Chapter Text
Owen looks up at Louis, his red eyes dark with exhaustion and sadness so deep it breaks Louis’s heart just looking at him. His love stares at him, his lips moving into something almost resembling a smile.
“Louis-” he says softly, but it’s drowned out by the rumbling of the ground beneath it. The earth under his feet tears open, and a thousand dark hands grab him by his cloak, pulling him away from Louis. Owen looks up at Louis, his eyes wide in terror, his hand reaching out desperately.
Louis tries to run forward, tries to take it and drag his lover away from the forces that dare try to take him from him. But he can’t. All he can do is watch as Owen cries out Louis’s name one final time, as he disappears completely, as the ground seals above him, leaving no trace of him.
Louis falls to his knees, his shoulders shuddering with sobs. He’d known what was going to happen to Owen the moment he’d watched him chop down every one of the thousands of villagers. But knowing what will happen and watching it come to be are two very different things. He should’ve realised how much this would hurt him. He shouldn’t have come and watched- and what? Deprive the both of them from one last look at the other? No, he had to, if only to see him off.
He stays there for a long time, though how long, he doesn’t know. Finally, still feeling like someone carved a hole into his chest, he stands. He stares at the spot Owen had disappeared into for a moment longer, then turns and walks back to the gates. They swing open for him, and he walks down the street.
His corner of the afterlife is an old town, a version of Oakhurst that never existed. The buildings are simple but beautiful, well-built and well-loved. The dirt path beneath his feet has been travelled by countless generations of people, and the chapel in the centre is restored to a glorious state it never had seen in the real Oakhurst.
Louis walks along the path numbly. All he can think of is all the times he’d walked around this place, imagining what it would be like to do so hand-in-hand with his lover again. It’s been so long since they’d been together, and Louis realises with horror he’s started to forget what Owen’s hand had felt like in his. It must have been rough and calloused from years of hard labour, but was it warm against his own? Had it trembled at the contact, or had it been steady? He’ll never get the chance to remember.
He’ll never get a chance to do anything with him again.
He’ll never run his fingers through his curly brown hair; he’ll never rub circles into his back when it starts hurting; he’ll never see his face beside him again, eyes closed and breathing steady in the peace of sleep.
He’ll never even get to talk to him again.
The tears have come again, his face streaked with them, and he stops in the middle of the path. He can’t do this without him.
He’d spent so long waiting to reunite with him, to hug him again, to kiss him and tell him he loved him. And now that’s impossible. The last memory of his lover will be watching him be dragged down into the pit of Hell, never to return.
No.
No, Louis will not let that be it.
Because Louis is extremely stubborn. The angels, or the Father Himself will have to drag him away, kicking and screaming and clawing. He will not give up on his love.
Reinvigorated by the idea coming together in his mind, Louis marches out of his perfect town and towards the gates that lead to the rest of the afterlife.
He walks swiftly down the street and towards the palace, where the angels carry out the will of the Lord. If he has to fight all of them at once, he will. Anything to save his love.
The door swings open as he approaches, and he steps through. He makes his way towards the throne where two angels sit, scrawling in ledgers.
One of them looks up at him. Six rings circle around its one massive eye, and its three pairs of wings flap slowly behind it. It inclines its head towards him, and the other one does the same.
They say nothing for a long moment, and Louis starts to speak-
« We know why you came here, » the first one says.
“Will you do it?” he says, stepping forward
The angels look at each other silently for a moment, then turn back to him. Their many eyes bore into him, as if they’re searching through his soul. They might be.
« We cannot move a soul from Hell to Heaven- » the second starts.
“Then send me to Hell!” Louis shouts. He would spit in the face of divinity if it meant seeing his lover again.
« -nor can we move one from Heaven to Hell, » the first one finishes. « Your placements are final. We cannot change them. »
Those words ring in Louis’s ears, and he takes a step back. They can’t change it. “Are you sure? Isn’t there anything you can do?”
« The rules are firm, » the second one says.
« We do not make exceptions for anyone, » adds the first one.
Louis’s gaze switches from one to the other, the choking grief he’s been ignoring building up in his chest again and threatening to come spilling out again. “What if we tried again?” he asks.
The second angel’s head tilts to the side. « What is it that you mean? »
“What if you sent us back? To the night I died- or earlier than that? And we didn’t make the same mistakes? And he didn’t do- do what he did?”
They look to each other again, deliberating.
Finally, they turn back.
« We will allow you to do this, » the first angel announces, and Louis nearly collapses in relief.
« But, » the second one adds, « there are three things you must understand. »
« First, » says the first angel, « you cannot tell anyone of what happened before, or you may face disastrous consequences. »
« Second, your own fate is not guaranteed. Your actions can and will change your placement in eternity. »
« And third, you do not get another chance after this. If you make a mistake, there is nothing you can do to fix it. »
“I understand,” Louis says.
The two angels nod to each other, and the first stares back at him. « Very rarely do we give out second chances. Do not waste yours. »
And the world melts away.
— ~⋆ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺⋆~ —
Louis blinks, stars dancing in his eyes, and looks up. The walls of his office stare back, covered in old books and maps and keepsakes from when he used to travel around the world. The window to his left casts a meager ray of sunset light into the dim room.
A knock sounds at the door.