Chapter Text
There stands a spirit at the top of the staircase. Encased in shadow, the moonlight of the full moon breaks through the shutter behind him, cutting through his transparent body and falling onto the face of the mortal standing at the bottom of the stairs.
The gate that separates the dead and the living overlooks the two of them, the cast shadow of the shutter trapping all the present souls in a cage of endless devotion.
And despite not being capable of seeing Boss while occupying his body, Eugene continues to shout and yell his anger into the freezing air, his rapid breaths letting out puffs of mist from the surrounding dark presence,
“All of this was an illusion built on lies.”
It’s one of the last kicks to the barely standing dam. Eugene's words continue to echo throughout the empty station walls, and the walls shake with them, the ghost behind him and the shadow at the top of the stairs shake with them, and most of all, Eugene shakes with them so vigorously his hands cannot stay at bay. His teeth may be clattering, perhaps his fingertips are close to getting frostbitten, but he doesn’t even notice. Anger, sadness, confusion, and the hopelessness of this collapsing situation— all those emotions feed off each other, they boil inside him, and they keep his trembling body warm like the temporary kindling they are.
His eyes are full of tears, the horrible sting they bring with them barely letting him see the silhouette of the floating fan enlightened by the moonlight from behind. Still, he’s trying not to cry. He needs to show him how angry he is, he needs Boss to know how much anger he feels towards him— And how much anger he feels towards himself.
“So now, I am back to being embarrassed of what I see when I look at myself in the mirror.”
Another sentence sends a tremor throughout the room, and Eugene involuntarily lets out a quiet, raspy sob out of his lungs.
Boss winces at the sound. It's a grating, horrible thing to hear. He hates seeing him like this. He hates it so much his heart aches with Eugene’s in unison. It’s a selfish thing to feel the pain alongside him, he knows it just as he knows all this is his fault and his fault alone. He lied to them after all, he lied to them all. For a while he might’ve pretended this was all for a higher reason, a mistake, or a misunderstanding, but deep down he knew it was all just his selfishness holding them chained down here.
And now Eugene is back in front of the mirror, just like when they first met, all the progress lost. A 15-year-old boy stands before him once again, and it’s all his fault.
Boss forces himself to briefly look into the mortal’s eyes, so full of anger, a burning fury that is directed purely at him. Oh, and Boss knows he needs to face the consequences, that he needs to face the boy who just found him out for what he truly is. But he can’t find the words nor the ability to move. He knows he shouldn’t feel like this. He’s dead, after all— he even had it all under control, he always had it all under control— but all the human feelings he’s been holding back ever since Charlie got unsealed start to flood back at full force.
Boss hates the feeling of losing control. Seeing Charlie, a ghost, with all their misdeeds suddenly erased alongside their memory was terrifying for many reasons, but the worst was how Boss was acutely aware that with them losing their memories, everyone he cared about would find out the truth, the lie would get uncovered with a single, damned misstep. He despised Charlie for this, he hated them. Of course, it wasn’t really that measly ghost’s fault, but he couldn’t stop himself from loathing them for derailing his feigned reality. He just needed to be angry at someone— yet his limited choices always circled back to their birthplace, back to Boss.
And with no one else left to blame but himself, the anger collides and turns into overwhelming shame.
“Looking at myself is… t…terrifying.”
Every single word that comes out of Eugene’s mouth is like a punch to the gut, a hit with a hammer to a dam made of thin glass, tearing down all the hope Boss had left.
He doesn’t even notice the fan in his hand tremble alongside the three of them.
“I disgust myself…!”
The air swells, the atmosphere so dense and sickening that everyone present loses their breath for a beat and their stomachs lurch— The last kick, this is it, the last punch and stab at the wall holding the raging sea from washing them all away.
So, Boss cracks, the water seeps through, the shame wins over, his soul hisses like boiling water, and he averts his gaze from the one he refuses to face.
He covers his face with his free hand, hiding away, realizing the sickening feeling in his throat is not a gag threatening to escape, but rather a stifled sob. It chokes him, it forces the edges of his eyes to sting, and he puts all his efforts to keep it— and his unstable form— at bay, not wanting Charlie, who is still spectating the situation from afar, to see him in such a pathetic state.
But his own soul betrays him, as it starts to steadily melt into thin air, a flowing river of sin.
His grip on the fan loosens, he lets his guard down, and the water starts to pour through the collapsing wall. And with it, the seas ripple, the spirit sealed inside that wretched keepsake stirs from its depths, sensing the emotional vulnerability of her captor.
What a humorous way to go out, Boss could wonder, a man who was deemed to be the one who’s always prepared for anything, panicking so much his only idea on how to salvage what he had left was to seal away the problem, a last-ditch effort, thinking he could guard the fan for an eternity.
But Eugene’s words made him realize it’s all pointless anyway, everything he wanted to protect has fallen apart. This is the end of his final act.
Sharp, fully pitch-black fingers reach out from the fan, grasping its frame from the inside, forcing the old thing to let out a crack so loud it felt as if it snapped in two.
The sound echoes louder than any of Eugene’s words, and Boss freezes. The reality of what’s about to happen brings him back to his senses just for a second, the one singular second he gets to prepare for what’s about to come.
And he chooses the only choice he would make even if he had an eternity to make up his mind.
He lets go of the fan, he doesn’t care about it anymore, he doesn’t care about that cursed gate behind him which he has been protecting for the last few decades, nor does he care about himself or the rest of them.
Boss reaches out for the last thing worth saving.
I will never forgive you.
River’s words lay etched into the split second that separated the salvageable from the impossible. And it’s the last thing Boss gets to hear before everything gets washed away with strands of black and white hair.
Everything is coated in suffocating darkness.
Through the ringing in his ears and the aching in his limbs, Boss can hear the walls and ceiling of the station collapsing all around him, with huge pieces of concrete falling from above and landing on top of the protective shield he’d managed to create with his cloak around himself and Eugene’s body.
He wasn’t fast enough to catch his soul, but it doesn’t matter right now, he needs to concentrate on protecting the empty shell that he was left with. It’s all his senses can focus on now, he cannot risk letting his guard down again. If he were to, Eugene’s body would certainly get crushed into bloody pieces within seconds.
This thought makes Boss grab onto the soulless body even tighter, holding it close, clinging onto the remains of what he failed to protect as if it was the last thing he had left in the world, which is collapsing right before his eyes.
He just hopes that when the avalanche of debris settles down, he will be able to find Eugene’s soul, praying River didn’t tear him into pieces by now. But an explosion of this size most likely cost her a lot of her energy, and knowing this gives Boss at least a little more hope Eugene will be able to walk out of this with his soul and body unscathed.
That’s really all that matters now. Him, River, Charlie, even the whole station can be damned. Eugene is still a mortal, and he is good. They are all evil spirits that died years ago, they are all already damned for an eternity with absolution long forsaken from their grasps— but Eugene, he can still leave and forget about all of this. He can still live.
He should have never gotten involved with a mortal, a guilty thought enters Boss’s mind, and the shadows coming off his body sway in a different direction in response.
It wasn’t supposed to end this way, he fires back at the unwelcome thoughts, dropping his head down to stare at the boy within his grasp. His face is pale, paler than usual, and he looks so peaceful despite all the ruin surrounding him. Boss could feel envious of the serenity etched into his soulless features.
It doesn’t matter how it was supposed to end, they all still somehow ended up here.
Boss doesn’t feel like answering such an intrusive thought; his mind is already getting clouded enough by just staring at the body in his arms. Actually, he’s so distracted he doesn’t even notice his body is starting to melt once more—
A big piece of the ceiling suddenly falls through a hole in the frail shield and lands right next to him, making the spirit slightly flinch and snap out of his thoughts.
He shakes his head, agitated, the old forgotten emotions feeling like frostbite eating him from the inside. He needs to keep his head clear, to focus on the thing of importance right now. He just— he needs to wait it out for just another minute or two— he needs to.
Realizing the surrounding dust had settled, Boss finally gets something else to take his attention. So, with now most of the noise quieted, he looks around through a hole in the protective shield; It seems like the whole area of the station which Eugene was previously standing in— the ceiling included— have collapsed. There are still clouds of dust flying through the air and dirt from the surface crumbling down, with water leaking from burst water pipes and dripping onto the station floors.
But the main thing he notices is the hair, familiar and possibly only belonging to a single person; wrapping around the walls and floors, all seemingly leading into one direction.
Probably where River ended up, Boss deduces. He then squints his eyes, desperately searching the area for Eugene’s soul. But even though he’s the brightest of all the remaining people in the office, he can’t see him anywhere, not even a speck of light in these barren parts.
Boss feels his fingertips anxiously twitch, now unsure of what to do next.
So he thinks of his options, because he potentially could try to drag Eugene’s body outside and then go look for his soul— And this idea is good in theory, but when Boss examines his form, he gets some doubts about whether it’s even possible for him to execute this plan.
As although the falling debris didn’t put a scratch on him, the explosion itself certainly took its toll on him. And with him being the one closest to the source of the explosion, he figures his soul must’ve been the one that came out of it the most damaged, with chunks of his shoulder, arms, and legs missing, feeling like an unfinished puzzle piece.
And despite slowly regenerating, he’s sure he cannot do anything in this situation, not without endangering Eugene's body, that is. So all he can do now is just wait and pray River doesn’t hurt Eugene, which, with how enraged she is currently, is very unlikely.
Or Charlie actually does their job and protects Eugene like they were brought back for, but Boss has even less faith in that than the first option.
All he can do is sit and wait, and if that isn’t the worst predicament he could’ve found himself in, he doesn’t know what could be.
Everything goes unnervingly silent for a second, the only audible thing being the distant, distressed cries of the mortal office workers, but there are still no spirits in the surrounding area.
Boss restlessly looks back down and stares at Eugene’s lifeless body again. It's perfectly unscathed. The only thing missing is the soul protection flower, which is most likely lost somewhere under the endless wreckage.
At least he saved something.
But without the soul it’s useless anyway, a voice inside his mind counters, and the spirit barely stops himself from gritting his teeth. But the more he looks at the soulless body— it being the only thing he can really look at right now— the more he can feel the sinking feeling overtaking him.
He needs to stay sane for at least a bit longer.
But he feels so exhausted.
Even though spirits shouldn’t be able to feel exhausted.
He decides to gently lay Eugene’s body on top of his cloak, knowing it would be smarter to have his hands free to be capable of deflecting any incoming attack. But letting go only makes the incessant scratch in his mind worsen, his instincts wanting, really wanting to grab onto him again and hold him until it gets better, to comfort him, tell him everything will be alright, and that there’s no need to panic. But this time Eugene is not here, and the one starting to panic is Boss.
(With not being able to do anything, stuck on this spot with only a lifeless body, it’s starting to dawn on him what just happened.
When River realized the truth and passed it on to Eugene and Charlie, he tried to keep Eugene away from Charlie, grasping onto the last bit of hope that he would stay if he just wouldn’t realize the full implications of the truth, hoping he would continue working at the office and act as if nothing happened.
He threatened Charlie to never come back.
He sealed River, Hayden, and Joan too. They couldn’t be helped. They were all too much of a threat.
Boss tried to convince himself that he and Eugene could be enough, that he would be able to keep River sealed, and they could work this out.
But it was all just lies, all of it. He knew Eugene wouldn’t be able to keep it all in. He knew everything was falling apart, and he couldn’t do anything about it. He just wasn’t ready to accept it this fast. But now they’re all gone. Eugene’s most likely dead by now, and River is probably already crawling her way towards him.
And when she gets here, he will gladly let her rip him into pieces. Gods, she can disintegrate him into nothing.
Because he knows that with enough will, even the soul can be torn apart, and something tells him it’s what his fate is supposed to be.)
The cold feeling starts to grow stronger again, he can feel his soul leaking into the air, and he can’t keep himself stable for much longer. With nothing else to distract him from his own thoughts, the panic fully sets in, and he starts to lose focus.
Everything is lost.
Suddenly, a dim light appears in front of him.
Startled, Boss desperately looks for its source, internally hoping— begging anyone who can hear him that it’s Eugene—
His gaze lands on Charlie.
Boss’s expression turns into a hard glare, certainly displeased by the results of the one in three chance he had of who this would be.
…But, even if they were the second-to-last person he wanted to see at this moment, he still feels a slight spark of relief go through him at the sight of another conscious being who isn’t here with the intention of tearing his soul apart.
The young ghost appears to be quite panicked, snapping their focus all over the place, probably lost within this maze of collapsed concrete. But when their eyes finally land on Boss and the soulless body alongside him, Charlie’s manner looks to calm a bit.
“Well, that was a waste of time,” they promptly let out as a gracious greeting to Boss. “He's so well protected anyway, look at that, not even a scratch on him,” they continue as they look the dark spirit up and down with palpable judgment before dropping their gaze to their own ruined form with a sigh, “And I’m a mess.”
Boss is not sure what their intent here is; he’s on edge, and the main purpose here is to make sure Eugene’s body is safe. And all he sees before him is a spirit covered in shadows, now much darker than they were before the explosion went off.
“Get back,” he snaps out at them, almost gasps out, as words appear to be more of a pain to conjure with the state of his form. But he needs to make sure Charlie is aware he can still cut them into pieces, even if he’s not in the best shape.
Charlie, taken aback by the aggression, stumbles a step backwards. “Whoa, what—”
“Did you follow the pulse of a living body here?” Boss questions unrelentingly, interrupting.
To his dismay, the question seemed to just aggravate the ghost. “Ha. Fuck— Now you think I’m some sort of a vulture or something! First you say you will slice me, but then you don’t. Which beat should I dance to, sir?”
Alright, that certainly wasn’t the response he was expecting to get, perhaps he shouldn’t have judged that quickly. He did not get to know this ghost much after all, so it’s difficult to foretell their actions. And although Boss wants to be cautious around Charlie— knowing how they were back when they were fully an evil spirit— they do in fact still have some light left. Plus, they seem to be still in a somewhat sane state at the moment.
The ghost shakes their head when they don’t receive a response. “Fine, whatever, I’m done with you too. I will just get my scissors and get the hell out of here.”
Of course, their scissors. Boss has, quite frankly, completely forgotten Eugene still had those when he kicked Charlie out of the office. That was probably even the reason they followed Eugene in the first place. Not noticing such an important thing makes him irritated by his own incompetence, and the shadows coming off his body only sizzle alongside the irritation.
Charlie steps closer to Eugene’s body, nudging his limp foot with their own. “Okay, come on Eugene, wake up.”
Realizing they aren't aware of Eugene’s body being soulless, Boss tries to explain it to them, not expecting his words to come out so slurred from exhaustion, “Eugene… is not here.”
“Huh?” They examine the scene as if using their eyes for the first time. “What's all this spread out in front of you?” they then ask further when they notice the shadows flowing through the air.
Boss ignores their question by his own volition, continuing with the previous topic, “The shockwave from the explosion has forced Eugene’s soul out of his body… Both him and the soul protection flower were lost in the collapse.”
Charlie seems to take that in for a moment, processing what it insinuates. “So… you have been just sitting here the whole time?”
“How much… of the station has collapsed?” Boss returns them his own inquiry, again entirely ignoring their moronic question. He really doesn’t want to waste time or his breath to answer such things, especially if the connotations insinuate he is the one being lazy here.
The ghost only lets out a huff of agitation in response. “’Uhg. Have you been practicing avoiding answering questions for centuries?”
“Charlie,” Boss sharply warns, and they quickly get the message— of course having to add in a sigh before actually answering him.
“…I haven’t seen most of it, but from what I can guess, most of the area around River has been completely crushed.”
Boss processes that answer, because this means— The area around River… the station, the fan, and the staircase and—
The gate.
“The gate has probably been impacted as well,” he mutters, mainly to himself, his mind already starting to get overrun with even more unrelenting buzzing.
The gate has probably been impacted as well, his own sentence echoes throughout his phantom skull in repentance, as if he couldn’t physically comprehend what that truly entails. How could he have forgotten about it until now? Was it just the disorganization of his thoughts that the hurry to protect Eugene’s body brought? How did he forget about the gate, the door to the other world… his true purpose.
It’s the sole reason for his existence, and if this one is truly gone, he has no purpose here anymore— he shouldn’t have any purpose left here. That’s how it works, that’s how it always worked.
“Huh—? The gate? The one where the soul leaves the mortal body?”
They keep asking questions, and for the sake of distracting himself, Boss keeps answering, “It is the reason the office and I are here.” He only receives a curious look in return, prompting him to keep speaking, “If River impacted the gate…” but he trails off, stuck on how to properly put it, or how to even begin explaining.
So a suspenseful moment passes, and realizing they aren’t getting anything noteworthy out of this, Charlie narrows their eyes at him, annoyed. “You won’t say it, will you.”
Boss opens his mouth to answer, although he immediately bites his tongue. They are right, he won’t.
“…Fine, whatever, you weren’t good at explaining things previously, I wasn’t that curious anyway.”
Perhaps they’re trying to feign the lack of their very apparent interest, perhaps it’s supposed to be a taunt, but whatever the young ghost was attempting to achieve, only tense silence falls upon them.
They both stare at each other for a beat, with Charlie being unsure of what to say next and Boss too lost in his thoughts to even care about keeping the conversation going.
So Charlie inspects the state of their shared surroundings; big pieces of the ceiling lie around, in the middle is Eugene’s body, and in the distance, from the shadows coming off the tattered spirit before them— briefly, they catch a glimpse of multiple colorful pieces of fabric flowing through the air.
“Hey, uh… there seems to be something leaking out of you?” they say, a bit unsure by the sight as they nervously shuffle on the spot.
Boss, not even realizing what’s happening, glances behind his shoulder.
Ah, momentarily crosses his mind as he takes it in, he didn’t even realize it got this bad. But looking back at Charlie, he lets out a light scoff, trying to make it look like it’s not a big deal. “My form seems to be quite shaken up from the explosion, it will take me some time to recover,” he explains, now trying to cover up the fact that it's his memories leaking out of his very damned soul.
Such a humiliating thing to happen, he thinks, and in front of Charlie of all people.
But he can't stop thinking about it— It’s difficult to stop thinking about it considering everything: the gate, his true and only purpose and the past that comes with it, and the post he chose, which ended up with him having to give up his mortal life for an existence of protecting others from the strange occurrences. And her, the one who—
Boss tightly squeezes his eyes shut, hands clutching up and teeth gritting. He needs to hold on for a little longer, he needs Eugene to be safe, he needs to stay calm for him. Then, after that, it won’t matter what will happen.
“Charlie, get back,” he lets out, urgent.
(The atmosphere shifts in an indescribable way. And Boss will never learn how, with that single sentence, he’d derailed the set path of his leftover existence.)
Charlie, confused and a bit frightened since they’re still not sure if they are at risk of being sliced into pieces, steps away from Boss, giving him a confused yet the most genuinely concerned look so far.
Even though ghosts don’t have to breathe, the melting spirit takes in a deep breath in an attempt to calm his nerves down.
(It’s a good thing he told them to step back. It would’ve been a catastrophe if they got sucked in. He can’t let them see his memories. Not even he himself wants to see those again.
Although Charlie might be the best of all people present for this, he still doesn’t want anyone to know about his past. It’s a way-too-uncovering thing to be seen like that, and a shameful one too. Bare and open, with no space for lies to slip through when someone is literally inside his head.
It’s a good thing he prevented that from happening, Boss tells himself again. It's a good thing.)
The memories finally seep back into his soul, and relief washes over him, making him let out a quiet, defeated puff of air.
“The hell was that?” the ghost immediately prods. “Were those your memories?”
Boss silently stares at them, his mind too dazed from the inward mental battle he just had to even think up a way to respond.
The sound of something big crumbling in the distance startles both of them, and Boss snaps his gaze towards the direction of the source of it, now quickly blinking away the ugly thoughts as he remembers what is even at stake.
Eugene.
He looks back at the half-white, half-black ghost, and a plan starts to form in his mind. And clearing his throat, he plainly says, “Charlie, I need you to bring me Eugene’s soul.”
Still confused by the situation and irritated by Boss ignoring their question again, Charlie gets taken aback by such a sudden request. “What! Why would I help someone like you out?” they counter, sounding almost baffled, “All you did was threaten me— and now you want a favor from me?”
And Boss must agree, him asking something from them at this moment certainly isn’t the best look. Still, he’s not an idiot, and he knows how to play his cards right. “You said you want your scissors back, had you not?” At that, Charlie suspiciously looks at the spirit but nods in agreement. “…and Eugene has those,” Boss continues slowly, as if explaining something to a child, “If the time you spent with him meant something to you, then I am asking you, when you go get your scissors, to at least make sure Eugene gets out of this situation alive. This… is between me and River, and you two have nothing to do with this.”
He receives a glare in response, although it does seem like they're thinking about their choices.
And it takes about three seconds for their face to twist into an angry yet defeated expression. “Arg! You asshole! Alright! But I’m only doing this so Eugene gives me back my scissors!” they deflect, and Boss doesn’t find it difficult to see them lying through their teeth— It’s a small detail, but their irises flicker to the side for a split second, and their shoulders tense just a notch more.
As although he wasn't entirely sure it was going to work— some part of him suspecting Charlie truly had no care for any of the office workers— he feels a wave of relief shoot through him when he sees they formed some kind of connection with Eugene to care for his well-being at least a little. Unfortunately, it also is the last step to truly get stuck here, attachment, and Boss cannot but feel pity for this ghost, now knowing they’re inextricably tangled in this mess just as the rest of them are.
Charlie, still unaware of what they’ve truly gotten themselves into, just throws one last untrusting look at Boss.
And then they take off, following River’s hair deeper into the station, leaving the melted spirit behind.
Charlie passes the office; the mortal workers are— to put it bluntly— terrified and in a pure state of panic. One of them is on the phone, blabbering their lungs out into the speaker, most likely calling for help, while the others stay huddled in the corner of the station, which seems to have the least damaged ceiling. And unnervingly, the hair wraps around their legs and arms while they’re unaware of what’s really happening. Charlie lightly shivers at the sight.
(They also notice a few bodies lying motionless on the ground at the back of the office.
They shake their head. They don’t want to think about it.)
Turning away from the office, they follow the hair further into the station, going deeper and deeper until everything becomes progressively more covered in the silky strands and—
They suddenly stop, staring at the scene in front of them.
There, they see what is presumably River: a giant, tangled mess of black and white hair sitting in the middle of what once was the station. Every surface Charlie can see from their view is covered in hair, all connecting into the center of the chaos.
And there, in the middle of all of it, a figure drowns in the sea of hair.
“That crazy piece of shit…” they mutter to themselves, watching the dim, pink soul cry out a name in circles without receiving any answer from the spirit he’s calling out to.
Dryly swallowing, Charlie starts to take a few cautious steps towards the whole amalgamation, eventually addressing the mortal when they get closer, “Hey, you. Glasses—”
Eugene’s incoherent ramblings immediately transfer from one name to another when he registers the ghost’s presence. “Charlie, Charlie… I… I…” he quickly trails off, so visibly shaken up from the explosion that Charlie would’ve thought he got outright killed by it instead of just getting flung across the entire station if it weren’t for the pink hues of his soul.
“What are you doing all tangled up in River’s hair like that, you— you idiot!” they shout back, half-distracted as they’re busy searching for a way to get closer to him.
“I… River… I have to… at least once…p…please,” a broken whisper comes from Eugene, his voice low and frail, “…just once, I just have to see her,” he pleads, not necessarily to Charlie nor River, but to himself.
“Whoa— Hey, hey, no—” Shadow-covered hands now grab onto Eugene’s arm, trying to pull him out of the mess. “We don’t know what will happen if you irritate her!”
Eugene only gives a numb glance towards them, his eyes still glazed over with mist and something lost. “I…Irritate? Did something happen?” he stammers out as if the sudden physical contact from Charlie wiped his entire memory, his attention still mainly focused on the raging spirit in front of him.
Charlie stops trying to pull Eugene away for a moment, staring at him, trying to think of whether that idiot just hit his head really hard somewhere or if he’s also too far gone to reason with. “Don’t you see how tattered I am?” they basically yell into his face, “If you’re not careful, you’re going to be turned into a 1,000-piece puzzle alive!”
Eugene finally looks at Charlie, his eyes struggling to focus for a beat before he looks them up and down. Then, the tension in his face simply falls. “Whatever.”
The ghost throws him a baffled look, a huff escaping their lips. “Whatever—? What are you on about?”
“Whatever. I don’t care what happens to my measly soul.”
“What kind of bull—”
“You, you were right,” Eugene cuts them off, “Everyone kept telling me that it’s okay, I’m a good person. So, I really believed that. But it turns out I don’t even know what it means to be good.” His voice somehow keeps stable during this— until it doesn’t, “I was just a… a puppet,” and the mortal’s lips quiver after saying this, like he said something that was hard to admit, even to himself.
“Uhg, fuck!” Charlie grits out, realizing that Eugene is talking about the stuff they told him back at his apartment, “I was just trying to piss you off, don’t tell me all that bullshit has gotten to your head!” And they truly try to mean this; they just said what they knew would set Eugene off. Like, damn, they knew this guy for about a week, they weren’t even sure if half of what they told him was true or not. They just weren’t expecting Eugene to take the harsh words so personally— but perhaps from the few things they learned about him, they should’ve known this guy was fragile just as a porcelain glass.
Eugene vigorously shakes his head. “Even if you didn’t mean it, all you said was true— In the end, I ruined everything because I believed something someone told me without even questioning it!” he returns, his voice hoarse from all the previous shouting. His words then get interrupted by a muffled sob escaping his throat, and he wipes at his face, his eyes being so full of tears he can’t even see which way River is anymore.
Charlie lets out an aggravated sound at Eugene’s stupid self-deprecating words, he really couldn’t have chosen a worse place to whine about all this. “Eugene, you moron! Now isn’t the time for this, we need to get out—“ their words get cut off as the air swells around them, making both of them lose their breath for a beat as if the surrounding walls suddenly closed in really close.
…not… going to…
They hear her voice whisper somewhere in the distance, and Charlie feels Rivers' hair slither against their feet, washing by them like waves of an unruly sea, the silky strands wrapping around their legs as if it were snakes.
The two souls wince in pain from the pressure around their limbs, with Eugene whispering out through gasps, “I… I have to go to see R…River…”
Charlie pants for a few moments, attempting to wriggle themselves into a more comfortable position but failing miserably. “H…Hey Glasses,” they muster out in between breaths, “you know it’s impossible for you to get all the way to her on your own r…right?” And perhaps it’s still wishful thinking they can bring Eugene to a better state of mind before he throws himself towards certain death. Yet, something in the back of their mind already tells them this guy is not leaving this place without River by his side.
“No… No, I still need to try,” comes back, and Charlie feels a hand grab their wrist, “You… You should get out of here…” Eugene’s eyes meet theirs, and it’s clear he truly means this.
Charlie is a little taken back by the fact that even in his delusional state, Eugene still cares at least a little about wanting them to get out of this fucked up situation.
That seemed to stun them for long enough to not register Eugene letting go of their wrist, swiveling around, and starting trying to climb up the mountain of hair again.
The ghost rapidly blinks a few times before launching themselves after the mortal instead of turning away. “Eugene— Dammit wait!”
And maybe they chose to follow after because of the fact Eugene still has their scissors, or maybe because of something else. It’s not like it matters in the end, as the second the weight of their souls combines, the hair underneath them gives out, making both of them suddenly sink into the black depths.
…never…forgive…
The second Charlie gets their one last breath before getting swallowed by the mass of hair and getting pulled under the surface, their vision gets blurry, their whole world starts to spin, and they start to feel as if their very own soul was getting turned inside out.
They see nothing, they smell nothing, they hear nothing. They only feel hair wrapping around their stained soul.
Then, despite all their senses being numbed and overwhelmed at the same time, they’re suddenly back.
“If the time you spent with him meant something to you, then I am asking you, when you go get your scissors, to at least make sure Eugene gets out of this situation alive. This… is between me and River, and you two have nothing to do with this.”
“Wh…at’s this? Why is my memory of talking to Boss leaking out?” the ghost mutters to themselves, trying not to gag at the sensation as they quickly understand what they’re experiencing.
“He's so well protected anyway, look at that, not even a scratch on him”
(They had said that much earlier than the previous memory, had they not? Why in the world would their mind be getting spilled out in a backwards order?)
In their disoriented state, Charlie attempts to squirm around when no more memories are getting whispered into their ears. The feeling of being stuck in the heaps of the moving hair is downright disgusting, the only way they could describe it is as if they were stuck in a dark pit filled with snakes. But they still try to move their feet and fingers— and only then does it come to them their hand is still tightly wrapped around Eugene.
Oh, they’re such a dumbass.
So, reaching into the darkness and getting a better grip on what they hope is Eugene, they start to pull as hard as they can.
Not really having any idea which way to pull— since it’s the same as drowning under the waves of the ocean in the middle of the night and desperately trying to swim up to the surface— Charlie just chooses a direction and starts crawling towards it, dragging the mortal with them.
The few seconds they spend straining themselves to move feel like an eternity, but then Charlie feels their body get free, presumably somewhere under them.
And with one last final pull, they both fall through the layer of hair, ending up in some kind of air bubble on the floor of the station where the hair hasn’t spread to yet.
Eugene exhales a huge puff of air as he hits the frozen floor, and before he even gets to catch his breath, Charlie is already scrambling into a crouching position next to him, shaking him by the shoulders. “Just listen to me!” they shout, basically begging at this point.
Thankfully, the fall seemed to have knocked some sense into Eugene, since his eyes widen as if he just woke up from a dream, and for the first time since Charlie found him like this, they get his full attention.
They also finally get to fully see Eugene’s face for the first time since the explosion, and well— he looks horrible, there’s no nice way to say it. There are tears streaming down his distraught face, his bright pink colored eyes and hair look much more dulled than the first time they met him, and he very clearly took the trip down memory lane much worse than Charlie has.
Something at the sight of him makes their gut twist, and they can’t tell whether the feeling is anger or something else. “I can’t just leave you here like this! Don’t you remember that job you gave me without even asking?” their grasp on Eugene’s shoulders only tightens, shaking him like a rattle, “You told me to fucking protect you from this kind of shit for example—” They then rapidly gesture with their hand around their surroundings, trying to show Eugene what they’re trying to do here.
Eugene looks around, still a bit dazed, now probably from the rapid shaking. “That… That’s…”
“I know this might sound ridiculous, but… when the hair touches me… it’s not so bad for me. Maybe because I’m similar?” Charlie interrupts, and Eugene returns them an even more confused expression, now with an added spark of worry.
“Charlie… w… what?”
“Since you’re stupid enough to actually try to talk River down, then at least I’m going to help you,” Charlie then declares, and they can’t believe they’re actually going along with this idiot's plan, but it doesn’t seem like they have many other options here. “I just need you to stay here and… rest a little, okay? You seem exhausted and you will need your strength to see River later.”
“River… later?” Eugene freezes a bit at the reminder of River, as if he completely forgot about what’s going on in the span of a few seconds.
Charlie sighs. It’s like they’re talking to an infant that hasn’t learned object permanence yet. “Even with all of this evil air around us, I can move a bit. Maybe because I’ve gotten pretty dark myself… so rest for a bit and I’ll drag her here by her ear if I have to,” they explain, their voice going to an uncharacteristic soft octave, “…so that you can see her, okay Glasses?”
Eugene momentarily stares at them, his lips parting and closing again like a beached fish. “B…But,” he mumbles as if his mind still couldn't wrap around the situation, “how am I supposed to just sit here and do nothing while you’re struggling…” he finally breathes out, and another sob comes out of him simultaneously.
Charlie grimaces at him. Now they’re sure that feeling in their gut is irritation, this guy is the biggest crybaby they’ve ever met. “Figure something out, for fuck’s sake!” they shout out, and Eugene shrinks back a bit.
Suddenly, they feel something crawl against their leg, and the second it makes contact with their soul— their mind makes a nauseating spin.
“It's a cranberry blossom. It’s very small, isn’t it?”
The memory of talking to Sean. That’s strange.
Charlie blinks away the disorientation, this blast from the past was thankfully much shorter. And when their gaze once again lands on Eugene, their mouth starts to work faster than their brain, “Think of a flower or something.”
Eugene stares up at them like a deer in the headlights, zoning out for a beat as he mutters to himself, “…a flower…”
Never…fo..r…giv..e…
Something whispers out, now from a closer distance, with the two of them not having enough time to prepare as the air shifts again.
Eugene winces in pain, although Charlie notes he seems to be taking it better than before, so at least he won’t be in too much distress when they leave him here for a minute or two. “I’ll be back,” they state, springing up from the frozen floor and turning around, not wanting to waste any more time than they already had.
“Ch— Charlie wait!” Eugene urgently says as he grabs at their wrists again.
“Dammit, there’s still something else—?” Charlie’s words go silent as they stare at the scissors placed in their hands, the keepsake looking the same as before, with just maybe a few minor scratches on its shiny surface.
They both stare at it for a second.
“Y-Yours…” Eugene whispers, his voice so pathetically meek.
“Ha,” the ghost lets out a dry bark of a laugh. It’s comical, in all of this chaos, they somehow managed to forget about the thing they were here for in the first place. “Why do you give me these only when I’m up against elephant-sized evil spirits?” they comment in an annoyed tone, even though they meant it as a joke.
Eugene just looks away and sinks down to the ground.
Charlie scoffs. “Well, well. Acting all tough when he’s just gonna collapse the next second,” they say with a pout, although it’s clear the mortal has nothing else to say anymore. And so, with one last look at him, Charlie turns around and heads towards the direction where the deep hum is emanating from.
It takes them a few carefully placed steps to evade most of the slithering pieces of hair, but they end up as close to the center of the tangled mess as the small open space lets them.
And looking over the pillar of darkness before them, they realize the only other way is up. “Ha. Fine… Dammit,” they mutter, realizing they have no idea how they’re going to drag that thing back by its ear.
Nev…forgive…
The atmosphere changes again, and Charlie suddenly gets an idea when they notice the wriggling pillars of hair next to them. It’s tangled up like vines, yet it squirms around like dying snakes, and just the thought of touching it sounds nauseating.
But swallowing hard to calm their nerves, Charlie grabs a bunch of the hair near them.
A deep hum echoes through the station walls at the action, and their vision gets blurry again.
“Ack!” they yelp as the memory of them and Eugene arguing at his apartment plays back.
“Stop it!”
“Shut up you damned evil spirit!”
“Fuck, shit— I didn’t mean it like that!” Charlie lies in response and swings their scissors at the hair, cutting through it as a knife going through butter.
They stumble back, gagging a bit as they try to regain their composure, that was a horrible idea to touch that on a whim, they could’ve at least mentally prepared themself a little. But at least they learned something from their stupid experiment: the hair isn’t hard to cut at all, and it would be a walk through the park getting up there… if it wasn't for the fact the hair loves to play their memories back to them like a movie in reverse.
Trying not to have an existential crisis about realizing how they’re just made up of pure emotions and memories and it’s that easy to just grab any of their life’s experiences and pull it out for the world to see— they look up at the being, which is apparently River.
Luckily, she didn’t seem to notice her hair being cut at all. She barely even moved, actually.
Okay. So in a nutshell, they just have to cut through the tangled hair that is blocking River’s eyes and ears, and they should be good to go, Charlie summarizes to themselves, their expression scrunching up a beat later. It's an awesome plan… well, if they can get up there, that is.
There’s no time to waste, they figure. And with a deep breath, Charlie grabs onto another patch of hair and starts climbing up towards River’s face, now gritting their teeth as they know what to expect.
Barely a few seconds pass, and the hum echoes again like a warning, and as expected, their vision blurs— their grip on the pillar of hair almost slipping as now an older memory than the others hits them like a truck.
“Only our little baby Eugene would fall for something like that,” River’s words ring out in Charlie’s head, “We are fundamentally shadows, Charlie.”
The memory of them and River at the funeral, just a day ago.
They close their eyes tightly, attempting to concentrate on getting through the nausea. Oh, but this one was something else than the other memories; this one made their gut twist even worse and vision flicker like a broken light bulb. They don’t know why, perhaps it’s because River is in this memory, and she is the one who pulled it from their soul in the first place. Or perhaps something that was said in the memory caught Charlie’s attention and won’t let go.
“Shadows…” they whisper to themselves with bated breath, “fundamentally shadows…” And truly, what did she mean by that? What does she mean by showing them this memory right now? This wretched spirit can’t exactly talk at the moment, but oh, can she still communicate in the most upsetting way possible.
And Charlie, they start to understand what she meant as they concentrate on the nausea swaying their world and on the sentence River uttered in the inky darkness behind their eyelids. You and me, it meant, our souls are darkened at their very core, they knew it to be true, what are you trying to do here, Charlie?
To be honest with her, they don’t know. Perhaps try to save what is left? Trying to play the hero despite never being one?
“…Ha,” escapes their throat before they catch it, their eyes cracking open, “…That brought back a useful memory,” they whisper to the evil spirit before them, and Charlie stops climbing.
What River said was something they knew too. It’s a hard truth.
“Yeah, fuck, even though people may not have noticed for a while…” Their grip on the hair loosens. They feel their footing slipping.
Honestly, a part of them wanted to.
“…I’m not nice. I’m a shitty asshole, who does shitty things…” They let go of River’s hair.
Rip apart.
“…in that case, everything haunting me, everything shitty…” The hair starts wrapping around their body.
They might as well act shitty again.
The hair almost fully engulfs Charlie.
“Not cutting your hair now is a logical and rational decision!” Charlie exclaims loudly, “It’s just in case you go crazy again after seeing your raggedy hair!”
The hum transforms into a high-pitched noise, and as if in response to their words, another memory gets torn out of their soul.
“This sound was… yeah… so sick of…” her words ring out, although sounding more distant than before.
The memory of Joan.
“Fuck! I’m sure you were sick of this sound on the battlefield. And thanks to you, I’m sick of it too!” Charlie yells back, because who was she to force the pain and terror of such things onto their mind?
The world churns again. The days they lived through this week whiz by rapidly.
“I thought they would always think… always…” the little kid’s words, a memory that seems so far away.
The memory of Hayden.
Charlie’s grip on the scissors loosens as they shout their lungs out, “Of course, that’s what you thought, you were barely 6 years old! And I’m an ass that’s not even as good as that 6-year-old!”
The world spins around them again, and if they weren’t dead at the moment, they would probably throw up their guts.
Gasping for air, they throw an aggravated glare up at the evil spirit. “Hey! Bitch you’re gonna keep this up? Flipping my memories like pancakes? Look how holy of you,” they mock her, trying to stay confident as they lose their grip on everything. “Come on! Are you scared to show me your memory? You loser!”
…hat..e...wo
It feels like their insides are being turned upside down as a memory from so long ago gets pulled from deep inside their soul.
The memory of Mike and the accident— they don’t even remember what was said, but the image of the boy’s bleeding face still haunts them.
“N-No… no,” they mutter out, knowing River is doing this on purpose, “no, no, come… I— I like all of this— fuck!” Tears start to well up in their eyes, and they grab onto another pillar of hair, and with adrenaline thundering through their veins, Charlie sticks their face in it. “Show me what kind of asshole I was!” they shout out.
And abiding by their request, the world goes dark.
It feels like they’re drowning, completely submerged, lying on the seabed of the ocean of emotions and memories their soul is made of.
Charlie squints their eyes, they focus their senses, they strain their limbs, and their throat seizes as if they were getting choked.
It’s the one, the memory of fear.
Colored papers lay strewn out on the floor, most of their belongings thrown out of their school bag and presented to them as if they were their most shameful sin.
It’s a memory of family and a place that was supposed to be home, but never felt like one.
They feel the memory, vividly, as if it were happening all over again. Anger and shame, one emotion overpowering the other. The one that always comes out on top, the one that makes their fist clutch around the scissors' handle.
It’s the memory of a scared child being backed into a corner and a father’s blood spilling out across the floor because of it.
Right, Charlie realizes, this is it. The biggest and final piece of their missing memory.
They remember now.
They resurface, their vision goes back to normal, and they find themselves next to River again. Their limbs feel sluggish, their breaths rapid and shattered between each exhale. They were drowning, but they’re back here now, and in some ways that’s even worse.
Charlie doesn’t remember when they started crying. “Mom. Mike. They were good people. Do they know I died?” they ask, unsure who they’re even questioning, as if they were hoping those given people could somehow hear them, “Were they sad when I died?…” and the possibility of someone grieving over them feels more harrowing than no one caring at all. “…I hope… they didn’t suffer because of me.” The ghost now weeps with heavy tears streaming down their face, their body now almost fully engulfed in shadows, with only a small bit of light left. Their memories were forced open, and this is what they truly are, fundamentally a shadow.
The hair engulfs the ghost more as they sink deeper into their despair.
“Hayden… dammit… he was in so much pain… too much.”
Strands start to crawl around their legs, waist, and wrists.
“Joan too, such a horrible way to go.”
They feel the silky strands wrap around their torso too, squeezing them, crushing their phantom rib cage.
“They were both good people, but why? Why did it have to end up like that… why?”
Charlie looks up at the enraged spirit, her face covered, blinded, still mumbling the same sentence like a prayer to the gods.
“River… River… good and evil… rules…” they continue to mutter, overhearing a distant sound coming from somewhere behind the wall of hair, reminding them of the third soul trapped within this amalgamation of despair, “Eugene. You must have been wounded and hurt… and lonely too. Since you’re a good kid who feels responsible and feels sorry, then…”
Since none of them could be free in a world, a world like this… with fate dealing all the others the worst outcomes.
Charlie can barely hear Eugene’s words echoing somewhere in the distance, urged and concerned for them.
And it comes to Charlie that, He should still have a chance.
The sound of hair being ripped apart rings out right next to them, and Charlie takes in a breath, which they so desperately needed.
“Charlie! I’ll get you unstuck soon!” The words reach Charlie’s ears, and they notice Eugene, ripping up the clump of hair holding them in place.
Something at the sight of him makes their gut twist, but this time it’s not anger. Because they're an evil spirit… Dammit— they know they’re an asshole, them and River and perhaps everyone else too.
“It was pointless,” Eugene breathes out in defeat as he still fights with the hair holding Charlie, but Charlie doesn’t move, they stay frozen, staring at the soul before them.
Fundamentally shadows, right?
“I’m so sorry—” Eugene continues to blabber out anything his scrambled mind produces, now apologizing, of all things, even though he’s not the evil one here.
River seems to be starting to rage again, with the piercing hum echoing throughout the station as if someone were screaming their lungs out. Yet Charlie doesn’t pay attention to it, they don’t even wince, they only look at Eugene, actually look at him.
And they see the purest thing they’ve ever encountered, a light they could never be. They see the exact opposite of themselves.
“So Charlie…” Eugene starts, something new and accepting in the tone of his voice, his hands now tearing up the last bits of the strands.
The pillars of hair wriggle and writhe aggressively around them, as if everything were collapsing on itself again.
“…you should…”
Charlie gets loose from the hair.
“…save yourse—“
River’s hair flies towards them, yet it doesn't reach Eugene.
Because reaching out and grabbing the mortal, with one swift motion, Charlie shoves him through an opening in the heaps of hair.
They share one last glance.
And then Charlie disappears into the darkness.
Eugene screams out their name, yet his voice gets overpowered by the loud hum the surrounding air is filled with, and the phantom air gets knocked out of him as he comes crashing down onto the station’s frozen floor.
Then, the sound of something being torn apart rings out, the humming gets abruptly cut, and in its stead comes a loud protesting shout from the inside of the tangled-up hair.
But it isn’t Charlie’s.
Eugene stays frozen, kneeling on the floor as he watches the hair start to retract back to its core— slowly at first, before it suddenly picks up incredible speed like a reeling fishing rod.
And in a split moment both River and Charlie collapse into each other, and then into the scissors.
The keepsake falls to the ground with a loud metallic sound, which becomes the last sound to echo throughout the halls of the collapsed station before everything becomes hauntingly quiet.
The scissors shake once in the daunting silence.
And then stop moving at all.
Two evil spirits sealed in one object, one raging, clawing to get out, and the second, at peace with its decision, holding the other inside.
A perfect balance.
Eugene wasn’t sure for how long he sat there, his mind stuck in a numb state, unable to comprehend the image of the lone scissors that lay before him.
He’s been staring at the damned thing for a while now, spacing out, not ready nor able to think of any next steps he should take in this situation— hell, he was barely capable of understanding what actually just transpired.
And although not having any idea what he's doing, he reaches out towards the scissors, crawling to them on all fours like a starving man, his legs too weak and mind incapable of ordering them to even stand.
He crawls up to the keepsake, staring at them as if he were to touch them, something horrible would happen.
He doesn’t care.
He picks them up.
He stares at them.
An ominous, dark energy pulsates from the object. The metal is freezing to the touch.
“…Charlie …River…?” he whispers to the scissors, his voice barely audible.
Silence.
Of course. What did he expect? It's not like Charlie and River are going to jump out of the scissors any second and everything will be magically okay.
Eugene lets out a quiet, pained sob, the sensation of it making his throat feel as if it was on fire. But he cannot control it as one after another comes in continuation.
He sinks to the floor, clutching the scissors in his hand. “Charlie… River… please,” he begs, pleads, but there’s nothing but silence and the surrounding ruins.
With all the hair gone, the leftover collapsed station feels far too vacant, and an overwhelming sense of loneliness takes him over. He feels so angry, confused, and scared. It wasn’t supposed to end this way. Not like this. It should’ve been him.
He tightly presses his knees against his chest, grasping the scissors so tightly that if he were in his body right now, his skin would break and blood would seep from his hands.
Eugene stays curled in on himself, holding the scissors close to his chest as he weeps for the people he lost.
He doesn’t know how much time passed while he sat there, holding onto that damned object as if, were he to let go, he would be left truly alone.
It must have been hours or maybe just a few minutes— he couldn’t really tell— but after a while the tears stopped coming. He just couldn’t bring himself to cry anymore. So, Eugene just rocked back and forth, his body trembling from the cold wind howling through his bones.
He feels like a child again, lost and scared, unsure of what he’s supposed to do next; the world around him is suddenly a foreign one. This isn’t home.
So, in his lost state, his mind urgently searches through his memories for what he was always told to do if he ever got lost: call for help or return to his body.
Eugene’s body. He needs to return to his body— There isn’t anyone left to call for— Everything will be better if he just gets back to his body.
Slowly picking himself up from the ground, his legs shake from exhaustion, but he doesn’t care to notice. Then, acting as if he was on autopilot, he starts marching back towards the presumed direction of his body. Tunnel visioning on just getting back, trying not to think about anything else.
He just— he just needs to get back. Then everything will be alright. That’s how it works.
He passes the office; it’s empty now, every living being that had once occupied it now gone.
Just catching a glimpse of the place he once called home now in shambles would make his heart ache with an unbearable amount of sorrow… but his dazed mind barely brushes over it.
He looks away from the broken state of it, blocking it out and continuing walking.
He gets closer to the gate— or, well, rather the place the gate used to be. It has been fully obliterated into just debris and dust, with only a barely recognizable shape of where the stairway used to be.
Arriving at the spot where he stood just a while ago, something catches his attention.
Eugene slowly walks up to it and examines it— The fan that once held River lies on the ground. Its state is poor, with its wooden frame now having small cracks in its base and the paper part of it having holes torn into it.
He studies the old keepsake, and after a beat, he crouches down and picks it up.
The fan gives off an antique aura. Time, centuries can be felt pulsating from the cursed, damned object.
Tightly squeezing it, the wood cracks under Eugene’s fingers. The fog in his mind parts just enough for something else to surface.
And an infectious anger starts to rise inside his chest, because there’s still one other person left to blame.
There’s a kneeling figure in the distance. It sits slouched over Eugene’s soulless body, its form still melted and tattered.
Eugene slowly walks up to him, stopping just a few feet in front of the spirit.
There’s torn cloth slowly flowing around the two, and the air suffocates them both with a dark presence.
Boss, noticing Eugene standing in front of him, jerks his head upright. And relief washes over him as if getting cold water thrown into his face— He was so sure he would never see him again, yet he’s here. Shaken up, but safe. Unharmed.
He wants to say his name aloud, to even shout at the top of his dead lungs, but when he meets the mortal’s gaze, he doesn’t dare to say a word. All that accompanies them is just dead silence as the dulled pink irises cut through the shadow kneeling before him.
Eugene’s eyes are dry. He has no more tears left to spill. In one hand, he clutches the scissors, which are holding both Charlie and River. In the other, the tattered fan. He looks into the evil spirit’s dead, hollow eyes, and this time there are no questions, no sadness, just pure hate and… pity.
He comes closer. Boss stands up to meet him on an even eye level.
They stare at each other for another second, and Eugene wants to be angrier, he wants to scream and yell at him, punch him, rip him into pieces, but he can’t— he’s too exhausted to even cry anymore. He would rather not be anything at all.
Boss never had someone to stare at him the way Eugene did at that moment. There was so much rage for such a good person, such hatred it felt like there was a mirror placed between the two of them.
“I…” Eugene starts, but his lips quiver and the words die in his throat. So, instead, he throws the tattered fan to the spirit’s feet. The thing’s splinters fly away from the wooden parts of the fan, with it looking like it’s at the brink of falling apart.
Eugene, giving it another try, takes in a deep breath. “I… I… quit,” he finally says, his voice completely hoarse. If he were in his body at the moment, he probably wouldn’t be able to talk for days.
“…What?” Boss asks, unsure what exactly Eugene is implying.
“I don’t want to do this anymore… I don’t want to be here anymore, and I don’t want to see you or this place again. I…” He takes in another breath, the back of his throat itching as he breathes out, “I hate you.” And he rasps out the word hate so viciously, so sharp and dry, it is as if the word itself tasted like charred ash on his tongue, like with saying that, he could feel his soul darken just a notch.
Eugene then starts to sob, as if that simple sentence hurt him more than who it was supposed to. Yet there are still no tears, so he coughs and heaves as he tries to breathe in. He means this, and yet a part of him still wants to go to Boss for comfort, like a little kid running to their parent anytime something goes wrong. But he hates him with his whole heart— He needs to hate him with his whole heart.
And Boss… just stares at him, not having any reason to even look away anymore. He stares at him like a deer with a barrel of a gun pointed at its skull, trying to comprehend what situation he even is in or what was said to him means.
Boss, of course, knows what this means. Eugene hates him. Eugene wishes to never see him again. The kid he met 8 years ago, his bright pink eyes now dulled and filled with so much anger and sorrow it could split worlds apart.
He was ready to get torn to shreds by River, and he would accept his fate, even embrace it with open arms, but he wasn’t prepared to face Eugene again.
There has to be something… some way he can face the consequences for what he did.
“Eugene…” Boss starts, barely above a whisper, like he is afraid to say his name aloud. And picking up the fan from the ground, he offers it to him. “Seal me.” A pause, adding with bated breath, “Please.”
Boss doesn’t ask for this, or command this, he begs for this; he begs Eugene for some kind of punishment for his sins. How can he be at peace if he doesn’t face consequences for his evil actions?
Eugene, looking stunned for a second, only gives him an appalled look. “N— No.”
And the spirit’s shoulders drop, a desperate look crossing his face.
“I don't… I… I can't,” Eugene continues, offended. His voice cracks like thin glass— because how could he ask him for such a thing after what just happened with Charlie and River?
Ah. “Of course,” Boss whispers, ashamed. Retracting his hand back, squeezing the fan tightly. He understands. It would be a better punishment to let him live on. Getting sealed would only end the suffering.
Such a selfish thing to ask for.
They stare at each other again. The silence gets filled with the distant sound of debris falling and the water dripping from the ceiling. The first beams of sunlight start shining through the hole in the ceiling, and the sound of an ambulance rings out from the outside, alongside human voices echoing from the place where the entrance to the station used to be.
There is nothing left to say at the moment.
“Just… go,” Eugene whispers with finality. And with that, the spirit engulfed in shadows disappears into thin air, making the temperature increase significantly with his departure.
He’s all alone now.
Eugene stares at his own body for a moment, and the sight of it makes his stomach turn. It’s the same as looking into a mirror— it’s disgusting. His face is completely clean, it looks so out of place in the middle of the destroyed station, like it was supposed to be covered in fresh blood and accompanied by broken bones instead of this.
He has gotten back to his body, told the only remaining entity in this station to leave, and was left standing here, forced to make his own decisions.
What now? a voice in his mind asks, perhaps mocks in the way it sang out into his ringing ears. Is he just supposed to go back to living as if nothing happened?
But what if he doesn’t return to his body?
What would even be the point? He lost everything. Hayden, Joan, River, Charlie, the office, even the gate. All gone. What is he good for now? He wouldn’t even have a way to leave his mortal body again if he were to return to it. Is he ready to leave the underworld behind just like this?
As an answer to the last question, Eugene takes a step back. He’s just so tired, and coming back to the mortal world sounds wrong, almost dangerous, like no matter what, only suffering is waiting for him there.
All he wants now is to just float away… River always talked about how beautiful the other side would be…
An idea comes into Eugene's mind. A horrible, dark idea. Something he hadn’t thought of doing for a long while.
His grip on the scissors tightens as adrenaline rushes through his veins, the idea now infecting his brain, filling up his mind, and taking over every other sensible thought that tries to fight to the surface.
“I am not evil for doing this,” he whispers under his breath, trying to convince himself that this is not an evil deed, so when he becomes a spirit, he won’t be covered with shadows.
His whole body shakes from the fear of what he's about to do.
He’s not even in his body right now. It shouldn’t even hurt. It will be quick. It will be all over soon.
And with that thought in mind, Eugene takes a step closer to his body, soulless but still alive. Completely unprotected.
He always preferred the underworld anyway.
His hands raise the scissors high above his head, the point of it pointed downwards, the action so harsh and sudden he doesn’t even notice the shift in the air.
A cold hand grabs his shoulder from behind, his vision suddenly goes dark, and Eugene wakes up.
The rescue team brings the mortal out. They ask him questions, but he doesn’t answer any of them. He can hear reassuring words and people telling him how lucky he was to walk out of such a horrible accident completely unharmed.
He sits in the back of an ambulance, watching the paramedics treat the other people who were caught in the collapse. Some people had minor injuries, some had their limbs crushed by falling debris… and some came out as only soulless bodies, covered in white sheets. The sight of them makes Eugene feel sick to his stomach. He’s not sure why he was the one to get to live or what made him more important than any of those people, but he would’ve taken their place in a heartbeat.
His hands shake. He’s so cold.
There’s also a quiet, persistent ringing in his ears. It feels like it won’t ever go away.
His grip on the scissors— which he’s still holding— tightens. Grasping onto it as if it was the last thing he had left in this miserable world, a lifeline the leftovers of what he once was are connected to. He doesn’t even notice the cold metal pressing into his hand’s skin and blood starting to slowly drip down.
The voices of his friends ring out somewhere in the distance, he can hear his name being shouted, but he’s too exhausted. He can’t even bring himself to look in their direction.
After a brief moment, three figures run up to him, panic dripping from their body language.
He can hear them asking if he’s okay and what happened, but he’s too lost in his own thoughts to respond to their questions. Their words just blend into a muddled cacophony as the incessant ringing in his ears gets louder and louder.
Then, Eugene feels multiple limbs wrap around his trembling shell of a body, getting tightly embraced in a hug. And he cannot help but let out a rattling breath from their touch— because there is no warmth.
Only deathly coldness seeps through his bones. And he worries, that not even the brightest light could make him feel warm again.