send that crazy guy after me.”

“He’s the one that tried to kill you?” Silco’s face twitches with anger. 

“Well—yeah. But you’re a demon! You’ll be fine.”

“That is not what I meant.”

“Just promise not to kill him until you ask about your memories?”

“I will try my best.” He sighs heavily, conjuring his eye patch and donning it as a silent suggestion. 

Sleep comes fast to you both, and for once, you welcome your dreamless slumber with open arms. 

You wake in an empty bed, reaching out over Silco’s still-warm indent. Rolling over, you find him standing in front of the wardrobe, buttoning his sleeves. He senses your gaze and turns toward you, features harsh in the morning light. 

None of the softness remains from the night before, but you chalk it up to resting-bitch-face. 

“Tell me what you learned of the shop.” His command is blunt, but his voice is as sharp as a scalpel.

“Good morning to you, too,” you mutter, starting to gather your scattered clothing. “House Ferros is behind the factory.”

“Do you have proof?”

“They sent a fixer to the shop, and I just so happen to know who he works for,” you shrug before pulling up your pants.

“And why did they send someone?” he growls, patience wearing thin. 

Fully clothed now, you cross your arms, temper rising with each response. “Because I broke a fuckin’ window! You wanted to know who is behind it, and now you know—what’s the problem?”

He closes the gap between you, face tense with barely concealed rage. “Were you seen?” 

You drop your gaze and sigh, “Yeah, maybe.”

“How could you be so reckless?!” He yells, throwing his hands up in the air. 

The reaction surprises you as much as it shames, and you’re quick to backtrack. “It’s fine—he doesn’t know who I am! He can’t know who I am!”

“You cannot know that! Why are you so willing to throw your life away?”

“I’m not!” You protest defiantly, defenses rising. 

“I thought that monster of a man killed you when I found your mask in his hands! You would have been if I hadn’t ripped him to pieces!” He sneers, backing you against the wall with his rage. 

“I’ve changed!” You fight back, fists shaking at your side. 

“Your indifference in the face of danger is just as detrimental!” He grabs your wrists so hard you wince, shaking you as he continues his verbal assault. “You risked your life not because you care for those people—you’re suicidal!”

“Shut the fuck up!” You cry, trying to rip yourself from his grip. “Get off of me!”

“Did you not tell me as much the first night we met? Do you not remember?” He pushes you against the wall, hard and unrelenting, leaning in close to hiss through clenched teeth. “‘slit my throat—leave my body in this alley.’”

His hellfire breath burns your face, but not as much as his next words. “I thought better of you.”

All of the fight leaves you like smoke clearing from the rubble, leaving only damage in its wake. When he releases his punishing grip, you collapse against the wall, utterly numb except for your shaking breath. Silco steps away from you to peer out the window, and smooths back his hair, righting the errant strands, chest still heaving with anger. 

Your fight or flight response kicks in without his oppressive gaze to weigh it down. Pushing off the wall, you take off down the hallway, snatching your boots along the way. Clumsy feet stumble down the stairs, your shoulder crashing into the wall of the landing before sliding down the rest of the way on your heels—only Janna knows how you didn’t fall.

You hear him calling after you, but not clearly enough to decipher words. Why would you want to hear them, anyway? He’s hurt you enough for a lifetime. Tears start to well in your eyes as soon as you rip open the front door, bare feet hitting the pavement. You don’t stop—nothing can stop you. Bloody heels are a welcome pain next to the desolation brewing in your chest. 

Once you’re far enough away, you stop to slip the boots on, not bothering to lace them up. Stop too long and the raging storm of emotions will catch up; you feel the rain spitting at your back, tears slowly but steadily trailing down your face.

How could it have gone to shit so fast? Was your plan that hair-brained? You suppose it was, given that you were most likely spotted. 

This shouldn’t come as a surprise to you—everything you touch rots in one way or another. 

Dammit, you tried! You tried to be a better person, and you tried to do the right thing. But what if he’s right? What if you were just searching for a way to kill yourself this entire time? 

With home just around the bend, your feet pick up their already rushed pace, and you push your feelings back behind the overflowing dam for just a little longer. But when your front door comes into view, you see two people standing in front of it; one smaller, feminine figure with blond hair, and a large familiar man. 

You recognize the lady immediately as Sofia, Grim’s mother, and the other hulking figure as the owner of The Last Drop, Marius. The confusing pair turns toward you at the sound of your footsteps, and before you have time to think, she’s running you down.

The unstoppable woman meets the dumbfounded obstacle, and she tackles you to the ground. You land hard with your back taking the brunt of it. Her fingers claw at your shirt until it’s firmly within her steely grip. 

“Where is he?!” She screams in your face, hands shaking.

You don’t answer—how could you? She shakes you violently, and the back of your skull cracks against the pavement. Ears ringing, vision splotchy, you’re only vaguely aware of Marius pulling her off of you.  

She’s kicking and screaming, trying her damndest to break free from Marius’ iron embrace. You barely have the drive to sit up, lazily feeling the back of your head. Fingers come away bloody, and nausea swirls in your stomach. 

“Calm down, dammit!” Marius yells, “I said I’d help ya, so let me help!”

Surprisingly, she listens to him and doesn’t attack again when Marius releases her. Putting up a cautious hand blocking her, he walks to you. Meaty hands pick you up with ease, attempting to right you. 

His touch sends a bolt of anger through you, and you recoil with a pathetic cry, crashing against a nearby wall for support. 

“What the fuck do you want from me?!” 

Marius takes a step back, confusion and hurt flashing across his face. “She came to the bar looking for you—said you had her son.”

“And you believed her?!” 

“No—I told her you wouldn’t do anything of the sort! But she needed to know, and I offered to help. Look at what happened! It’s a damn good thing I’m here.”

“So, is he here or not?” She interrupts, voice venom-laced. 

“No, you dumb bitch! Why would he be with a fuck-up like me?! It’s not my fault you lost your son!”

She screams and lunges, but this time Marius is fast enough to catch her. He starts to heave her away, but before he leaves, he glances back at you, shaking his head with clear disapproval. 

Cursing under your breath, you move to your front door and push the key into the lock. Turning it, you’re surprised to feel no resistance. It’s unlocked?

Did you forget? You don’t think so—that’s one thing you always remember. 

Fuck it—you open it, letting it swing wide until it hits the wall with a soft thump. Everything is dark except for the kitchen light, which you most definitely left off. There isn’t a kitchen less used in the undercity, and you’re surrounded by abandoned buildings. 

Steeling yourself for what may be lurking, you cautiously tip-toe to the edge of the archway leading to the kitchen, staying out of the light spilling from it. Holding your breath, you peek over the woodwork, heartbeat pounding in the back of your head. Then you sigh, sagging in relief when you spy nothing amiss aside from a piece of paper on your otherwise empty table. 

The wooden chair creaks heavily as you collapse in it, and you take a moment to rest your aching head on the cool metal surface of the table. 

Dizzy and dozing, a random medical fact wiggles its way into your ear. 

Don’t fall asleep alone with a concussion. 

Somehow, you peel your heavy eyelids open and force yourself upright. The paper is either blank or upside down. Lazily, you flip it over, blinking at the handwriting. Jumbled and ever-changing, you have to refocus your eyes multiple times before you can read the whole message. 

My dear, 

you couldn’t have left a clearer trail. I should thank you, really. 

You weren’t home, so we grabbed the next best thing. 

Meet us at the old factory, and he’ll live. 

Sine

The paper falls from your hands as the meaning dawns on you. You fucked up, and now they have Grim. 

Pushed to the edge with a temper like a hairline fracture, you flip the table, screaming as you do. The chairs are next in your path of destruction; you grab them one by one, smashing everything you can before the wood is just as splintered and broken as you. 

Only after there is nothing left to destroy does your mind come back to you. Surrounded by the remnants of your kitchen, you fall to your knees. The whole world shrieks at you, recent memories clawing at your chest, all while something dark stirs within the vortex of pain consuming your heart. 

Something familiar—something that should have stayed buried. 

Silco’s voice echoes in your mind, “You risked your life not because you care for those people–you’re suicidal!”

Tears streaming down your face, you laugh. Pathetic, barely audible, gasps of air that could be mistaken for sobbing. But then the mania hits, and your whole body is shaking with the force of it. Despite the pain it causes your head—despite your torn, bloodied hands—despite ruining everything you worked so hard to achieve these past few months. 

You laugh. 

“Nothing’s changed!” You cry with every last drop of air in your lungs. 

Whimpering now, slumped in the mess you made with jagged breaths and hoarse lungs. “I’m not changed…”

Silco was right. 

The thought is bitter in your mouth as you take in the sights of the Undercity one last time. Yet here you are, walking headfirst into certain death. 

You can claim that it’s all for Grim, but you’re not in denial any more. Ekko would surely blame you just as much as you blame yourself. There is nothing left for you in this world, and it’s about time you stop pretending. 

You’re not nice or kind—certainly not selfless. The warpath is laid in front of you, primed and paved with the blood of the innocent; and your broken soul is reaching through the cracks, hungry for violence. 

At the very least, you’d like the chance to take out that bastard Sine. If you don’t deserve to live, he deserves to be dismembered. So Infamous are his crimes that House Ferros is among the most feared in the political world. 

Of course, with him gone another rat will fill his place—just not one as efficient and heinous. But that’s not your problem, even if they do somehow find another as cold and cruel as him. You won’t be here to see it. 

The old factory comes into view, its gate just as bent and broken as the last time you saw it. Hands shoved in your pockets, you trudge forward, keeping your head on a swivel. So far the place looks completely abandoned—the trucks and crates are all cleared out, leaving your footsteps to echo eerily as you approach the mouth of the factory, open and inviting. 

The darkness swallows you whole for a moment before your eyes adjust to the dim, windowless interior. Drips and drops of leaky pipes ricochet off the stone walls, and the damp, moldy air claws at your nose. 

You walk through a second set of doors leading to the main factory floor. Light filters in through the ruined glass ceiling, its dull light revealing conveyor belts and machinery littering the room, too deteriorated and dusty to have been used in this decade. They seem to have been cleared somewhat to the side, leaving a wider area of free space. 

You freeze when your eyes lock on the unmoving form of Grim. His mouth is gagged, and his head is sagging off to one side. Sweat beads at your temples as you look for signs of life, holding your breath even as your lungs scream for air. 

He sways in his seat as his chest rises and falls slowly. A shuddering breath of relief rips from your chest, and you act without thinking. One step forward, another—faster this time—you stumble toward the bait, panic gripping your heart in a vice. 

Cruel laughter erupts from behind. You spin around and fall squarely on your ass. Scrambling backward like a frantic crab, you move away from the predator about to make his move. 

“Are you even trying, my dear?” Sine sneers, lips curling upward in a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “This was too easy.”

You grit your teeth and stand tall, anger taking the place your fear should be. Even in the low light, you recognize the glint of a knife in his right hand. 

The overdramatic tones of his voice contrast harshly with his threatening visage, and the dissonance makes him appear nightmarish as he leisurely approaches. Each step is calm and collected, but you sense the danger underneath, coiled tightly like a snake about to strike.

You maintain your distance, treading backward cautiously as your eyes never leave the monster in front of you. Grim lets out a hushed sob, and you cannot help but glance behind. Before you can blink, Sine is on top of you, pushing you to the ground. The thin blade of his knife presses against your throat, cutting your fight short. His weight pins you to the floor, rancid breath bathing your face in a disgusting stew of rotten teeth and onions. 

“Please tell me you brought a weapon?” He pleads while his free hand pats you down.

You push fruitlessly against him as your entire body tenses under his touch.

“Get the fuck off me!” you growl through gritted teeth when his touch lingers where it shouldn’t.

“But the fight is the best part!” He laughs, madness seeping into the heightening tones of his delight.

A shuddering growl leaves your trembling lips. The sound excites him, and the prospect turns your stomach. Eyes closed tight, you beat your emotions down with a few deep breaths.

Forget the knife—forget his hand. Focus, dammit. You do not have to give him what he craves. When your eyes open again, you see the pathetic man under the monster’s skin and smile.

“You’ll get no such satisfaction from me,” you say with a flat voice. 

He sneers, pondering you for a moment before flipping you on your stomach. With movements stronger than you would credit him for, he binds your hands behind your back and pulls you off the ground by your arms. You’re barely back on your feet before he pushes you into the chair opposite Grim. 

For the first time, your terrified gazes meet. Tear-streaked, dirty face and watery eyes—the sight is a punch in the gut. 

“Let him go—you said you’d let him go if I surrendered!”

“And that’s still true,” his voice sing-song as he loops your bound arms around the back of the chair. 

“I won’t talk until you do.”

He chuckles as he ties your feet to the chair legs from behind. Cursing under your breath, you hoped he would tie them from the front so you could at least kick him. But no—he’s too experienced for your petty tricks. 

When he rises, he hums curiously as his hands poke and prod at your blood-matted hair. “My, my—you have such an affinity for trouble.”

You grimace as his fingers press into your wound, but hold back your cry of pain. Your body betrays you though; back as stiff and straight as a gurney, fingernails digging into your palms. 

“Oh, this is going to be fun.” He walks into your view, twirling his switchblade in his hand. 

Grim starts to shake when Sine grows near, terrified eyes locked on the knife, but it’s out of his sight before long. You struggle against your bindings when Sine stops behind him, holding the knife out threateningly with a smile. 

“Don’t you fucking hurt him!”

He smirks, satisfied with your outburst, and cuts Grim free. 

The boy flops to the ground, his movements wobbly and uncoordinated. 

“What did you do to him?” You ask, wrought with worry. 

“Oh, come now. I don’t hurt kids. I find them loud and irritating, but that’s nothing a little sedative can’t cure.” Sine takes great joy in watching Grim stagger out of the factory as fast as his drunk legs will allow. “He’ll be fine in a couple of hours.”

You can only hope Sine is telling the truth. Janna only knows what he did to Grim before you arrived. The kid can barely keep his mouth shut, and yet he didn’t utter a single thing. 

Seething hatred courses through you at the thought. But with no hope of freeing yourself, and no wiggle room to even make a dent, you hang your head in defeat, revolted by your weakness. 

You should have brought a weapon, dammit! But you foolishly thought there would be more than just Sine waiting for you. Why did you think that? You’re not important—not terribly dangerous either. Why would you warrant such a greeting?

A short burst of air forces its way from your lungs, the sound of forbidden amusement. You really haven’t changed, have you? Even after all of this. 

You can’t help but find it funny, in a hopeless way. 

Sine drags the empty chair closer and takes his seat, unfazed by your reactions. Expertly, the blade pushes through your pants at the knee, and the point of entrance stings as fresh blood hits the air. 

“Oops!” Sine looks overjoyed at the sight of the small cut and dangles the point of his knife over it. 

Resting just behind your patella, you can only imagine the world of pain it would cause if he sunk it deep into your leg. 

“Now that we’re alone—we can start. You’ve been such a naughty girl, but you’re not capable of dismantling the factory single-handed. Politics,” he spits, scrunching his face in disgust, “never interested me. This is personal, let me assure you. See, not only did you destroy such a lucrative business, but you also cut them off from those intoxicating little flowers. I supplied the subjects for their experiments, of course, and in turn, I observed the most remarkable transformations since the invention of Shimmer!”

Sine’s voice hits an all-time high, brimming with excitement, but starts to warp, contorting with rage. “And you RUINED it!” 

Your blood-curdling scream echoes through the factory as he sinks the knife into you. The pain is white-hot, shooting up your leg and shredding your nerves as it rides the rigid posture of your spine. 

You see the knife sticking out and hyperventilate, barely holding in another scream. Loud, heaving sobs shake your body, sweat soaking through your clothes. 

Sine looks bored through it all, sitting back in his chair and crossing his legs like he’s in a waiting room. “Do hurry up and get it out of your system….”

All gnashing teeth and strained muscles, you lash out like a caged, feral animal. He snorts, clearly tickled by your pathetic display. The fight leaves your body with a final, wretched sob, and you bow your head again: jaw slack, a line of drool hanging off your lips, and quietly sniffling. 

Sine clears his throat as if your pain were a mere annoyance. “Now, where were we? Oh, yes. Other than an obviously unrelated report of a burger-stealing demon, I haven’t heard much of anything of our dear friend. Won’t you tell me about him?”

“I don’t,” you swallow hard, voice raspy from strain, “I don’t really know him.”

“But surely you can tell me where to find him?”

“Why?” The answer comes to your bedraggled mind as soon as the question leaves your mouth. 

“To put him out of his misery—the same as you.” Sine drops his casual facade and leans in close. “Do I have to repeat myself?”

The words should come easy, but you choke on them. You hate him—don’t you? Yes, you fucked up, but Silco used you. Dammit! Then why can’t you give him up? 

Sine grumbles and grabs the knife, wiggling it while watching you with sick satisfaction as you squeal. 

You beg incoherently in between shuddering sobs before crying out, “I’ll tell you-I’ll tell you everything! Pl–please stop!”

Sine releases the knife and sits back again, mercifully letting you catch your breath. 

“He lives by the old r-revolutionary statue. The place with the glass roof,” you slur, voice quivering. 

“And here I thought you were loyal.” Sarcasm drips from his melodic tones.

“You didn’t give me a choice,” you murmur, head lolling off to the side. 

“There is always a choice. You could have chosen to be a beggar on the street rather than work in a chop-house. Just like you could have chosen to take the bullying, but the same is true now as it was then. You despise people; you work at Mort’s because, at the end of the day, you like it. You’re the dredge of society, and you know it.”

“I’m flattered you took such an interest in me,” you rasp.

It is with only small satisfaction that you imagine Sine’s gnarly fate at the hands of an actual demon. He pulls the knife from you in a swift, fluid motion. Through gritted teeth, you bare it, and the feeling barely registers over the swelling pain. 

Sine stands over you, leaning one hand on the back of your chair while pulling back the other, and sighs. “Mort’s won’t be the same without you.”

The air leaves your lungs in a burst as his hand punches into your gut, and it’s only on the pullout that you see the crimson spilling out of you. Another punch, another, and another. Sine grunts from the effort, panting, eyes wide as he plunges the knife into you without end. 

“Fuck,” you whimper, watching your shirt stain red. 

Sine rests his hands on his knees to catch his breath with a wide, manic smile stretching his face unnaturally. Calmer now, he wipes the blade on your sleeve as he walks behind you. Just as swiftly as he cut Grim free, he releases your bindings, pushing your already slumping body the rest of the way to the hard ground. 

The fall was hard, and you swear you hear your shoulder pop from the impact, but you don’t feel it. Your warmth drains out of you through so many wounds, but you don’t see it. 

Body growing cold and numb, your mind sinks somewhere further in, deep inside your body, but not of it. You welcome the feeling—this is the release you longed for, isn’t it?

Tears spill from your eyes as readily as the blood from your abdomen. Your wants no longer matter when you’re adrift between life and death. 

Everything grows still—so very quiet that you think death has taken you. It is here, floating on the precipice, that you hear faint echoes of familiar voices. 

Then, screaming hurts your ears as the world comes rushing back into focus. You open your eyes to see two bloody hands snapping in front of your face. Sofia kneels before you, eyes brimming with fiery anger. 

She speaks—you’re too far gone to understand her, but she’s holding your hand oh so gently. Why? Why do you deserve such kindness? Oh, Janna, you don’t deserve this, but it feels so nice. 

With the last of your energy, you squeeze her hand tight and mutter, “I’m sorry.”

The numbness overtakes you, carrying away your torment and your pain, along with your last breath.

Next Chapter

[birrdies]

Just finished reading as above so below

I have never wanted to eat a fic so bad, it was so so wonderful and im so glad i git to read it. The story felt so strangely real and all the folklore and little horror aspects reealllyy tickle a part of my brain that ive desperately wanted tickled.

Honestly this fic was so amazing and when i saw that it had been conpleted i just felt so sad lol. Really, this was an amazing amazing fic PLEASE continue to write more it was absolutely brilliant <3

I am so beyond glad that you enjoyed it, truly. I had a blast writing it, and I'm so lucky to be able to share it with so many people who were just as excited reading it as I was writing it < 3 This fic is definitely my baby. Thank you for reading and taking the time to send me such a nice message!! I have so many more ideas brewing (as well as a few other things already completed) that I'm really looking forward to sharing, so please stay tuned for those!

[neonmalware]

The Devil