Jack, Undated. Roughly Summer 2019

Watching each day pass by, exactly like the one before it, and the one after.. has become a hell without end for me.

I can't breathe from the weight of my past lives weighing down around my neck like some demented albatross.

Everywhere I look, it is as though I am staring at grave markers.

The people I was once so happy to see alive, and happy, and smiling.. now a jarring reminder of the life that I had with them, Before.

The prices I paid to stave off apocalyptia for the rest of those I know have become my jail sentence. My crosses to bear, quietly. Sober, even.

I found recently that nothing truly dulls the pain.

Distracts from it, gives you a temporary escape. But it's always right there, waiting in the wings for it's cue to swoop back in. Winds up being a waste of resources to even attempt avoiding it.

I look in the mirror and I wonder who in the fuck I am looking at. A half grown out haircut in a haircolor I abhor, most of my jewelry missing or abandoned in an attempt to blend in. To the point I don't even think to wear these symbols at home that once mattered so.

Painfilled eyes, dramatically emphasized with kohl. Or, was. Now a drawn, weary face battling tears. Weighted down by bags under my eyes that, if they were luggage, could outfit a family of four for a year.

Tattered, old, mended clothing. I still have the niceties, of course, but I don't care to wear them. The line of work I'm in, your duds tend to get destroyed pretty quickly.

So many temporary reasons to blend in that gradually.. became permanent. As did the despair that comes with them.

Hands gripping the porcelain countertop to my sink, I bow my head and begin to cry. No dramatics of a punched out mirror, would simply create a mess to clean later, and a pain in my hands that wouldn't heal for weeks. Not to mention the pain in the ass that digging out mirror shards from your flesh can be.

I fumblingly flip the switch for the lights and stagger my way to my bedroom. Or, at least the charade that passes for one these days. Glorified storage unit, for as much as I use it, kept so that I can at least.. pretend for a bit that I have a place to call home.

Nothing has felt like home since Sanctuary burned.

I drag a sheet from the surface of my bed and stumble my way to the living room, half blind from my own tears. I let my weight fall to the couch, and wrap up in the sheet. I know better than to pray for sleep, but just for a while, even the simulation of touch is enough to be of comfort.

Once upon a time, I had grown used to the feeling of a shared bed. Those I loved next to me, getting to hold them at night. Apparently I grew so used to their company over the years that I can no longer physically sleep in a bed alone. Not even mine.

And believe me, I've tried.

I curl into a half-assed fetal position and wipe the tears from my face in frustration. As I struggle to catch my breath between the sobs, I begin to wish and pray and hope.

'Please, please. Don't let all of this have been in vain.'

'Please, just let me have someone to love again.'

'Let this work. Please. I want to be able to have a family again that is safe from all this evil shit.'

'If nothing else, please. Show me some kind of sign on what I should do next. I'm lost, and alone, and I'm not sure I can keep this up anymore.'

'I don't know if I'm strong enough to be Jack of All anymore.'

My breathing slowly calms, and I blurrily glance at the illumination of my phone.

"One Missed Call From Ares"
"You have 3 Unread Text Messages from Cassiel"
"Jack, log in to see what your friends have been up to!"

With a grimace, I hold down the power button to my phone until the option to turn it off displays. With a click, and only a moment of hesitation, I shut it down.

Replying as I feel now would only worry or irritate them. Sleep, maybe, will help.

And if not, well. It isn't the end of the world.. right?

The Little Details

In the various computer logs, journal entries, and random scribblings I've been able to recover, there have always been dozens of mismatched lives to sort through of Dia's. A renegade here, an angel there. A djinn, a priestess, a shadow. On the surface, they always seemed.. discordant. As deliberately varying as a person could think to get.

But, you see, I have this pet theory.

One that my Overseers would throw a shitfit over if they ever came across these logs.

My job is to chronicle, transcribe.

Keep the artifacts, and the memories, safe.


I'm beginning to believe..


These aren't different people, after all.


Sure, the hair color, the jobs, the titles. They change.


At the core of it, though.. there are common threads.


Ones you wouldn't catch unless you spent all day, every day hunched over a desk staring at the shit.


The most obvious of which is, there are always secrets. Ones that could bring down more than their fair share of lives, families, and peaceful times.


Each life begins after a horrific event.


A gunfight, though somehow the Día in question managed to escape without picking up one herself.


The death of a loved one.


A heartbreak, typically a betrayal.


A faction change.


A truth being told.


A life in danger, not her own.


Sometimes, even boredom. Though, the more I read, the more her 'boredom' echoes in my head like loneliness, sadness, depression. Bitterness. A book a life, closed, so that she didn't have to look too closely at how she wound up alone again.


Didn't have to look in the mirror and see the same face staring back at her.


When I first started this job, if someone would have told me I'd be considering a berserker, a rogue, a healer, a shadow, and a diplomatic envoy could all be the same person, I'd have laughed you out of the building.


The first, the kindest girl you could ever meet. Sweet, quiet, bookish. The kind of girl that found herself in the worst of ways, constantly, because of that ridiculously big heart of hers.


The last, a bitter, jaded battle axe of a woman, with an acidic tongue and a sharp mind. The kind of person you wouldn't fathom falling asleep near without intensive research, study, and a handful of bribes. Blackmail, if you had the balls for it.


Varying levels of sanity, wealth, material possessions, friends, allies, enemies in the lives in between. So much so that idea of the same person being as equally comfortable in squalor as in decadence seems.. impossible. Unfathomable.


But.. what if.. they're all just stories about the same person, told out of order? And if so.. what are the stories that have been left untold? What brought an innocent young woman to deal with the darkest depths of humanity? What events are we ignorant of that managed to blacken the purest of souls?

I don't know, not yet. Not enough to tell in one singular place. I'm not sure I even have enough time left to this shift to transcribe the bits i HAVE managed to glean.

I did say I had a pet theory.


I wouldn't announce it in such a way if I didn't have some sort of foundation to build off of.


So, settle down for a minute, and try to pay attention.


I could get in a lot of shit for sharing this.


Before I begin, please keep in mind that I am only human. Any errors, missteps, or white lies I tell to protect my ass that become obvious, well, you'll just have to handwave them and power on.


There is always a man, that disappears into the night as if he never existed.
There are always families that look to her for protection, guidance. Money. Sometimes even drugs.
Someone always wants her dead, or out of the way, or kept quiet to protect their interests.
Her eyes change colors, but always seem to settle back on blue. Her favorite color, if my hunch is correct.
There is a child. Often, that dies.
One that survives, though her fate remains untold.
A sacrifice, of some kind, to protect another.
Friends she deliberately keeps at arm's length, even though it kills her to watch their lives go on without her. A belief, that they are better off. Without her.
Employment, that changes, though she always works with her hands.
Lovers she takes in the interim, of the mysterious Hanged Man's absence. Every one, she loves fiercely, and would do anything for. Until the day one of them loves too much, or changes more than the other can stand. Then, a blow out. Silence. A disappearance.
Educated, though how much varies.
Forgiveness, understanding. Until there isn't.
A thousand yard stare that spooks anyone that sees it.

Below, I have cut and copied and pasted fragments from a hundred different entries, that I believe are about the same man. The Hanged Man.

The man she always mourns, despite his being alive.


-He never was a beautiful man, though I thought he was breathtaking. His face too sharp, his eyes too cold. His stance too rigid, his body too scared.

I never cared. I thought he was perfect.

-That bastard only makes sense in hindsight!

-Would it kill him to explain himself just a LITTLE more?

-His hands were rough, calloused. Hard. Like he had never gone a day in his life without toiling it away.

-His laughter was cruel, like the subject of his mirth was always the butt of some joke only he understood. Took me years to realize he was normally laughing at himself.

-He hated to be late, to the point of unchecked rage if one of his plots caused him to be so. Of course, he was usually the only one that knew his schedule. Made keeping him happy very hard, for a long time.

-He perpetually smelled of weed, and carried some form of illegal substance wherever he went. He was always self medicating the pain away, though it was very rare he would admit it.

-When he smiled, it was like a cold winter's morning. Beautiful, cold, brisk. You never knew how long it would last, but in that moment.. I never wanted it to end.

-Our fights were atrocious. Small wonder the cops were never called. To the point of suspicion. We would get so loud there was no way the sound of our yelling didn't carry two streets over.

-He never hit me. Not in the way you hear about in Lifetime movies. Though, oh did he hurt me. My heart. His prized possession, but you wouldn't know it. He was especially proud to have me by his side. Smug, gloating little fuck.

-When he held me, it was like time stood still. No one, nothing else mattered. Oddly gentle, careful. Like you might hold a baby bird in your hands. Like you held something fragile, and were terrified it might break.

-He never did tell me much of his past. Most of it, I had to glean from various "funny stories" he would tell. Implications, too long silences followed by a change in subject.

-He loathed talking about himself. He would always tell me, if you have to tell people who you are, then chances are you're wrong. Or lying.

-He was happiest when he was left alone to do his 'business.' Too many questions would lead to Stony silence, or unkind jokes, or his outright leaving.

-He loved to laugh. Any joke he came across, he would tell. The worse the content, the shock value, the better. He liked to surprise people into a laugh
 He said it was so he knew the laughter was genuine.

-Sometimes, he would take me with him when he ran. 'Kidnap' me, jokingly (or not), for a week or two at a time. Carefully, cautiously bring me around his employers. His friends, what few he trusted.

-Oh, how he loved his technology.


-Being away from him was the easiest and hardest decision of my life, no matter how many times I had to make it. Or he did.

-"You have to go home now, Jack. It isn't safe here."

-He didn't believe me the first time I loved him, or the second time, or the third. By the time he finally said it back, five months in, I had forgotten he knew what the word meant.

-"I don't know what possessed you to fall in love with a piece of shit like me. Karma can't be real."

-We lived together once, long ago. When I was running from my past, and he was hiding from his presence. We damn near hated each other by the time I had to leave, but looking back.. it was the second happiest time in my life.

-The peace, when we had it, was addictive.

-Once I met him, every man or woman I cared for seemed to have a countdown that would float over their heads. Ticking down until I lost them.

Including him.

The Bat Roosts in the Daytime {Lady Hel, entry #1}

People tell you that life goes on.


'Time heals all wounds.'


Even Time itself can't take the pain from these wounds as they heal, however.



It can't remove an infection festering.



It can't soothe your heart's frantic cascade of beats to the tempo of your heartbreak.



It can't remove the fact that these wounds occurred, to begin with.



And it can't... it doesn't take the memories from you. Not if you still want them.



I've always had a complicated relationship with the other gods and goddesses in my pantheon.



They have their jobs, I have mine. Simple enough, right?



Not exactly.



You see, everyone paints us all as brothers and sisters. Fathers, and mothers, and cousins and such.



And in a way, this is true. We have all become one huge, dysfunctional family.



But.. as far as blood goes? Ehhhh...



We weren't all born into some kind of a cosmic nursery, weaned off of starlight or some shit.



We all began the same as any other humans. Born in a shower of blood, screaming and pain.



Over the years, we each had our own form of an Awakening. A spark inside us, stoked and flared and fed to life, larger than life in some cases. Some strength of will that set us apart, that forced us down the paths to seek out knowledge. Love. Acceptance. Understanding.


....abilities.


We each paid our price for our entry into Godhood.


It requires a.. death of sorts. A letting go of who you once were, no matter the tears that might fall.


A willingness to walk away from all that was, in order to build a better future.



It was while I was young that I first met Odin. Perhaps 16, 17? A legal adult by the beliefs of our time, though a belief that is shunned by our modern culture.

I had.. taken up a friendship with a local alchemist, one minorly reknown for his abilities.


I didn't care at the time. I merely saw a healer willing to care for the sick and dying.


The other shit was just a lightshow, as far as I was concerned. Distracting from his purpose.



On one of our rare days away from the work grind, we had gone to visit a local watering hole that was common among our age group for being a meeting spot. On weekends, vendors would set up shop around the outskirts of the field we spent time in, hawking their wares. Hoping for a young one foolish enough to spend their week's pay on shiny trinkets or baubles.


I had been sitting in my Alchemist's lap on the riverbank, giggling and carrying on with him and other assorted friends. Enjoying a lazy Saturday out in the sun, with people close to me. A shift in the light overhead sent a glare of light into my vision, nearly blinding me. As I put up my hand to block out the glare, I saw a man standing underneath the shift in light. Hangers on standing at his sides, including what appeared to be a water mage and a blood witch, the later clinging on to his arm.


On second glance, the hangers on became familiar to me, acquaintances in an old, small village such as ours was common. Passersby in life lead in the same, or nearly the same pattern, tended to cross paths often. I raised a hand in greeting and gave a happy shout, motioning them over. The intense display of light eased as I did this, and the strange man came into view once more.

Long, ratty black hair teased out into gelled tendrils framing an overly pale and drawn face adorned with a medicine man's traditional facepaint. A Roman nose, too big eyes set behind a rounded pair of gold spectacles. An archer's bow for a mouth, set in firm lines when not stretched wide in a smile.


Heavy, dark cloak falling at his sides, riddled with chains and charms. Swooping, black trousers that swept the ground in wide pools of midnight fabric. A tight black tunic adorning his top half, adorned with spellwork and jagged runes of white, seemingly dripping ink down the front. Silver lacing his hands in delicate stone-laden rings, interweaving the face and ears in a random assortment of piercings. An eyebrow here, a pair of rings adorning the archer's bow in a style reminiscent of a snake's bite on the lower lip. Holes gouged into the ears, kept from healing by heavy circles of metal.


On and on my eyes trailed over his form, to the point of ridiculousness. I kept trying to drag my eyes away, to make my interest in the man less glaringly obvious, but to seemingly no avail. I ducked my head, shyly, continuing to watch the man through the curtain of then light brown hair that fell in waves in front of my face. Seeing him laugh and smile and move about, he seemed as light on his feet as a feather on the wind. Like no worries troubled his soul to weigh him down. As I observed the confidence coming off him in waves, I momentarily felt a pang of jealousy shoot through my heart.


My family had begun mutterings of preparing me for an apprenticeship under the village midwife. My kindness towards the younglings had been observed by the elders in the village, who wished to profit off of my natural inclination towards learning. My family, hoped to increase my marriagability and desirability. I, naturally, fought this path forward in life as most teenagers are wont to do. I wanted.. freedom. Travel. Seclusion. The ability to perform kindnesses on my own time.


To see a man, whose name I had overhead in a neighboring conversation to where I sat was Odin, dance and laugh and speak with the voice of singing angels.. made me mourn for a life I was sure I would never have. A freedom I fiercely desired for myself. A life that was my own.

Over the course of that day, and several other Saturdays to come, we ultimately wound up speaking in passing. Discussing music styles of nearby nations, the difference between male and female roles (and why they were bullshit), lightly telling anecdotes of our lives. Small talk, all of it. But at least once each meeting we would cross each other's paths, we would lock eyes and hold each other's gaze for several moments. No anger inherent, or lust, or even longing. Merely..

A mutual, recognized sadness emanating from our eyes, the windows to our souls. A brief time of sharing this sadness with each other, as if we were momentarily holding hands before dropping them.


Over time, I grew a distaste for the watering hole I had once frequented so much. Something about the people there seemed too desparate for belonging, something about the place turned.. stale. As if we were all being fed on by a bored monster that had grown bored with us. I visited less and less frequently, preferring to spend my time at one lover's side or another, or with my nose in a book. Studying magic, the healing arts, seeking out those from foreign lands to speak to me of their experiences, to learn of lives outside of the slow, domestic onward march I seemed doomed to.


Contact with Odin sputtered and faded that year, to only be revived once or twice a year for a handful of time, then to drop off entirely when I fled my village. Hell, technically even my homelands for a short time, though I did eventually return. I ran from the destiny that was allotted for me out of spite and a yearning for more. Always driven forward by the desire to save the lost, the suffering. The confused, the misbegotten, the confused and misunderstood. To seek out what felt to be my own kin, a family that felt truer to me than the blood of my mother's womb did. It took me many a year to understand my motivations, and even longer to understand how to help my newfound tribe.


Rumors of Odin's life filtered through the grapevine to find my ear occasionally. A similar path to my own, but on a much grander scale. Devil's deals for sacred knowledge, extended life. A death thrown in the mix for omniescence. Small acts of kindness to travelers on the road. A willingness to appear at the crossroads to those of his acquaintance that knew him well enough to know his true name. Plants growing to full grown height in the blink of an eye in his presence. Potions of mysterious makeup handed out to the children that came down with the winter's cough, for absolutely no charge.


I felt pride in my old friend (acquaintance?), but had long since given up hope of seeing him again. For, in his travels he had journeyed every direction of the compass. For me, I had gone north to hide in the seclusion of the snow, and later, south to hide in the darkness of the swamps. After the first few years of travelling, I had picked up the convenience of keeping your face hidden by a clock, your steps steady on a path, with head down. Invisibility, with no price except for your voice growing still.


It became increasingly difficult to even find me, for my birth name dropped by the wayside sometime around my 18th year. I began going by the name of 'Lady Hel' once I attained my first basic certifications in healing and letters, among a handful of "names on the road." Being known for, well, anything, chief among them where I came from, was not what I desired out of life. I preferred to help without being seen at all, if I'm being honest, as shady as that may seem now.


I made my own deals at the Crossroads, though I never crossed paths with the wise man I had once laughed with by the riverbank, never had to sell a piece of my heritage to a travelling merchant for food money under his watchful gaze. For this, I was grateful. I had crossed paths with enough of our youngling crew from the 'old days,' each of us who went on our own way to forge our futures. Each knew me differently, a different angle of light and shadow to my face each time. Gradually, the course of my studies had lead me down dark paths of rituals that, well.. left me half dead.


Without illusions, I had become a walking corpse animated by pure force of will, a soft light, and a kind heart. The physical body itself had attempted to rot away, to be halted roughly halfway through the process to create a duality of features that was quite.. jarring to view. For this reason, I kept my illusions varied, my manners of dress and face adornment and hairstyle endlessly varying. So that no one might recognize the kind, sweet girl I once was.. and recoil in fear at what I had become.



And one day, after more than tenscore years, I came upon a foreign town with a tavern of ill repute. Took employment, kept my head down as always, disguised myself as a simple wench with ordinary goals. I wanted.. a respite. From my constant wandering. From the string of broken hearts I had left in my wake, including my own. From the.. loneliness, and coldness of the night air while slumbering.


While working at this tavern, I took a side assignment to help the mother of a co-worker. Prune her bushes, tend her flowers, beat down her lawn in what ways I could. Bring life and hope back to her life, though I doubt she realized those were my intentions at the time. People so rarely saw through what I did back then, to see the softly glowing light behind my intentions. Too easily caught up by their own woes and worries, trials and tribulations. Their own sadness hidden behind reflected lies.


And while there.. I received a summons, written on plain parchment paper, in runes from my homeland. A simple request, from an old friend: "Won't you come visit me, after all this time?"

Poison is But Medicine in the Wrong Dosage {Jack and Advy, circa late March 2018}

While the Culling was still going on, I had a surprise visitor.


Another of my ex-husbands, The Advocate.


Mask on, he appeared close enough to reach out and touch me, but had his arms crossed.


A sidearm on his hip, he seemed to be breathing heavily under the Mask, probably in anticipation.


Sick fuck.


"HEY there, Jack Off!" He giggled.


I eyed him with disdain.


"Well, howdy. That's a name I didn't expect to see again."


"Jack right? Or Dia? Hehe... Or Lillith."


".....shit.


Jack.


How'd you know about that?"


"What? No what?" He shrugged, ignoring me.


"Nice kill."


Stepping past me, he squatted to dip his finger in some of the blood dripping on the street.


"Hehehe. You've been a naughty girl, I see."


I squinted at him, mildly annoyed. "You know, technically that was Lilith's doing."


He giggled at me. "Naughty. Naughty. Naughty."


"All bodies in a line to me."


"Doesn't mean we're the same person, now does it?" I glanced at him as I said so.


"You would be surprised."


"How'd this happen? You fucked yourself, or something?" He gestures to the chaos but is clearly implying more as to when he says "this".


I sighed and began to rub my temples, a migraine already forming.


"Ya know, I've had to explain this so many times, I'm tempted just to record it and press play when people ask."


"But since you asked.. When major shit in my life started happening, my timelines started fracturing. I started to fall through the cracks.


In a free fall at first. It was awful.


Then.. It slowed down to just Traveling when I slept."


"So basically, I've met 20 others of me. Most of them have died."


"Awww, but it's not fun just playing a recording." He chuckles. "So impersonal."


Standing to his feet, he wiped the blood from his finger off on the shirt of a corpse and moved up to me, inches from my face.


"I could help with that. I mean, getting rid of the rest of them."


"That's my speciality."


"Call it a favor for old times sake."


"Old times sake? Sweetheart, I hate to disappoint you, but you aren't my Advy. Your voice and your mask are all wrong."


I laughed and swiped a finger across his bloody one, deliberately looking him in the eyes as I do so. I grinned for a moment, shrugged, and put the finger in my mouth.


"Shit like this doesn't intimidate me anymore, hon."


"And no. You may not kill my other selves. They are useful."


"Useful pin cushions." He laughed. "Aw but Jackie, don't say things like that. I'm 'everyone's advocate'."


He grabbed my hands and pulled me into a slow waltz, "You did promise me a dance, remember?"


I smiled bemusedly and began to dance with him, deliberately keeping the dance slow and intricate, re-enacting some far off and distant memory.


I twirled the Advocate, taking the lead on our dance, and told him as he stops spinning,


"If you're everyone's Advocate, you'd know I hate that name."


"You know, I think Lilith is the better dancer." He snickered, dipping me, "Did you like my song, heh. How's your singing voice?"


"Not as nice as your screaming voice, right? I always preferred your screams." He laughed, pulling me up out of the dip, "Like a goat,"


"Screams like a fucking goat."


I pulled away, stomping my foot pettily as I did so.


"I DO NOT, AND I BET YOU KNOW THAT TOO!"


With that, I covered my mouth and winced. I had gotten upset, and I had a terrible habit of saying stupid shit that could get me in trouble at the time.


Like now.


The Advocate was not a stupid man. He likely knew exactly what he was doing when he told me that, to gauge my reaction.


I stilled, a thought occurring to me.


'Oh god.'


'He just pulled a me on me! And I don't like that shit!'


The Advocate dipped at the waist, offering a mocking bow, "Hehehe, welcome to the fold, darling. Now, I think I was promised carnage." Sliding an arm along his wrist, a small syringe appeared from his sleeve and fell into his hand, filled by an eerie green liquid.


Circling me slowly, he playfully flicked the end of the needle, fluid dripping from the tip and him saying in a sing song voice, "You weren't teasing me were you, pumpkin, right? I do hate teasing."


Behind me now, he wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me against him with surprising gentleness. "Carnage is my very favorite foreplay."


The needle still held like a cigarette between his fingers in his free hand.


I did my best to relax back against him, and put on a small, rueful smile.


"Yes, my dear. You can participate in the Culling, but you have to follow my Code. Or I will kill you myself."


"You've always threatened me with needles, love. Sometimes for a good time, sometimes for a bad time. What is it this time? The acid? The antibiotics that make my blood feel like it's burning? The sedative that keeps me still while you play? Or, gosh, I might even warrant that special cocktail of yours. You know the one."


He chuckled, whispering in my ear, "This one makes your orifices as loose as rubber."

"I would like to try and see you kill me, you can't even kill yourself." He ran his hand against my stomach, a single finger climbing up my side, "I don't know if you could stomach losing me. Another dead lover... how's Gallows by the way?"


"You need me as much as you need all of the less tasteful... what do you call them, Rabbits? Hehehe. Hop hop. You've lost a lot of people, little Jack, I think you put on a big smile and pretend it doesn't bother you."


"Advy, baby, it does seem as though you're going easy on me."


"People are sentimental, and emotional, to the point of irrationality. Myself included."


I calmly watched the hand trailing over my skin, mildly began to become aware of a physical reaction to his touch, batted his hand away as a result and stepped away to face him again.


"If my emotions were on right now, I'd probably tell you I was terrified. I know what so many Advocates are capable of. And of those, your aura screams for me the loudest."


"So twisted, so confused, so angry and bitter. It's like looking in a mirror, sweetheart. I know what I'm looking at. So no, dollface, you don't bother me. I've died to you before. I won't scream or cry or beg for you like I have in the past."


"I'm too tired and rundown to react the way you want me to, all the way around. I lack a basic reason to care right now. About anything."


"So if you want to play and get to kill people in a sanctioned way, then come inside with me. I'll pour you a drink, since I know better than to take one from you. We can talk if you like."


My voice strengthened marginally, growing in volume.


"But what I will NOT do is stand here in this street and pretend to cower for you. I'm not in the mood."


With that, I blew a kiss at him and flipped him the bird with both hands, nails with chipped black polish shining in the light, and walked into my home in No Man's Land, leaving the door ajar.


A giggle slipped from the Advocate's lips, like a breath, barely audible, as I slipped away from him. Sliding a lid over the needle he had brandished, he dropped it in his coat pocket before wiping his shoes off on the welcome mat and stepping inside.


"Don't mind if I do."


Once inside, he scrutinized the interior briefly before he set his coat aside and unbuttoned his sleeves. With a smooth gesture, he rolled them up to his elbows, revealing countless tattoos of varying shapes and size, like a sort of twisted collage of colors that made him appear... surprisingly, more human.


Where I went, he followed, finding a place to comfortably lean on his elbows.


"Screaming and begging aside, that doesn't leave moaning off the books. Heh, you look like you haven't had a good shag since I last saw you. I'll have to loan  out that green juice of mine to the next fuck you decide to drop your pants for."


He looked around the apartment. "This place is more of a shit hole then I would have guessed from my view from bushes."


I myself rolled my eyes at Advy's comments, walking to my personal bedroom at the back right corner of the house to retrieve an item. All the while refusing to react to him.


When his sleeves rolled up, I had had a flashback to a private moment in Juneau and needed the precious time it took to walk to the back to knock myself out of it.


Watching me as I switched rooms, the Advocate yawned. "HEY, where in hell is my Shady. With all these damn doppelgangers wandering around I'm having a hard time finding anyone I wouldn't kill for entertainment."


"Fuck if I know. I haven't seen her in person in four years."


The Advocate sighed, "Could you be more useless. What are you getting, old Jack-O?"


I wandered my room for a few moments, in search of something, before finally finding what I was looking for: a black garbage bag, overflowing with papers and picture albums. I dug through it, carelessly tossing items to the side, before brandishing the item I was looking for:


A black photo album with names scribbled across it, most notably a few of mine.


Doodles of proxy masks adorned the front under each name, no one mask the same as another.


If you squinted, you could see a pattern in the masks.. and notice the resemblance between the doodles and the mask the Advocate was currently wearing.


I glared in the direction of the door as I heard him call out from the other room. The man had the patience of a three year old.


"Coming, Advy! One sec."


With a final glance at the giant trash bag, I returned to the living room.


I tossed the album onto the coffee table near to where Advy was, sat down, and put my feet up on the coffee table next to the album. "See for yourself."


Picking the album up by the corner, Advocate turned over it's pages, looking at it from odd angles, scrutinizing it. He dropped it back on the coffee table, lowering himself to a squat and taking a serious posture. Putting his hand on my knee he said, "Don't quit your day job, dearly departed. Art might not be in your bag of tricks." he shrugged, clearly being mocking.


I rolled my eyes again, taking a swig from a bottle of J.D. I kept on hand.


"You're supposed to look through it, asshole. Tell me what you see."


"Poorly drawn doodles," he giggles, "and???"


Knocking the album off of the coffee table, the Advocate pulled a chair up and put a green bottle on the table, having drawn it from within his jacket. "You mind getting me that red bottle I put in your freezer last night? Terrible to drink one without the other."


My face paled.


"I thought you were out in the bushes. What bottle? When 'the fuck were you in here?"


He shrugs, "I mean did you expect me to show up without checking your duds out first? Pshhh it's like you don't know me. Has it been so long? I'm smart enough to figure out where you keep your weapons at and move them before I just waltz in here."


"Plus I wanted to leave you a house warming gift. Hehehe."


"And the bottle is not the gift."


I looked woefully first at the bottle of alcohol in my hands, then around the room at the various hiding places I kept my knives and handguns.


"I suppose it's too much to expect you to not have fucked with my food and liquor. Gonna have to throw everything out and get a runner to replace what we have."


"No no no, that would be so wasteful. Think of the children starving! Hahaha. Come now Sabine, none of it's lethal."


"Just a good time."


I froze, my hands beginning to shake badly enough to cause the ice in my glass to clatter audibly.


"...that's not my name."


Under my breath I add,


"Not anymore."


"Hm? Jack?" He said, ignoring my trembling hands, "You just told me you were Jack. What do you mean it's not your name?" He giggled.


"You just called me Sabine, you fucking asshole. I may be partially deaf, but even i heard that."


"Hmm, can't say I remember that." He shrugs, "I think you might be going batty, darling. Too much time alone in your head. A drink?" He offers the green bottle towards me like a peace offering.


"Do you seriously expect me to drink anything you hand me?"


"Yes," he laughs, "or else I wouldn't offer it. Takes the edge off.. hehehehe."


I shook my head. "That kind of thing might've worked when I had purple hair, but in my world that was an incredibly long time ago. It feels like it's been centuries ago, honestly."


Advy gave me a long, searching look before replying.


"You'd appreciate me more if you accepted the gifts I offered you."


I glared at him over the top of my glasses and snatched the bottle out of his hands. I unscrewed the top, sniffed it before shrugging, and took a couple of long swigs. "Fuck it. What's the worst thing it can do? It's not like you can kill me any more."


"I mean, I can kill anyone I please, but the question is why would I kill you when I could watch you exist and suffer twice as much," he laughed, watching me as I drank from the bottle, before getting up to retrieve the other bottle from the freezer. Chilled overnight, he took a moment to pour some of it into a glass. He placed it in front of me and smiled. "Now the other one, to prevent headaches."




I blinked at him in disbelief. "Ya know, at this rate I wouldn't be surprised if the bottle said 'drink me' on its label. But whatever. I'll play along."










I dutifully picked up the glass, drinking until it was completely drained.








"Are you going to tell me now why i'm drinking Christmas themed drinks?"










"Nope," he responded, getting up and starting for the door. Grabbing his coat, he shrugged it on and dipped at the waist, offering me a kind bow, "Have a good night, deary. I have killing to do. Hehe."








And disappeared out the door.








I started feeling strangely discombobulated, as if all my muscles unscrewed themselves from their joints. I lost most control over my body, barely able to fall off the couch to try to make a loud sound and draw attention. The world started spinning, and things slowly faded into bright neon colors, like I was in a Nightmare Before Christmas themed funhouse.








Skeletons hung from the wall, and blood flooded the floor.








Small little pulses of miasma began to creep from the floor and overtake everything, creating veins of darkness and pockets of filth and disease that began to weep pus.








Small vermin and crawling creatures started swarming from beneath the floor, pushing against the floorboards and popping them upwards, creating crawlspaces for the vermin to escape and rush outwards in a flood. Consciously, I knew it wasn't real. Emotionally.. it was all I could do to think at all.








The creatures turned as one and began to giggle as a mass unit, swarming towards my feet, and murmurs similar to the voice of the Advocate began to flood my hearing until the sound became my entire world.








I crawled for the hallway, barely able to lift my arms and drag myself forward. A normally small distance, fifteen feet to the door where Gallows lay suddenly felt like a mile. My arms began to cramp, and I temporarily lost control and fell back to the floor, crying.








It was all I could do to roll over and begin to scream.








"GALLOWS! DAVID! GRAVES! ANYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYONE!!! PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF FUCK, HELP ME!"





I heard movement from the other side of the house, but it suddenly seemed less important to me to move towards my friends. Everything flooded into a cascade of rainbows and miasma, like the darkest rainbow came to life and infected my home. I felt nauseated, and sad, and lost.








Strange figures I have never met before danced before me and began to sing the strangest shit.








I swear I heard some Dr. Horrible songs. At the time it made sense, but looking back..








What the fuck, man?








The Advocate tried to tell me that the poisoning would only last for a day, at max three.








.....it lasted over a week.








Nonstop pain and memories and fucking to stay sane became my reward for trusting him.








I don't know how to explain all the myraid shit I went through. Not yet.








Not really.










So much has happened since the Culling that, honestly, trying to remember what happened when and in what order is a bit more than I can do. I'll try my best to recount what I can, but..











Well. Y'all will understand later.

The Path {Jack Encountering Zero, circa mid March 2018}

There was a blur on the edge of his vision.  What was different was the bright coloring that was noted.  A glowing shade of green.  In the path it was unique.  

The figure moved away at a slow pace. He was pretty quiet, all things considered.  His feet had tread this path a hundred thousand times now, and his shoulders hung with weariness.  After about sixty paces, he wrote something into a notepad, then ventured off of the trail into the thicket of trees and bushes of nondescript colors that frame the trail.

A rustling of leaves behind me caught my attention, and I froze. Still new to walking the Path instead of the Red Road, I had been attempting to stay out of sight.

Glancing down at my necklace, I noticed a glowing green light emitting from my favorite jade dragon, a memento I had kept after the death of a friend many years ago. It was my talisman against evil, my link to the Sages and their bravery, and the totem that has kept me alive. 

Realizing quickly what that light must mean, I yanked mH head up and turned back around, only to see the silhouette of a man disappear into the tree line.

Dropping all pretense at logical thought, I kicked off my shoes and began to run. The figure was heading in the direction of the Door to Rabbit Hole.

If my hunch was right, I would be reunited with a friend. 

If not, I had to do all I could to protect Sanctuary.


~


He strays off the path, plants and leaves shifting in his wake, then moves deeper into the woods. Mostly, he walks adjacent to the path, wandering just a bit left and right, as if seeking something. The light dims and dims, until there's only the faintest of glows, and that comes from his hoodie.  

The air starts to grow thin, after a few more steps, things just begin to feel weird, like space or gravity have started to lessen their hold.  A buzzing sound fills his ears as it is nearly impossible to tell where he is.  Surely if there is an edge to the Path, or at least to his own private hell, this is it.  He rips a page off of his notepad and waves it around for a few moments.  

His hand opens, and the page is sucked into the void.


~



I tripped over a tree root, cursing myself angrily as I do so for costing myself time.

After about 30 seconds of running, I catch sight of the figure once more. "Wait! Don't touch that! It's not safe!!"

The figure stood about 6 ft tall, has a painfully lean build, and has shaggy brown hair. He has something of a severe face, and wears a black hoodie that has a lot of glow in the dark stuff on it,  most notably the Hollow Man. He has a sack on his hip, and a broken blade wedged into his belt.

The man showed no outward sign of acknowledging what I said, so I internally hit my "fuck it" switch and decided to do whatever I had to to get him away from the rabbit hole.

Ducking my head and shoulders down, I dove into the back of the figure, knocking him both down in the process.

"I told you, DON'T TOUCH THAT."

~

He panicks, being knocked down.  The buzzing, the distortion is disorienting out here on the edge of reality, but the sense of falling is real,and suddenly there's another figure, someone moving.  He lets out a yell, scrambles, and pushes them away.  Still on the ground, the man draws his weapon, raises it over his head, as if just ready for the kill right there. 

As the light coming from the other person washes over him, his eyes go wide, his hood falls back, showing what appears to be half of a monster mask atop his head, just the right size to be an eye mask.  Panting, he pauses from striking.

~

I put up my hands in a peaceful way, "Wait wait wait! I don't mean you any harm, I swear!"

I squint at the man, staring at him like trying to place an old photograph in a lost album.

"Zero?"

~

At this point, he sees a face, confused, frightened, and scared, he actually scrambles away from the far edge of the forest.  Eventually the buzzing slows and stops, and gravity and time seem to stop distorting as they were. He moves around on the actual path itself, his weapon still out, pacing erratically as if he's trying to process. A hand keeps going over his face and mouth, like what happens to people in shock.


~

I slowly lower my hands, reaching for my necklace. "Hold on. Just a moment."

I pull the still shining necklace from around my neck, still threaded with its old black leather cord, and hand it out to him in the palm of my hand.

"Zero, sweetheart. Breathe. Look at me. Look at my face. You know me. You know the necklace. Please, just look."

~

She spends a significant amount of time trying to calm him down, and it leaves him in tears.  The guy's been in torment, and probably the worst kind of torment for someone who wanted to be special.  For he was made to feel utterly insignificant.  If he were tortured physically, at least he could've kept the dream that he did something noble.  

Here, it was his psyche or perhaps his spirit that was rended.  He ends up on his knees, legitimately crying.  "Thank God...."  He wipes his face with his sleeve, "Maybe you can kill me...."

~


Have you ever heard of touch deprivation?  We, as humans, are social creatures.  Even people like myself, the ones that generally view society from out of arm's reach, we all sometimes need a bit of skin to skin contact.  Its been documented repeatedly that ensuring contact helps promote a better social nature, as well as better health.  

The touch of someone is a sign of support, of intimacy, even of the non-sexual kind.  In fact, I've always felt that the term 'healing hands' didn't refer to the actual channelling of deific energy to heal a person, but the reinforcement and positivity of another person's touch.

I sat there on my knees, mentally and physically exhausted, spiritually broken.  I saw a way out, and I asked for her to do what I couldn't do. Instead, she smiled and reached out to touch me, laying her hand over the side of my face.  

I'm not proclaiming anyone to be an angel.  I'm not even pretending it was anything more than a small act of compassion.  But I felt something right then, just the sheer proximity of another person, a necessity of life that I hadn't felt in what felt like forever.  I wept.  I'm not ashamed to admit it.

Reunions {Jack's journal entry regarding Gallows, circa March 2018}

I ignored the kicks at first, as I was doing the Underland radio. When he starts to sing, welllllll... When I realized who it was, I cautiously approached the door.

He had Thomas' throat encircled with the sickle, held close as a human shield should I open fire by the time he arrived at the door. The silence doesn't last terribly long before Gallows kicks at the door. A solid thud, followed by another and another to simulate knocking.

My head turned slightly towards the door, silently acknowledging the visitor to Tagalong, waving him towards the weapons. Tag plays along, saying “Speak of the Devil, I think we have a guest.”

I copied him, silently loading my sidearm and talking into the mic broadcasting the Underland Radio. 

“I think we’ll have to cut it short here. Thank you listeners for tuning into Underland Radio.” 

I reached down to flip the switch to cut the feed, motioning my walking towards the door towards Tag. I took up a position catty-corner to the front door, and waited.

Cue another solid knock followed by some soft shuffling as Gallows readjusted his position snugly behind the guard. "Gonna make ya wet with this diddy, Thomas, but just remember it ain't for ya." 

He whispered sweetly to his prisoner before looking past towards the door. 

Graves stands at the base of the stairs, their weapons in each hand and your average dead look in her gaze.

There's no changes made when he raises his voice and starts (not terribly but not quite wonderfully) serenading, 

"I used to think maybe ya loved me, now I know that it's true And I don't want to spend my whole life, just waiting for ya Now I don't want ya back for the weekend Not back for a day, no no NO I said baby I just want ya back And I want ya to stay -" 

"-this would be better with a boom box, Graves-"

"-I'M WALKIN' ON SUNSHINE~"

I rolled my eyes as I realized who it is, relaxing my position and grip on my weapon.

 "Shut the fuck up, Nick! I told your ass not to follow me!!"

"Ah, SUNSHINE! There ya are." Gallows chirped cheerfully at the door, giving another kick against it. 

"Your boy out 'ere ain't light, come on n' open on up. I'm here now, ain't no sense moaning over it."

I sighed petulantly and holstered my sidearm, motioning towards Tag. I mouthed silently "Go to Overland. I'll be fine." Tagalong teleported out, and I run a nervous hand over my hair, brushing it out of my face and squaring my shoulders.

 'You can do this. He's just an ex. Talk to him, and tell him to leave. That simple.' 

"Have you tried the DOORKNOB, asshole? It's been unlocked the whole time."

"My hands are full, sue me." Heavy steps bounded up the stairs without hesitation. Graves took hold of the door handle and twisted, wrenching it open while sidestepping out of the way. 

"Thomas, m'boy, ya remember how to walk? It's just like without having a blade at yer throat, so pretend their ain't one there fucko." Gallows nudged the back of the guard's to move forward. "There ya go."

I suppressed a giggle behind one of my hands, ducking my head so Thomas wouldn't see. My attempt failed, and Thomas glared at me mightily as he brushed past me to take up residence in one of the upper floors. 

Me:
"Graves, Nick, come on in. I'd have locked the door if I didn't want company." 

I turns on my heel without sparing them another glance, leaving the door ajar. I sauntered into the kitchen, opening cupboards to retrieve glasses for myself and my guests, grabbing a bottle of J.D. on my way back to the living room. I plopped my ass down on the couch adjacent to the door Gallows just walked through, staring at him expectantly.

Me:
 "Drink?"

Gallows releases Thomas without any hesitation; no need for an unwanted hostage, after-all. He focused instead of the intended destination, Graves following into the living room as she continued playing pack mule for him. 

 Gallows:
"Gonna need it since you're still being a bitch." 

He grinned cheekily at me, finding a seat across from mine. For once he is without the face mask, the paint or even the pinned back hair. Bare-faced just for this special occasion. 

"Oh... yes and," Gallows pulled the trash bag over, proceeding to tip it upside down and pour the contents out in the space between them. "Gonna need it for all this shit."

I got lost in my mind for a moment, as I am want to do when I reunite with lovers from my various timelines. His sitting before me as he was, sans makeup and pinned hair, he looked exactly like my Nicholas: a still raw part of my heart, repressed as deeply as it would go.

 Images of their pasts through the timelines pass by in my mind's eye, settling on the first moment he ever kissed me. Shaking my head with a rueful smile, I knocked myself back to reality. 

Me: 
 "Oh Nick, baby, who told you you could go through my shit? So rude of you."

 Gallows:
"I'm a rude fuckin' guy, babe. Dontcha remember the things I'd do to ya late a night?" 

Gallows winked. He isn't even trying to hide the edge to his tone when I call him that; it's irritating but seeing me again surely puts him in a good mood - a better mood than he could have predicted. He figures it'll matter shortly so why rush it? They got plenty to discuss as it is.

"There was a naked blonde bitch in yer hidey-hole back home. Y'know, this one." Gallows turned a picture around and slid it over. "Gots lots of similarities but ain't none of them spot on to the girl I know."

Me:

"I did try to tell you, ya'know. That I wasn't crazy. Or at least.. That crazy. But you jumped the gun and assumed. It was easier to think I was crazy than to face how much you fucked up."

I picked up the snapshot, my gaze thoughtful.  

 Me:
"That's Lilith. Or Red, as Tag likes to call her. She's the version of me from the universe where she was supposed to be the happiest. That Gallows never came back for her like my Gallows did. It drove her a bit insane. She's the original author of Be Wary. I'm surprised you didn't recognize her. That's the Dia that most people got to meet."

Gallows:

"It ain't about it being easier, sweetie. It's about the lack of evidence ya can provide a person over the web." 

Gallows pulled the picture back and took another look at it. "Keep tellin' ya I ain't got no problem sayin' when I done fucked up. Ya keep insisting, maybe this repetition is why I got to also thinking you're being a bit crazy." 

He cocked an eyebrow over the picture at me before he resumed looking it over.

"I ain't saying she don't look familiar, I'm saying she still ain't right. Ya gotta make up yer mind, girlie. Either I'm smart and know what you're talkin' about and lying to ya, or I'm ignorant on the subject and you're being a cunt over it. Either way, ya gotta pick which gimmick ya wanna go with if we're gonna do this right."

Me:

"Can't it be both? I never said you were lying, love. Just that it hurt me that you never noticed, in the four years since Sacramento, that you never asked yourself why I was so strange. Why you had a corpse next to you at night. Why I never complained when you had to leave, despite never wanting you to go."

 "I'm not trying to be a cunt. I'm your ex girlfriend, technically fiancee, trying to explain who I am and you aren't listening. Or weren't. It hurt, I lashed out, we fought about it, and now we're here." I smiled bitterly to myself. 

"Just add in some talking, blood, and fucking, and that's pretty much our relationship in a nutshell."

I began meticulously organizing the heap of scrapbooks, leases, and paperwork that had amassed on my coffee table. On and on I go, humming to myself in an offkey ditty that I likely picked up from Gallows the night we first met. Finally, several stacks lie in front of me. Each organized by colored sticky notes, by date, and by timeline.  

Me:
"Let me ask you a question. Before we continue fighting: Where did we first meet?"

The killer slouched back in the chair, arms draping over the back as he made himself comfortable while listening. Half of what I said didn't make any sense to him. Ex fiance? Ex in general. Also what did that have to do with having a catch up conversation?

 Gallows wasn't someone who understood relationships and what they meant to those familiar with them. He didn't know there were RULES that came with this shit outside of movies.

Gallows:
" The fuck? "Ya talkin' about face to face or the web, babe? Gotta be a bit more specific."

Me:
 "Either. Both would help. But let's make it simple: in person."

 Gallows:
"First time in person was at Advy's explosive party. Met ya with that wanna detective bitch. Me and Graves had little Josie with us. Ended up having an after party at yer place for... Oh, a good while."

I tapped my fingers against my chin thoughtfully, gazing down at the stacks in front of me. After a minute of double checking, I removed three smaller chunks of paperwork from the stacks and set them to the side. 

Me: 

"Well. That knocks out a few timelines. In one, we really did meet on the street. In another, you were a corpse in the ground before I met Shady. And in that third one? You came into my room, pretended to be another lover, fucked me silly, and then slit my throat." 

I removed a 4x6" crime scene photo from one of the scrapbooks, clearly one of my alternates arranged artisticly in a puddle of her own blood, throat slit with Gallow's sickle placed lovingly in one hand, and handed the photograph to Nick. 

Me:
"That was the third one. I mean, at least you gave her a good fuck before she went. Death by snusnu, and all that."

Gallows:

"Compliments to the golden vag, babe." He watched her move aside the photos, interested to learn more about them at a later date. For now it was about focusing on what the fuck the rest was all about.

 "Still don't change the fact ya got all these alts and ya be claiming I do, too. Pretty sure that shit don't just appear."

I smirked, and reached out to take his hand with the one wearing my ring. 

Me:
"You'll understand in a minute. I promise. You remember this?" "Humor me for a minute. Tell me the story of how you gave it to me. And try not to be an asshole about it."

A puff of air left his mouth as he glanced down to their joined hands; dark amber gaze tracing over the ring before he glanced over into Graves' direction briefly.  

Gallows:
"I had to fix my darlin',"  

He jerked a thumb into the direction of the scythe Graves held. 


Gallows:
"Its head was loose from all the slicin' and dicin'. Meant a lot of work and adjustments had to be done to reinforce the wood, too. Needed a lot of new parts which meant I had lots of old parts leftover, not all of it full of sweet tetanus. So in the process of fixin' my girl up I fixed my other girl a little somethin' somethin'. Figured, y'know, this babe already autographed my scythe so I always gots a piece of her wherever I go, it's only fair to do something similar." 

There's a wink, "I'm just that sentimental. Anyways, did some smithing, fixed my scythe and out came a ring for ya. It ain't the prettiest thing in the junkyard but you and I ain't pretty people. Well we are, but y'know what I mean."

"Came back to ya afterwards. Y'know, cause it was during my time in-cog-nito n'all. So I came back for another date night. Found ya all dressed up and pretty, prettier than usual. And as I watched ya I thought to myself, y'know Gallows - I wonder if we can get that smile any bigger. Lo and behold I could.

We shared a diddy, smashing some humming tunes together to make almost a complete song and I slipped that thing right on ya during it with these sly fingers. Course ya took notice pretty quick so I guess they ain't that sly, but ya fuckin' glowed, babe. "

"We didn't end up goin' out that night, not that I complained, had your pretty self to myself all night. I remember watching that ring catch in the moonlight while ya slept. Ya always did look great in blue, better in red but real good in blue, too."

I reluctantly let go of his hand to scrutinize the stacks in front of me, removing roughly half of the remaining paperwork that were color coordinated snow white, rot green, and bruise purple. 

Me:
 "Only a few questions left. When you came to visit me after I ran, what were you happy to find missing from my room?"

Gallows:

"That heart I drew up in blood. Took it away with ya." 

Gallows returned to his reclined position.

I paused for a moment, eyes widening slightly. For a brief moment, my heart had skipped a beat. There were only three timelines that I took the heart with me. My home timeline, the timeline they met in the street and he told me who he was immediately, and Lilith's timeline. 

For a brief moment...I let myself feel hope. Then squashed it mentally like a bug beneath my heel. Hope was pointless for someone from my timeline. With hands shaking, I wordlessly removed all but three stacks of paperwork, shoving them all back in the garbage bag. 

I picked up the largest black scrapbook, inscribed 'Nicholas' on the side in red flowing script. It was overfull, a leather strap added after its purchase to bind the sides together. Still mute, I handed the photo album to Gallows and pointed to the three stacks. 

Me:
"Read. Look. Let me know when you're done." 

With that, I picked up my empty glass and walked into the kitchen, toeing off my boots in order to pad through the rooms barefoot. The physical sensation of the tile and carpets a relieving distraction to the events in my head. 

I refilled my glass with a double dose, no ice, and began to wander aimlessly through the house, lost in memories both of my Nicholas and of my dead family.

He flipped through the scrapbook, eying over all the different hers and hims. The initial response of how fucking ridiculous this all is was quieted down. He was born to two intelligent people who raised him smartly, he retained plenty of those said smarts. 

While all this supernatural hocus pocus bullshit wasn't something that really interested him, the people in these pictures did - in the smallest fraction, they did. They were meat, with feels and thoughts at the end of it; all things he understood well. The scrapbook is dropped as he pushed himself to a stand and paced after where my footfalls led, motioning Graves to stand put. 

Gallows: 

 "Ya think I need that book to know what is what, girlie? YOU need it. Not me."

Gallows rounded a corner and caught sight of me. 

Gallows:
"That Lilith girl, pretty one ain't she? Not mine." He lengthened his stride to catch up to her quickly, "YOU, ya jaded fuck, you're MY girl. Like hell I wouldn't recognize you and if ya want confirmation, there ya go, I read your fuckin' book. I don't know about all em' other girlies, I don't know about em' other me's. There's only me, so they can all fuck off. You're my girl. If those girls are you too, they're all my girls. But you're the heart of it, babe. You're the start of it and it's why I'm here."

I turned and looked up into his amber eyes, absentmindedly setting my glass down on the nearby baby piano as I did so. 

Me:
"All of those girls are me. All of those guys are you. Just different versions of us in different versions of the world, that are different because of choices we made. The problem with this is, I remember all of their lives. Nasty little trick from the eldritch bastards. You say I'm your Dia, but how am I supposed to know you're my Gallows? There's only one event that would stand out to him more than the others, and guess what? If I tell you what it is, it defeats the point."

"I have loved you in every timeline I have ever met you. Even when you killed me or we died together. So, honestly, it doesn't really matter which one you are. It hasn't bothered me since Sacramento. I was just happy to see you when I could. But please.. Don't stand there and pretend to be my Gallows. 

My Gallows has been missing for six months, with no cell, no email, no postcards. I can't believe my Gallows would do that to me twice. I can't imagine why he would. So.. Just. Please. Tell me the truth and tell me which one you are so I can go to bed in peace, and you can go home." 

With that, I closed my eyes and leaned against his chest, hand curled up in his shirt like I would all the times we would cuddle before bed. Tears quietly rolling down my face to soak his shirt. 

In that moment, I stopped caring which Gallows was in front of me. I only wanted to know which one he was to get closure at this point. I was happy just to be holding a Gallows that, at the very least, had loved her back.

Gallows:

"Babe, babe, babe."

 Gallows cooed as he lifted his hands to take hold of each side of my head; fingers threading through my hair as he let me cry against him. 

"It ain't doing you no good to not be listenin' now to me. You're asking questions I already began giving ya answers to that you, my darlin', didn't wanna hear."

There's a sigh in his voice as he slid a leg forward, purposely to nudge my back against the nearby wall. Less chances I had to get away, the less he had to distract himself. With a slow inhale he pried up face to look up at him leaning over me. 

"So listen here. I don't give a fuck about the other me's. Clearly they weren't as successful... or good lookin'. All those other yous are a bit more important, not quite as important as yourself, though. You're the heart of it, girlie. 

I recognized it immediately and I went for ya just as quickly as I fuckin' could. Through all them other lovely faces, I look at you and I hear it. The war drums. I wanted that heart from the start, ya think I'd forget how it sounds the moment I got hold of it? Yer fuckin' mistaken. Ya think I WANTED to go? There definitely coulda been better ways but I didn't see em'. 

Didn't think I'd be gone that long. Kept me alive, kept YOU alive. Even kept yer fuckin' friends alive. Ya didn't lose me in this... this timeline, pretty sure I ended up losing ya, girlie. That Bleeding Tree bullshit I came to help ya with, don't even get me started on that hole of confusion - but ya needed it. 

Needed that way more than anythin' I coulda provided for ya it woulda seemed at that time. If ya think you're just gonna go and have a nice lie down after this chat - oh no. No, no, no. We are far from through. I came to this bullshit place for ya and I ain't goin' back to a home I don't got without ya there. Ya hear me?"

I blinked slowly up at him, lashes still wet with my tears. I reached up to rub them away, seemingly lost in place, not sure what to do with myself. That bit of anger I'd been holding onto, the belief that I was alone, all got washed away in the past few minutes. 

There was nothing holding me up emotionally, not anymore, and so I leaned back against the wall behind me, pulling Gallows as close to me as I could.

Me:
 "...babe? Are you fucking with me right now? Last chance to have someone jump out and yell SURPRISE and tell me this was all a joke. I can't handle it if you aren't telling me the truth."
 

There's a smile that curls on his lips, teeth unveiling bit by bit as he looked down at that tear stained face and listened to my words.

Gallows:
 "Sweetie, I'm about real fuckin' close to puttin' these hands 'round yer neck if ya accuse me of one more filthy lie." 

He wouldn't kill me, that's for sure, but there are plenty of other things he could cook up if I pushed it any further. The only reason hesitation came into play was from the warmth he felt when i pulled him against me - that soothed his buzzing brain just a dash. 

"I showed ya how to string em' up nice and pretty. I told ya about my tree back home, even. Showed ya how to tie a noose, how to really sacrifice something with your hands. I dream of ya in red, y'know? Plenty of times."

I laughed at his choice of words, a silly and girlish laugh that surprised even her. I had finally, somehow, lucked into having the one I loved most come back to me. Theirs was never a stable, or even normal relationship. 

They had always traveled in their own individual lives; his eluding the Creevey thing, me hunting down relics and paperwork in an attempt to analyze the pattern of fear attacks. It didn't matter. 

The few times a year we reunited, it was heaven to me. Sure, we screwed like people that hated each other, fought frequently (sometimes with weapons..), and talked to each other in a fucked up dialect all our own, but.. we were each other's. Had been for a long time. 

What seemed abusive and terrible to the outside world was the only real shelter I had in the storm. He. He had always been the one I ran to, from the moment we met at Advy's party to my  mental breakdown over my first sacrifice to the Bleeding Tree, all the way to this moment. Lonely, confused, and bitter at the world.. he still came for me. 

Dealt with my bullshit, listened to my crazy life shit, and still held onto me as if he was afraid I would fly away. Most of all.. my Gallows had never lied to me. Not once. Not in the entirety of our relationship. He never tried to hide or obscure how fucked up he was, and never so much as blinked when I had a panic attack or fell into a murderous rage in the midst of a mental breakdown. 

He genuinely, truly loved me in all my fucked up wonder and glory, and if I was being honest with myself.. O loved the man Gallows just as much as I had loved him when he walked around as Nicholas. 

Me:
 "I prefer blue. Red was always Lilith's color, and yours." She smiled to herself after a moment's thought. "Why don't you be you, and I'll be me." "I only ask you let me call you Nick, my Nick, and you at least try to text me from a burner phone every once in a while. Okay?"

 With that,I stood up on my tiptoes and kissed Gallows.

Gallows: 
"You and blue have always be true, eheheh. I'm still fond of red, why I like painting ya. We can play with blues too sometime." Maybe something even blue blooded? Was that a thing? Now he wondered... FOR LATER. Now there was her. And him. Gallows smoothed back her hair from her face, expression alight and full of energy at her response. He liked this plan. 

Being him, her being her. Fuck all else. Still he wondered just what it meant for getting the two of them outta this place. The thought doesn't fade even with her very distracting lips on his own. His body acts on its own accord, pulling her closer and returning the kiss he has spent far too long to share. But. BUT... 

He pulls back before he loses his train of thought. "I ain't gonna be leaving ya like that anytime soon. I gots me a real fun plan, I think. So what I'm gonna do is I'm gonna try real hard. Real. Fuckin'. Hard. to listen to you say Nick till ya remember Gallows is the right one, aight? And what you're gonna do is get outta this place with me."

Me:
"I only ask that you stay here with me a while before we have to leave. I don't care what we do. Play monopoly, dance, screw like rabbits. I don't care. I just.. want some time with you, before we have to go back."

 "Oh, and learn how to buy burner phones and text me every once in a while!" "I will track your fucking ass down if you go a month straight without talking to me after this. Don't think I won't."