Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It wasn’t cold, which was the first thing Sally expected. It didn’t hurt. It just… It just happened.

All the same, being a ghost did feel strange. He felt thin, wispy and weightless. He didn’t feel whole. It didn’t feel good. He glanced around.

There his body was, slumped in the chair, his head bowed. There was a crying sound but it was muffled, almost like it was coming from underwater. Or that he was underwater. Either way, it caught Sal’s attention, and he looked up.

Ash was there, Sal’s chest tightening in surprise when he saw her. She was standing in front of the door, looking through the window, her mouth agape. But it wasn’t just shock; she was openly sobbing, tears running her makeup down her face. One hand was pressed against the glass of the window, and Sal’s heart wrenched. Why didn’t anyone stop her from coming? Why didn’t anyone stop her from seeing this?

Because there isn’t anyone left, he realized. Ash is the only one. Goddamn it, Ash…

Against the far wall, a door swung open. It wasn’t actually a door, not really, just a section of the wall, but it swung open like a door all the same. It was bright out there, the light coming from the entryway looking natural, not like the impersonal artificial lighting of the execution room.

Sal could feel that through that door was the only way from this room; the only way for him, at least. He could go through that door, but he would truly be gone then; forever. Or he could stay, and haunt this executioner’s room. He could stay.

He spared a glance at Ash again. Her hand had slid down the window, only her fingertips visible, and her head was bowed; the crown of her head was pressed against the glass, and all Sal could see of her face was her forehead and the curve of her nose. She was the last person he loved in this world, and there was nothing he could do for her anymore. He could barely even stand to see her like this, but then she would leave, and he would never see her again.

He could go, go out and into whatever was on the other side, into whatever was past this plane. Hell, probably—for him, at least. Being executed by the state wasn’t the best way to get to the pearly gates. Especially if you listened to heavy metal music.

Regardless, he turned. He turned to this bright entryway, Ash’s cries slowly fading from his ears as he stepped through.

The first thing Sally noticed was that the weightless feeling was gone. He felt heavier; he felt grounded again. It was dark out, but in the way dusk is dark; he could still see as he walked, following his feet through the tall grass wherever they decided to take him.

It grew steadily lighter as he walked. The sky seemed to stretch forever, the clouds above multiple colors, mimicking astrological signs as they floated by. As far as he could see, a grassy field spanned out across the ground, nearly up to his knees and brilliantly green. This didn’t seem like hell, no fire and brimstone, but he figured that he hadn’t really been here long enough to judge, and kept walking.

After what felt like an hour, Sal really began to hate his orange prison jumpsuit. After what felt like two, something caught his eye. A thin tail poked out from the tall grass, then immediately ducked down again.

“Gizmo?” It was a silly thought, but it was the first one that Sal had. The tail looked much like a cat’s tail, and while it was a darker color than Gizmo ever was, Sal told himself that it was just a shadow. He hadn’t seen Gizmo in years; the cat might have died by now, and ended up here. Hell, Sal wouldn’t be surprised to learn that the frisky feline had managed to find a way into the afterlife without dying. Gizmo could open locked doors on his own, despite a lack of thumbs; if he could do that, he could do anything.

“Gizmo?” Sal called out again. The tail reappeared, and this time Sal could tell the tail was black, but he didn’t care; he ran towards the cat, curious and wanting to see it. The grass ahead of him parted, Sal using that to watch where his quarry was going. When he felt he was close enough, he leaned down, reached out his arms, and scooped the animal up.

It was a little cat, black as a new moon and fur soft as velvet. It looked up at Sal, the big yellow eyes more curious than surprised, though somehow Sal thought he could see a frown on the creature's face.

“Well then, now that you've caught me, may I ask a question?” It was the cat, the cat talking. If Sal hadn't seen it, he wouldn't have believed it. It had a rather posh voice, distinctly male, his tone clipped and dry. “Do I know you?”

Sal dropped him. The kitty made a small noise as he was let go of, landing on all fours in the grass.

“Now, really?” The cat asked.

“You're a cat.” Sal responded. It was the only thing he could think to say.

“Well spotted.”

“You're talking.”

“Oh, and he can hear. A miracle.”

“What--?” Sal began--was this Hell? A land where cats could tell you what they truly thought of you?--when a youthful shout crossed the field to them.

“I found you, kitty!”

Sal looked up. A little girl was running through the grass towards them, wearing a bright yellow dress. There was a teal bow on her chest, the outfit completed with black and white striped leggings and brown lace-up boots. She crossed the ground to them quickly despite how stick-thin she was, completely disregarding Sal in favor of scooping the cat up into her arms.

“It wasn't fair!” The cat protested. His voice didn't faze the girl in the slightest. “This man interrupted my turn.” The cat then turned again to Sal. “You quite ruined our game of hide-and-seek, you know.”

The girl then turned to Sal too. Sal internally flinched back, expecting the usual, fearful response he got from children upon looking at his mask. But it didn't happen. This little girl simply looked at him, her big blue eyes nothing but curious. She wasn't afraid, Sal realized. She wasn't afraid at all.

“How rude I am!” The girl exclaimed after a moment. “I haven't introduced myself! My name is Fran Bow Dagenhart! It's so wonderful to meet you.”

She was beaming, her brown bobbed hair and bangs perfectly framing her face. Somehow, the words didn't sound disingenuous.

“I'm Sal Fisher.” Sal offered. “But most people call me Sally Face.”

“Why?” Fran asked. She tightened her hold on Mr. Midnight, but the cat didn't complain. For a moment, Sal didn't know how to respond. Nobody had asked him that before; he’d always thought it was obvious.

“My… My face. My mask.” He gestured up to the prosthetic, the white mask that covered the marred flesh underneath. Fran shrugged.

“I can still see your eyes.” She said simply. “They're blue like mine. And your hair is blue as well! I wish my hair was cool like yours.”

Sal reached up, surprised to find that his hair didn't feel dirty and unwashed, like it had been before he died. It was clean and smooth. He shrugged too.

“I think your hair is pretty cool too.” He said, and Fran beamed at him.

“Oh! This is my kitty, Mr. Midnight.” Fran said. She held Mr. Midnight up under the arms, and while looking unamused, the cat again didn't protest. “He's my best friend in the whole world. We were playing hide-and-seek; would you like to play with us?”

“Can he actually talk?” Sal asked. “Or am I losing my mind?”

“He can talk!” Fran said with a laugh, pulling the black kitty back into her arms.

“I can.” Mr. Midnight confirmed.

“He's always been able to talk. He even talked to me before we died, though everybody else pretended they couldn't hear him.”

“So you're dead too?”

“Everyone here is dead, I think.” Fran answered thoughtfully. She readjusted Mr. Midnight back into her arms, and he nestled in comfortably. “Except maybe Itward. And I don't know where anyone else is, either. I meet them, but they usually keep walking, and then I never see them again. I don't know where they go.”

Sal looked around. He understood why people would keep walking; the basic human need for food, water, and shelter wouldn't be fulfilled here in this sunny, open field. Then again, Sal didn't feel hungry or thirsty at all.

“Did the two of you die together or something? At the same time?” Sal asked, hoping the question wasn't insensitive. Fran didn't look bothered. She shook her head.

“Mr. Midnight died before I did.” She answered. “They needed a body to put in my grave. I don't remember my own death enough to tell you what happened.”

“So how did you two find each other?” Sal asked. Fran shrugged.

“Mr. Midnight waited for me.” She looked at him questioningly for a moment. “Why? Is there someone you want to see?”

Sal opened his mouth, closed it, then glanced down at his feet. It was a stupid hope, he knew, but when Fran had said the words “best friend”, Sal had thought of Larry. Hearing those words had made him think of Larry every day since the day they'd met, even in the past three years after he was gone. Asking this little girl about him was a long shot, but Sal figured he had nothing else to lose. He could spend the rest of the afterlife looking for Larry; any amount of payoff would be worth it.

“My best friend died three years ago.” Sal said, and even though he was dead too, the words still tasted bitter in his mouth. “Maybe you've seen him?”

“Maybe I have.” Fran agreed. “What does he look like?”

“He's tall.” Sal began, Fran already nodding thoughtfully. “He has long brown hair, a big nose, and a mole on the side of his face right here.” Sal tapped at the prosthetic, on the right side near his cheekbone.

“Does he often call people 'dude’ and 'man’ even if they aren’t those things?” Fran asked, and Sal felt himself begin to grin.

“Yeah.”

“I might know him!” Fran said happily, setting Mr. Midnight down and starting back the way she had come at a light jog. She was short enough that Sal didn’t really need to walk much faster to keep up.

“You do?” Sal tried not to get his hopes up. It probably wasn’t Larry. There had to be thousands of tall, long-haired dead guys with an affinity for slang. “Why hasn’t he left? It’s been a long time.”

“He says he’s too tired. Mostly he lies under the tree on the hill and looks up at the clouds, but if he has enough energy sometimes he will play with me. He says he did a really bad thing, and that it makes him cry sometimes.” Fran fell silent then, looking down for a moment. “But that doesn’t make me afraid of him. Every single person has done at least one really bad thing in their lives.”

The hill Fran had mentioned became visible in the distance. A giant tree was growing from the top of the hill, large sloping branches offering a wide canopy of shade. Someone was lying in the grass, their arms behind their head, their face tilted up to the sky. It had been three years, but the time didn’t matter; Sal would recognize Larry’s face—even if it was just a side profile—anywhere.

Sally began to run.

“Mister Larry Johnson!” Fran called out. She was still near the bottom of the hill, while Sal was halfway up it by now. “I think I found a friend of yours!”

The shout caught Larry’s attention, and he looked over, and oh god, it was really him. Sal was running so fast he hardly felt his feet touch the ground, Larry barely having enough time to get to his feet before Sal ran into him. Larry stumbled backwards, overbalanced, and nearly fell before slamming his back against the tree behind them. All the air left his lungs at once, but his arms went around Sal anyway, and Sal gripped on tight.

“Sally?”

It was his voice, Larry’s voice, shaking slightly, both quiet and questioning. Sal bit down hard on his lower lip, knowing he had to pull back and let Larry see him, but wanting nothing more than to stay here, pressed against his chest.

“Yeah.” He managed out, taking one small step back—one small step was all he could bear—and looking up.

Larry. His hair, dark and slightly messy, pushed back from his face. The curve of his lips, the tip of his nose, now pink, his eyes bright and wet with unshed tears. Those eyes met Sal’s own, and a small choked noise came from Larry’s mouth, pulling Sal in even harder than Sal had run into him.

“Oh god, Sal, I… You’re—” His voice died with a heavy sob, his face pressing into the crook of Sal’s neck, wet and warm. Sal felt a knot in his throat, sharp and heavy, swallowing hard as tears sprung to his eyes. He loved Larry. He loved Larry so much that it hurt, hurt so badly he could barely stand it, could barely stand seeing and holding him again. It felt as though he was pulling open an old wound, the one that had ripped him in half when Larry died. Sal reeled back, his chest stinging, pulling away and punching Larry across the face.

Distantly, he heard Fran gasp. But he couldn’t focus on anything but the way Larry stumbled and bent as his hair fell over his face, and the sting in his knuckles that was nowhere comparable to the sting in his heart.

“I deserved that.” Larry muttered, the words thick and clumsy, and when he straightened Sal saw that he was now bleeding from the side of his mouth. There were still tears running down his face, the ones he’d cried on Sal’s shoulder cooling under the blow of the wind.

“Of course you fucking did!” Sal shouted, and the dam broke, a sob wrenching itself from his body. He raised his fists again, hitting one and then the other against Larry’s thin chest as he spoke, both punches so light they barely had impact. “How--how could--you left me, you left all of us, you didn’t even…”

Then his voice was gone, the tears too thick to stop or even speak through, and Larry pulled him in again for a tight hug.

“I’m sorry.” Larry whispered over and over again, resting his chin on the top of Sal’s head. “I’m so sorry.”

For a long while, all Sal could focus on was how much he hurt, trying to pull himself back together. Then he just stood there, face pressed into Larry’s chest, and breathed him in, breathed in all he had missed so much.

“Are you okay, Mister Sally Face?” Fran asked hesitantly from behind him. It reminded Sal of where they were, reality returning to him, and he stepped away. Careful to keep his back turned to Fran and his head ducked away from Larry, Sal lifted the mask just enough to slip an arm under and wipe at his face.

“Hey.” Larry said quietly. He put a hand on Sal’s shoulder. “Let me see you.”

“You don’t want to.”

“I always want to.”

Swallowing hard, Sal glanced up. He felt more than naked without his mask, always able to feel every bump of his marred skin, the tightness of his scars, the deformed dent in his chin, the missing space where his nose should be. And, as always, Larry didn’t look away. He looked over his face, taking all of it in, and smiled.

“I missed you so much, Sally face.”

A smile grew, small and shaky, on Sal’s lips.

“I missed you too, Larry face.”

The hand Larry laid on his shoulder slipped down Sal’s arm, stopping at his wrist, just short of holding his hand. Then he averted his eyes, glancing sideways with a small grin, using his free hand to wipe the blood from the side of his mouth.

“Fran, dude, stop trying to sneak a peek over there.”

Sal pulled his mask down and turned, seeing a wide-eyed Fran trying to lean around his legs to get a look at him.

“Sorry.” She said, not looking sorry at all. “I was just curious.”

Larry burst out laughing, leaning back as he did, tugging lightly on Sal’s wrist before completely letting him go.

“Oh, who’s this?”

The voice was new, thin and almost goofy, Sal turning towards it. When he saw the speaker he jumped back, clutching at Larry, who only laughed again, wrapping an arm around Sal’s shoulders.

“It’s okay! He looks freaky as hell, but he’s a good guy.”

It was a skeleton. He was very tall and gangling, in a burgundy suit over a white button-up shirt. The worst of all were his eyes; bulging, snakelike, and bright yellow.

“I didn’t scare you, did I dear?” The skeleton asked. All Sal could do was nod. “I’m so sorry! I mean no harm. My name is Itward. I am the Creature of the Night, the pilot of the flying machine, and, hopefully,” the skeleton sank, rather dramatically, to one knee, “a good friend.”

“You are a good friend!” Fran exclaimed, jumping up to wrap her arms around Itward’s neck. Itward held onto her as he stood back up, spinning with her in his arms and making her laugh in delight.

“This is Sal. He’s my friend.” Larry said. The animated skeleton returned his yellow eyes to Sal who, despite the creature’s outward politeness, couldn’t shake the discomfort Itward was instilling in him. “Could you take Fran on a little adventure? I wanna talk to Sally but I kinda want some privacy.”

“Boring!” Itward trilled, spinning Fran around again and speaking now to her. “We don’t want to be here for their dry dribble, my darling. Let’s go play pretend.”

Fran agreed readily and Itward carried her down the hill, Mr. Midnight following behind them both. Sal let out a long breath as he watched them go.

“A skeleton man, and a talking cat.”

“You get used to ol’ Itward.”

“His eyes freak me out.”

“They freak me out too, but he’s a good dude.” Larry sat in the grass, gesturing for Sal to sit with him. “C’mere, Sally face.”

Sal sat, surprised to find a hair tie still on his wrist, tugging all of his hair up into a big bun on the top of his head. Some locks escaped, falling to the sides of his face, but he ignored them in favor of glancing over at Larry.

“How long did it take you to get used to the talking cat?”

“No time at all!” Larry boasted. “Every cat talks. Didn’t Gizmo ever tell you his views on the whole universe?”

Before a couple of hours ago, Sal would have known it was a joke. After meeting Mr. Midnight, he wasn’t so sure. The gig was up when Larry just burst out laughing again, nudging Sal’s side with his elbow.

“Nah, I’m just fucking with you. It took like two weeks. Not that time really exists here, but… Time did pass for you.”

Sal smiled a little, fully aware that Larry couldn’t see, and tucked a stray blue strand behind his ear.

“I look that rough, huh?”

“Sal, you’re in the latest prison chic. What the hell happened? I thought I would be able to talk to you, or see you, but you never came into the treehouse. Once you pass through that bright door you can only get back to the human world if you’re summoned in some way. A couple of hours ago Ash called me up. She played some of my music, and I was able to use it to get up there. She said you needed help, but I had no idea what she was talking about. She didn’t even do anything. She just took a picture of me and disappeared.”

Sal told Larry the story. He talked about the creature that Mr. Addison really was, and how he had defeated him. About what he had been told to do to keep the demonic infection from spreading, and that he had done it. He’d told the story to people before, in public and in private, but recounting it to Larry was the first time it had truly made him cry, truly weighed on him in its entirety. Despite the tears on his face, he couldn’t take his mask off; he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep speaking without some form of protection.

He got to the day of his execution, trailing off. He figured the ending was obvious, but Larry gaped at him.

“Well, Sal? What happened?”

“I’m here, dude. What do you think?”

“Oh, fuck.” The end of Larry’s nose turned red again, a precursor that tears were about to come. “Fuck, man. I just realized it.”

“Realized it?”

“Yeah. That you’re dead. Fuck, Sal. You’re dead too.”

“Yeah. I know.”

Tears fell openly down Larry’s cheeks, steady and quiet, Sal unsure of how to comfort him. It was only fact, a fact Larry had to face, so Sal wrapped an arm around Larry’s shoulders—it was hard to reach across Larry’s long and lanky frame, but Sal had done it before—and rested against Larry’s shoulder, letting him cry. His mask began digging into the flesh of Larry’s arm, being knocked askew, so Sal removed it, resting the prosthetic in his lap.

“We’re together again.” Larry said. His voice was shaking, but the underlying tone was strong. “And this time, it’s forever. I’m never leaving you again, Sally face.”

“Good.” Sal told him, letting him go. He moved to put the prosthetic back on, but not before Larry managed to swoop in and press a kiss to his cheek.

“Don’t be gross.” Sal told him, hiding his smile as he clasped the mask over his head again, and Larry just laughed, grabbing Sal around the middle and dragging him into the grass. They laid there, looking at the colorful sky.

“Did you really just stay here for years?” Sal asked him.

“It took me a while to decide to actually go through that door, and once I did, I didn’t have the energy to go anywhere else. I’d left my entire heart up there with you, and Ash, and my mom. I just… I just couldn’t. Fran’s an angel and a half and her little friends are fun, and I didn’t have anywhere I wanted to go. So I just kinda stayed here.”

“It’s not so bad here.” Sal remarked, resting his head against Larry’s chest.

“Better than prison?”

“Eh. Maybe a little.”

Larry laughed at that, wrapping an arm around Sal and giving him a squeeze.

Sal was ready to speak again when a scream split the air. It was enough to make them both jump, Larry sitting up fast and cursing.

“Shit. Fran.”

He scrambled to his feet, Sal doing the same next to him.

“What, was that her? What’s wrong? What’s happening?”

None of his questions were answered. Instead, he was met with the sight of Fran running up the hill as fast as her legs could carry her, Mr. Midnight right behind her. Itward was a few steps back, turning occasionally behind them. Their faces were all full of terror.

“Fran!” Larry shouted, rushing forwards, his arms outstretched. Fran ran to him, reaching towards him, and when she was close enough Larry pulled her up into his arms. Then Sal looked up, and realized what they were all running from.

There was a demon streaking black across the sky. It was large, dark, and monstrous, its body formeless save for two clawed appendages stretching towards them and its head, a stark white goat skull run through with bleeding veins. Its eyes were glowing white, and it was moving incredibly fast. It would catch them in seconds.

“Stop standing there and move!” Larry yelled, breaking Sal from his trance. He was holding Fran close to his chest, his long legs able to run faster while carrying her than she was able to run by herself. With his free hand he tugged at Sal’s arm. “C’mon!”

Sal followed Larry full-tilt down the other side of the hill. He could feel that running was useless, that this monster was faster than they could even hope to be, when Larry skidded to a stop. Sal ran past him and had to double back a couple of steps.

“What—?” Sal started. Larry had knelt in the grass, tugging on something on the ground. Then a trapdoor lifted from the dirt, Fran jumping into it without hesitation. Mr. Midnight leapt down after her, Larry gesturing frantically at Sal.

“Get in!”

So Sal did. Larry was in last, wasting no time and closing the hatch behind him. The only light was the faint illumination through the slits in the trapdoor, and Fran scooted right next to Sal, holding tight to his arm.

“What about that skeleton man?” Sal asked.

“Mister Itward is fighting him.” Fran murmured back, shaking and digging her nails into Sal’s bicep when a roar rent the air.

“Your soul is mine!” The voice was the screech of a bone saw, and meaner than hell. “Your soul is mine, Fran Bow.”

“Itward can’t beat that thing.” Sal said. “And when it’s over for him, it’ll be over for us.”

“He doesn’t need to beat him.” Larry said. “He just needs to keep him away from us. Demon Dickhead can only stay in this dimension for a little while.”

“Language!” Mr. Midnight hissed, but that really felt like the least of their worries. Sounds of struggle continued outside, but only for a few moments. Then it was silent. They all stayed, waiting, then Fran loosened her grip on Sal's arm.

“Why isn't he saying anything?” She murmured. “Why isn't Mister Itward saying anything?”

“Fran, don't—” Mr. Midnight started, but Fran had already gotten up and pushed the trapdoor open, her legs dangling as she poked her head out.

“Mister Itward?” She called out. There was a moment of silence, too long for it to be comfortable. Sal met eyes with Larry in the darkness. Then,

“Fran, my friend, are you alright?”

Itward sounded weak, but it was him all the same. Larry called out next.

“Is it safe? Is he gone?”

“Yes.” The word came out like a sigh. “Remor is gone.”

Fran scrambled up and out of the hole instantly, Mr. Midnight protesting in the name of her safety as he leapt out after her. Larry climbed out next, his long legs making it easy, extending a hand down to help Sal. Sal took it and pulled himself up, feeling extremely out of the loop and only along for the ride.

There was a pile of bones a few feet from the base of the tree, and it took Sal a few moments to realize that it was Itward sitting down, his clothing in tatters. Fran was already kneeling next to him, holding what looked like a skeletal foot in her hand.

“Dang, he tore your whole leg off?” Larry asked. Itward was indeed missing a leg, his suit ripped, a grimace on his face. At least, as much of a grimace as he could muster without lips.

“Yes, he did indeed.” Itward said. Sal kneeled next to Fran, who was trying to reconstruct Itward’s leg with questionable success. “And all of the fingers on my hand have been scattered.” He lifted his left hand, waggling the lone thumb. Mr. Midnight walked up to Itward from the base of the tree, a finger bone between his teeth. He dropped it in the grass next to the skeleton.

“I’d be finding them faster if I could sniff them out, but you don’t smell like anything.”

“Oh, excuse me.” Itward told the cat. “I’ll make sure to put on some perfume the next time The Prince of Darkness decides he wants to come out and play.”

Mr. Midnight rolled his eyes, and went back to search for another finger. Itward more or less clicked back together, which was disturbing in its own right, but that wasn’t what Sal was thinking about.

“So that was a demon, then?” He asked. “Like that red-eyed one in the apartments?”

“I think so, yeah.” Larry said. “It’s been coming after Fran forever, I guess. They already had that storm shelter dug out by the time I got here.”

Sal turned to Fran. “What did you dig it with? Your bare hands?”

“No, of course not.” Fran shook her head. “Itward brought me a shovel from the living dimension. It’s the safest place I have, when I need to hide from Remor. He wants me, but I don’t really know why.”

Mr. Midnight returned with another finger bone, bumping his forehead against Fran’s knee.

“Remor tormented you so much while you were alive, too. I don’t know why he can’t just leave you alone.”

Tears were gathering in Fran’s eyes, but she balled one of her hands into a fist and tried furiously to wipe them away.

“What did—?” Sal began to ask, wanting to know more, but Fran started answering before he could get the entire question out.

“He made me do bad things, when I was still alive.” She wiped hard at her eyes again. “The last memory I have in the world of the living is him and his mother trying to take my soul.”

“Demons have moms?” Sal couldn’t help but ask.

“While Remor can only physically exist for a limited time in realities that are not his own, his reach and influence does transcend his physical being.” Itward said. “He was able—with the assistance of some rather terrible medicine—to infiltrate Fran’s mind and harm her. I believe it’s through that connection that he’s always able to locate her soul, whether she be here or in Pandora.”

“Pandora?” Sal echoed.

“You guys are throwing a lot of nonsense at us right now.” Larry added with a nod. “Is Pandora some other dimension or something?”

“Why, of course it is.” Itward said, as though it were obvious. “It’s the human world, with all of your silly countries and planets.” He waved a hand flippantly, and the pinky finger that he’d just attached flew off again and landed somewhere in the grass. Mr. Midnight, looking quite exasperated at this point, stopped searching for the fingers and simply sat himself down on the ground next to Fran.

“And what dimension is this one?”

“Senersedee. Land of death.”

“And the one that goat demon guy comes from?”

Itward let out a long breath. “It is known only as the Realm of Darkness.”

“Great.” Larry said. “Just great. Sounds really fantastic.”

“I bet it’s really nice this time of year.” Sal muttered, Larry meeting his eyes and cracking a small smile. His leg now reattached, Itward got to his feet. His suit was hanging off him in rags; he would have looked rather indecent if he had any actual body to speak of.

“Fran, could you be a dear and help Mr. Midnight locate the rest of my fingers? He’s doing a rather awful job of it at the moment.”

Fran nodded cheerily, getting to her feet as well and leaving them alone. Sal put his head in his hands for a moment.

“A skeleton man. A talking cat. Multiple realities. A goat demon.”

“And a goat demon’s mom.” Larry chimed in. Sal threw him a look.

“When the therapist said I wasn’t criminally insane, at first I agreed with him. Now I’m not so sure.”

“Aw, c’mon Sally face.” Larry reached an arm around Sal’s shoulders, giving him a quick squeeze and rubbing his bicep. “You’re not crazy. You’re just dead.”

In spite of himself, Sal snorted out a laugh at that.

“But what would a demon want with Fran?” He asked. “She’s a little girl. Besides, she’s already dead; couldn’t he have just grabbed her when she died, or something?”

“Oh, he tried.” Itward said. “He fancies himself responsible for her mental deterioration while she was alive. And he’s correct, but that doesn’t owe him her soul. She’s improved so much since being here, with me and Mr. Midnight. It’s what she deserves, so I’m going to fight for her.”

“What did Remor make her do?”

Itward gave Sal a sharp look. “It isn’t pretty business, Sally. I’m not sure I should tell you.”

Sal met his eyes. “It can’t be worse than what I did.”

“Oh? And what is that?”

Sal shrugged Larry’s arm off his shoulders, taking a step forward. He wanted to try and say this as plainly as he could, without choking up.

“I killed people. A lot of people. Friends, and… And family. That’s why I was arrested and executed.”

To his credit, Itward’s expression didn’t change.

“That is rather nasty.” He agreed. He glanced over to Fran, who was chasing Mr. Midnight around the trunk of the tree, laughing and calling his name. The kitty was playing keep-away with one of Itward’s finger bones. “Fran killed and dismembered her parents. I often wonder whether or not she can actually remember it. My hope is that she cannot.”

“Dismembered?” Larry echoed in shock. “Like, chopped their arms and legs off and stuff? Could she even do that?”

“There was disagreement over whether or not a girl of her size and stature could accomplish something like that.” Itward said with a nod. “But Fran wasn’t acting alone. It was just in a way you humans wouldn’t recognize.”

Silence echoed that revelation, Sal standing still and watching Fran laugh and play. Itward approached her, getting his fingers back and attaching them. His hand was fully formed when a thought struck Sal, and he turned to Larry with a gasp.

“We know how to kill demons.” He said, and Larry frowned in confusion.

“What?”

“We know how to kill demons.” Sal repeated. “Remember? The red-eyed one in Addison Apartments? We banished it.”

“Sure.” Larry agreed, but he looked skeptical. “And what, you just happened to kick the bucket with the Super Gear Boy in your back pocket?”

“No, but…” Sal tried to think. The Super Gear Boy wouldn’t be strong enough anyways, not for a monster like Remor. “My guitar! Todd modified it too! I was able to use it to beat back Mr. Addison. It should work.”

“You have that with you?”

“No, but we need it. Is there a way to go ghost and get back up there? Maybe contact Ash? If she could—”

“Sal.” Larry put his hands on Sal’s shoulders. “We can only go up there if we’re summoned in some way, and Ash doesn’t really believe in ghosts. She wouldn’t know what to do.” At Sal’s rapidly deflating expression he sighed, rubbing Sally’s arms with his hands. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think she could help us.”

“I’m heading out!” Itward announced, gathering everyone’s attention. “I’m headed to the human world. I rather need a new suit. And I’d like Fran to take a nap.”

“But I’m not tired!” Fran protested at him, causing Itward to put his hands on his hips.

“You may feel like that right now, but my mind is only at peace when I know your mind at peace. And when is your mind most peaceful?”

“...when I’m asleep.” Fran answered the prompt in a childish grumble. Itward patted her head.

“You had a big scare today! You’ll feel better with some rest.” He then turned to Sal. “I wanted to get you some clothes from the human world too, unless you’ve now grown fond of that orange jumpsuit you have on. Though I find it rather horrendous.”

“A shirt and some jeans would be great.” Sal said. “And Itward… Could I ask you to bring me something else?”

“Does the sun ever set here?”

Fran had been asleep for what felt like an hour, lying in the grass with Mr. Midnight curled up by her legs. Itward had been gone for what felt like two hours, flying off in a clank-and-rattle machine that they watched until it was out of sight. Sally and Larry were lying on the side of the hill, looking up at the sky.

“Not really, but there’s also not a sun up there, Sal.”

Sal scoured the skyline with his eyes, realizing that Larry was right. The place was just lit up, not so bright that squinting was needed, but bright enough to see everything.

“So it’s never really night time?”

“It doesn't need to be.” Sal heard Larry shift, figuring that his best friend was now looking at him instead of looking up. “You don’t really need to sleep. If you do sleep you wake up rested, but you don’t get tired from staying awake.”

“Really?” Sal glanced over, and as he’d thought, Larry was looking sideways at him, only his head turned. “When I first met Fran, and we were talking about you, she told me you were tired all the time.”

Sal watched Larry’s adam’s apple move as he swallowed.

“That wasn’t the same kind of tiredness, Sal.” After meeting his eyes for a moment, Larry turned his face back towards the sky. “Are we really going to do this? Be demon hunters again?”

“As long as you don’t kill yourself and I don’t get arrested, it’s bound to go down better than it did last time.”

Larry barked out a laugh. “I guess.” He said. “I dunno. I know we’re dead, or whatever, but I feel like that Remor demon guy could kill us.”

“Again?”

“Or fuck us up. I don’t know. Destroy our souls, or something like that?”

“Well, either we kill it or it keeps on coming, and we just run from it every time.” Sal pointed out. “I think I’d rather do something. I’m done with feeling helpless, and useless. Just fucking over it.”

“Helpless?” Larry turned towards him, lying fully on his side this time to look. “What do you mean?”

“I… Just…” It was hard to vocalize, especially with Larry watching him. It was more of a feeling than a coherent thought. “In the Addison Apartments, it was me that had to go around with the knife. I didn’t have a choice. Then, everytime I explained myself, to whoever would listen… They didn’t believe me. Nobody ever believed me. It didn’t even matter.”

“What are you talking about?” Larry sat up, looking down at Sal in surprise. “Your therapist believed you.”

Now it was Sal’s turn to sit up. He did, frowning. “What?”

“Doctor Enon. He came to the treehouse.”

“No he didn’t, Larry.” The statement was bewildering. “He said he’d hoped for a better, different story. He called me a liar in front of the entire jury. That’s… He’s the reason I’m here.”

“When did he do that?” Larry asked. “Because I met him. He came into the treehouse before I went through the door to this place, and I was able to talk to him. But then… Then he fell out, and he broke his neck.”

“He broke his neck?”

“Yeah, Sal. He died.”

A sick feeling rose in Sal’s stomach. Because… Because of course. Of course he’d died. During their sessions, he’d been a good man. He’d listened, at least, which was more than Sal could expect of anyone. Doctor Enon had listened. And now he was dead.

“It wasn’t enough that I killed everyone in the apartments. It wasn’t enough. I had to kill Doctor Enon too.” Sal got to his feet. He was disgusted, disgusted with his actions, with the consequences they caused, overwhelmed with the urge to run. “I need to go. I need to leave you and Fran alone. Something bad will happen if I stay.”

“Nah man, that’s my curse, remember?” Larry tried to give him a smile, but there was guarded concern behind it.

“And you gave it to me when you died.” Sal turned. He’d killed his friends. He’d killed his father. He’d killed Doctor Enon. He had to go. “I’m serious, Larry. I’m leaving.”

“No, Sal.” Larry got to his feet too. “No. Fuck that noise.”

“I have to, I couldn’t stand it if—” Larry gripped Sal’s arm so tightly it nearly hurt, and pulled him close.

“No.” He said again. His voice was blunt and adamant.

“But—”

“I don’t care.”

“I do.” Sal’s eyes were burning and he squeezed them shut, pressing his face into Larry’s chest, his voice muffled. “I couldn’t stand it if because of me, something hurt you.”

They stood together for a quiet moment. Larry’s hold on him didn’t loosen, secure and strong, and he let out a breath, kissing the top of Sal’s head.

“...is this a bad time?” The voice was Itward’s, disturbingly close for how silently he approached. Sal stepped back, and Larry let him go. “I have things for you, Sally.”

Itward was dressed yet again to the nines, holding a pile of clothes in one hand and, to Sal’s shock, his old guitar in the other. Sal had described the device to the skeleton, and told him where he thought it may be found, but the fact that Itward had genuinely been able to retrieve it from law enforcement security was another thing entirely. But it was the same guitar, same red and white body, same necrolights and transmitters implanted into the sides. He strummed it lightly. The tuning was awful, but holding it again felt good. It grounded him, ever so slightly.

“We have three options.” Larry said. “Three things we can do. We can stay here, and do nothing, and nothing changes. I meant what I said, Sal, when I said was never leaving you again, and I don't care what kind of curse you have. If you leave, I’m coming with you.” Larry met his eyes, his gaze sure, completely unwavering, and the rest of Sal’s fear settled. He wasn't going to leave. He couldn't leave Larry. “Or we can go fight a demon.”

Sal drew his eyebrows together. “I thought you were afraid.”

“I am.” Larry admitted, scratching lightly at the back of his head before stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Of course I am, dude. I’ve seen Remor enough times to know that I don’t want to hang out at his house. But we know how to kill these fuckers, and a little girl needs our help.”

Sal strummed at the guitar again. The green crystals were bright, glowing in a way that was both ominous and strangely hopeful.

“Then I guess we have a demon to fight.”

Chapter Text

They soon decided they had to take the fight to Remor. They couldn’t fight him here, in this reality; the Prince of Darkness couldn’t stay in this realm long, even when he wanted to. They would get one hit in on him, and he would disappear. That meant riding in Itward’s machine, and despite Fran's excited assurances that it was safe, and even fun, Sal found he couldn’t be sure.

Fran was another strong topic of debate. Mr. Midnight didn’t want her to come to the Realm of Darkness, and Sal could understand why. It wasn’t going to be safe, not in any capacity. Fran, on the other hand, wanted to come. She argued and argued, defending herself and her strength.

“I’m a brave girl!” She protested, and with her arms crossed and her eyebrows angry, she looked nothing short of adorable.

“Of course you are dear,” Itward agreed. “But where we’re going is no place for any girl, no matter how brave.”

“She has to come.” Larry said. “If Remor sees that she’s not with us, he’ll know she’s here instead, and there will be no one here to protect her.”

That point made Mr. Midnight fall silent, and while some short arguments were made, they were shut down quickly, and Fran was coming with them. They all boarded the machine, and set out.

Take off both felt and sounded dangerous. The machine clanked loudly and rattled dangerously, and as soon as they started up Larry’s face turned white, reaching out and gripping tightly to Sal’s bicep.

“I made this machine myself!” Itward said proudly. He was behind the wheel, sitting atop what looked like a bicycle seat and peddling his feet wildly. “It’s the only thing in the world that can properly transfer physical matter between realities! If you tried to touch that guitar while it was in the human world, you’d go right through it, wouldn’t you? But once it gets on this machine, it can be moved to the right reality!”

“I hate this.” Larry murmured to Sal. He’d turned from white to green.

“Mister Larry, there’s a balcony up on the top of the ship.” Fran said, not unkindly. “You can go up there if you need to, well…”

“Blow chunks?” Sal offered. Fran nodded, putting her hands over her mouth and giggling through her fingers. She jumped to her feet and hurried over to Sal.

“Do you want to play puppets with me?” She asked eagerly. “There’s a whole set of them in the dining room!”

“Sure thing.” Sal told her, and after telling Larry not to vomit in his guitar, placed the instrument in Larry's lap and followed Fran into a side room.

“So you’ve been in this thing before?” He asked Fran as they walked. She nodded.

“Back when I was alive. I fell off a cliff and landed in a different reality, a place called Ithersta. It was full of giant bugs! I was a tree when I was in Ithersta. When I turned back into me, I needed help getting back home. I rode in this machine! Mister Itward had a birthday party for me while I was on it, and it was so lovely.”

Her speech was very lively, her face animated while she talked, and Sal couldn’t help but watch her. Fran was such a delightfully strange little girl.

The puppet set was disturbing, to say the least. They were shadow puppets, paper cutouts of little girls, knives, and skeletons. One set of puppets looked like two girls, once split in half, now being sewn together again. Fran told a story of two girls she’d met that followed the story presented in the puppets, and Sal hoped desperately that it was something from Fran’s imagination; disturbing as that might be, the alternative was too concerning to think of.

The rest of the dining room was rather charming. There were shelves of books on the walls, and a hanging cuckoo clock with little bells. The ceiling light was a modified teapot, bent spoons and forks dangling ornamentally from it. There were a couple of stuffed animals strewn around the room, some sitting at the table and some on the floor, most of them bears but some little toy likenesses of Mr. Midnight. They played with the stuffed animals when the puppets got boring, convincing Mr. Midnight to join their tea party when a loud bang sounded. The ship lurched as though it had been struck by something, Fran falling from her seat and landing on the floor with a cry. Sal ran to her and helped her up, the lights in the room flickering weakly.

A moment later Itward burst through the door, Larry right behind him.

“Aren’t you supposed to be flying this thing?” Sal couldn’t help but ask him, the skeleton’s big yellow eyes looking even wider than usual.

“We’re being attacked!” He exclaimed. “Something is hitting the ship!”

As if on cue, another bang sent the machine lurching. Sal managed to brace himself against the wall and hold tightly to Fran, but Larry and Itward banged into opposite sides of the door frame.

“Sir, what do we do?” Fran asked. Her eyes were wide.

“I don’t know, darling.” Itward answered. Sal watched as he tried to pull some composure into his expression; to look a little less fearful, for her sake. “We’ve already passed through to the Realm of Darkness, but the steering mechanism isn’t responding. The propeller might broken. We’re going to go down, and there isn’t a way I can stop it.”

Mr. Midnight brushed against Fran’s legs and she bent to pick him up, holding on tight. Sal met Larry’s eyes across the room, and he just looked back helplessly. Another bang sent all of them stumbling, and they met in the middle of the dining room, standing together.

“Would a crash actually kill us?” Sal asked, and Itward shrugged back.

“I can’t say, my friend. In the fourth reality where we came from, I would say no with certainty. But I’ve only been here once before, and I didn’t stay long. I do not know the rules of this place.”

They were sinking now, and fast; Sal could feel it in his stomach. It was like riding a roller coaster, when the cart tips over the edge of the first fall. It reminded him when he’d first died, sickeningly weightless, and he reached over. His hand found Larry’s and he gripped it tight, getting a strong squeeze back. The ship rattled dangerously, the table sliding across the floor as they tipped further and further forwards. Sal took one last look at Larry before squeezing his eyes tightly closed.

On impact, a lot of things happened at once. Ground hit the front of the ship first and all of them felt it. Fran screamed, Larry stepping close to Sal, his arms wrapping fully around him, one palm on the small of his back and the other on the back of his head. Sal and Larry were flung completely off their feet.

There was a horrible cracking noise, and the light filtering in through the skin of his eyelids went dark. Sal landed hard on his back, skidding, bumps like rock and gravel sliding under his shirt and ripping up the skin on his back. The back of his head hit first, and Sal heard the horrible crack of Larry’s knuckles under his head, but Larry didn’t let him go, gripping tighter as they began to roll. Sal wheezed out a breath and took in a sharp inhale, the air tasting dusty and dry, the two of them sliding for only a few more feet before coming to a rough stop.

Everywhere on Sal’s body ached. He was resting on Larry’s chest, half sprawled on top of him with how their bodies had gone flying. His knees were skinned to hell, as well as his arms and his back. Larry’s arms were only loosely around him now, Sal slowly opening his eyes.

In the way that the Realm of the Dead was always bright and lit, the Realm of Darkness was dim. It was the same yellow, warm light that would come from a dull cavern lantern, but it came from everywhere, making the air slightly hazy and everything tinted brown. They were somehow outside of the machine and on the ground, the dirt a reddish brown and streaked all over the both of them. Sal sat up slow, everything stinging as he moved, and turned to look at Larry.

“Larry? Fuck, open your eyes.”

Larry had similar scratches on his arms, and his jeans were ripped up a little more than they had been before. The knuckles on his left hand looked completely busted, the skin over every joint split and bloodied, but Sal was grateful, knowing that the hand had saved his head from being just as bloody. Larry’s hair had fallen half over his face, and his eyes were closed.

“C’mon. Larry, come on. You’re okay. Wake up.”

Sal reached an arm out, placing it on Larry’s chest. For a moment, nothing happened. Then Larry raised his busted left hand, his eyes still closed, and placed it slowly over Sal’s.

“Fuck.” He said, his voice soft and slow, and in spite of himself, Sal laughed. The action sent an ache through his ribs and his back, but he did it anyway.

“Yeah, fuck.” Sal agreed. “Are you okay? Can you move?”

“I’m okay.” Larry said, and slowly, he lifted his eyelids. Sal couldn’t help the relieved exhale at seeing his eyes open. “I think you took the most of that fall though, Sal. I tried to protect you, but I landed on you.”

“You did protect me.” Sal told him. “Your hand, Larry. Goddamn it.”

Larry lifted the hand Sal meant, his eyebrows furrowed as though the sight of the blood was a surprise.

“Holy shit.” He declared, and again, Sal coughed out a laugh. “It barely hurts. It’s numb, mostly. I think every bone in there is broken.”

“That’s hardcore.” Sal told him, and this time Larry laughed. He laughed until his breath hitched and he began to gasp, to choke, Sal sitting him up and rubbing a hand across his back. Finally, he was able to wheeze in a breath.

“I don’t think this air likes me.” He told Sal, just as a shout rent the air.

“Sal? Larry? Are you two alright?”

It was Mr. Midnight, and at the sound of his voice a block of fear fell into Sal’s stomach. Fran. She was so small, so frail… If she’d also been flung from the machine, she could be seriously hurt, or worse.

“We’re alive!” Larry called back. “Is Fran okay?”

“I’m stuck!” Came a yell, and thankfully, it was Fran. Her voice was slightly hoarse, but she sounded okay, and that got Sal to his feet. He pulled Larry up too and, back stinging, made his way towards their voices.

The air was incredibly dusty, so it took a couple moments of walking to finally see Itward’s Flying Machine. The ship was facedown, buried into the ground, the top and bottom now the sides, the metal legs hinged down uselessly. Sal was able to see what had thrown him and Larry from the aircraft as they walked up; the dining room had a hatch that led to the roof, and it had been popped open on impact, sending the two of them flying sideways.

Mr. Midnight was pacing in front of the open door to the machine, a small limp in his front right leg, one of his ears nicked and bleeding at the top. Aside from that, he seemed fine, if not incredibly anxious.

“Fran is alright.” He said quickly, leaping inside. Sal and Larry followed after him, both having to duck to fit through the sideways door. “Itward was able to protect her, for the most part, but he may have done his job a little too well.”

It wasn’t until they got into the dining room that they understood what Mr. Midnight meant. Fran was incredibly trapped. The table had flipped up in the crash, broken china from the tea party everywhere, resting half against the wall. In that small triangle of space under the table was Itward’s entire body, all of his limbs curled around Fran and seemingly stuck in position. Sal was reminded suddenly of a school project he’d had to do, where they’d had to use toothpicks to build a protective box around an egg. The toothpicks were supposed to keep the egg from cracking when dropped. Fran hadn’t cracked, but she couldn’t escape either. It took them a long moment to figure out why.

Itward’s head had fallen off. It was lying a few feet away against the wall, his jaw unhinged. Only his eyes were moving, and while Sal didn’t know much about the anatomy and inner workings of sentient skeletons, it seemed as though without his head connected, none of Itward’s other limbs could move.

“Okay.” Sal crouched down next to the net that was Itward’s arms and legs. “Fran, are you really alright?”

Her eyes were huge and wet with tears, a large purple bruise already blossoming over one cheekbone, but she nodded.

“I am.” She said. “Please put Mister Itward back together. I’m afraid for him.”

They had to put the table down to get to Itward’s neck. Larry reached up with both of his hands, hissing out a curse as soon as his busted hand touched the table and tried to pull. He curled inwards on himself, choking on a stream of expletives.

“What’s wrong?” Sal asked, hurrying over to him.

“I’m fine.” Larry said, but his voice was weak, his eyes stinging with tears. “I feel it now, that’s all. And it’s fucking broken. It’s broken all to hell.”

“Language.” Mr. Midnight said, but Larry seemed to be in too much pain to notice the cat’s reprimand.

“Just… Stay where you are. I can do this.” Sal told him. He pulled the table down the best he could, the front legs hitting the floor with a crack. Then he picked up Itward’s head, the skull surprisingly heavy, reconnecting the jaw and bringing it to the body.

“I don’t know where this goes.” He confessed. It was a joint effort between himself, Larry, and Mr. Midnight walking across on Itward’s shoulders, but they were able to put the skull on where they thought it was supposed to go. It made a disconcertingly loud snap as it connected, and after a couple of moments, Itward slowly untangled himself and straightened up. As he had the last time he’d been attacked, a few of his bones had fallen off, but that wasn’t the main concern. Itward lifted a hand to what should have been his face, and touched the back of his head.

“Oh. Oh dear. Friends, you’ve put me on backwards.”

Fran had her hands up to her mouth in shock, while in spite of his pain, Larry laughed. Sal and Fran ended up having to grip Itward and pull his head around properly, the skeleton not able to relax until he’d rebuttoned his suit and replaced his hat on his head. Then he knelt down in front of Fran.

“Are you alright, darling?” He asked. Fran’s cheeks were slightly blotchy from previous tears, the bruise on her face more prominent now than it had been on her pale face. Sal could now see little cuts on her body, on her hands and legs and arms, probably from the flying pieces of ceramic shrapnel that the tea set had turned into. But again, Fran nodded.

“I’m fine.” Then she leaned in and placed a quick kiss on Itward’s bone dry cheek. “Thank you so much for keeping me and Mr. Midnight safe.”

“Of course. I just cannot believe we crashed again, on such an important voyage.”

“Wait.” Sal interjected. “Again?”

“Yes.” Mr. Midnight said, and his tone was dry. “Again. This was another reason why I didn’t want Fran coming along. I do not have faith in the pilot.”

“But last time it wasn’t his fault!” Fran protested. “There was a Kamala destroying the engine that time!”

“Fran, Itward crashed the ship both of the times you were on it?” Sal asked. Fran nodded, and Sal couldn’t help but side with Mr. Midnight on this one.

“It wasn’t my fault this time, either.” Itward said, his voice growing thoughtful. “We were doubtlessly attacked.” He turned to Sal. “Did you see any monsters out there?”

Sal glanced back at Larry. Larry was sitting down, his broken hand cradled in his lap. When he didn’t speak, Sal did.

“No, we didn’t see anything. It’s really dark and dusty outside. Do you think there are monsters out there?”

“Oh, doubtlessly.” Itward said. “Countless amounts. Our concern will not be whether or not they are there, but of how malicious they are. Many of these creatures are too focused on creating chaos by projecting into the living world to spend much time here. But if aggressive enough, some we do meet could try to do us in.”

Itward got to his feet, glancing around the room with a heavy sigh. It was completely destroyed in here, and Sal was sure that the other rooms were in a similar—if not worse—condition.

“I’ll get started on this at once.” He said. “I’ll repair the ship. I should have at least one spare of everything in either the engine room or the gardening closet. We’ll want this thing fixed up and ready to fly as soon as possible, so we can leave at the drop of a hat.”

“Do you have any spare bandages on the machine?” Sal asked. He wanted something to wrap Larry’s hand in, at the very least; the spot on his shirt where he’d rested it was soaked through with blood. Itward considered the request for a few moments before shaking his head.

“I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t. I don’t really have a use for them, you see.”

Sal couldn’t do much more than nod at that. Fair enough.

Fran and Itward began cleaning up the dining room, Sal able to take the pink tablecloth and make a couple of strips out of it. He sat down across from Larry on the floor with his makeshift bandages.

“Can I wrap your hand up?”

Larry’s eyes were wet and watering, but he wasn’t crying fully, just in pain. Despite this though, he nodded.

“Just… Try to be careful.”

Sal nodded, swallowing hard as Larry extended his hand out. And he tried, tried very hard to be gentle, but Larry still cursed and made small groans of pain, biting down hard on the knuckles of his other hand. He never pulled away though, never got angry or impatient with Sal, and Sal was able to wrap the hand up tight.

“Part of me thought crashing wouldn’t hurt.” Larry confessed when Sal was finished. He had a few tear tracks drying on his cheeks, Sal wiping them away.

“You did? I was half convinced we would all die.”

“Oh.” Larry shrugged. “No, things don’t hurt when you’re dead. And we’re still dead right? So it shouldn’t be different.”

“Things don’t hurt?” That didn’t make sense. “Larry, as soon as I saw you again I punched you in the face. I made you bleed.”

“Don’t be so full of yourself.” Larry told him, and a grin slowly grew on his face. “You hugged me first.”

“Shut up.”

“What I mean, though,” Larry continued, still smiling, “is that I felt the punch, and it hurt in that moment, but I don’t have a split lip. I don’t have a bruise. Just like it didn’t bruise your knuckles. Right?”

Right. Larry was right; Sal’s knuckles were fine. So much had happened afterwards though that he hadn’t even thought to notice it.

“It’s the same as being tired when you’re dead. You can run and feel winded, exhaust your muscles and work up a sweat, but once you catch your breath, you’re as good as new. But I guess…” Larry sighed, looking down at his injured hand. It was resting gingerly on top of one of Sal’s own, Sal’s palm up, his palm down. “I guess things are different here.”

Different. And different meant dangerous; if they could get hurt, then they could die. And they already had been hurt. Something told Sal that if they died here, they wouldn’t simply be sent back up to the realm of the dead. It would be something else entirely. The ship was grounded, meaning they couldn’t leave, and Sal didn’t want to die here. The only thing left to do was fight. Then a realization struck him.

“Oh, fuck.”

“Language!” Mr. Midnight yowled at him, but Sal didn’t notice, jumping to his feet. An aching burn went through all of the scrapes on his body as he did, but he ignored that too.

“Sal?” Larry looked concerned by the suddenness of his actions and the urgency in his voice, and Sal met his eyes.

“Larry, the guitar. Where is it?”

“Oh.” Larry’s eyes went wide too. “Shit.”

Mr. Midnight reprimanded them again but they were both on their feet, Larry leading the way to the command room.

“I left it in here.” Larry said. “When the machine was attacked, I was more worried about getting to you than keeping the guitar safe.”

Praying that the instrument wasn’t broken, Sal stepped into the now-sideways room. It was a small saving grace that there wasn’t much clutter in the command room, both of them seeing the guitar almost instantly. It had been jammed in the bicycle-seat mechanism that Itward used to pedal the flying machine, and while it looked quite stuck, the bike had also kept the guitar from flying around and crashing into anything else. It took a couple minutes of jostling, but Sal was able to wriggle the instrument free.

“How is it?” Larry asked. He had his bandaged hand pulled in to his chest, leaning over Sally as he sat on the floor. Sal crossed his legs, holding the guitar, and strummed it.

Somehow, the tuning was even worse. But the sound was strong, and as the strings vibrated the crystals lit up again, looking much brighter and more powerful in this dark realm. Some of the panicked fear--the fear of being stranded here--eased its way out of Sal’s chest. At least they weren’t defenseless.

“It works.” Sal reported, and Larry sighed in loud relief.

“Thank fuck.”

“Language!” Mr. Midnight all but yelled from across the ship.

“Suck my dick!” Larry yelled back, and Sal began to laugh.

Once all of the assorted—and mostly broken—knickknacks had been removed from the ship, Sal helped Itward get the machine standing upright again. It fell onto its legs with a metallic clanking sound, but the legs held firm, and kept the underbelly of the machine from hitting the ground. Itward had looked around, taken inventory, and assessed the damage; he didn’t know how long it would take to get the job done, but he did have the resources he would need to get them back to Senersedee.

“While he fixes that, what are we supposed to do?” Larry asked. “Go look for our goat demon?”

“I’m surprised, genuinely.” Mr. Midnight said. He was talking to Sal, and very pointedly ignoring Larry for the language he had used earlier. “I thought Remor would descend upon us the moment we entered his realm. This is where he lives; he has all the power here.”

“So what, we have to go look for him?” Sal asked. “It could be good to go to him. We’d have the element of surprise.”

“Then we can beat him.” Fran said. Her hands were balled into tiny fists, her face determined and her eyebrows angry again. It was the cutest expression, Sal unable to stop himself from reaching down and ruffling her hair.

“Yep.”

“And what, we’re supposed to just wander around until we find him?” Larry turned to Itward, raising his voice a little to be heard over the skeleton, who was already tinkering away at the machine. “Hey, do you know where we would find this Remor guy?”

“Me?” Itward asked. “Just because I’ve been here once, you assume I know the Prince of Darkness’s itinerary?”

“Hey, no harm in asking!” Larry defended. “Once is more times than any of the rest of us. But if the dude is a Prince, maybe he lives in a castle somewhere?”

The suggestion felt childish, but that didn’t mean it was a bad one. Sal looked around, trying to see some giant structure in the distance, but the air was too thick with haze. Anything more than fifty yards away was swallowed up by the dust.

“Maybe I'll be able to find him.” Fran said. She had a thoughtful expression on her face, her lips bunched together. “Sometimes, right before he shows up, I can feel it. Maybe I'll know where to go.”

“Well, it's better than any other idea we've got. Because we've got none.” Larry said, and Sal nodded, strapping his guitar to his back.

“Are you going to be okay?” He asked Itward. “Being here all on your own?”

“Oh, don't you worry.” Itward said flippantly. “I'll be quite alright.”

“But aren't there monsters out here?”

At that, Itward turned from the machine to face them. He had something that wasn't quite a wrench in his hand, and somehow looked to be smiling.

“Oh Sal, you are a sweet one. Of course there are monsters out here. But they I'll leave me alone. I am, after all, a monster as well.”

“Oh.” Was all Sal could think to say. The whole group was quiet, but it wasn’t an awkwardness. Larry cleared his throat; the sound started out theatrical, but he began genuinely to cough again, Fran jumping with her arms up in an attempt to pat him on the back. The action did nothing, but once Larry had regained his breath he turned around to smile and thank her, and she beamed.

“As I was going to say,” Larry addressed the group. His voice sounded rough, like his throat was sore. “Are we all ready to go then?”

They all glanced around at each other, waiting for someone to speak in opposition of the suggestion to go. Finally, Mr. Midnight sighed.

“I suppose.” He said. “Though I do not approve of Fran traveling with us. I would much rather her stay back at the ship with Itward. If Remor does not know she is here, there’s no sense in strolling in there with her.”

“Well I’m going.” Fran said. She hid behind Larry, gripping onto his pant legs and glancing around him to look at her cat. “I’m going and you can’t stop me.”

“We need her for navigation.” Sal said. “The faster we get rid of Remor, the faster we can leave.”

The idea of leaving seemed to assuage Mr. Midnight a little, and he nodded resignedly. Larry turned to Fran, holding out his good hand to her. She took it.

“Lead the way, little lady.”

“Do be careful!” Itward called after them. “Stay safe!”

“We will!” Sal called back, though he knew that so such promise was possible to keep in this place. Fran extended her empty hand to Sal, he held it, and the four of them began to walk.

“Stay safe.” Larry repeated, his tone slightly humorous. “It’s like he’s our dad.”

“Yeah?” Sal asked. “You want a skeleton dad?”

“Sure!” At that, Larry laughed. “My first dad was an alien, so my second one might as well be a skeleton. That’s what he is, right? Some kind of demon skeleton man?”

The question was directed to Fran, who seemed to neither know nor care. She just shrugged.

“He’s Itward.”

“He did say he was a monster.” Sal pointed out. That brought back the fact that there were monsters here, supposedly hundreds of them, lurking just out of sight.

“He’s not a monster.” Fran said. Her tone had changed, her voice now soft. “He’s nothing like that thing.”

She was looking slightly to the left, and Sal followed her eyes. Just on the edge of the mist was a hulking being. It was black and nearly formless, like Remor’s body was, four eyes across the head in a line and glowing white. It was inching along like a slug, and didn’t seem to notice them; its mouth—long like an alligator’s and lined with just as many teeth—was open wide, the teeth sharp. It looked as though it was waiting for some unsuspecting creature to walk straight into the giant maw.

“You’re right.” Sal said, half in an attempt to soothe Fran, whose grip had tightened on his hand. “He’s not like those things.”

“He’s not a Kamala.”

“Kamala?” Larry asked. “You’ve seen those guys before?”

Fran nodded again. Her voice was still quiet, but she didn’t seem very panicked as she talked, simply watching the large-mouthed creature go past.

“I could see them, when I was alive.” She said. “They can project themselves into the living world. They’re thoughts though, mostly, when they’re up there.”

“Thoughts?” Sal asked. “What do you mean?”

“They’re thoughts.” Fran said again. “They’re the thoughts that cause people to hurt others. And to hurt themselves.”

Since it was closest to Larry, he kept an eye on the Kamala until it was out of sight, though it never noticed them. After seeing the first one, others kept appearing. They all had black and formless bodies, and all had glowing white eyes, but the similarities stopped there. The Kamalas were various shapes and sizes, some with arms, some with tentacles, some with claws, and some with no appendages at all. They had multiple eyes and multiple mouths in multiple places, not only on their faces. Some had heads of skulls, like Remor did. Some wore masks, and those disquieted Sal the most. He knew the monstrosity that lurked behind his own mask, and he was only human; the possibility of what could be hidden behind the mask of a demon was something he didn’t even want to consider.

Most of the Kamalas didn’t notice them. They stayed in small groups of two or three, sitting quietly, swaying as though in a trance. The dusk in the air seemed to radiate from them, making the area around them a spot of darkness. Some of them passed very close, the four of them standing still until they went by. It was unnerving, fear spiking in Sal’s stomach every time a new Kamala became visible.

The air was warm, but had an underlying chill to it that was quite unexplainable, and it made Sal feel as though he was constantly breaking out into a cold sweat. Aside from their footsteps, the entire realm was completely silent, silent to an unnerving degree.

A screech had them all whirling around. Mr. Midnight yowled and puffed, all of his fur standing on its end, stepping in front of Fran. He moved quickest, reacted first, because it took Sal a moment to realize what he was even seeing.

It was a Kamala. It had to be, but it didn’t look like the others. It was black, sure, the outline of it hard to discern, but it was thin and moving fast. Its arms, long, were sharpened into points that looked bloody red, and it had on what looked like a white helmet, multiple gaping holes on it around the face where multiple white eyes gleamed. It was headed straight for them.

Larry let out a yell, pulling Fran behind himself by the hand. The motion ripped Fran’s hand from Sal’s, but that was for the best, Sal already reaching behind himself for his guitar. All he could do as he planted his feet and put his fingers to the strings was pray it worked, because in truth, this was idea was nothing more than a theory, and a hope.

At the sound of the first cord, the Kamala stopped. It was almost as though the demon had run into an invisible wall; it hit and reeled back, screaming. Due to the rest of the silence in the air, the guitar’s music echoed out, a cacophony of pained shrieks echoing back at them. Sal played again.

The Kamala’s body hunched and writhed, and when its head lifted again all of the white in the eye holes had been blotted out by a thick red sludge that was pouring from each hole and running down the whiteness of the helmet, disappearing as it sank into the black body of the beast. At the third strum of the guitar, the monster jerked in a seizure-like motion, thick blood splashing the ground and Sal’s front, then turned away and left just as quickly as it had come.

They all stood there for a moment, the last remnants of the music fading, and then a loud exhale was heard. Sal knew without looking that it had been Larry.

“Is everyone okay?” Sal asked.

“Yes.” That was Fran, and she sounded shaken. “I’m alright.”

“That was pretty metal.” Larry said, and Sal turned to face them. Larry looked shaken too, but he offered Sal a smile when their eyes met. “Whatever you did, you seriously hurt that thing.”

“Good.” Sal looked down at the guitar. The green glow of the necrolight crystals was starting to fade, and the face of the instrument was splattered with blood from the Kamala. Sal wiped it off, the substance extremely viscous and stingingly cold to the touch.

“The blood stuff got on your mask too.” Larry told him, letting go of Fran’s hand and stepping up to clean it off. Fran scooped Mr. Midnight into her arms, Larry wiping his hands on his already ruined shirt. “There. Now you only look a little like a slasher movie villain.”

“Thanks.” Sal said. “Only a little. It’s the look I’ve been going for all my life.”

That made Larry laugh, and like last time, his breath hitched and he began hacking out coughs. The coughing shook his body violently, causing him to curl in and hunch over, and once he’d regained his breath he made a face and spit onto the ground. The saliva was flecked with blood.

“Shit.” Larry mumbled, wiping his mouth, and even Mr. Midnight looked so surprised and concerned that he didn’t reprimand him for cursing in front of Fran.

“What’s wrong?” Sal asked him. “You’re not… I don’t know, sick or something?”

“It’s this air, somehow.” Larry said. “It catches in my throat. It’s like trying to breathe sand or something.”

“Your soul isn’t meant to be here.” Fran’s eyes were wide and fearful. “This isn’t where your soul belongs, so it’s trying to drag you down.”

Larry glanced over, sharing an uneasy look with Sal.

“Isn’t Itward’s machine supposed to like… I don’t know, move stuff around though?” He asked. Sal frowned.

“Maybe the soul isn’t a physical thing.” He said. He looked to Fran. “Why are you and I okay? There isn’t anything special about me.”

“You must be able to see into the Ultrareality.” Fran said. “I could when I was alive, and that’s why I could see Kamalas and Itward and all sorts of things.”

“I’ve never seen anything like this.” Sal said, but then Larry held up a hand.

“The ghosts.” He said in realization. “You could see the ghosts in the apartment, remember?”

“You could see them too.”

“Only with the help of the Super Gear Boy. You saw Megan before it was even invented.”

Oh. Oh. This was real then; what Fran had said was true. Sal swallowed hard.

“Then you need to go.” He told Larry. “If this place… If this place is killing you, then you need to go back to the flying machine and get out of here.”

“No fucking way.” Larry responded instantly. “Damnit Sal, stop trying to get rid of me.”

“I’m not—”

“Yes you are!” His entire expression went a little angry then, Sal finding it hard to maintain eye contact, but even harder to look away. “The ship is busted to hell, so going back to Itward won’t do a damn thing. I made a promise. I’m staying with you.”

“It’s not about some promise Larry, it’s—”

“I’m staying with you.” Larry repeated, and he was the one that looked away first, offering his hand to Fran. She gave Mr. Midnight a tight squeeze before placing him down, taking both Larry and Sal’s hands, and they continued walking.

Larry continued to cough every now and again, and each time Sal looked over at him, worry twisting in his gut. Larry must have known, because each time he avoided looking at Sal, even making a point of looking away from him. That did nothing to lessen Sal’s concern, hoping that maybe, it was just this place. This Realm of Darkness, bringing out bad feelings and distrust. He needed Larry next to him, if the four of them had any hope of coming out of this on the other side.

Chapter Text

Though Sal was could breathe the air in the Realm of Darkness just fine, the longer they walked, the heavier it seemed to get upon their shoulders. Moving their legs got more and more exhausting; it was almost like wading through water. Finally, Fran let out a sigh.

“I’m tired.” She declared. “Could we find somewhere to rest for a little while?”

Sal looked around. There was a small crevice to their right, built of precariously stacked rocks but completely devoid of Kamalas. He pointed.

“There?” He suggested. The offer was easily accepted, Fran lying down almost as soon as they got there, Mr. Midnight snuggling up close to her. A nap sounded like a spectacular idea, but Sal knew that Larry, with his coughing up blood and his broken hand, needed the rest more than he did.

“I’ll keep watch.” Larry said, almost as soon as the thought had crossed Sal’s mind. He placed a hand on Sal’s shoulder. “Go take a nap.”

“No, you rest.” Sal insisted. “You need it. I’m okay.”

Stubbornly, Larry sat cross legged on the ground. So Sal sat next to him.

“Are you okay?” He asked. He expected Larry to give a one word answer, or brush the question off, but he didn’t.

“I fucking hate this place.” He said instead. His voice was soft, but there was a violent bite to it. “We’re not supposed to be tired. We’re not supposed to get hurt. But I’m exhausted and beat to shit.”

“So take a nap.” Sal said. He didn’t know if it was the actual words or his simplistic tone, but Larry smiled, coughed, and bumped his shoulder lightly against Sal’s own.

“Whatever, Sally face.”

“I’m serious.”

“I can’t, man.”

“Why not?”

“I’m afraid.”

“I’ll watch your back. Nothing’s gonna get you in your sleep.”

Larry was silent for a long moment, bringing his knees to his chest, his face so pensive that Sal thought he must be considering it. Then he spoke again.

“That’s… That’s not what I’m afraid of. I'm not really scared of all the stupid monsters. And they’re not why I hate this place, either. Not really.”

His voice had gone quiet, so Sal lowered his own, watching Larry’s face.

“Then what’s wrong?”

Larry looked out for just a second longer before burying his head in his hands, his long hair falling down in sheets and blocking his face from view. When he spoke, his voice was muffled.

“The thoughts are back.”

“Thoughts?” Sal echoed. “What do you mean?”

“It was the only good thing about leaving. Well, that and helping you in the apartments, I guess. But once I was dead, all those thoughts I had about killing myself finally went away.”

It felt very suddenly to Sal that he was also breathing sand, and a giant chunk of it had just gotten caught in his throat. He swallowed hard.

“I should have known.” He said, and at that Larry looked back up, his hair parting so Sal could see his face. His eyes were red-rimmed, but he wasn’t fully crying.

“No, you shouldn’t have. Don’t say that.” He sat up straighter, pushing his hair fully out of his face. “I never said anything. Partially because I didn’t want to scare any of you. I thought I was going crazy.”

“Crazy?”

“It was just… Just this feeling that I had. After my dad left, I always knew that I was going to go, too. Some way or another, just like he did, I was going to abandon the people I loved. I didn’t know why, or in what way, but I knew it would happen.”

“Jesus, Larry.” Sal stared at him. “All that time? You were just a little kid when that happened.”

“At first, I thought I’d only hurt my mom.” Larry said. He crossed his arms on top of his knees, then placed his chin on them. “That would suck, but it wouldn’t be too bad. She’s strong, you know? I knew how much she loved me, but she could live without me. Then you came along, and I could just feel what I would do to you, and to Ash and Todd… It made me hate myself. My thoughts always took a turn when I was alone, always went to a dark place, and I don’t know why. Maybe it was from living in a goddamn cursed building my whole life.” He shrugged, the motion small and muted. “When I was dead, all I thought about was missing you guys. But now we’re here, in this place, and all that bad stuff is back.”

Sal moved closer to him, wrapping one arm around his back and the other around his torso under his arms, pressing his face against Larry’s shoulder as he gave him a tight squeeze.

“You’re not leaving me again.” Sal told him. His heart ached from what he had just heard. “You made a promise.”

“I did.” Larry agreed. He tilted his head to the side, resting it on top of Sal’s.

“You’re not leaving, and I’ll be damned if some place like this tries to take you from me.”

At that, Larry laughed a little, and thankfully, he didn’t cough. Sal thought that hearing him cough right now would break him.

The haze in the air seemed to settle around them, to get darker and thicker. They were walking further into this reality, Sal supposed; unlike the yellowish brown where Itward had crash landed, this air had a grayness to it, almost as though the sunless sky were setting. But it wasn’t, Sal almost willing to bet that if they walked deep enough, the air would be as inky and sluggish as a Kamala.

After some time, Fran woke up. Neither Larry or Sal ended up sleeping, simply resting against each other, but it seemed as though they didn’t miss much; Fran declared not to feel any better upon waking. Her head was up, sure, but she was moving rather slowly. The further they walked, the more this lethargy bothered Mr. Midnight, and finally the cat spoke up.

“I can’t stand this any longer.” He said. “I cannot, on good conscience, consent to Fran going any further.” He came to a halt in front of Fran, and by stopping her walking, he stopped all three of them.

“Hey man, we can keep her safe.” Larry said. “You watched what Sal did with that guitar. Nothing’s gonna touch her.”

“The competence of you two isn’t what I’m concerned about, though you should take a look at yourself before making a claim like that.” Mr. Midnight said. Sal couldn’t help but feel that maybe, he had somewhat of a point; with all his injuries and the added bonus of dried Kamala blood on his shirt, Larry did look incredibly worse for wear. “It’s this place! It’s awful. We’re going back to Itward, and we’re going back home.”

“No.” Fran planted her feet, and her hand tightened on Sal’s. Upon looking, Sal saw that her grip had tightened on Larry’s, too. “I have to stay. I have to fight.”

“Fight? Fran!” Mr. Midnight leapt to his back legs, his front paws resting against Fran’s thigh as he looked up at her. “And what do you plan to do? There’s nothing you can do that could hurt him, you know that!”

“I have to.” Fran said. Her eyes were welling up, and she let both of their hands go. “I have to.”

“Fran, please—”

“He killed my parents!” She cried, her voice breaking upwards in octave and in volume. “I was happy, and he made me kill my parents!”

“We don’t know that!” Mr. Midnight exclaimed back, though his voice was almost pleading, trying to be empathetic. “We have no proof! For all we know, he planted that memory in your head because he knew it would destroy you.”

Sal was reminded of Itward’s words, of what Itward said Fran had done. By the tortured expression on Fran’s face, it seemed she remembered every moment of what had happened, though that may just have been the Realm of Darkness, and the influence it had.

“I have to.” Fran said again, the tears in her eyes spilling over, and without warning she ran off into the haze.

“Fran!” Mr. Midnight yelled, running after her. Without word or pretense, Sal and Larry took off too.

At first, Sal could see Mr. Midnight, his black tail high in the air, his back paws hitting the ground rapidly as he ran. But where was Fran? She hadn’t gotten much of a head start on them. With how small she was, they should all be running faster than her.  But she was nowhere in sight.

Mr. Midnight slowed. He stopped. He looked around, desperation in his wide yellow eyes.

“Fran?” He shouted out. “Fran!”

“You can’t see her?” Larry asked. “You took off right after her! Where is she?”

“Fran!” Sal shouted. He felt as though the thick smog was drowning out his voice, blocking it from going farther than five inches past his nose. “Fran!”

They all stood, looking around, staring out. The haze was a thick brownish grey, making it impossible to see into the distance. They wouldn’t—couldn’t—find her just by looking around.

A scream sent a thrill of panic through Sal’s chest. The scream was high pitched, desperate and afraid, and it was impossible to tell where it was coming from.

“Fran!” Mr. Midnight yelled again, pacing around, his ears swiveling in an attempt to locate the sound. Larry was turning his head, but Sal was standing stock still.

Another scream, and this time, Sal felt a tug in his gut. He swallowed, turned to the left, and took off at a run.

“Sal? Wait!” Larry shouted, following after him. Sal didn’t know where it was he was going, or why, but he knew this was the right way. Fran was somewhere over here, he knew; he would find her.

His lungs were burning by the time he saw movement through the fog ahead, and Larry was right behind him, coughing. With a giant creaking crash, something large and doubtlessly heavy fell to the ground, sending dirt flying and making the air even thicker. The thing looked like a hooked claw, Sal stepping up to it with his guitar now in place, ready to simply start playing and hope for the best.

“Fran!” Mr. Midnight yelled again, and this time a small figure moved towards them through the smoke. It was Fran, dusty and disheveled, tears cutting tracks through the dirt on her cheeks. One shoulder of her dress was ripped and there were scrapes on her legs where blood was seeping through rips in her tights. She saw them, Sal with his guitar out, Larry and Mr. Midnight behind him, and ran, crouching behind Larry and pulling Mr. Midnight towards her.

“I’m sorry!” She cried, just as another club-like claw crashed down in front of them, the monster coming into view.

It was a Kamala, but a huge one. It was standing on a bed of tentacles, two large claw-tipped arms hanging down. The monster had only one large eye in the center of its face, a giant mouth dropping down. The mouth opened, a smaller mouth visible in the back of its throat, and even smaller mouth past that.

“Die, die.” The Kamala chanted in a voice that sounded barely human. “Time to die.”

Sal put his fingers to the strings. He didn’t wait this time, like he had at first, watching each note take effect. He just played, fingers on autopilot, watching the guitar light up in his hands, the powerful necrolights blasting at the beast.

This Kamala didn’t bleed like the first one did. This one melted, black sludge oozing off its form and towards them across the dirt. Sal didn’t notice it, too focused on playing, until Larry reached towards him and yanked him back by the shoulder. The ooze singed Sal’s shoes before he was able to jump away.

When they were done, the Kamala was a lifeless pile of sludge. Sal stopped playing, the echoing silence permeating the thick air as they all looked at the mess.

“I’m sorry.” Fran said again, her voice wobbling on the last word, and a whimper began in the back of her throat. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have ran. I was just angry, I’m so angry and sad here, I can’t—”

Her voice was rising in pitch, talking faster and faster, cut off when Mr. Midnight bumped her face with his head.

“We’re just glad you’re safe, Fran.” He said softly, and she burst into tears, holding him tightly. Larry put a hand on her head, smoothing out the disheveled strands of hair, and Sal crouched down in front of her.

“Do you really want to come with us?” He asked her. “This is dangerous and scary. It’s okay if you want to go back to Itward. We won’t be mad at you.”

She shook her head, wiping her eyes. “I’m not scared.” She said. “I want to come. I want to help.”

“You don’t have to, though. You know that, right?” Sal wasn’t trying to dissuade her, like Mr. Midnight had, but this felt like something he had to say. “This job, getting rid of this monster… It’s not all on your shoulders. Just because you might be able to lead the way, or because of what he did to your life... This isn’t fully your responsibility. We’re here to help you. We can shoulder this for you, Fran. You’re not alone.”

A few more tears fell, fast and hot, but Fran wiped at them quickly, dirt smudging across her hands and wet cheeks.

“I know.” She said. “I know I’m not alone. I still want to come, though.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Sal glanced over at Mr. Midnight. He simply shook his head in concession.

“Okay.” Sal said. “We should keep moving, then.”

Fran nodded, getting to her feet. She stumbled on the first step, and Larry nudged her.

“Want a piggyback ride?” He asked, and she began to smile, nodding. Sal had to help her up due to Larry’s broken hand, but once she was securely on his back, they began to move. Fran glanced around, her eyes narrowed.

“Straight ahead.” She said. “He… We’re far enough in. I can feel Remor now. He’s straight ahead.”

“Roger that.” Larry said, and they walked. It only took a few minutes for Fran’s eyelids begin to droop, and soon enough, she was asleep.

“I drove her off, didn’t I?” Mr. Midnight asked. He was walking by Sal’s feet.

“Maybe.” Sal answered. “This place is fucking with us though. It can’t have been entirely your fault. But this, doing this… It might just be something she has to do.”

“Something she has to do?” Larry asked. He raised an eyebrow, but there was a knowing expression in his eyes. “That’s what you were told, wasn’t it? That it had to be you?”

Sal swallowed hard. He hadn’t even realized it, but it was true. As much as he’d hated it, yes; the eradication of Addison Apartments was a burden he’d had to carry alone.

His silence seemed answer enough. Larry let out a low breath.

“I’m sorry.” He said. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

“Just… Stop apologizing.”

“Sal—”

“I know you are.” Sal cut him off, able to feel the familiar heat of tears in his throat. “I know you’re sorry, but it doesn’t change what happened.”

Sal had his eyes on his feet, and watched Larry’s step falter. Then he heard the words in his head, heard how harsh they had been, and swallowed hard.

“That—that wasn’t, I’m sorry—”

“No, Sal. You’re right. You’re right. Just...” Larry hitched Fran a little higher up on his back. “Just let me know when you forgive me, if you can.”

The words weren’t said in any sort of way that was sarcastic, or passive-aggressive. They were said lightly, in Larry’s normal, casual tone, and Sal felt the tears now stinging at his eyes because he hadn’t truly realized it until that moment. Despite how overjoyed he was to have Larry back again, he still hadn’t forgiven him for leaving the first time. Hadn’t forgiven him for how much it had hurt.

“Okay.” Sal murmured, Larry reaching out. It was his busted up left hand, but Sal accepted the invitation and held it anyway, trying to be gentle. If it did hurt, Larry gave no indication.

After walking for a while, sneaking their way past three more aggressive Kamalas, Sal and Larry began to feel that maybe they’d strayed from the straight path Fran had set them on. Fran was still asleep, her head resting against Larry’s shoulder, so they decided to stop and wait for her to wake up again. Sal lifted her off Larry as carefully as he could, resting against a rock with her in his arms and letting his eyes close. He never fully slept, but he was able to rest, and felt that it did help a little. Larry’s intermittent coughing let Sal know that he wasn’t able to relax much, but he still hoped that stopping and sitting was at least doing something for him.

Sal wasn’t sure when it was that Fran woke up. One moment, she was quiet and still, her breathing even, and the next she was asking him a question.

“Mister Sally?”

Sal cracked an eye open, glancing down at her. “Yeah?”

“Is Mister Larry dying?”

The question was asked so simply that Sal wasn’t really sure how to answer. He looked over at Larry, who was also reclined against a rock, his eyes closed. Before Sal could say anything, Larry squinted at her.

“Hey.” He said. “I’m fine.”

The words were punctuated with a cough, and maybe it was the darkness of it all, or the irony, but despite himself, Sal laughed. They met eyes, and Larry gave him a grin.

As it turned out, they had wandered from their route a little. Fran set them back on course, and they continued. She seemed a little shaky, a little unstable, and Sal asked her if she was okay.

“I’m scared.” She confessed. Instead of holding their hands, Fran was holding Mr. Midnight in her arms, though she was still walking between them. “Remor always knows; he always knows where I am. I don’t know why he hasn’t come down yet and tried to get me. I feel like he might show up at any time, and we won’t be ready.”

“Maybe our badass vibes are throwing him off his rhythm.” Larry said, throwing up a ‘hang loose’ gesture with his free hand. Mr. Midnight curled in Fran’s arms and fully hissed at him for his cursing, but he just stuck his tongue out back.

“Don’t be afraid.” Sal told her. “If he shows up now, or if we have to walk all the way up to his front door, we’re ready. We’re going to kill him.”

“We are?”

“We are, I promise you. As soon as we can get our hands on him.”

Fran nodded thoughtfully. The violent idea didn’t seem to scare her in the slightest. Then she looked at Larry.

“What does bad ass mean?” She asked. Larry laughed until he choked, then laughed a little longer, and didn’t stop until Mr. Midnight fully launched his furry body out of Fran’s arms and onto his face.

Though Fran insisted that they were going the right way, they found themselves having to stop again. Not fully to sleep, just to sit for a moment, to rest their legs. They were slowing down, Sal felt, and after sharing a look with Larry, knew that Larry felt it too. This place was draining them of their energy, bit by bit. They needed to get out of here. Sal had no idea how much time had passed, but could only hope that Itward would have the ship done when they returned. If they returned.

“We really are going to kill him, right?” Fran asked. The question was completely unprompted, so Sal could tell that the promise he’d made earlier was something Fran had been thinking about.

“We sure are.” Sal answered.

“Will… Will it hurt him?”

“I…” Sal looked to Larry and Mr. Midnight. Neither of them had an answer, but that wasn’t thing Sal was worried about; what kind of answer should he give a little girl? Which would be better for her to hear? “I don’t know.”

“Am…” Fran looked down. She was twisting her fingers together in her lap. “Am I a bad person for wanting it to hurt him? Just a little bit?”

She refused to look up at any of them, as though afraid of what she would see in their faces. Sal placed a hand on her shoulder, and at his touch she lifted her head.

“No, Fran. I don’t think so.”

“Because he deserves it.” Her voice was bitter. “He hurts people. He hurts so many people. Good people.”

“Like you?”

“...am I a good person?”

Sal wanted to hug her then, but refrained. He worried that if he did, the conversation would end, and she seemed to need to talk. Maybe it was this realm that was raising these questions, but regardless, they were here now.

“I think so, Fran. Bad things happen to good people all the time. Sometimes, really bad things.”

“Have really bad things happened to you?”

The question completely blindsided him, the implication that he was a good person. But he had an answer for her, letting her go.

“Yeah.” Sal reached up, unclipping his mask. He pulled it down slowly, always afraid of the reaction, ready for Fran to scream, to run, to hide her face. But Fran just looked at him, studying him for a few moments.

“Why do you wear that mask?” She finally asked, and Sal was speechless for a moment, unable to do much more than stare at her.

“Because…” He didn’t have an answer, he realized. Not really. Not an answer that would make sense in the face of a child’s logic and honesty. “Because of my face.”

Fran shrugged. “I can still see your eyes.” She said, and she smiled. “They’re blue like mine.”

Sal felt a smile grow on his face, and in spite of himself, he began to laugh. He’d never laughed before, not with his mask off. He’d always felt too vulnerable, too scared and exposed. But it felt good, so good it almost hurt.

“Let’s rest a while.” Larry said. He was watching Sal, his eyes somehow shining in the dull light; he looked happy. “Let’s rest, and we’ll kill that motherfucker tomorrow.”

“Language.” Mr. Midnight growled, but Larry ignored him. There was no tomorrow here—there wasn’t even a today—but they all nodded and settled down to rest, and somewhere in it all, between the warm chill of the air and Larry’s muted coughing, Sal went to sleep.

“Fran! Fran, fuck. Fran!”

It was Larry’s voice, and he sounded frantic. Sal sat up fast, Mr. Midnight the first thing he saw, the cat pacing in panic.

“What’s—?” Sal began, about to ask what was going on, but a quick look around told him all he needed to know. Fran was missing. Fran was gone again.

“What happened?” He asked, getting quickly to his feet.

“She’s gone. We all fell asleep; this place made us too fucking exhausted. We all fell asleep, and she’s gone.”

“Did Remor take her?”

“I don’t know!” Larry was looking behind the various rocks around them, trying to peer into the distance, but Sal knew Fran wasn’t there. He could feel it, somehow. He grabbed his guitar. “We have to find her, we…” He looked to Sal, and looked lost, panic in his wide eyes.

“Then let’s go.”

“We don’t know where—”

“Let’s go.” Sal repeated. He took off at a run, Larry following behind him. This was it, Sal knew, reaching up to grip the guitar on his back. Somehow, this was it. He would get to where they had to go. They were approaching something, anticipation rising in Sal’s gut, making his insides twist. Something big. Something dangerous. The first time he had followed his feet, they had led him to Fran. He was certain they would do so again.

Thankfully, neither Larry nor Mr. Midnight questioned him as he carved the path, simply following. If they’d stopped to ask him where he was going, he would have tried to think through it and lost his way. He just ran, and steadily the haze thinned, the ground growing less dusty and more solid, stones now under their feet.

They came to a giant set of stone stairs, each step too large to take more than one at a time, descending to a stone circle. There were spikes jutting from the ground throughout, and in the middle of it all was Remor. He was larger than Sal remembered, holding Fran in one clawed hand.

“Fran!” Mr. Midnight yelled, and before anyone could stop him, he went at a sprint down the steps. When he was close enough, he launched himself at Remor, claws out and teeth bared, hissing. Remor caught him easily, clenching his small body in one fist, and threw him to the ground. The cat didn’t land on his feet, crumpling into a heap on the floor, Fran letting out a horrified, sobbing scream.

Larry and Sal ran down the steps, Larry going quickly to Mr. Midnight while Sal put his fingers to the strings of his guitar.

“You are too late.” Remor said, his big black mass of a body writhing under his giant skulled head. “I have her. There is nothing you humans can do to take her from me.”

Sal didn’t bother listening to him, beginning a fast guitar riff. Remor’s pained yell was screeching, but he didn’t release Fran, who began to openly sob.

“Don’t you dare hurt her!” Larry yelled up at the monster. Mr. Midnight’s limp body was cradled in one of his arms, deadly still and painful to look at.

“I’ve hurt her more than you can imagine.” Remor responded. “She belongs to me! I’m the one that corrupted her and dragged her into madness. This is what the both of us deserve.”

“Hey!” Sal shouted. He met Remor’s white glowing eyes, snarling up at the monster. “Shut the fuck up.”

The next combination of notes was enough to get Remor to let Fran go, the monster convulsing and writhing. Larry dashed over, half-catching Fran’s body before she landed, the three of them falling in a sprawled mess at Remor’s feet. But Sal didn’t have time to look at them, playing as fast as he could, his only focus the next combination of notes, the next way to make Remor scream and squirm. The necrolights were glowing, a green beam of concentrated energy beginning to flow from the instrument, connecting with Remor’s body.

“I looked for him!” Fran cried. “I wanted all of us to get out of here. I wanted to be happy, and to be happy with my friends again, so I opened up my mind to him. I thought that maybe if he found me, he would come and we could beat him, but I wasn’t strong enough!”

“It’s okay.” Larry said. He set Fran on her feet, standing between her and the monster. “It’s okay, we—”

“She’s mine!” Remor roared, one clawed hand striking down towards Fran. Larry shoved her aside, her body sprawling across the ground. Remor’s hand caught Larry instead, shoving him, knocking his body against one of the rocks jutting up from the ground. He hit the rock hard and choked up blood, spitting it into the dirt below him. Sal played faster, the green beam of light growing stronger and stronger.

“I’m mine!” Fran screamed up at Remor. “I’m mine, and you can’t hurt me anymore!”

Remor howled again, reaching out. Larry was still sprawled on the ground, and Sal knew that if he stopped playing, all hope of winning would be lost. He tried to play faster, tried to play louder, to stop Remor from touching Fran. The green beam seemed to puncture Remor’s black form, bursting a hole into his chest. It wasn’t enough to stop him though, the clawed hand coming down onto Fran’s body, but the strike was clumsy, succeeding only in knocking her to the ground again. She got her hands and knees under her, scrambling away from him as he let out a frustrated roar.

“I didn’t deserve what you did to me!” Fran cried at him. Remor’s body began to fill with the green necrolight. “I’m good! I want you to leave me alone! I want to be happy with my friends!”

Remor’s body exploded. Black mass went flying everywhere, spread all around around the clearing, a dying scream from the demon echoing in Sal’s ears. His skull, the largest piece left, fell to the ground and cracked, and the glowing eyes went out; nothing was there but blank, empty sockets.

Remor was gone. He wasn’t just dead, but completely eviscerated, his matter splattered in such small pieces that it could never reform. The skull wept blood until the veins were empty, the red ichor seeping into the earth.

Exhaustion swept through Sal’s body like a tidal wave, his knees buckling before he realized it and he swayed for just a moment before crashing to the ground. He managed to catch himself before his face hit the stone, his elbows locking under the weight of his body as his arms shook.

“Mr. Midnight?”

Fran’s voice was small, and Sal glanced over. Fran had run over to him and pulled him into her lap, stroking his head. The cat must have been bleeding, though thanks to his dark fur Sal couldn’t tell from where; all Sal could see was the blood that was now on Fran’s hands. He was dead. He had to be, Sal thought. He had to be dead.

“...Fran? Are you alright?” Mr. Midnight’s voice was weak, but it was there, and a sob leapt from Fran’s throat as she cuddled him to her face. Sal pushed himself up to his knees and began crawling over to Larry. Larry still hadn’t moved, and while Sal could see his chest rising and falling, that was only a small comfort.

Larry was bleeding. Remor’s claws had dug into his back, breaking holes into his skin and ripping his shirt open. His head was bleeding from being knocked against the rock, and his eyes were closed.

“Larry.” Sal reached out, but didn’t know if it would be safe to touch him. “Larry, wake up. We have to leave. We have to get out of here.”

How? How would they leave? Itward was so far away; it would be impossible to walk that far. It would be impossible even to get up the stairs.

“Did you win?” Larry’s voice sounded like gravel. His eyes opened slowly, and with an expression of concentrated effort, focused his eyes on Sal’s own. “Did you kick his ass?”

“Yeah. He exploded.”

“That’s fucking metal.” Larry’s eyes began to slide closed again, and Sal reached over, shaking him slightly.

“Don’t.” He said, panic edging into his voice. “Don’t you fucking do that. Stay with me.”

“Everything hurts.” Larry said. “I’ll just… I’ll close my eyes for a little while. I’ll be okay.”

“Larry—”

A metallic whirring noise cut through the haze, and Sal looked up to the sky. It was Itward’s Flying Machine, Itward standing up on the observation deck. He waved down at them.

“Itward!” Fran yelled. Itward landed quickly, opening the door, and had to help Sal carry Larry’s body inside.

“I cut up some bandages for you.” Itward said. He was talking quickly and moving his hands in an almost frantic manner, looking wide-eyed and nervous. “I’ve been looking for you for days! You were out there forever.”

“We were?” Sal asked. He had no true concept of time anymore, but right now, that didn’t matter. “Where are the bandages? Quick; Larry’s bleeding. I have to help him.”

Larry’s eyelids were fluttering, and at first Itward wanted to help patch his wounds, but Sal shouted at him to get them out of here, and he ran to the command room instead, the ship taking off at once. Fran’s nimble fingers were very helpful, ignoring her own cuts and scrapes as she worked. Mr. Midnight looked very weak, laying in a heap on the floor, his breathing labored and his eyes half closed as he watched them. Sal had a horrible, sickening feeling that both Larry and Mr. Midnight wouldn’t make it out of here.

“Larry? I need you to talk to me, okay?” He said, trying to keep his voice steady.

“About what?” Larry slurred. He reached towards Sal with his broken hand, not even wincing when Sal held it.

“Anything you want. Anything.”

“Do you remember?” He sounded drunk, the words slow and almost incomplete. “The first time I saw you without your mask?”

“Of course I do.” The flying machine was moving faster than Sal thought was possible, ascending quickly. There was a heavy pit of dread in Sal's stomach. They still weren't flying fast enough. Despite keeping him talking, Larry's eyes began to slide closed. 

“I never thought I would see your face again, so I drew it. I drew you. I… I have a sketchbook, and I kept it hidden up in the treehouse. I thought maybe, maybe you would think it was weird. Creepy, I don’t know." His voice was getting steadily softer. "Half of it is just sketches. You let me see your face after that and stuff, but I just never wanted to let myself forget.”

The entire aircraft shuddered, jostling quickly before straightening out again, and Sal able to feel the air lightening. It was easier to breathe, less dusty, and he let out a breath of relief. They must be getting close, closer to getting out of this place.

Instead of breathing easier though, Larry began to cough. The coughing was violent, wracking his body like a seizure, curling him in on himself, his throat straining.

“Itward!” Sal yelled. “What’s happening?”

Blood came from Larry’s mouth in place of saliva, bright and red, spilling onto Sal’s hands and the floor below. Fran’s eyes were wide with fright.

“We’re almost through!” Itward yelled back. “This realm may not want him to leave. He’s been an intruder for so long, it may think he belongs here now. If he dies here, he’ll stay here, and his soul will descend into madness.”

Larry’s broken hand squeezed his own, squeezed it so tightly it hurt. He rolled and spit, blood now also flowing from his nose from the way every muscle of his body was straining. His eyes were open wide, fearful and blind to his surroundings, every effort on trying to breathe, and Sal could do nothing but kneel next to him, with no idea what to do.

“We’re through!” Itward yelled. “We’ve arrived!”

“You promised.” Sal told Larry, fear driving his voice into a pitch he barely recognized. “You promised not to leave me.”

Larry’s coughs fell into silent, convulsing chokes, and Sal realized with a jolt that he was drowning. He pulled Larry off his back and up into a sitting position against the wall, and blood flowed fast from his mouth. Then he wheezed in a breath, his head falling back, hitting the wall he rested against as his chest heaved.

“Fuck.” He rasped out. “Shit.”

Sal watched as he brought his breathing back, as he regained himself. Blood was thick down his front, covering him from below his nose, down his neck, and seeping into his shirt. Sal realized in that silence that under his mask he was crying, and was unable not to fling himself at Larry, gripping to him tightly.

“Damn it, I thought you were going to die.” He said, and in spite of everything, Larry laughed. His throat sounded completely ripped up, but he laughed.

“I thought I was too, to be honest. But I couldn’t. I’m not leaving you, remember?”

Sal held him for a long moment, his hands twisting tightly in the bandages on Larry’s back. Then he realized all at once how much that must hurt, and jolted back.

“I feel okay.” Larry confessed. “Sore, but okay. I think I’m okay.”

Then Fran jumped into Larry’s lap too, slinging her arms around his neck and squeezing, and Larry laughed, hugging her back.

“I’m glad you’re alright, kid. We’re safe now, okay?”

“I think passing through healed us.” Mr. Midnight said. He looked much more alert, sitting up now. “My injuries are gone.”

“I love this place.” Larry declared, and while it wasn’t very funny, all of them laughed. Sal sat against the wall next to Larry, and eventually, Fran fell asleep in his lap. He looked down at her, a grin on his face.

“I love this little kid, I think.” He said.

“I would hope so. You nearly died for her.” Sal said, resting his head against Larry’s shoulder.

“So did you.” Larry pointed out.

“I don’t know how I could ever thank you both.” Mr. Midnight said. He approached them, settling himself in Sal’s lap and looking up at them. “What you’ve done for Fran. It was incredible.”

“I have one way you could repay us.” Larry said. There was a grin on his face, and Sal had no idea what he had in mind. Clearly, Mr. Midnight was just as oblivious.

“Yes?” He prompted.

“Say ‘fuck’ for me.”

The cat’s ears flattened. “I thought we were having a serious conversation.” He said.

“This is serious!” Larry exclaimed, and Sal broke out laughing. “I want to hear it, just once.”

“Your appalling language, and in front of Fran, I honestly—”

“I saved your life, dude!” Larry protested, Sal laughing even harder. “I saved your life, I saved Fran’s life, and you won’t even give me one curse word?”

Mr. Midnight eyes went narrow, the tip of his tail twitching in agitation. After checking once again to make sure Fran was asleep, he sighed.

“Fine, if you won’t let it go.” The cat sat there a moment longer, the word coming out quickly, like it had a disgusting taste. “...fuck.”

Larry howled in laughter, and that definitely woke Fran, who began begging to know what the joke was. But they all refused to say, Larry just continuing to laugh, Sal watching him, and he felt himself begin to smile. They really were okay.

“We did it.” Larry said. He was lying on his back in the grass, his head in Sal’s lap, looking out onto the field. Sal, who was sitting against the trunk of the large tree at the top of the hill, looked down in the same direction. “We did it, and it feels amazing.”

“We did.” Sal agreed. Once they’d returned to Senersedee, the land of the dead, the first thing Itward had done was nearly faint in shock at the sight of their clothes and insist on getting them replacements. They’d checked up on Larry’s injuries, unwrapping his back and his hand, and as Mr. Midnight had said, he was healed. There was no indication that the skin had ever been broken or punctured.

Sal and Fran’s scrapes were also gone, the air coming through Sal’s lungs feeling fresh and warm. The brightness in this realm, the almost-sunshine, felt so good.

When Itward came back, they all dressed themselves and took a nap, for no reason than that they could, and could feel safe while sleeping. They’d curled in a pile together, Fran and Mr. Midnight sandwiched between Sal and Larry. When Fran had woken, Itward had asked her if she wanted to play. That’s where she was now, at the base of the hill with Itward and Mr. Midnight, running and jumping and shouting in laughter.

“She’s free.”

Sal hummed in agreement, his hand absently finding a few stray locks on Larry’s head, letting them slide between his fingers. His guitar was a few feet away, propped up against the tree, and Sal was excited to play it again. They had found out the hard way though, that they couldn’t play it if Itward was there, having to wait until he was off running errands to do so.

“I do wonder though.” He said. “I’ve done this twice now. Why me?”

“Well, apparently you’re special, Sally face.” Larry said. “We found that out, didn’t we?”

“Shut up.”

“Come on, you know I’m joking. You’ve always been special.”

“And you’ve always been an idiot.” Sal responded, but he was unable to get the fondness from his voice, and Larry just laughed.

“You’re a superhero, Sal Fisher.”

“You think?” Sal frowned in consideration. “I think I’d rather be an antihero. They seem like they have more fun.”

“True. They get to listen to heavy metal and say fuck.”

“Exactly.”

Larry laughed again, the sound thankfully devoid of coughing, turning onto his back to properly look up at Sal.

“Maybe you’ll get to rest now. That this’ll be it. Hopefully, right?”

“Hopefully?” Sal mimed thinking, framing the chin of his mask with his thumb and forefinger. “Maybe. Nothing wrong with a little adventure.”

Larry, eyes closed and sun on his face, just began to laugh again. Sal let his eyes close too, warm and content, Fran’s happy voice in his ears. Nothing wrong with a little adventure.