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Chapter Text

"It's time to stop painting…"

Verso felt his edges unravelling, the warm breeze passing through the petals that peeling off of him. He reached out towards the swirling chroma of the portal between worlds, and everything went dark.

--

Verso opened his eyes. The world was painted in shades of grey, rolling hills and long grass around his feet. He could hear the buzz of a beehive somewhere behind him. He blinked. He wasn't breathing, felt nothing as he turned over his hands in front of his face. They should have been bleeding, or at least dirty.

WELCOME. A voice sounded inside his head, he spun around and found himself toe to toe with…

"What…who are you?" He furrowed his eyebrows, but felt oddly calm. "I'm…I'm dead aren't I?"

YES. Said the voice. BUT DON'T GET TOO COMFORTABLE.

In front of him the figure morphed from a vague grouping of grey tones into the figure that was, probably, roughly human. They towered above Verso, golden eyes shining underneath a heavy grey hood. Silver strands of hair peeked out around the face. The armour gleamed under the light of a pale moon, hanging wistfully in the grey sky above.

"I'm sorry, but who are you? And why aren't I dead!"

The figure drummed their fingers on the shaft of the weapon in their hand, a long vicious edge extending out beyond their shoulder.

"I AM," they cleared their throat, "ugh damn these theatrics. I'm Death Incarnate. And you are not yet ready to die."

Verso grabbed at his hair and let out a rough cry. "Aaagh for fuck's sake! Why won't you just let me die!"

Death shrugged. "Hmph, not my decision. I'm just here to show you the way."

Verso imagined his heart hammering in his chest, although he could not feel it. It was, at least, soothing to not have to face the ocean of feeling that often threatened to overwhelm him. But, stars this place looks dull, he thought.

"The way to what?"

"Here." Death handed him a small pamphlet, printed with the words 'ENJOY YOUR VISIT TO THE CIRCLES OF HELL' placed in a circle around a drawing of flames.

"Oh, umm…okay then." He flipped through the pages of the document, there were seven in total.

Death sliced through the air with their scythe, and a dark gash appeared in mid-air. Grey dust motes seemed to float inside of it, but otherwise Verso could see nothing of the interior.

"After you," said Death.

Verso sighed and stepped through.

Chapter Text

Verso shivered, feeling like something had passed through him, some force that penetrated every bubble of paint that made up his being. He blinked, disoriented, and spun around. The air shimmered, and oily patch of sky winking out of existence. Grey motes hung in the air for a moment before disappearing into the fat raindrops that pelted the deck.

He looked down at himself. His clothes were soaked through, dark breeches tucked into worn black boots, a white open necked shirt plastered against his chest. The sky cracked, a jolt of lightening hitting the surface of the water a couple of leagues away. Two sets of thoughts jostled in his mind. Where am I… Check the lashing…

The wheel was in front of him, a massive spoked thing with ropes tied to iron cleats. He ran his hand over the smooth wood and iron centre piece, his purpose crystallising. Third watch, til dawn. He huffed, the boredom of the long night nagging at him. He looked down along the tallship, La Sakapatate, but all was quiet. No ships and no land around that he could see, although the black sky that seemed to stream into the ocean obscured anything past a short distance. He was grateful not to be on barrelman duty tonight. He glanced up at the crow's nest and couldn't even make out the light of the sailor's lamp.

"Verso?" Thunder rolled, chasing after the familiar voice that growled his name. He jumped, casting about to find the voice's owner, spying him through the spokes of the wheel where he stood lolling against the bannister. His thick white hair was pulled up in a tie, messy tails piled together on top, the rest of his fluffy mane hanging loose. He smiled up at Verso, a lopsided grin with a tooth missing on the side. The warm hazel eyes flecked with gold met Verso's grey ones, and the cold shiver in his bones turned into something else. A memory of love lived so many times, in so many places. Monoco, the man. Monoco, his mask. Monoco, wrapped around him in the night. Monoco, rocking him as he felt life drain out of him.

"M'noco!" He couldn't keep the smile from his lips nor his heart from leaping in his chest. The big man swung backwards, holding on the bannister and rolling his head in a circle. It made his muscular torso flex under the red sleeveless vest that he wore half open. Verso found himself swallowing at the sight, his skin suddenly feeling electric, all fatigue forgotten.

Monoco bit down on his bottom lip as he held Verso's gaze, before barrelling up the stairs towards him. His wooden leg thunked against the deck as he paced towards where Verso stood at the wheel, his clothes not yet soaked through. His remaining arm was thickly muscled, gold bangles shining against his brown skin. The other was wood and iron, tipped with a sickle-like hook.

Verso took in a sharp breath as Monoco reached around his waist, his large hand covering much of his lower back. His stomach fluttered as he looked up at the face of his lover, and he skimmed his hands over the sturdy arms, both wooden and flesh, before lacing them around the nape of his neck. He scritched his fingers in the thick white hair, and Monoco's eyes fluttered closed as he hummed.

"What are you doing up?" Verso said breathlessly.

"Mmm… couldn't sleep." Monoco leaned in close, running the tip of his nose along Verso's broken one. His voice was almost a whisper in Verso's ear. "Wanted you."

Verso let out a soft moan as Monoco pulled him forward, pressing his small hips against Monoco's wide, soft thigh. He was already half-hard as it was, and the grazing pressure of Monoco's hand on his arse and muscular thigh between his legs made his cock twitch and thicken. Monoco hummed against his neck, peppering kisses up towards his ear.

"A minute ago you were falling asleep and look at you already, practically rutting against me like that." Verso realised he was in fact rolling his hips against Monoco's thigh and stopped himself, letting out a little whine. Monoco squeezed his arse cheek. "No, no mon coeur, I didn't mean stop. I love seeing your want like this. How much I make your cock throb." Verso obeyed, making small motions that dragged his undergarments against the underside of his cock.

"I…I wasn't expecting you." He let go of Monoco's neck and ran his hands down the barrel chest, tracing the pale scars he knew lay there with his fingertips. Whatever his next words were going to be, Monoco swallowed them greedily. His kiss was wild and needy, but not rushed. Desire pooled in Verso's stomach when Monoco's tongue darted across his lips, and he moaned into it, feeling utterly wanton and lost in his need. Then Monoco's hand was in his hair, tangling and carding through the unruly black locks. His wooded arm gripped him around the waist, moving in time with Verso's increasingly desperate thrusts. In the back of his mind he noticed that his love had turned his hook around, and the warm feeling of being cared for washed over him. The high seas were wild and dangerous, but Monoco was his anchor in the stormiest of nights.

Monoco released his mouth, panting, his pupils wide. With their bodies pressed close Verso could feel Monoco's own erection against his hip. Monoco could rarely be bothered with the usual uniform, preferring a loose kilt with his slutty little vest. He called it 'freedom of movement', Verso called it fucking hot. Especially when he wore nothing underneath, which was probably the case now.

"I want you to cum like this, Verso, squirming and rutting against me." Verso whimpered as he stroked himself against him again, feeling the words vibrating through his chest. "Then I want to feel those gorgeous lips around me until I cum in your pretty little mouth." Monoco's voice was wrecked, his breath hitching as they swayed in time to Verso's thrusts. It made tingles of pleasure crawl up Verso's spine; the sight and sound of his sweet, gentle, and yet utterly brutal giant ready to come apart pushing him closer to the edge. Monoco kissed along his jawline, and Verso let his head tilt back until it rested on the wheel. "Is that alright, mon Verso?"

"Ngh," Verso tried to respond, "ah, ah, yes, yes! That sounds good, oh stars yes, I want to take you in my mouth Monoco. Feel you shake, taste you. Unh, ah M'noco, mon amour…" His voice got away from him and his words dissolved into a loud groan.

Monoco jerked against him, the hard tip of his cock pressing into Verso's belly. "Love hearing you moan Verso, love it when you let go like that. Issssoo goood…" His syllables morphed and merged into his own noises. His moans of pleasure were low and trembling, shaking through his lungs. Verso leaned into them, snapping his hips more urgently, his feet barely touching the floor from his position riding Monoco's muscled thigh. He felt the dragging at the back of his legs, and his stomach tensed and twitched as his pleasure built. The wet heat of their bodies and clothes seemed like it might evaporate the rain.

"Kisss…me..M'nocooh" Monoco's mouth was on him again, hungry tongue searching for his own. Monoco hummed into their kiss, and Verso felt the air in his lungs rising to meet it. His thighs tensed, gripping hard around Monoco's leg, grinding down hard against the sensitive spot behind his balls, shifting his movement to quick motions forwards and back. Then he felt the tip of his cock meet Monoco's hip bone, so far he had ridden up him. Verso felt like a wild animal, loosed from a cage after weeks of captivity. He shuddered as his whole body tensed, his cock twitching as he passed the point of no return. The wave of pleasure crested and he felt Monoco's arms tighten around him as he came with a cry, the sound snatched away by the wind. He pressed himself close against Monoco's chest as the aftershocks made him tremble.

"Mmm… so good. You're so perfect, stars how I love you Verso." Monoco stroked his head, showing remarkable restraint. Verso sighed, sated, muscles aching already. He kissed Monoco's chest, white curly hair plastered against his warm, brown skin. He slipped his hands down Monoco's hips to where his skirt was tented by his cock, rubbing lightly up against the side of Verso's waist.

His voice came out rough. "Your turn, mon vieux. Back to the wheel." Monoco helped him off his leg, his skinny thighs quivering from exertion. Monoco pulled him into an embrace as they traded places, kissing him deeply again. Verso slid down his broad torso, trailing kisses down to his belly button.

"Oh my, do I get to see you on your knees? I should visit you on watch more often, shouldn't I?"

Verso looked up at him, and he grinned at the sight of Monoco's eyes darkened with want, his lips trembling in anticipation as he licked them. He held his gaze as he moved lower, kissing as he went. He brushed his hands up the inside of Monoco's legs, one warm, one grained; and stopped at top of his thighs. He rubbed in teasing circles, thumbing against the edge of the wood on one side.

"You visit me on every watch, Monoco. You just can't help yourself, can you?" Monoco let out a strangled sound as Verso cupped his balls and hitched up the fabric. His cock was thick, the head swollen and red. Verso ran his lithe fingers under it, watching it bob as a bead of precum leaked out. Monoco whined as he licked it away, and Verso smiled, swirling his tongue around him. He felt Monoco's big fingers in his hair, grasping and twirling the wet strands.

Verso took him in his mouth and Monoco cried out. He tasted of salt and iodine and rum. He was big enough that Verso never quite managed to take all of him, but he still tried. He sank into the rhythm, paying attention to Monoco's tip when he pulled back, and humming when he held him deep in his throat. It didn't take long before Monoco couldn't keep his hips still, and Verso tried to keep pace with the stuttering cadence as he chased his pleasure. Monoco's moans grew rougher, and Verso gripped the edge of his wooden joint, digging his fingernails against the hard surface. It wouldn't hurt, but he knew Monoco could feel it; he responded with a wild thrust forward, and Verso nearly gagged, throat closing around his swollen and leaking cock.

"Ah, ah! Ah! Verso…" Monoco's body tensed under him as he climaxed. Verso felt Monoco's girth thicken and pulse in his mouth, sealing his lips around him as hot cum spilled into his throat. He swallowed once, twice, but not fast enough, and Monoco's cum filled his mouth. He coughed and Monoco loosened his grip on his head, pulling back to give him space even as his cock twitched and leaked. Verso whined, shaking his head as he took him back into his mouth. He worked Monoco's length, milking him hungrily with his lips until he was sure the aftershocks had calmed. He pulled back, giving Monoco a last kiss on the tip before he was pulled to his feet and into his lover's arms.

"I'm all messy," he complained, "will mess up your clothes."

Monoco laughed as he nuzzled against the crown of Verso's head. "Like I give a fuck. Stars you're good, that was so good. Thank you mon coeur."

Verso hummed against his chest, feeling his chest expand with joy as Monoco rubbed his back. The rain continued as they gradually cooled down. After a few minutes, Monoco patted his back.

"Right, I'll be off back to bed then. Feel like I could sleep for a day after that." He hooked a finger under Verso's chin and looked at him, warmth dancing in his eyes. "Have a good watch won't you."

Verso chuckled. "You'll be the death of me I swear it." He grinned as Monoco pressed their foreheads together. The rain carried their sweat down his face, the salt stinging his lips. Monoco crushed a kiss against his still sticky lips before turning and pushing Verso back against the wheel. He backed away, slicking the wisps of hair off his face. Verso's shoulders slumped, exhaustion dragging at him. He turned, threading his arms through the spokes and leaning over, watching his lover practically dance down the stairway.

"Haunt me then."

"What?" Verso called into the battering rain.

"If I'm to be the death of you. Haunt me. For in whatever form, in this life or the next I will love you Verso!" He held out a hand towards him then thumped his chest in a stabbing motion. Verso huffed a laugh at the dramatics as Monoco spun on his peg-leg, he knew his gestures as well as the feel of spray on his face. Next would come the wind-up of a roundhouse kick, before dropping into a flip. He had been impressed that Monoco had still managed the old martial art moves after replacing his leg, but after he'd lost his arm last year it had started to astonish him.

There was a strange popping sound, and a loud creak. A movement caught Verso's eye, and a cry sounded from above them.

"Boom's loose! DOWN!"

Verso pushed away from the wheel, trying to use it to propel himself forwards. His heart lept in his throat as he saw the long wooden boom spinning free. The rigging must have snapped under the strain.

And Monoco was right in its path. Verso's muscles fired as he tried to make it to the top of the stairs, feet slipping on the slick wooden surface.

Monoco dropped his hands behind him, leading with his hips as he spun his legs up towards the sail, the sky, the thunder birthed there. His laughter rang out, echoing around the raindrops and in Verso's ears.

He hung upside down in midair for just a moment until the boom hit him with all the force of the storm held in the canvas. Verso had barely made it halfway before he heard the sickening crunch of bone and flesh. Tears were carried down his face by the rain as he watched Monoco fly into the wall of the aftercastle.

Verso screamed as Monoco slid down the wooden planks, wooden leg shattered and his other bent at wrong angles. Blood splattered Monoco's chest, quickly diffusing out into darker auras where the fabric clung to him. Verso reached the bottom and grabbed the railing to spin himself around.

He breathed and saw himself rushing forward, sliding on his knees to Monoco's side. Verso blinked, no longer feeling the rain on his face. The Verso in front of him pulled the broken man into his chest, clinging to his shirt and stroking his wild hair that only now seemed to have been dampened by the storm.

His fingers tingled, as though something should be underneath them, pressed into his fingerprints. But it was not.

"He doesn't look too good, does he?" Death said.

Verso startled at the sound. "No, I don't think he does." There was a painful lump in his throat, his chest burning with unspent tears. He had felt Monoco fade away, his chroma swirling around him like one final embrace. And now, to see him again changed and yet perfectly familiar. He took in a shuddering breath and squeezed his eyes shut.

"Come on then, we've lots more to see." There was a whooshing sound behind him and he turned to see his guide disappear into the strange grey portal.

He stepped forward and faltered. He looked back, peering through the blanketing rain. There were more figures now, a couple of seadogs raised from their slumber by the other Verso's calls. Blood was pooling dark and thick under Monoco's ruined leg. He fixed them, desperate for any small sign. Please don't die.

A big hand twitched and grabbed at Verso's shirt, the deep brown skin fisting tightly in the pale fabric. Verso shuddered in relief, tears falling unbidden down his cheeks.

He turned away and stepped through the grey with a storm in his heart.

Chapter Text

He was back in the grey place. The quiet warmth already made the driving rain feel like a distant memory. Death walked away from him, towards a grove of apple trees heavy with de-saturated fruit. The winged spaulier on their shoulder shone like gunmetal in the moonlight. Verso trotted after them, heart still thumping in his chest. He was back in his usual attire, the fur of his collar ticklng his neck. He swallowed down the lump in his throat as memories surfaced. A gift in moonlight. A crooked smile and the smell of lanolin. Wood grain and flashing eyes and his own initials. VD.

They had reached the orchard in silence. There were beehives sat between the neat rows of trunks. Death set down the scyth and picked up a smoker.

"It was my fault, wasn't it? That he…I could have done…something. Sent him away, held him back? Just a moment more and it would have missed him." Bile rose in his throat as he spoke, losing control of the volume of his voice. "Does he live? Was that even real?!" He ended with a shout.

Death leaned over the nearest hive, dousing it in smoke. It curled around the wooden house, and the buzzing seemed to grow for a moment before settling into a hum.

"You have a lot of questions, don't you." Death said, not unkindly. "That version of him will live, he has other stories to tell. As for the rest…" They straightenend up, moving smoothly to the next hive. "Maybe you'll have your answers by the end. Come look at this."

Verso clenched his fists as he walked towards the strange being. They pointed at the mass of bees swarming on the surface of the hive. One of them was larger than the others, with a white dot of its back.

"What's that?"

"That's the Queen. See how they protect her when they feel a threat." They sprayed smoke over the buzzing mass, and their frantic movements slowed. "I'll come back to them once they've had a chance to go back inside the hive." They turned to Verso, pale hands gripping the bellowed contraption. "You too," they said, and sprayed Verso with the cloying smoke. It surrounded him, blocking out the light.

Verso coughed, his lungs burning as he stumbled forward towards Death.

The cold smoke dissipated, the last tendrils seeping from his even colder throat, tight and painful. His shoes scuff against a hard, black surface where a moment ago there had been grass. The sky is light above him but the underside of clouds spans the heavens like an old grey bed sheet.

Verso blinks. A cold wind cuts through his thin jacket, and he shoves his hands further into his pockets. His feet move of their own accord past a playpark where three young lads stand over a fourth who pleads as he holds his arms over his head. Pathetic in his attempt to avoid their blows.

His shoulders rise up to his ears in tension and he barely notices the swaying in his step. His jacket is made of a rustling fabric in a guady mix of purple and green that had fallen off a lorry somewhere or so said the stall holder before Verso had nicked it anyway.

He is hungry. Had always been hungry. The blocks of flats towersover him, not so bad as the tall ones to the South of the city which were bleak from the day they'd been built, but still made from the same grey concrete mixed with shit and cum. A dog barks and a child screams. Away in the distance.

Verso swaggers up to the door of the flats. It is a heavy red metal thing. The buzzer panel has been sprayed over, some prick's tag. Not from round here. He shoulders the door held open off the mag lock with a wee stone. It swings back and pounds into the wall where the mark of the rounded steel bar handle sits like a wound in the smoothed concrete wall. Dust trickles out of it as the door swings back behind him.

The stairwell is bathed in yellow, not the bright gold of sunset but the harsh tones of sodium lamps. It smells of piss. He takes the stairs two at a time up to the third floor. The corridor to all the flat doors runs on the outside of the building, a mid-century mockery of a balcony for the populace. The passage is cluttered with people's things, lives spilling out of containment. Outside of 11 is a bunch of kids shite, bikes and toys. Number 10 has washing strung up on makeshift lines between the columns, the bottoms of football colours trailing on the metal barrier. Down the bottom is old Mrs H. Folk leave her alaine, she's dealt with enough after her son was taken to the jail for offing some bloke outside a pub.

The door to Number 9 is ajar, he can hear the telly blaring from inside. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up, Lune never leaves the door unlocked. She was always the smart one. He hears muffled voices fae inside, one loud and bassy, the other higher pitched and stuttering. Gustave.

Trouble has come knockin.

Verso pushes the door open, slowly. He steps through, avoiding the bit of the floor that would creak under his weight. The hall is empty and dark, the lightbulb long since blown and not replaced. He presses his back against the wall and edges closer to the living room door. The voices come clearer now.

"Am..am sorry big man. We'll pay you back. I promise. Please just let me have some, please, I need it." Verso peers round the doorframe to see Gustave on his knees in front of a man in black.

"I'm cutting you off Gus. Boss's had enough of your delays and your whining. And you tell that cunt Verso to get me that money or your all gonna disappear, ye ken Gus?" It's Dag, as shitty a man as the knobs of shite that get stuck round a sheep's arse. He's pacing back and forth in front of Gustave, three steps one way then three steps the other, his body moving with nervous energy and probably something else. Just to see him Verso itches under his skin, the need pushing cold fingers through his veins. He'd been out to try and score. Come up cold. And here's Dag, probably with pockets full of what he needed.

The TV is too loud, rattling in his head. Today is the first reconvening of parliament since the election. The new Prime Minister, Tony Blair, stopped to speak to us on his way into… He notices movement on the other side of the living room, and Lune's eyes flicker from him and back to the scene.

Good girl, clever girl. Her grey joggers hang below her round belly, and red marks stretch over the surface, not long to go now. She makes a movement with her fingers, two pointing together and slipping into an imaginary pocket at her side. A knife. Her eyes don't leave the pair in front of her.

Verso reaches into his trouser pocket and fingers his own, the release button under his thumb as he settles his palm on the handle.

He's so hungry. His skin burns.

Verso slides into the doorway and squares his shoulders. He wasn't broad, quite the opposite with his hollowed cheeks and ribs that showed too much, but he was tall enough and that at least he could make the most of.

"Y'aright there Dag?" His voice feels strange in his mouth, and he feels like he vibrates for a moment between here and somewhere else.

Dag spins round and sneeres at him, his dull blue eyes sunken in his pale waxy face. "Well if it isn't Verso himself. Been looking for you. Cunt." He spits on the floor. Verso's heart is racing, his fingers tingling as the adrenaline took over. He sees Gustave scrabble away towards Lune, his lip bloody and his arm held close to his chest.

The scrawny man barrels towards him, his shoulder smacking Verso's chest in a frantic tackle. The air is expelled from his lungs so fast he whistles and they both fall backwards through the door and against the solid wall of the hallway. Dag brings his hands to Verso's throat, filthy fingernails digging into the skin of his neck and thumbs pushing, pushing into his voicebox.

Verso tries to suck in air and chokes, panic crawling up his spine. He gasps with a strained noise. He can smell Dag's rotten breath as he sneers at him. Verso tries to kick but the sly bastard knees him in the balls. Little lights flash across his eyes as the pain clenches his stomach. He claws at the hands of the devil clamped around him as he tried to scream.

Lune…Gus…

Dag grunts and blinks at him as his eyebrows furrows and his teeth part, exposing the dark tunnel of his mouth lined with broken stones. Verso pulls back his hand and stabs again, this time feeling the blade scrape against bone on its way in. The flesh chains around his neck shock and falter before falling away. Dag staggers backwards clasping at his ribs. Blood drips onto the dirty beige carpet. A gash in his belly, the knife stuck in his ribcage.

Verso trembles. He blinks and sucks air back into his lungs as pain shoots through his throat. It makes a wheezing sound on its way in which didn't seem right, not right at all. He stands unable to speak as Dag sinks to his knees, desperately trying to press against his wounds, his hands slick with blood the colour of a new pair of Sambas. It was everywhere. Verso wonders if it would soak through to the neighbours the way the water had that time when the old man above them had died while running his bath.

He steps around the shrieking man who's howling insults at him. He kneels down to rifle in his jacket pockets, striking gold. He pulls out two wee plastic bags and two small foil packets. Dag seems not even to notice.

Lune and Gustave watch from behind the sofa. The telly blares still. And in more pleasant news, this morning we bring you images from this morning's charity fun run at Arthur's Seat, an extinct volcano in the heart of the City of Edinburgh. But let me tell you these runners are smoking! The hosts laugh together as though there wasn't a man dieing in their front room.

Verso cries and falls in between them, his lovers folding into him with trembling hands clasping at his shellsuit jacket. He goes to touch Lune's moon-shaped bump.

"Are they okay, Lune? Are yous alright?" His voice sounds strange, wheezing and broken, and every syllable hurts to force through his vocal cords. He rubs her skin across to her distended belly button, leaving a smear of blood where his hand lingers.

"Yeah, yeah babes, the babies are fine. Can feel 'em kicking like hell." She smiles at him through watery eyes as he turns to Gustave.

"Gus, you're hurt. The bastard hurt you didn…" Gustave silences him with a sudden kiss, and Verso can near smell the fear on him.

"Be fine Verso, be fine. Doc'll get me sorted." He winces and clutches at his injured arm, pulling back from the pile of fear and hunger the three of them make.

"We gotta go," says Lune, "they'll come looking for him soon enough." A calm settles on her face, that determined look she gets when something needs doing. A look he sees on her too often when they need cash and he comes home with naught, as she dresses up all pretty like.

Verso feels the adrenaline draining out of him, helped on by the closeness of his lovers. He starts to shake violently and sets his jaw. He brushes his fingers through Lune's long black hair and marvels at her fine features, so out of place in this gutter in the arse end of the world.

"You're…you kicked it didn't you, an' you've jus' no said anything have you Lune? We're just too stupid to notice." He huffs a laugh and she nods, leaning into his hand.

"Aye, four months now. Had to for the twins eh?"

Tears run down Verso's face, betraying him. "My clever, clever girl. Sweet, clever Lune I fucking love you."

"I know, eejit."

"Listen, Lune, take this," he shoves the packets into her hand and closes her fingers around them. "Dinnae talk to nobody. You take these and get some cash and you get out of this place. Both of yous." He swivels towards Gustave, whose face has gone pale. "You get OUT do yous hear me?"

"What d'you mean, Verso, darlin', where are you going… you're gonna come with us, ri..ri..right?" Gustave's stammer slips back in despite himself. Lune rises to her feet, pulling the two men up by the arm. Dag isn't moving any more, a moat of shiny black outlining the place where he lies. They stand with heads together in their singular embrace, arm around each other's waists and shoulders; like the kids they were, playing together on the concrete slopes and steps outside.

"He has to stay Gustave. We'll never get away the three of us. Between the polis and…" she trails off. They all know what will happen when Dag is found. It won't end well. "We'll go tae my cousin Jennie's in Cumbernauld. Push this stuff and then on. Somewhere nice and quiet, yeah?" Gustave's back shakes under Verso's hand, his breath coming in sobs.

"S'alright, Goose, it'll be alright. You'll be alright and you'll take care of her for me won't you, love? And the twins?" Gustave shifts to embrace Verso, eyes squeezing shut as he wraps his good arm around his neck.

Lune slips away into the bedroom while they embrace. Verso runs his fingers through Gustave's brown curls, nosing at them and trying to commit the very smell of him to memory.

"I'll miss you," he manages to rasp out. Gustave kisses him again on the jaw, fervent and fearful. He whines as his broken arm shifts between them. "I'm sorry, Goose, I'm sorry. I wanted to take care of you both. Of us all. I'm so sorry." His chest shakes as the sobs wrack through him, his muscles screaming at him.

"I know, it's not your fault Verso, it's this place. This place… I wish it didn't have to be like this. I love you." He buries his nose into Verso's neck, the stubble of their beards rasping against each other.

"I love you so much Goose." Gustave replies only with tears.

"Right, I've got the bags," Lune strides back towards them with a bag in each hand. "This is our things, and this one's for…" She rubs her hand over her pregnant stomach, "you know, for when they arrive."

The men ease into to either side of her, resting their hands on top of hers. They both kiss her, each on one cheek.

The TV drones on. Dag lies in his puddle of blood and piss and lies.

"Go now. I'll call the police once your gone. Better to have them find me than…" He shudders as a chill runs down his spine at the thought of the vigilante justice he would meet at the hands of Dag's bosses.

Lune turns to him, piercing him through with her warm dark eyes. "If you get out, you find us." There is no question to it, only absolute certainty. He knows he will.

"If I get out, I will." She touches her forehead to his and nuzzles their noses together. "Love you."

"You too, eejit."

She hands a bag to Gustave and shoulders the other, and they slip around the corpse. She doesn't look back. He does.

Verso smiles at him and then they're gone. He turns the TV off and sits down on the sofa. He waits for a while before making the call. Give them time to get on the train. He calls 999. Gives his name. A fly comes and lands on Dag's face. He can see it rubbing its little hands together.

He waits.

He wonders if Death will come for him, and then wonders why that thought makes his head feel fuzzy. The police arrive, banging the door back and shouting. He holds up his hands, two of them have guns, the others have night sticks raised. He holds up his hands, his knife still in Dag.

They grab him, the handcuffs click tightly into place. Everything seems to blur as they pull him out of the flat and down the stairs. They're gone, they'll be safe. He says nothing, can't, his voice broken and veins aflame. There's someone shouting outside, a man gets out of a car, a gun cracks through the thick air that pools around them, heavy with despair. An officer pushes him down and he's falling, first to his knees and then his face hits the tarmac, grit digging into his cheek.

He opens his eyes to the grey expanse, cloud to concrete to road; but was greeted only by grass.

The long blades pressed against his face. His hands were loose by his side, not a mark on them as he sat up.

The leaves on the apple trees waved in the warm breeze.

Verso pressed he hands to his temples and screamed.

Chapter Text

Verso lay curled on the ground, the air around him feeling of nothing. No sound reached Death's ears other than the gentle buzzing of the hives and a weak whimper from the man. He had seen a great many tragedies in the long life of this Universe, and it would have been impossible to mourn them all. Nonetheless, he was not impervious to the suffering of others. Especially those who found themselves thrown into this ridiculous gauntlet. As though the Gods revelled in the theatre of mortal pain. He sighed and knelt down by the weeping mortal.

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up." Death patted Verso's shoulder, which he had seen mortals do to comfort each other. He wasn't really sure if it worked. "Let's go back to the house, you can rest a while before your next trip."

He stood and returned the smoker to its place, picking up his scythe. He hummed as he made his way to the farmhouse, holding the door open for the snivelling man who hugged his arms around himself. The door opened into the kitchen, large flagstones worn smooth from millennia of use. He liked the gentle sound of his leather sandals on their surface. Overhead hung a wooden rack with bundles of herbs and dried flowers. He pulled back his hood before reaching up to pluck some strands from a bundle of mint, and some heads from the chamomile stems. His short hair fell in curtains over his forehead, gleaming in shades of silver.

Death gestured towards the massive wooden table, painted grey like the rest of this world. He was quite proud of the turning of the legs, which he had done himself an indefinite amount of time before. "Make yourself at home." Verso shuffled over and sat heavily on a chair.

"What is this place?" Verso's voice was strained from the raw cries that had wracked him after returning from the previous circle.

"I suppose you might call it a Limbo. Although there's really quite a few of those. But, think yourself lucky you landed in this one." He smiled over his shoulder at the human as he set a heavy kettle on the enamelled stove top. "In this one at least we have tea." He felt something like pity as he watched the man wring his hands and fiddle with the wooden plates of his bracer.

The kettle boiled and he filled the teapot. The water released the pleasing scent from the herbs, fresh and soothing. He breathed in, closing his eyes. It was a long but simple life, much better after disentangling himself from the ridiculous politics of the Gods, both large and small. He set the tray down on the table and served two cups, fine things with a faded design. The sat for a while in silence at opposite ends of the table.

" Was…was all of that, what I saw, was it real? It looked like no place I've ever seen."

Death swirled the tea leaves in the bottom of his cup. "What does it mean, to be real?"

There was a long pause before Verso replied. "Well, it's people, or animals and that I suppose, who are living. Isn't it? Out there, in the real world."

"Hmm… there's that word again. Real." He was amused at the mortal's confusion. They all go through it.

"I'm not sure I understand."

Death slapped his bare knees with his hands. "Well, let's see if we can't enlighten you. Don't worry if you don't get it straight away though. Most people take more than a couple of trips to understand." He stood and moved to leave, lifting his hood back over, hiding his face. "There's someone I think you should meet."

"What? I don't under… what the hell is going on?!" Verso's voice rose as he stormed across the kitchen.

"Hmm. Yes, exactly that."

He walked around the back of the house, past the wood piles and splitting block. The cockerel crowed, although how it ever knew when to do so was a mystery even to him. On rounding the far corner he heard Verso stop short behind him.

In front of them was a large millstone, pushed relentlessly in a circle by a tall person. A woman? Maybe. He didn't really care. She looked human enough to him.

"Golgra?!"

Chapter Text

"Golgra?!"

The worker stalled and raised her head, hands loosing their grip on the wooden spur she had been pushing in circles. It was difficult to make out the markings on her mask in the strange greyscale of Limbo, but Verso was just as familiar with the set of her shoulders and the way that crossing her arms somehow exuded disdain.

He brushed past Death as he approached. Of all the people to find here. He furrowed his eyebrows, mouth hanging open as he tried to summon words to it.

"You!" He managed to splutter out. He could have sworn he felt Death's eyes on the back of his head, and his cheeks were warm at his lack of composure.

"Well, if it isn't our very own Verso Dessendre. The prodigal son returns." She drummed her jointed fingers against her bulging bicep, sarcasm dripping from her voice. "Still not dead then?"

"Umm… well, I think so, aren't I?" He turned at the sound of bracelets clinking to catch Death making a gesture at the gestral before shifting to fiddle with the scythe.

She grunted and shrugged her shoulders. "I suppose the difference is philosophical at this point." She braced her hands against the wooden bar. "You coming to help or are you still a lazy arse in death as in life?"

Verso scoffed at the insult and looked over at the cloaked immortal. Death waved in their general direction. "Oh, do go ahead, don't mind me. The circles of hell can wait, no rush. Not like there isn't thousands of souls waiting for their own gauntlet at any one time."

"Than? Fuck off will you."

"Rude." Death Incarnate spun towards the house. "Send him through the next one for me, will you Golgra?"

"Sure, you go do some laundry, or something." They both laughed dryly as Verso looked back and forth between them. "Stop gawping and push, Verso." The man obliged, grabbing hold of the spur on the opposite side of the wheel from Golgra. "One, two, three, GO!"

He pushed, the massive stone wheel inching forward with a cracking, grinding sound. It sat on another large wheel, this one flat on the ground and covered in some sort of fine seed or grain.

"Golgra, did… did you just tell Death to fuck off?"

"What of it?" They pushed together, their steps falling in time. "He's not so bad. I think he's been alone a long time. Seems to like having some company."

They continued in silence for some time, moving in and out of the shadow of the house with each turn around the axis.

"You've been through the portal already, yes?"

"Yeah, what is that? Where did I go?"

"I don't know exactly. And from what I understand it's different for each person. Than explained it like…glimpses of other lives. But those places look so strange."

"Wait, you went through them too?"

"I got to six and told him I'd had enough. Just started helping out here instead." Verso looked across the wheel at the gestral chief, her brush swept back neatly off her face. "It's peaceful, gives me time to think."

"About what?" Verso couldn't remember if they'd ever spoken as many words to each other.

"The things I've done," said Golgra, her voice clipped.

"Oh," he trailed off, "is that why we're here then. Because of… the things we've done."

"Stars, Verso, which bit of the circles of hell didn't you understand? I never did comprehend what Monoco saw in you and I can see you've certainly not gotten any better at paying attention."

Verso felt like he should be angry, but his heart beat steadily, the movement of the wheel was soothing in its repetition. Suppose I got what I wanted didn't I, nothing left to be angry about. He took in a breath as his chest squeezed, the memory of his final moments in the Canvas slipping across his glassy mind. His eyes stung.

"Is, ahh… is there anyone else here? You know, from…"

"He's not here," she said flatly. "Old fart probably knew a shortcut or something."

"Maybe he was just…better…than us. Wiser, kinder, never cruel."

"Loyal, to a fault. He would've followed you to the very edge of the Canvas and the end of Time you know?"

"Yeah." The quiet of the place was deafening, the squeak of the wheel too familiar. "He did."

"Did he now. Is that how all this came about then?"

Verso nodded, a grim pressure settling in his chest and squeezing his throat. They pushed on in silence but for the crack of the grains. Thoughts crowded his mind. Faces from yesterday and tomorrow, without an answer; faces of an alibi, faces returned from the sea. Swirls of ink and smeared petals crushed under his fingers, dancing and fading into the forms of those who'd fallen before him. Cold words stuck in his lungs, burning fingers clawed at his skin, a weight of grief and pain and guilt that stretched on forever; spinning on the axis of eternity.

His muscles ached as the stone ground to a halt. His hands were wet, as was his face. Verso blinked away the tears hanging from his lashes. It was strange, to see the shape of his memory without the bodily panic that would normally accompany it.

Golgra's hand on his shoulder roused him from his reverie. He looked up at her, and fancied he saw something in the lines of her mask.

"Time to think, hmm?"

"Yeah." He turned to face her and she placed her hand on his chest, large wooden fingers splayed against his shirt.

"Good. Time to go." She pushed, the force cascading through his chest as he fell backwards. He braced for the thunk of wood that never came as he arced through grey fog, the soft light of limbo dissolving away on the horizon as the world went dark.

Verso felt cold. He breathed and the cold filled his lungs, his hands swinging through something thicker than air. He blinked. The air solidified into water in his mouth, bubbles wrapping around his legs as he thrashed.

The water dragged around him as he was pulled upwards, the surface bursting around his ears. Soft, but damp, fabric pressed against his cheek, his hands, and his exposed knees. He wrapped his small arms as far as he could around the squishy surface, which was not very far. He coughed, spraying water and snot from his mouth and nose, but he breathed easy enough. A large hand patted him on the back.

"Oooh, Verso. There you are mon ami!"