Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Agatha still doesn’t know how to feel. Doesn’t know how Rio or the kid found her. Doesn’t know much of anything. All she knows is she’s frustrated that she’s been here for three fucking years. 

No, not frustrated.

Angry. 

Angry and...and grieving. Grieving her greatness. 

She’s not a model citizen, but she didn’t deserve what Wanda—

No, not Wanda.

The Scarlet Witch. 

She didn’t deserve what the Scarlet Witch did to her. 

She can parse those out — anger and grief — because they were the most familiar. The most constant in her life. But the rest? Those were harder. All so overwhelming and hitting her at once. A useless blast from which she can siphon no power.

The kid’s working her last nerve. He wonders why she calls him her pet, but his stupidly excited puppy dog-like party preparation speaks for itself. He just couldn’t fucking wait for everyone’s supposed arrival. 

Well, almost everyone’s. 

Rio can’t be part of her coven. She can’t. Not after everything. 

But, of course, that’s never stopped her from trying. 

Agatha’s sitting on her back patio, trying to clear her head — get a moment of peace away from Teen — when she’s so rudely fucking interrupted by the last person she wants to see. Or maybe the person she most wants to see. To run to for help. 

But she can’t, she reminds herself. Not anymore.

“Did I miss the party?” Rio asks, her near-perpetual smirk playing on her lips as she slinks through Agnes’ pathetic, disgustingly domestic backyard — strutting through it like she owns the place. She kind of does. She owns Agatha. Always has and always will. They own each other.

“Kidding,” she says before Agatha can respond, plopping herself next to her on the oversized chair that's really only made for one, which means she’s almost entirely on her lap. “I know it couldn’t possibly start without me,” she whispers in her ear.

Agatha groans, going to push Rio off, but some instinct stops her, and as a result, her hands land awkwardly on her waist for a beat before she drops them. “No. Don’t be so fucking smug. We’ll figure it out without you.”

Rio licks her lips, the hands on her waist egging — and turning — her on even more. She leans in close. “But I’m your key,” she whispers, moving her tongue to tickle her ear. “I’m your everything,” she reminds her.

Agatha bites her lip at the sudden stir in her belly. Why is Rio still capable of getting to her after all this time? It’s not fair. Still, she can’t bring herself to shove her away.  

Instead, she huffs and begrudgingly brings a hand back to Rio’s waist. She might as well enjoy whatever this is. “Who said you were my key?”

Rio laughs. “You did, sweetheart. Countless times over the years. Though screamed it is more like it, I guess. I know Little Red Riding Witch didn’t erase all of those memories. I’m fucking unforgettable.” 

She puts a hand to the side of Agatha’s head — the same place Wanda had touched to trap her — just to fuck with her. Agatha can’t help the way her body flinches the smallest bit. 

“You told her she’d need you someday,” Rio continues. “Looks like that didn’t really pan out, huh?” She gives her a faux-sympathetic pout, beginning to scratch her scalp with her nails. “But you.” She laughs again — deeper, darker. “You need me.”

Agatha bites down on the inside of her cheek — even harder than she did her lip — and promptly tastes blood. It’s so unfair. This is all so fucking unfair.

And yet, she still somehow can’t force her off. Rio is a delicious poison. 

“Well, I didn’t shout you were my key exactly,” Agatha corrects. “If I remember, it was usually some vulgar, borderline incoherent babbling. You are a good fuck, though.”

“Mm, that’s right. You were always reduced to a puddle of nothing.” Rio looks at her hand, palm up, and wiggles her fingers — her very talented fingers — conjuring magic in them just because she can. Just because Agatha can’t. After a moment, she stops, glancing back at her. “Kind of like you are now — a powerless, pathetic puddle of nothing.”

“Do speak clearly,” Agatha coldly demands. “Do I need you for the coven or something else?”

Rio flips her hand and looks at it again, examining her dark, dangerously sharp nails. “Both. But you already knew that. You are many things, but stupid has never been one of them.”

Agatha cycles through a million more emotions in a span of a few seconds. Again, she can narrow it down to only a pair of identifiable ones: lust and extreme frustration. Two can play at Rio’s game. 

“You’re right. I do know that,” she admits, throwing a bone she knows Rio loves to chew — will keep her preoccupied long enough for her to bait and switch. “But I also know you want me more than you’ll admit,” she whispers, breath hot as she slowly inches her face closer and closer. “That you like it when I scream your name. That you like fucking me. That you like me, even after all these years, magic or not. Which you know will be remedied soon enough.” 

She closes the last of the distance between them and presses a single kiss to Rio’s jaw. She lets out a little moan in response — barely audible, though Agatha sure as hell picks up on it — eyes fluttering shut.

“Though, if you want to fuck me, your nails are quite long,” she quips, running a finger over the polish. “Maybe you don’t really want it after all.”

Rio’s eyes snap open, recovering quickly — breaking out from under her spell in three seconds instead of three years, which is a hell of a lot more than Agatha can say. She grins wickedly and plunges her nails into Agatha’s inner thigh, eliciting a yelp mixed with a moan of Agatha's own. “Oh, who are you trying to fool? We both know you get off on it — some pain with your pleasure.”

The involuntary sound is enough to make Agatha’s face lightly flush. Still, she’s satisfied she’s at least gotten a rise out of Rio, however brief. “So what if I do? You're not denying anything. You want me — you want me so badly — and as much as I need you, you need me, too, or else you wouldn’t have come back.”

Rio scrapes her nails — still buried in her skin — slowly down her leg. Agatha attempts to keep the small whine rising up in her throat from escaping her lips but to no avail. She’s once again reminded just how good Rio is with her hands. Just how familiar she is with what makes her tick.

“No, I need to see you rot in the ground,” Rio retorts with a snarl. “But you were right that it would be much more satisfying if I could see your power drain out along with your life.” She takes her free hand and puts it inches away from Agatha’s cheek. “And that it would be much, much more satisfying if we could—" She summons a small fire in her palm, sees the sparks dance in Agatha’s eyes. “—reignite our old flame before that happens.”

Agatha rolls her eyes at the pedantic display, unfazed by that particular heat source, though Rio’s body on hers was another story. “There are plenty of horizontal positions I’m sure you’d find me much more charming in than a grave. It seems to me you’re interested in exploring those.” The hand on her waist momentarily trails up to squeeze one of her breasts. 

“Sure,” Rio flippantly agrees, back arching at the teasing touch. “As foreplay. But this will end with you meeting yours. Make no mistake about that, Harkness.”

“If you say so,” Agatha says casually. Cockily really. “Have you thought about that since I last saw you? Or has my very alive body been more on your mind? It seems like the latter.” At that, she presses another, harder kiss against Rio’s jaw — the exact spot she remembers she loves.

Rio grits her teeth, able to suppress a sound this time — but just barely. “I’m an excellent multitasker, as you well know.” It was true. She was capable of thinking about two things at once, just as she was capable of using her tongue and her fingers simultaneously. “Stop trying to squirm out the inevitable,” she orders. “That’s your problem — you’re always so…slippery.” In more ways than one now, she’s sure.

“What’s the inevitable, Rio?” Agatha challenges. “I doubt it’s my death. It never is. Is the inevitable what you’d like to do to me right now?” she whispers in her ear, hand trailing under Rio’s shirt and up her spine. “If you want me to behave, you should know by now you have to make me.”

Rio’s nails sink into her even more deeply at that, though unintentionally — a reflex. She lets out another low, dangerous laugh. “And always so arrogant, too. Not that your overinflated ego is going to save you this time. I just have patience — something you’ve always struggled with. So eager and desperate and begging.”

Agatha bites down hard on her lip to avoid another noise as her nails dig in. She manages silence this time. “You think we have time for your fucking patience? Now?”

“Oh, that’s right — you’re hosting,” Rio says, voice dripping with contempt. She stops clawing her leg but keeps her hand on her thigh, moving it — touch now feather-light — to slowly creep up, up, up toward her center. “Look at you, still playing good little housewife,” she patronizingly coos. “Maybe you liked that role, hm? Maybe you liked someone else being in control?” 

Right before her hand reaches its target, she removes it and abruptly pushes herself off her lap, turning to face her. She’s missed Agatha — she’s sure as hell going to make sure Agatha misses her, too.

Just as Agatha groaned at Rio’s presence, she groans at her sudden absence, suddenly aware of the uncomfortable wetness between her legs. She hates that this is probably exactly what Rio wants.  

“You know well enough I don’t mind it in certain situations. For god’s sake, Rio. I—” She stops.  Hesitates. She almost admits she missed her, too, but she’s not sure how that would go over — with Rio or with herself. She’s not even entirely sure where the thought comes from. She’s tried to bury it for years. “I need you,” she settles on. It’s still an injury to her pride but a lesser one. One she can almost live with.

Rio smirks, running a tender hand through Agatha's hair. “I know, sweetheart. Though it’s nice to finally hear you admit it.” After a moment, she stops stroking it, tangling her hand in her locks. Agatha doesn’t let herself fall into a false sense of comfort at the sudden gentleness, but she isn’t prepared for just how harshly Rio yanks her hair back, forcing her to look up at her. “Now are you going to invite me in? Or should I blow the back door open, too?”

“I’m happy to let you in, dear,” Agatha says, biting back another whimper. “The only thing you should be blowing out is my back. But you do have to let me stand up for me to do that.”

Rio lets go of her hair, though a few loose strands catch on her fingers — stay wrapped around them. She could wave her hand and let the wind take them — carry them off to land somewhere in Westview — but this town has already taken too much of Agatha. Too much of what’s rightfully hers.

So instead, she wordlessly reaches into her shirt and tucks them into the top of her bra for safekeeping — right over the black heart that beats for her — without breaking eye contact. “Lead the way.”

Agatha tries to maintain a dignified pace, but despite her best efforts, she knows her steps are suspiciously quick as she leads Rio in — something she never thought she’d do — and up the stairs. She hopes she’s quick enough to avoid the kid.

Which means she is, of course, unfortunately not quick enough to avoid the kid. 

“Wait, Agatha!” he calls, causing Rio to stop on the second-to-last stair. “Decorations and snacks are down here! I avoided going up there since you said if you caught me in your room again, you’d ‘make tying me up and stuffing me into a closet look like a luxury vacation’ and I—" He blinks as he sees she’s not alone. “Oh, hi! I’m—" His mouth seals shut, his words distorted. “We…sort of met earlier. Are you the last name on our list?” 

“I’m not last on anyone’s anything,” Rio declares, enjoying this whole thing far too much.

Agatha cringes, reluctantly turning to the obnoxious boy. “This is Rio. Look, kid—”

“I'm—”

“Teen,” she corrects. “Whatever. I don’t think you or I will enjoy any further explanation beyond the fact that, yes, she’s a part of the coven. If anyone gets here, entertain them until we’re back.” At that, she disappears down the hall. 

His eyes widen. “Oh. O-okay. Can do.” He gives her a salute despite her no longer being around to see it. Rio gives him one last smirk before following after her. “Don’t take too long!” he yells. “The rest should be here in—” Agatha slams the bedroom door shut before he can finish.

“Decided to adopt Little Orphan Cockblock, did we?” Rio asks, amused.

“Does it matter?” Agatha snaps. “You really want to talk about him and waste our precious time?” 

Rio grins. She’s so mad. She loves getting her mad, working her up, making her rough. Loves the feeling of being pinned under her, the feeling of her hand wrapped around her throat. She drapes herself onto her bed. “Well, come on then. Finish what you started.”

Chapter Text

Agatha scoffs, climbing onto the bed to straddle Rio. “All that talk about control, and you’re giving it up?”

“I went through all that effort of breaking you out of the spell, sweetheart — it’s your turn to put in some work for a change.” She reaches up to shove Agatha’s coat off before getting to work on her blouse, impatiently ripping the buttons in the process. Why did she insist on so many fucking layers? “Plus, I heard you mumbling in your laundry room about wanting to get back on top. Lucky for you, I’ve always managed to find power at the bottom.” 

Agatha rolls her eyes, not even bothering to question how Rio heard her. She’s too busy working on removing Rio’s own shirt. Still, she huffs. “So you’re just going to be in control in a way you don’t have to do any work? Because if I were really in control, you wouldn’t fight me if I told you to make me feel good first.”

“Aww, see? I told you you’ve never been stupid,” Rio purrs, lifting her arms to help Agatha along with her task before doing the same with her hips. “We’re in a time crunch thanks to you, which means I. Come. First,” she says.

They’re in a time crunch because Rio sent the Salem fucking Seven to this very house, but Agatha lets that go for now. They’d have plenty of time for the blame game on the road. The game they were currently playing was a lot more fun. 

“That you will,” she agrees instead. “I know I haven’t lost my touch.” And touch she does. She starts to kiss down Rio’s stomach, fingers dancing around behind her back to unhook her bra, the few strands of Agatha’s hair she’d stuffed there floating to the floor. From there, she begins to play with her chest, her movements rough but just light enough to leave her wanting more.

Rio agilely hooks a leg behind her back, pulling her down. Closer. Faster. Harder.

Agatha allows it to happen, giving the illusion of compliance as she presses bruising kisses up Rio’s thighs. Rio’s embarrassingly close, embarrassingly fast — and embarrassingly disappointed when Agatha keeps it from happening. She stops just below her center and grins up at her — a silent dare. 

Rio channels that embarrassment into rage, attempting to grab onto her hair and direct her head where she wants it to go again. But her limbs feel like liquid — as wet as her cunt — so it’s more of a clumsy paw. “You do not get to fucking edge me,” she growls through admittedly labored breaths. “That’s not fucking allowed either.”

“How humiliating. I barely even touched you, and you’re already undone.” Agatha leans in to draw a lazy, teasing tongue through her folds, taking extra care to avoid her clit. Still, it has Rio gripping onto the sheets for dear life. Agatha stops again, looking up at her. “You did miss me.” 

“Shut up,” she hisses. “Precious time, remember? Just keep using your mouth for what it’s actually good for.”

“Make me,” she challenges, that stupid fucking smile still on her face.

Rio roughly shoves her fingers into her mouth. She hadn’t missed how it’d fallen open when she’d gone to wipe one of her tears away during their fight — a long-buried reflex reemerging. “Are you done playing games?” she asks, voice gravelly.

Like clockwork, Agatha accepts Rio’s fingers, running her tongue along them. She stares for a moment, considering, before finally biting down for a split-second and nodding.

She loves the bite — loves that she’s tasting some of her blood now — but that doesn’t mean she’s not going to punish her for it. She presses her fingers further into her throat, emitting a gag. “Good girl,” she praises, pulling her fingers back only slightly. “Suck,” she orders as she takes her hand, guiding it to her clit. “Rub. You can multitask, too, can’t you?”

God, Agatha wishes she wasn't still wrapped around this infuriating woman’s fingers — even though having her mouth around them was unfairly hot. She partially obeys, beginning to suck on the fingers still lodged dangerously down her throat, though she stubbornly idles around Rio’s clit for a few seconds before languidly starting to work at it in earnest.

Fuck, it feels good. It feels so fucking good. But Rio is greedy — she needs it all, and she needs it now. She bucks her hips, a silent command to pick up the pace — increase the intensity. But Agatha pretends she doesn’t notice. In fact, she slows down and briefly meets her gaze — another challenge.

Rio’s eyes darken, and she removes her hand from her mouth in order to grab hold of her face. “You said you were done with the games,” she reminds her. “But you always have been a fucking liar. You really can’t take your eyes off me, can you?”

Agatha whimpers in her grip. She’s forgotten just how much she likes this. How good Rio is at this. “You’re beautiful — what can I say?” she replies, a coy smile playing on her lips.

“Mm.” Rio’s mouth curves into a smile of her own, though hers is much more wicked. “Well, you’re not allowed to look at me until you’re finished,” she says, yanking her head back down to her pussy with one hand and casting a lazy spell with the other decreeing as much. That should speed things along. “You’re not getting any more of my attention until you learn to focus,” she explains. “Got that, baby?”

Agatha scowls, but she does set to work. She kisses up Rio’s thighs again, sucking and biting while her fingers work around her clit.

“That’s it,” Rio praises. She grasps her hair again — her wild brown locks that drive her just as wild — and gives a light, pleasurable tug. A small reward. “Just like that.”

Agatha lets out a small noise, biting down a bit harder than she means to on the upper edge of her thigh. She tastes blood and quickly licks it up, her fingers beginning to move with more intensity.

She’s rewarded with a little gasp. It’s Rio’s kryptonite — the whole thing. Every part of it. “Are you trying to bleed me dry, Harkness? Can’t be a witch, so you’re auditioning for vampire instead?” she asks, her tone somehow both mocking and admiring.

Agatha tries to look up at her but finds she’s incapable. Fuck that spell. Fuck Rio for still having magic. Instead, she bites down again, drawing more blood.

Rio laughs at the petulant reaction. “Oh, don’t be a sore loser.” A beat. “Or do. I love it when you make me a sore winner.” The spot’s already throbbing in the most delicious way. Her whole body is, really — a tense coil. The buildup is dizzying.

It doesn’t take long before the spring snaps, her head — fuzzy with bliss — snapping back with it. A shudder runs through her body, as does a moan of ecstasy.

Agatha smirks to herself before she begins to lap up Rio’s climax. “Can I look now?” she inquires.

Rio arches a brow, still somehow intimidating even while catching her breath — even in the most vulnerable and open of states. “I don’t know,” she challenges. “Can you? Why don’t you give it a shot?”

Agatha grits her teeth as she does. She’s not going to be surprised if Rio pulls some trick. 

But she manages to make eye contact with ease, the spell breaking with her orgasm just as she promised. “Unlike you, I’m true to my word,” Rio says.

The corner of Agatha’s mouth curves into a small but undeniably cocky smile. “Told you I hadn’t lost my touch."

“Just your magic and yourself for three years.” Aside from the dig, Rio lets the obnoxiously conceited comment go for now, simply adding it to the long list of crimes she was planning on making her pay dearly for. Agatha made it hard for her; she was fully planning on making it ten times harder.

But instead of giving any indication of that, she curves a slow, beckoning finger. “Let me taste myself on you.”

Agatha happily crawls back up so she’s straddling Rio and leans down to kiss her. God, it’s been too long. It’s been far too long.

After a beat of enjoying the intoxicating juxtaposition of Agatha’s soft lips pressed hard on hers, Rio wraps both legs around her and uses the momentum to dexterously flip them so she’s the one on top. Only then does she break the kiss, moving a little down, a little to the right to suck on her neck. Agatha might be auditioning for vampire, but the way she whines makes Rio confident that she herself has already secured a fucking Oscar for the role.

“Fuck,” Agatha hisses. Rio is so fucking good at this it’s not fair. 

“Is that an order?” Rio quips, moving down to work on her breast, her tongue lightly circling the nipple.

“Am I allowed to order you?” Agatha half-mocks back, one hand finding Rio’s shoulder to hold tight.

“You can certainly try. I find it adorable when you try,” she says before sinking her teeth into the sensitive area. She simultaneously shifts so she’s straddling one leg, allowing her to press her knee into Agatha's pelvis.

Agatha bucks her hips up instinctively. “Adorable?” she asks, voice breathy and full of disdain. “What does that mean?”

“You already know the answer to that, too, baby,” Rio says, pulling her knee back as soon as Agatha indicates she likes it there.

Agatha glares up at her. “Fuck you. I gave you what you wanted.”

“Once I made you. You can make me, too,” she baits with the bat of her eyes. “I know you’re dying to — the way you’re walking around dressed like a frumpy schoolmarm.” She quirks her head toward the pool of clothes strewn on the floor. The outfit’s not frumpy — it’s sexy as hell — but it does make her look like a headmistress, a fact that admittedly only added to the appeal. “Teach me a lesson,” she goads with the wiggle off her ass, disappointingly untouched thus far, the action equally taunting and inviting.

Agatha rolls her eyes. “You say that like I have control.” Still, she takes the hint and reaches down to smack a hand down on Rio’s ass before squeezing it hard enough to bruise. “And I know you like my outfit.”

“I like it better off,” she retorts, moving up so they’re face-to-face again. “If you want control, then take it. Take. It,” she says, emphasizing each word with a touch to her cheek that’s harder than a pat but less aggressive than a slap, practically begging for retaliation that fell closer to the latter.  

“Get creative,” Rio orders. “It’s going to take more than that — I’m a slow learner.” She wants her to fight for it, to rage against her, to make her sting even without the electric current of magic at her disposal. That was half the fun. The only way she'll oblige.

Agatha huffs, smacking her hand down again with more force before raking her nails up Rio’s back. She hooks a leg around her hip, pulling her down in order to give her another rough kiss.

“There you go,” Rio says — once she can get a word out around Agatha’s tongue down her throat, that is. “Now we’re getting somewhere,” she encourages, replacing her knee where it was and shifting it back and forth to stimulate her center.

Agatha starts to rut against it, breathing heavily. “Need you.”

“Yes, we’ve established this already,” she cheekily replies. “But feel free to keep saying it.”  

As Agatha does most of the work in the lower region, Rio busies herself with her neck again. She sucks at the delicate skin, her mouth able to feel Agatha’s racing pulse — the thump of her rapidly beating heart. God, that was sexy.  

“You notice how I’m not using my hands?” Rio asks, peppering her throat with one hickey after another. “You made such a fuss about my nails, and I don’t reward hissy fits.”

Agatha’s own nails claw into her flesh again — significantly shorter but still plenty sharp. She can’t stand the way Rio bruises her neck. She needs more of it. She needs it to never end. Messily, she attempts to drag one of Rio’s hands down to her entrance.

Rio lets out a moan of pleasure as Agatha almost certainly draws more blood but manages not to give in. She clicks her tongue, harshly grabbing her wrist and pinning it above her head. “Huh-uh. Not after you threw a tantrum.” 

Just then, the faint sound of more voices can be heard — the coven arriving and debating the lack of a front door, no doubt. Rio raises a brow. “Uh-oh. Guess we need to cut this short,” she says, beginning to push herself off. “Shame.”

Agatha yanks her back down. “Don’t you fucking dare,” she snarls.

“Well, then you’re going to have to be quiet.” Rio raises her brows challengingly. “Can you do that? Be quiet? Because usually, that’s a struggle for you.”

Agatha narrows her eyes. “If you’ll actually fuck me.”

With that, Rio uses one hand to plunge her fingers into her cunt and the other to cover her mouth — a power play and failsafe all at once. “Like this?” 

Miraculously, Agatha keeps the noise to a soft gasp. Still, she bucks her hips up, needing more. 

“Not a sound,” she reminds her as she presses her palm down harder, pumps her fingers faster.

Agatha manages to keep quiet, but she’s writhing under her touch, a pit of heat building in her body. She doesn’t know where this will go with Rio walking the road, but right now, she’s sure as hell glad she’s getting fucked.

“I’m trusting you, Harkness. Don’t make me regret it,” Rio says — a loaded statement for both of them, to be sure — as she takes her hand off her mouth, switching tactics for the grand finale. She moves down, one hand on each of her thighs, holding her open as she sucks on her clit, not going any easier on it than she did her neck.

Agatha bites down on her lower lip so hard she tastes blood. Still, she manages to stay mostly silent. Only a small, breathy whine escapes as her body shakes with her climax.

“Good girl,” Rio praises once she’s sure Agatha’s satisfied. She slinks back up again and kisses her — more tender than she’s been since they reunited — healing her torn lip with her tongue in the process, just as she did her palm.

Agatha kisses her back, the same tenderness happily reciprocated. She would never admit it, but Rio’s lips are home.

After an all-too-short minute, Agatha reluctantly pulls away.  “Should we head down? It sounds like the others are here.”

Rio cocks a brow. “You gonna put some clothes on first, or are you planning on giving the neighborhood another free show?”

Agatha rolls her eyes. “I have no shame in my body — you clearly have no shame in it either. But I suppose, for everyone else’s sake.”

Rio smirks, putting her own clothes back on and cleaning herself up with a flick of her wrist. She could heal her scraped back and bruised thighs just as easily, but why would she want to? Those were her delectable little secrets. On the outside, she looks fresh as a daisy. 

Agatha, however, is far from it. Her nest of hair — tussled chaotically in that ‘freshly fucked’ way — would require more time to manage than Rio knows Agatha has, and her sweaty, splotchy neck is sure to stay swollen for the next few days at least. Rio could take care of both with the wave of her hand, too, but the patched lip is all the magical help she plans on giving her. If she wanted Rio’s help walking the Witches’ Road, then she’d have to endure a walk of shame solo. Her first unofficial trial.

Agatha huffs and sits up, redressing before disappearing into the bathroom for a few moments to do what she can. She manages to tame her hair into a sloppy, partially matted bun, but no amount of makeup is going to hide those hickeys. “Shall we?”

Rio holds her arm out, gesturing toward the door, and for the second time that day says, “Lead the way.”

Chapter Text

“Teen!” Agatha calls, squaring her shoulders and re-buttoning her coat as she heads down the stairs. “Has everyone arrived?"

“Yes!” He eagerly approaches her and Rio once they make it to the living room, where people are…well, not mingling exactly but standing around in the same general vicinity. “Stale granola bar?” he offers from the makeshift tray of hors d'oeuvres in hand.

“Hungry from all your strenuous physical activity?” Jen asks, sizing up Agatha's state with the cross of her arms. “Guess now I know what you needed that jade egg for.”

Agatha scoffs at her fucking audacity. This was her house. Or…Agnes’ house. Which was, by extension, hers. “There’s a child around!” she reminds her.

“Is this road walk gonna be some lovers’ paradise?” Lilia pipes in, taking a granola bar and chewing quickly. It’s not good, but it’s free food. “Because I’m not sure I’m interested in being part of that.” She looks at Rio. “You — are you the green witch on the list? The black heart?” 

“Rio,” she confirms with a single, casual nod. She’s reveling in this so hard. 

“Black heart?” Jen asks. “What was my symbol?” 

“Yours was just your name,” Teen speaks up. “I caught a glimpse before Agatha ate the paper.” 

Jen looks equally confused and appalled. “Before she what?”

Agatha shakes her head and waves her hand. “Doesn’t matter. Point is, everyone is here. All facets of magic are covered.” 

Lilia’s still not satisfied. “You ate the paper?” she comments dryly. “What happened between you two for that to be your reaction? Seems like you were getting along just fine a few minutes ago.”  

Alice raises a brow and glances at Jen. “Are they going to spend the whole road on their backs while we do all the hard work?”

Jen shakes her head. “Hell no. If that’s the plan, then I’m out. That is not what I signed up for.” 

“Technically, we sort of blackmailed you…” Teen corrects.  

Jen glares at him. “Really, Teen?” He gives her a pained smile and shrug in response.

Jen rolls her eyes before returning her gaze to the new additions, giving Rio a slow, thorough once-over before she looks at Agatha. “I get why you’re interested…” She looks back at Rio, eyes narrowed. “But seriously? Her?” Her head jerks toward Agatha. “I’m objectively hotter.”

“You are hot,” Agatha admits. “But you’re insufferable with your little ‘wellness brand.’ You sell jade eggs to shove up your vag, but you clearly have a stick shoved up your ass instead. I’m hot, charming, and I have a history with her. I win.”

Jen arches a brow. “You have a history with a lot of things, don’t you, Agatha? Killing covens, stealing power, sacrificing children…”

“Allegedly,” she scowls, though it’s quickly replaced with another arrogant smile. “More importantly, I have a history with Rio. That’s why she picked me. I’m too good not to come back to.” 

Lilia snorts. “The sex can’t be that good.” She glances at Rio. “You’ve got questionable taste.”

“I have it on good authority I taste just fine,” Rio deadpans, putting the tip of her pointer in her mouth before removing it with a little pop.

Lilia wrinkles her nose. “Okay, no need to get graphic. There’s a child around.” She gestures to Teen.  

“That’s what I said!” Agatha reminds them, trying desperately to get them all back on track. “That’s why we should all just go down to the basement and sing that song,” she pushes, plastering a smile onto her face.

“I’d just like to remind everyone that I’m sixteen,” Teen says. “And I have a boyfriend, so I’m not, like—" 

“A sad virgin?” Jen finishes.

“Well then,” Agatha butts in before the conversation can continue down that particular path, the subject of this teenager’s sex life more awkward than it should be — more awkward for her than she’d like to admit. “Glad we cleared that up. Can we get on with the road?” 

“You’re really not helping those ‘no patience’ allegations,” Rio murmurs, finger running down Agatha’s spine. She stiffens in response, though she’s careful to make sure her movements are minute.

“I agree with Ms. Harkness.” Teen nods. “We should get going.” 

“Ms. Harkness?” Jen asks, expression perpetually contorted into one of disgust. “What is she, your teacher?” 

“I hope so,” he says earnestly. “It’d be an honor to be her pupil.” 

“You’ll be lucky if she doesn’t stab your pupil — claw out your eyes and feed it to that mangy rabbit.”

Agatha narrows her own eyes, taking a step forward to ‘accidentally’ crush Jen’s toes under her foot, putting her full weight on it even as Jen attempts to tug her leg free. “Don’t you fucking dare call my rabbit mangy,” she threatens.  

Lilia watches, eyes wide. “I mean, I do think you’re dangerous, Agatha,” she confesses, attempting to defuse the situation. “But the rabbit is cute — I’ll give you that. Jen, you have to admit, a cute familiar is her best trait.”

“Well, it’s not like he has a lot of competition,” Jen fumes, finally able to yank her foot free and examine the now slightly scuffed top of her shoe. “These are designer, bitch,” she adds with a mutter.

“What was that?” Agatha asks, blinking her eyes wide in faux offense, cupping a hand to her ear. “Do you want to share what you just said with the class? You care more about your designer shoes than people?”

“I care more about them than you. But you’re not a person — you’re a cold-blooded murderer. And 'class'?” She scoffs. “Please. Unlike Teen, I have no interest in being your student. It’s not like there’s anything you could teach me anyway.”

“You’d be surprised," Agatha coos. "And it’s ironic you’d dehumanize me so much. You know what happens to people like us.”

“Don’t flatter yourself by lumping me in with you.”

“Why?” Agatha tilts her head in mock innocence. “We’re both witches.” 

“Mm.” Jen gives her a sarcastic smile. She points to herself. “High Priestess.” She gestures to Agatha. “Lowly peasant. Night and day.”

“Bound High Priestess,” she corrects. “You’re no better and never were. If you’ll remember, I passed that little tidbit down to you.”

“You really want to talk about our past, Agatha? Right in front of your little plaything?” She turns to Rio. “No offense. You seem se—“ She shakes her head, ‘sexy’ almost slipping all the way out before she can stop it. “Lovely,” she quickly corrects. “You seem lovely.” 

Rio shrugs, examining her nails again. Witnessing Agatha’s spats was nothing new. Sometimes, they could be a lot of fun, but this one was teetering on the boring side. There was no bloodshed or anything.

Agatha rolls her eyes. “There’s no past to talk about. You knew how to make me scream, that’s for sure — it’s just a pity it was usually from wanting to tear my hair out.”

“I don’t even have any hair left to tear out because you were so fucking annoying,” Jen seethes, gesturing to her shaved head.

Lilia snorts. “I didn’t know you two had a thing.”

Alice glances between Jen and Rio. “You have a type, Agatha.” 

Jen raises a brow. “And what would that be?”

“Egotistical and lacking self-awareness,” Alice deadpans.

“And here I thought opposites were supposed to attract,” Teen quips. He immediately regrets it, feeling several daggers being shot at him — Agatha’s sharpest among them. He grimaces, shrinking into himself. “Sorry. Bad joke. Please don’t break out the duct tape again,” he begs.

Agatha glares at him a moment longer before her gaze flicks back to the rest of the group. “No time for that, Teen. We have things to do. You keep an eye out up here while we summon the road. That is, if we’re done being petty little bitches for the time being,” she says, a not-so-subtle dig at Jen.

Teen frowns. “You want me to be a lookout? What for? I’ve always wanted to see the road open — why can’t I come down and watch?”

“Yeah, Agatha — why not let the kid watch?” Rio pipes up. She knows damn well why — there are seven of Salem’s finest due to show up at her doorstep any second now, due to show up because of her — but she wants to see what excuse Agatha will give. She loved to set traps just to see how she’d get out of them.

She’s surprised when she goes with something almost like the truth. A first for her. “You remember, Teen — you were in the closet when Rio said she was sending people after me,” she coolly replies. “You have to be our alarm.”

Jen blinks, holding her hands up. “I beg your fucking pardon? Sending people after you? Then why are you trusting her to come on the road with us? Think with your pussy all you want when it comes to yourself, but there are more people involved now.”

Agatha sighs. “It’s…complicated. Rio likes to stir the pot.” 

Rio fixes the group with an intense look, making slow, ominous circles with her pointer to confirm this was indeed one of her most prominent and favored hobbies. 

“We also have a deal — part of which involves me getting my powers back — and in order for that to come to fruition, we have to walk the road,” Agatha continues to explain. “She wants it too, so she’s not going to fuck with us. She keeps her promises if nothing else.”

Jen rubs her temples. This was a big fucking mistake, wasn't it? “Well, could you at least call your people off?" she asks Rio. "So we’re not racing against the clock to sing the damn door open?” 

“Doesn’t really work like that,” Rio says, voice almost eerily casual. “Plus, it’s good practice for the road.” 

Jen doesn’t even want to know how Rio knows that. She glances at Alice and Lilia — the two most trustworthy in the group at the moment, not that it was a particularly high bar — to gauge what they’re thinking.

Lilia narrows her eyes and steps forward so she’s face-to-face with Rio. “The road is hard, and if you make it harder, so help me, I’ll make the rest of your life harder. The minute you double-cross us..."

“Whatever you say, you old bat,” Rio says, baring her teeth and giving her a feral little hiss before heading toward the basement. The rest of the group follows suit, albeit most with some hesitation. 

“Okay! I’ll just…I’ll be up here! Don’t leave without me!” Teen calls after them, picking up Señor Scratchy for company. 

“Hey, what’s the deal with that kid?” Jennifer asks Agatha as they descend the stairs, out of earshot of him. “I’ve never seen you so…” She wrinkles her nose. “Soft. It’s creepy.”

Agatha shrugs, the question making her uncomfortable in a way she can’t put her finger on. “Nothing. I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m a woman of multitudes.”

“Bitchy, bitchier, and bitchiest?”

“Fraudulent misrepresentation, gross negligence, reckless endangerment?” Rio deadpans. Deflecting for Agatha is a side effect of the comment — not the point. She has no real skin in this game, after all — she still fucking hates Agatha, and Jennifer wasn’t really winning her over either — but she was feeling a little understimulated. Riling up pretty women helped that. 

“I’m only being accused of the first one,” Jennifer says through gritted teeth. 

“For now,” Agatha retorts.

“So is that your pillow talk?” Jennifer snarks at her. “Gossiping about the completely baseless accusations regarding the legality of my business practices? God, you’re still obsessed with me.”

“Hate to burst your bubble, Jen, but Teen googled it on the way to your store. Besides, Rio is talented enough in bed that I don’t have time to think — a far cry from your skills on the higher end of average.”

“Yeah, well you’re on the lower end of low,” Jen shoots back. “Worst I’ve ever had,” she lies. 

“And only, from the sounds of it,” Rio drolls. “Projecting with all the ‘sad virgin’ talk?” 

“From the sounds of it, you wouldn’t know good pussy if it sat on your face," Jen snaps.

“You know, you three could all just hate fuck and get it out of your system,” Alice dryly suggests. 

“Did you miss the part where one-third of the proposed throuple—“ Jen gestures to Rio. “—sent mysterious people after another third of the proposed throuple?“ She gestures to Agatha. She points to herself. “This third of the proposed throuple is not going to wait around to get caught in the potential crossfire.” 

“Teen’s keeping watch,” Rio reminds her. 

“This third of the proposed throuple is also not going to put their life in the hands of a goth sixteen-year-old.” She gestures at Alice. “Or a goth ex-mall security guard.” She gestures at Lilia. “Or a kooky elderly fortune cookie.” 

“Well, fuck you.” Lilia flips her off. “I have more powers than you do.” 

“I never said now — just at some point,” Alice clarifies. “This tension is un-fucking-bearable."

“That bad dye job is what’s un-fucking-bearable,” Jen says, flicking one of the red streaks in her hair. “Kale Kare carries high-quality products for that, too, you know.”

“That are going to fry her hair off if that lawsuit is any indication,” Agatha points out.

“It’s not,” Jen assures her through gritted teeth. “That lawsuit is bullshit.” 

“I actually believe you,” Rio chimes in. 

Jen blinks in surprise. “Well…good. Thank you.” 

“The other 799 lawsuits, however…” 

Jen looks like she wants to lunge at her — and not exactly in the way Alice is suggesting. “Okay. You know what?”

Agatha holds her hands up. “We need to summon this thing before Salem’s worst makes us minced meat. Jen, you can argue with us about your shitty products on the road.”

“Once again, they are top-of-the-line luxury materials,” Jen corrects. 

Rio looks at her. “Serious question: Do you know this is a coven? Or did you think you were joining an MLM?”

Jennifer stomps away from Agatha and Rio, shoving herself between Lilia and Alice instead. She thrusts her hands out for them to take while they sing. “I am not getting in between whatever that is despite what Alice’s pervy little ass wants.”

“For what it’s worth, I think you have a perfectly nice little ass, Alice,” Rio offers, making a show of checking it out. Trying to make Agatha jealous was also another fun hobby of hers.

“Thanks?” Alice raises an eyebrow, looking between the two. “But I’m clearly not your type, whatever game you’re playing. And you’re certainly not mine.”

“What is your type then, Alice?” Jen asks. “If it’s the opposite of egotistical and lacking self-awareness? Insecure and debilitatingly self-conscious?”

“My type is calm and collected and sweet. None of you are that.”

“Sounds boring,” Rio deadpans.

Alice scoffs. “Did I ask?” 

Lilia sighs. “Let’s get on with it.”

“Not a bad idea, Grandma,” Rio agrees. “They’re near.” She leans her face closer to Agatha’s ear. “I can feel it,” she whispers, giving her ass a playful but undeniably prompting slap.

Agatha has to bite her tongue in order not to yelp. Still, she clears her throat and straightens her spine. “Shall we?”

Rio jerks her head to the intricately designed bell. “Start us off, fearless leader,” she encourages with an unmistakable air of sarcasm. She knew Agatha wasn’t fearless — knew she was far from an ideal leader. “Take control,” she adds, pouring salt on the wounds she’d happily inflicted in the bedroom.

Agatha grits her teeth and takes the bell. She waits until they’re in a circle and takes a deep inhale, giving it a ring. She’s done this before. It’ll be okay. 

She holds her breath. Will it really, though?

In all honesty, she’s not actually sure this is going to work. She’s…not the woman or the witch she was before. 

But she has to try. 

She has no choice.

She opens her mouth and begins to sing.

It hits Rio harder than she expected it to — catches her completely off guard. Rio is notoriously hard and aloof, and she likes her women equally cold and prickly. But Agatha’s voice…it’s warm and smooth. Not the bee sting but the honey, seeping through the facade to something terrifyingly real. 

She may be Agatha’s key, but her singing…it threatens to unlock something in Rio. Threatens to make her waver on her mission to see her exterminated. 

And that’s what makes Agatha dangerous. She was a siren. Irresistible. Hypnotic. Even powerless like this, she still has power over Rio. More than she thinks. More than Rio would ever admit. 

Rio grits her teeth and closes her heart. Closes herself. She wasn’t going to be tempted to go down that road again. The only road she was going down with Agatha was this one, and then they were done — Agatha was done — forever. 

Rio closes. And the door opens.

Chapter Text

“Go!” Agatha orders the group as Teen comes scrambling down the stairs.

His eyes widen, torn, as he makes it to the edge of the hole in the ground. He was feeling almost a magnetic pull to it — to the road — but at the same time, he hesitates to jump in, a reverence stopping him in his tracks. 

“Teen? I know you're probably not acing PE, but I’m still gonna need you to move it,” Jen snaps impatiently. 

“Ladies first,” he breathlessly whispers. He has every intention of stepping to the side to let them pass, but someone (probably Jen) shoves him — off balance and onto the previously hidden staircase — before he can, giving him no choice but to scurry down, the rest of the coven following close behind.

“Whoa,” Teen says as they make it onto the path, eyes wider, pull stronger, reverence deeper now that he's actually here. He’d read about it in books, of course — studied it extensively. But this was different. He felt like he was in a whole new world, a new dimension, another new life entirely. It was beautiful — terrifyingly, dangerously so.

Jen pulls out the phone she never goes anywhere without, much less dazzled by the whole thing, and opens her compass app. “North, I’m guessing. You always head north.” 

“Yeah, but the ballad,” Teen says, snapping out of his daze. 

Jen raises a brow. “Elaborate?”

“‘‘Where all that’s wrong is right and all that’s bad is good’?” he quotes. “That means we should probably head south, then, right?” He looks at Agatha. “What do you think?”

“Yeah, what do you think?” Rio parrots. “You have been here before.”

Agatha shoots her a glare. “It’s been a while,” she reminds her before pursing her lips in contemplation. “We need to be careful, whichever direction we go. Very careful.”

“Very helpful,” Rio retorts, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Jen holds up her palms. “There better not be snakes. I don’t fuck with snakes.”

Lilia snorts. “Snakes are more scared of you than you are of them. And we’re in a forest, so you do that math.”

“I didn’t just mean literal ones,” Jen says, throwing shade — and side-eye — at Agatha and Rio. 

“I don’t see any snakes, but look — there’s a rabbit,” Teen says with a smile, pointing at a small creature in the distance. It quickly falls, panic filling his chest. Because it didn’t just look like any rabbit. It looked like…“Señor Scratchy?” he whispers.  

Agatha had told him to keep an eye on her place. Considering she was ready to give him the house without a second thought — considering that house acted as her prison for three years — she had obviously meant 1) alert her when Rio’s people came and 2) make sure her rabbit was safe. That had been his responsibility. Part of the deal. 

“But that’s…that’s impossible,” Teen mutters. “I…I set him down upstairs before we left — I…I swear. Unless snuck down here somehow?” He can’t help but keep his eyes fixed on the rabbit — as if compelled to look at him. Can’t help but take a slow step toward him. And another. And another.

Agatha turns, something in her stomach dropping, though whether it’s more due to the small potential that it actually could be her long-time cherished pet or the way her new stupid one seemed to be getting closer and closer to the edge of the path, she’s not entirely sure. “I’m sure it’s not actually him, Teen.”

“Yeah, the song also talks about tricks,” Jen reminds him. “You’re not the only one who knows it,” she mumbles, her pride still a little hurt about the north-south of it all. 

But it’s too late. He’s already broken off into a sprint, legs pumping, arms swinging, lungs burning. He has to get to the rabbit. He has to make things right. He has to fix it.

“Hey!” Jen calls after him. “‘I stray not from the path,’ remember?!”

But he either doesn’t hear her or doesn’t care, continuing to go further into the deep, dark woods. 

Jen shakes her head. “Where was this urgency when I told him to move his ass down the stairs? White people are so fucking weird about animals, I swear.”

“Fucking hell,” Agatha groans, and before she knows it, she’s running after him. It’s not really a conscious choice for her either. She’s not sure why, but she feels some strange sense of responsibility for this fucking moron’s safety. Some strange sense of…of something else for him, too, buried deeper. 

A lot deeper at this particular moment. She’s livid at the kid, and her voice shows it.

“Teen!” she hisses. “Teen, you get the fuck back here right now!” She hopes her tone will be enough to scare him into submission, but instead, he inexplicably seems to find it in himself to go faster. Back in Westview, he hung on her every word. What happened to that? Teenagers were such fickle creatures. And also, the fucking worst.

Agatha runs as quickly as she can, but 350-year-old joints make it harder to keep up with a 16-year-old, and — as the song obnoxiously loved to remind them — the road was wild and wicked, and the area surrounding the road was even more so. There are tangled roots on the ground she has to leap over and onto, mangled branches she has to swerve around and duck under. 

Teamwork clearly wasn’t her shoddy coven’s strength, but the woods seem to be working in harmony to create the most hellacious journey possible. While trying to jump over one fallen limb, another trips her up. On her way down to eat shit, she feels the chain of her necklace catch on a branch, the tree snatching it off her neck and flinging it into the air.

“No!” Agatha screams as she watches her brooch fall into a patch of quicksand-like mud — almost in slow motion, it seems — and begin to sink into the ground. Her heart sinks down with it, from her chest down to her stomach. “No!” she shrieks, frantically crawling over to it. 

This can’t be happening. She can’t lose this. Not the only thing she has left of her son.

She reaches her hand into the mud, consequences be damned, to try and pull it out, but it’s no use. It’s gone. Under the ground forever. Just like Nick. 

“Fuck!” she cries. She feels herself burn — her eyes and throat from tears that bubble up, the rest of her body from pure rage. If she still had her magic, she’s sure that’d be crackling hot, too. She uses it to fuel her. To stand up and finish her task. She wasn’t going to lose two boys on this detour, no matter how much she wanted to fucking kill one of them.

The fury helps her catch up to Teen, and as soon as she’s in range, she reaches out to grasp his arm in an iron grip. “Teen!” she barks, whipping him around to face her. So he can see how fucking angry she is in addition to hearing it. “If you know the song so well, then you should have known not to leave the path! Fucking idiot!”

“It’s not about knowing the song!” he counters, attempting to yank his arm away, though to no avail. She was shockingly strong, even without her power. “It’s about protecting Señor Scratchy — we can’t just leave him behind! The whole coven has to stick together, to look out for each other, and he’s your familiar! Your real one!”

Agatha shakes him. “He’s not here! He’s not fucking here! The road will make you hallucinate! The rabbit just turned into a squirrel — look,” she orders, roughly turning him around to peer back out at the woods. The rabbit is, indeed, now a rather menacing squirrel with milky white eyes and vaguely visible teeth.  

“Oh,” Teen says softly. “Oh.”

“Yeah. ‘Oh,’” she mocks. “Now let’s get back to everyone before you get yourself killed!” she spits, pulling his arm so hard he thinks it’s momentarily left its socket and marching him back to the path.

He feels his face flush red — embarrassed at being tricked, his amateur status showing mere minutes onto the road; embarrassed at being scolded like a child by the Agatha Harkness, his hero he wanted so desperately to impress. “I’m sorry,” he says softly after a few moments, swallowing his pride. “I— It just looked so real,” he weakly explains.

Agatha looks over at him, her glare softening into something marginally less sharp. She even lets go of his arm, causing him to fall slightly behind her pace. “I know.” She sighs. “Like I said, this place will kill you.”

“It would have,” he says. “Just now. If not for you.”

She shrugs, hoping to come off more casual than she feels, as she claps some of the dirt from her hands. “You’re annoying as hell, but I’m not about to let you die.” Her voice is still harsh, but it’s more…reassuring than it’s ever been with him. She doesn’t know why.

He hangs his head, looking down at the ground as he follows behind her — a loyal but wounded puppy. The comfort is as awkward for him to receive as it is for her to give. “I sort of thought Agnes was going to. Leave me for dead,” he says — a real admission as much as it is a dark joke. “All I could think about was what a twisted sense of humor the universe had — making a gay kid die in a closet.”

“Well…” She clears her throat awkwardly. “Sorry about that,” she mumbles, at least a little sincerity creeping in. “I had no…real control over her. She was me operating in my body but in a different world.”

He blinks, surprised by the apology, even if it wasn’t completely genuine. He sort of thought she was incapable. “You got me here — kept me here,” he says, gesturing to the wicked woods he’d dashed into behind them. “I’m willing to call it even.”

Agatha shrugs again, falling quiet. She’s not good at this. She absentmindedly rubs at her chest, the lack of the brooch physically painful. She feels more naked than she did when she woke up without her clothes, emptier than she does without her magic.

They walk the rest of the way back to the group without exchanging another word. Jen’s tapping her foot impatiently as they return, raising a brow at Teen’s empty hands. “Didn’t manage to catch Peter Cottontail?” 

“It was more of a Sandy Cheeks,” Teen admits.

Her brow raises higher — suspicious that this term was perhaps a new insult the kids were using. “Excuse me?” 

He waves her off, trying to downplay the whole humiliating situation. “Never mind. It’s not important. We should get going again — everyone’s here,” he says, walking ahead so he doesn't have to meet their eyes. 

“But not everything,” Rio says as the group starts to stroll. She’s looking at Agatha’s chest (not unusual), the spot where her brooch should be bare (very unusual). “Lose something, sweetheart?”

Agatha shoots daggers at her. “Fuck you,” she seethes. “That’s a new fucking low, rubbing it in.” Rio, of all people, should know not to pull that shit. Rio, of all people, should understand. Rio, of all people, should—

“I’m not,” Rio says innocently, dangling the chain on her fingers. A carrot on a stick.

“Oh.” Agatha feels herself flood with relief. She could cry from how thoughtful a gesture this is. (But she won’t. Not in front of these bitches.)

Agatha feels herself flood with dread. It’s so infuriatingly thoughtful, which means Rio is never, ever going to let her live it down.

“Is that the thing that dropped in the mud?” Jen asks. “How’d you get it out?”

Rio shrugs. “Just Green Witch things,” she deadpans, not taking her eyes off Agatha.

After a moment, Agatha gives her a begrudging nod. “Thanks,” she says, voice sincere even through gritted teeth. She reaches for it, but Rio pulls it back out of range before she can grab it.

Agatha feels her blood boil. She wants to take the necklace, wrap it around Rio’s throat, and pull tight until the life chokes out of her. Use it to hang her from one of the trees. Where does she get off on turning this — the most precious, sacred thing she has — into some kind of sick game of keepaway? “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Rio scowls in return. “Relax,” she darkly warns. “Turn around so I can put it on for you. You’re clumsy, and I’m not going fishing again.”

Agatha blinks in surprise. This is a glimpse of the Rio she loved. It’s disconcerting, but god, she’s missed her. Wordlessly, she spins.

Rio brushes her hair away from her neck in a practiced, intimate motion. Back in the day, she used to love spoiling her with jewelry and flowers. Always flowers. She sees goosebumps rise on Agatha’s neck, more evident on the pale skin — the rare patches unaffected by her lips earlier. Agatha belonged in a museum, a beautiful collage of her handiwork. 

“You’re going to thank me properly for this later,” Rio whispers as she closes the clasp, the goosebumps raising even more. “Right, baby?”

After ensuring that the necklace is resting safely on her chest again, Agatha turns and kisses Rio hard. The impact of Agatha’s lips crashing into hers makes her lose her balance, and she ends up pinned against a tree. “If you want that, I’m happy to,” Agatha says as the bark reignites the flames she scratched across Rio’s back earlier.

Rio fucking loves it. Her wording, less so. “It’s not about want — it’s about what’s fair. I’m making you play fair from now on, remember?”

“Right.” Agatha presses her harder into the tree trunk. “Emphasis on 'making me.'”

“Oh, you love it,” Rio whispers. “You wouldn't have it any other way.”

Behind them, Lilia rolls her eyes. “Get a room when we’re not on the fucking Witch’s Road!”

“It looks like they can get a room while we’re on it,” Jen says as they come across what looks to be a small campground. “Or a tent, rather.”  

There are only three of them, which felt a little cheap — and stupid — considering a coven consisted of five. But Jen supposes she shouldn’t complain. Her feet, sans her designer shoes, are already killing her. “Should we stop and rest for the night?” she suggests. “So we’re refreshed for the first trial?” 

“No way. We just got here,” Teen whines. 

“Okay, well some of us woke up at the crack of dawn and worked all day, Teen,” Jen snips. “Some of us have jobs.”

“I work at the Hokey Pokey Bowl in the summer,” he mumbles defensively.

Agatha glances around. The whole place feels…odd. She glances at Rio. “Does it feel off to you?”

“It’s the Witches’ Road — were you expecting a Holiday Inn?”

Agatha rubs her temples. “I am not talking about the quality of the lodging. I’m talking about the timing and literally everything else. As much as you want to fuck me, I don’t want to die mid-Kamasutra.”

Rio looks unbothered by the idea. “It’s not tragic to die doing someone you love.” 

“I think the quote is ‘something,’” Jen corrects. 

“Not my quote.” 

Jen huffs. “We don’t know the next time we’re going to come across shelter. I say we risk it. All in favor?” She raises her hand, glancing around the group. 

Teen crosses his arms stubbornly across his chest. “Don’t look at me.” 

“I’m not. You’re not even old enough to vote. And even if you were, familiars don’t get one.”

Agatha doesn’t raise her hand. Nor does Alice. Lilia does, though. Which means…

Agatha glances at Rio. “You’re the tiebreaker.”

There’s a small beat as she considers. She could be patient — that wasn’t a lie — but that didn’t mean she always wanted to be. Plus, going against Agatha would piss her off. And she loves pissing her off. It was also necessary — she needed to build back her reputation after the whole brooch thing. “Let’s let Grandma get her beauty sleep,” she says, nodding toward Lilia.

Agatha rolls her eyes. “Fine. Shall we?” She gestures to the group of tents. 

“Good.” Lilia nods, following behind with Jen as Alice and Teen hang back.

Teen clenches his jaw as Agatha and Rio disappear into one tent, Jen and Lilia — divas that they were — separating into the remaining two, forcing him and Alice to either sleep outside or awkwardly join them in one sans an invitation, no doubt being forced to endure grumbles about how they were intruding on their space first. “I think I’m going to stay up for a while,” he tells Alice.

“Me too. This place wigs me out.” She plops herself onto a log. “Lilia is less of a bitch, though — if you want to take that tent with her, I’ll handle Jen.”

"Sure. Thanks — that’s…really considerate of you.” He nods, perching himself next to her. “Although Lilia gives me snoring vibes.” He wrinkles his nose.

Alice snorts. “Would you rather take snoring or a superiority complex?” 

“Neither. But you’re the only potential roomie who checks both of those boxes, so I guess snoring it is.” Teen picks up a stick on the ground, beginning to draw lazy patterns in the dirt.

Alice looks over at him. “Hey, what’s your deal with Agatha anyway? She’s a hot mess when she’s at her best.”

He gives her a half-hearted glare. Alice wasn’t wrong, but he was weirdly protective over her, too. “But she’s still brilliant when she’s at her worst. Maybe most brilliant when she’s at her worst. I mean, she’s the ultimate survivor, Alice — that’s…that’s really inspiring to someone like me.”

She raises a brow. “To someone like you?”

He shrugs, looking back down at the ground. “I’ve been through a lot. Maybe not as much as you all—” He jerks his head back at the campsite, the centuries-old witches populating it. “—but relatively speaking.”

“I get it.” Alice slowly nods. “Just be careful, okay, kid?”

“Teen,” he corrects with a mumble. “But I will,” she promises more sincerely. “You be careful, too — I need my emo ally.”

“I guess I’m that…” she hesitantly agrees before dropping her gaze with a shrug. “I’m mainly here because of my mom.”

“I know,” he says softly. “I’m sorry you lost her.”

Alice shakes her head, trying to clear the thoughts from it as if it’s an Etch A Sketch. “Yeah, me too. She had her issues, but she was a good mom.”

Teen gives her a weak smile. “She sounds really badass. I mean, her music alone? One banger after another.”

The ghost of a grin flickers across Alice’s face, too. “She was indeed very badass. She taught me guitar.”

“No way — I play guitar, too.” His smile grows bigger, more genuine. “I mean, I wasn’t taught by the Lorna Wu, but still.”

“Love that.” Alice nods. “Playing is relaxing, at least for me.”

“For me, too,” he agrees. He looks around at the vast, dense woods. He could use some relaxation right about now. “I wish I had one here," he admits.

“Well, we’ll survive the road, and then you can play,” Alice encourages. “Keep that motivation.”

“Maybe we could have a jam session,” he suggests before shaking his head, a blush rising in his cheeks. “Or not. That’s…that was stupid. Forget I said anything.”

But Alice doesn’t seem to think so, unfazed by his enthusiasm and embarrassment alike. “Sure. If we make it out of here.”

“We will,” he says, hoping his voice projects confidence — more than he perhaps feels at the moment. “We have to.”

Chapter Text

Jen’s asleep as soon as she lies down. She doesn't love sleeping on the ground, but she's exhausted from even more confrontation than usual. She sleeps surprisingly deeply, definitely not having an X-rated dream involving the scenario Alice suggested between her and the couple in the other tent. Definitely not. 

Meanwhile, said couple in the other tent definitely is about to get into some real X-rated shenanigans of their own. At least if Rio had anything to say about it.

Agatha lounges back against the ground as soon as she sits, staring up at Rio. “So what is it you want, exactly?”

Rio arches a brow, towering over her. “You’ve known me for over three centuries, Agatha Harkness. If you don’t know by now what I like, maybe you really are a lost cause, like they all say.”

“I know," Agatha assures her with a coy twirl of her hair. “But what’s the fun in handing it to you?”

Rio reaches down. It looks like she’s going for her neck — and in a way, she is — but instead of gripping her throat, she grabs the brooch. Holds it in her hand and pulls so the chain is taut. A tight leash. “Remember, sweetheart — I giveth, and I taketh away," she says, voice low and even. "Is that what you want?” She gives the pendant another tug, the silver string surely digging into the back of her neck, leaving a small, red line. “For me to taketh away?”

“No,” Agatha pouts, a petulant whine escaping her lips. “But I need you to tell me what you want, exactly.”

Rio lets the necklace drop, the pendant swinging back to thump onto Agatha’s chest. She drops to her knees in front of her, putting them on the same level. Physically, at least. “First, I want you to take me from behind. So you’re not tempted to get distracted again by staring at me the whole time.”

“Oh?” Agatha asks, leaning up to kiss her jaw. “But I do like staring at you.”

“Exactly,” Rio deadpans, tilting her head back to allow Agatha better access to her neck. Agatha obliges, placing rougher kisses on her throat. “You like it too much, and it’s not about you tonight.”

At that, Agatha shuffles around so she’s behind her. She lays her head on Rio’s shoulder, hand beginning to wander down her torso. “Aw, someone’s desperate for attention,” she coos.

Rio can’t help but stiffen a little at the touch — at her taking charge. It was already threatening to make her head spin, though she manages to keep her wits about her. “That’s rich, coming from someone who was so desperate for attention that she befriended a teenage fanboy.”

Agatha nips at her neck. “Not my fault I’m magnetic.”

“Less like a magnet, more like the mud you dropped the brooch into — sucking people in and swallowing them whole.”

“Mm, rude,” Agatha flippantly notes. “Good thing you’re hot,” she breathes into her ear before biting down on her shoulder.

Rio takes a sharper-than-usual inhale. “But I’m not wrong. And you’re not either this time.”

“No?”

“I am hot. Very hot. Too hot. Maybe you should make yourself useful and help me get these damn clothes off.”

Agatha snorts. “If you don’t know by now I’m not the type to follow thinly veined orders without motivation, you’re the one who’s the lost cause.”

Rio grits her teeth. “You’re meant to be thanking me — not being an insolent little bitch. Was what I did not enough for you? Are you not grateful for my generosity?”

“I am,” she defends. “But what I’m not is someone who submits without a fight.”

That much was true. Rio admired that — loved that, really — but Agatha can’t fight the way she used to. Not without her power. Agatha was right — she is a magnet. And the same thing that attracted them to one another was the very thing that repelled them just as often back before the Scarlet Witch stepped in and fucked things up. They were poles that were too much the same. Evenly matched. 

Rio wanted to ruin Agatha. But she wanted Agatha to ruin her, too. And withholding alone — as frustratingly sexy as it was — was getting rather tiresome. She's missed Agatha, she’s always known that, but she’s quickly realizing she misses the full range of tools she had in her arsenal as well. She likes her formidable. Strong. And, on occasion, dominant. 

“What if you didn’t have to submit at all?” Rio asks. “What if I gave you something better than a brooch?” She cranes her neck back to look at her. “A way to have control — I’m talking real control — while we’re in this tent. Then would you do it? Bend me over and show me how very appreciative you are?”

“Would you let me?” Agatha mocks.

Rio reaches back with one arm, pressing Agatha’s front tight against her. With the other, she lifts her hand to touch the side of Agatha’s head — that same spot Wanda used to trap her last time. Instead of taking her power, however, she injects the tiniest bit of her own into Agatha’s control. Transfers a little green into her possession. The ultimate act of submission — to let her know just how serious she is.

It’s just a little taste of magic — an appetizer; sample-sized, really — but she knows Agatha’s body must be devouring it. Desperate to savor it. Wield it.  

“Don’t get any bright ideas,” Rio warns. “It’s just enough to make me feel good, to make me be good, and it’s mine again the second you step out of the tent.” With that, she lets go, dropping onto her palms — on all fours; taking it upon herself to do the bending as to help Agatha along — and looks back at her once more. “I’d say use it wisely, but we both know wisdom’s not really your strong suit.”

Agatha closes her eyes and sucks in a deep breath — as if getting a gulp of the freshest air — before letting out a gratified exhale. The feeling of having magic, of absorbing magic, is the greatest orgasm and best high rolled into one. It feels fucking exhilarating. Invigorating. Right.

Her newfound power inspires her to grab a handful of Rio’s hair and yank her back up to her knees. “You don’t move unless I tell you to,” she growls, conjuring a gag and shoving it into Rio’s mouth, securing it with practiced ease. Fuck, she’s missed this.

Fuck, Rio’s missed it, too.

Agatha ignores the clothes, her hand dipping beneath Rio’s waistline and beginning to tease, starting with her clit. “You’re so eager,” she taunts.

“Another rich accusation,” Rio says, words awkwardly and humiliatingly strangled around the gag. She quickly gives up on that method, speaking to Agatha telepathically instead. “Too eager to even get me naked first.”

“Do you want me to rip the only clothes you have?” Agatha asks back in her mind as well. While Rio’s resorted to it because she can’t speak normally, Rio knows Agatha’s doing it because she finally can — temporarily can — with the borrowed magic.

“There are no new options?” Rio asks, throwing her own words back at her.

“Not right now, love.”

The wicked sentiment delivered in the sweetest way — pet name and all — makes Rio want to melt. Puts her whole body at risk of becoming a puddle like the rapidly growing one between her legs.

“Rip whatever you want,” Rio says. It’s obvious to anyone she’s not only — or even primarily — talking about her garments. She’d gladly let her tear her to pieces.

Agatha grins, yanking at her shirt with her free hand until it tears down the front. She gives each of her breasts a firm squeeze before her fingers dip low enough for two to slide in — slowly at first, teasing.

Rio shivers at her skin suddenly being exposed to the air — still a bit chilly even inside the tent. Shivers at Agatha finally entering her fully.

“Cold?” Agatha asks in faux sympathy. “That’s too bad.” She begins to work roughly on her cunt while the other hand explores Rio’s chest. Once she’s built up a nice rhythm, she leans forward and starts to suck on her throat.

Rio’s not sure which of the three sensations is her favorite — it’s like her own unholy fucking trinity. Each action would be enough on its own, but together? Together they’re almost too much. She sure as hell isn't feeling understimulated now. 

“Fuck. Fuck. I ca—" Between her panting and the gag, she struggles to even speak. Struggles to even keep kneeling upright like this. She clutches onto Agatha's leg for balance, but even then, her own shaky legs give out eventually, and she’s forced to sink to the ground. She sits back on her heels, peering up at Agatha.

Agatha stops pumping her fingers, though she keeps them buried inside her — claiming her territory like a planted flag. She removes the hand from her breasts in order to harshly grab hold of her chin, jerking it back uncomfortably. “What did I say about moving?”

“I couldn’t help it,” Rio replies, expression innocently repentant but with a spark of challenging defiance glimmering in her eyes.

Agatha ridicules her with an exaggerated pout. “Now who’s pathetic?”

Rio’s wide eyes narrow into a glare. “You if you’re just going to sit there — not finish the job. Waste that power when you could conjure anything you want. Whips and chains, straps and handcuffs…” She reaches behind her, walking her fingers up Agatha's arm. “Don’t tell me your little detective persona never wanted to use those on me.”

“Let’s go back to the chain — I quite like that idea,” Agatha quips, conjuring a green one that pins Rio’s arms to her side. “Bound and gagged,” she says, taking a moment to appreciate her handiwork. “How convenient.” 

Agatha wastes no time getting back to work, hauling Rio back up to that awful fucking kneeling position and plunging a third finger into her.

She gasps in a sharp inhale — mostly through her nose considering her mouth was rather incapacitated at the moment — instinctively struggling against the chain despite the fact she didn’t want to get away from this. Wouldn’t rather be anywhere else right now.

Agatha’s mouth curves into a wicked smile, her fingers working faster. Rio is a mess around her, and she wouldn’t have it any other way. She uses a few remaining tendrils of magic to mimic a low but relentless electric current to bounce around Rio’s chest.

Rio doesn't plead, but she feels a “please” slip through her brain toward Agatha. Feels her lips attempt to say it, too.  

Rio most certainly doesn't fucking cry, but she feels her eyes start to burn with the first signs of tears. The feelings were overwhelming — physically, of course, but emotionally, too. Emotions. Fuck. Rio's not even supposed to have those.

Agatha is a stupid, spiteful bitch. Agatha is the smartest, strongest witch she’s ever met. Rio missed her so much and she wants to fucking kill her, can't wait to fucking kill her, but she knows that, once she does, her world will not be the same. Nobody will ever know her like Agatha does. Understand her like Agatha does. Love her — in this deeply fucked-up way she craved, she needed — like Agatha does.

“Close,” Rio says, it even coming out a desperate whimper in her mind as she continues to strain against the chain. “I’m so close.”

Perhaps Agatha’s gotten soft. Usually, she’d edge her until the sun came up on this sunless road, but it seems she doesn’t have the heart right now. She doesn’t berate her — doesn’t threaten her — instead continuing the blissful motion with her fingers, biting down harder on her neck as she kisses it.

Rio takes that response as permission to let go, allowing the wave of her orgasm to crash over her — though it’s not like she really has a choice in the matter. She couldn't stop it if she tried. The others were probably appreciating the gag too, albeit for another reason, seeing as they forgot to charm the tent with any kind of silencing spell.

Agatha works Rio through her orgasm before she pulls her hand away. She dissolves the magic with one hand, gag and chain disappearing, and licks the fingers on the other clean — savoring the way Rio tastes.

Rio whines at the sudden emptiness in her cunt — Agatha’s fingers belonged there — before flexing her sore jaw. Her muscles are stiff from being restrained, but somehow, her whole body feels loose and wrung out, causing her to slump back against Agatha.

Agatha instinctively wraps her arms tightly — lovingly — around Rio. In a matter of seconds, she’s fighting tears. “I’m sorry,” she whispers after a long moment.

Rio looks up at her, expression full of confusion and judgment alike. She’d gone a lot harder on her for a lot longer before and never apologized then. Nor did Rio want her to — it wasn’t sexy. “I asked you to,” she tells her, voice firm yet slightly hoarse from the gag, from the screaming.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Rio scoffs. “What is this, Agatha? Are you fucking fishing for compliments to satisfy your praise kink? You want me to tell you that you did a good job — that I enjoyed myself?”

“No.” Agatha sighs. A beat. “Well, I do always enjoy compliments,” she admits. “But no, not in this instance. I’m sorry like…like it’s a genuine apology for all those years ago.”

Rio drops her gaze from Agatha to look straight ahead. This was too much in an entirely different way than getting her brains fucked out. She can’t fucking process it, let alone respond to it. So she doesn’t. “You did a good job,” she says instead, voice uncharacteristically quiet. “I enjoyed myself.”

“I’m glad,” Agatha whispers, kissing her shoulder. She lets silence fall for a moment more before she clears her throat. “I did mean that, though. I ran away because I was scared. Said awful things to you—”

Rio huffs, pushing herself out of her grasp and turning to face her with a glare. “Learn to take a fucking hint, would you?”

Agatha blinks, looking like a puppy someone just kicked at the pound — wounded and lost as to what it did wrong. She gives Rio a slow, subdued nod. 

And fuck, Rio wants to see her dead, but that doesn’t mean she wants to see her hurt — not in this way. It’s no fun this way. She softens slightly. 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Rio clarifies, reaching out to brush away a tear that’s managed to leak out from Agatha’s eye. “There’s no point talking about it. It’s too little too late.”

Agatha stares at her for a moment, her heart aching in a way that’s somehow almost visible. “I hope not,” she finally whispers. She stares at the other woman a second longer before she can’t bear it — before she has to glance down. “I’m going to get some air,” she announces, casting a silencing spell with the remainder of the magic Rio gave her — the magic she only had access to with her in the safety of their little shelter. Their little bubble that Rio had popped with those words.

Agatha climbs out of the tent. Everyone seems to have gone to bed. Perfect.

She lets herself sob then, facing away, facing the road. For a woman who’s mastered her bravado the way Agatha has, the pain underneath it all isn’t any less real.

At one point in time — many, many years ago — Rio would have followed her. She would’ve followed her anywhere. To the ends of the earth.  

But those days, Rio reminds herself — has to remind herself — are over.  

Instead, she rolls onto her side and falls asleep fast. Agatha had worn her out good. The only kind of good Agatha is capable of. Right? Because Rio had meant what she said. About it being too little. About it being too late. About fully intending to kill her at the end of all this. Didn’t she?

The silencing spell works both ways — meaning she can’t hear Agatha cry; meaning Agatha can’t hear her toss and turn — but it’s only powerful enough to cover one tent. Meaning Rio can’t hear Teen screaming at the top of his lungs. 

But Agatha sure as hell can.

Chapter Text

Lilia’s already up by the time Agatha bolts into the middle tent she’s sharing with Teen. She gives her an odd look as she barges in, her tear-stained cheeks making Lilia feel the slightest bit of tenderness toward her, but she doesn't have time to interrogate her empathy toward Agatha. Doesn’t have time to interrogate Agatha, either, about why she’d clearly been crying. Teen’s currently screaming bloody murder, and that took top priority for a myriad of reasons.

“I can handle it,” Lilia assures her. 

Agatha opens her mouth to argue, but the older woman cuts her off before she can, something sterner flickering across her face. “Go,” she firmly orders. “Unlike you, I don’t have a history of eating children.”

Agatha grimaces before she can stop herself. She fucking hates that she does — wants to kick herself for not managing to don her poker face — but she can’t deny the fact she’s feeling particularly sensitive. Rio’s comment has thrown her off her game.

As soon as Agatha exits, Lilia crouches down next to Teen, beginning to shake his shoulder. At that, his screams turn to gasps as his eyes snap open, frantically darting every which way to try and make sense of his surroundings — somehow just as confusing and disorienting as that of his dreams. Wanda, his mom but also not, tucking him into bed. Waking up from a car crash and seeing a face, his but also not, staring back at him. Leaving the hospital and going to a house, his home but also not, and living a life. A life that was now his. A life that never would be.

“Teen!” Lilia snaps in an attempt to jerk him out of it.

It does the trick. He jumps at her voice before his body stills. But though his eyes stop moving around, landing on her, they're still wide and filled with panic.

“You’re here,” Lilia soothes, voice uncharacteristically gentle. “I need you to focus on my voice and try to breathe, okay?” He nods, body shaking as he attempts to suck in gulps of air. “There,” she encourages. “One step at a time. You’re safe.”

He wraps his arms around himself, fingers clutching hard to his elbows — so hard they turn white — as he continues to nod. He instinctively rocks himself back and forth, back and forth. This happened sometimes. Less frequently than it used to, but they never went away entirely. Especially when he found himself in new environments, in stressful situations. It was traumatizing and disorienting and, when other people witnessed it — when these people witnessed it — humiliating.

Lilia sighs before moving to wrap an arm around the boy, pulling him into her side. “It’ll be okay,” she comforts. “It’ll be okay.”

“I’m sorry,” he finally manages to say — his voice coming out weak, just as he feared. “I— this is so embarrassing.”

“It’s not,” she assures him. “There are plenty of things that are, but this isn’t.”

“Really?” He gives her a skeptical look. “Because waking up the Agatha Harkness because I had a bad dream is…well…one of my worst nightmares, ironically enough.” He hangs his head, looking down at his lap.

“She’s fine — I promise. People are allowed to have nightmares and wake up upset from them.”

He purses his lips. “Is that what the visions feel like?” he asks, voice quiet as he glances up at her again. “Bad dreams you know are going to come true?”

Lilia stiffens a little, but after a moment, she nods. “Yes. They’re not...all horrible, though.”

Teen bites the inside of his cheek. “Do you…do you think maybe you could tell me a happy one, then?”

Lilia considers before giving him a slow, small nod. “Can I ask what type of happy vision? From when?”

“Oh, I’m not picky.” There’s a beat as he contemplates. “From when you were my age, maybe. If you can remember back that far. When you were living in...Sicily, right?"

Lilia narrows her eyes, more in curiosity than irritation. “Did you have a reason for knowing that?”

He shrugs, bashful. “I…might have researched you, too. There wasn’t much — Alice had more search results because of her famous mom, and Jen’s digital footprint is huge; she fights with people on Yelp a lot — but I managed to gather the basics.”

“Ah.” Lilia nods again. “What was there on me?”

“Mainly a lot of stuff I already knew from hearing you and Agatha talk — that you’re even older than her and that you moved around a lot since people would chase you out of town after you had your…well, some sources said premonitions, and others called them prophecies.”

Lilia stares at the wall of the tent. “Yes, that’s all true,” she confirms, an undeniable undercurrent of pain to the admission. “I don’t remember much from when I was your age, but I do remember how beautiful the world was then. I can tell you about that.”

Teen nods, shifting a bit so he’s lying down again — settling in. “I’d like that.”

“The world was gorgeous,” Lilia muses, the corner of her mouth curving into a ghost of a smile. “So much nature — not as many humans intent on messing it up. I used to love to walk through the forests after my lessons in the afternoon before coming home and practicing my instruments.”

“What kind of nature? What kind of instruments? I play guitar. So does Alice.”

“Now not so many,” Lilia confesses. “But back then, the lyre. I loved to spend time with the deer and the birds, the cats…”

“A lyre…” He squints, trying to place. “That’s like a harp?”

“Sort of. I could also play the lute.” Lilia reaches down, running a hand through his curls. “I can tell you more tomorrow, but now, try to sleep.” A beat. "I’ll sing to you if you’d like.”

“That would be nice,” he whispers, letting his eyes flutter shut.

Lilia sings softly — an old Sicilian lullaby that’s somehow still imprinted in her brain after all these years — until she sees Teen’s breaths even out. As much as she hated to admit it, the kid has wormed his way in. They all have.

Jen’s relieved to discover that Teen’s screams weren’t because he was getting sucked into some quicksand mud or being mauled by the rabbit/squirrel/whatever the fuck he was stupidly chasing after earlier.  

She’s even more relieved to discover that Teen’s screams weren’t because he was alerting them to the fact that they were all in danger of being pulled into the ground or a pack of rabbits/squirrels/whatever the fucks were heading their direction. But she’s not too thrilled to have her beauty sleep interrupted. And she’s even less thrilled that she can’t seem to return to it even after confirming everything’s fine. (Or as fine as they can be on this damn road.) So she decides to take a little walk. Exercise should help tire her out, clear her head.  

She doesn’t expect to see anyone. Lilia’s presumably helping Teen get a grip, and Alice somehow miraculously sleeps through the yelling. She assumes Agatha and Rio are probably back to doing their own exercise inside their tent, so she’s surprised when she runs into the former. 

“Oh. It’s you.” Jen blinks. Is Agatha…is Agatha crying? Surely, she’s not crying. “Looking like shit.”

“Fuck you,” Agatha replies, but it lacks her usual bite. She tries to conjure up a follow-up comment, but her brain doesn’t seem to be working. Instead, one hand clenches into a fist — in an attempt to ground herself, it looks like.

Holy shit — she is fucking crying. Jen wasn’t great with criers. Or with Agatha, obviously, considering how their relationship had crashed and burned. But still, she should probably try. She was part of her coven now, after all. That wasn’t nothing.

“Hey,” Jen says, her voice softening, tilting her head as she looks at her. “You good?”

Agatha glowers at her, biting the inside of her cheek so hard it’s metallic. Agatha doesn’t want to be weak. She doesn’t want to be humiliated. She doesn’t want to talk to Jen. 

She wants to tell her to go away — tries to, too — but Agatha is…tired. She’s so, so tired. After a long moment, all she can do is shake her head in a nearly imperceptible ‘no.’

“Is it Teen?” Jen asks. She can’t imagine what else would have Agatha this fucking distraught. She stands by the fact her fondness for him was weird as hell, but if Jen’s being honest, he was starting to endear himself to her, too.

Agatha stares for another beat before giving her head another small shake. “Rio,” she manages after a second.

Jen raises a brow. “Trouble in paradise?”

“She’s complicated,” Agatha vaguely explains. “The whole story is. She wants me dead, and I just—” She stops, shaking her head. “Nothing.”

“Like for real dead?” she asks, head dipping back slightly. She often wanted Agatha dead, too, but it’s not like she’d ever actually act on it — at least not unprovoked. She’d settled for making, like she’d said, a really pointed effort never to run into her again. “That sounds…intense.”

“Yeah. And I—” Agatha purses her lips, grumbling out a few curse words before sighing. “I love her,” she admits. “Still. And I’ve tried to run away from that for years. I love her so much, and it hurts, and I don’t…know what to do.”

“Wow.” Jen blinks again, harder this time. “Okay. I…sort of thought we were dealing with a casual fuck buddy situation here, but that’s…thaaat’s a lot.”

“Yeah.” Agatha breathes out a laugh at the absurdity. “It is.”

Jen picks at her perfect manicure, the two engulfed in an awkward silence. “Well, I’m sure you don’t want my advice…”

Agatha shakes her head. “I don’t even know anymore.” Her own nails are digging into her palms so roughly Jen can see blood starting to pool.

Jen says nothing about that part. Not her business, and also, Agatha may very well bite her head off if she brings attention to it. “Okaaay, well, if you are open to hearing my advice…maybe take it one step at a time? Focus on getting her not homicidal before trying to win her back?"

Agatha’s not sure what to say — not sure how to take it. Not sure how to interpret this situation with Rio. With Jen. With Teen. With any of it. After a second, she nods and takes a deep breath, her body flooding with more oxygen than it has since it felt like the tent’s walls were closing in. “I suppose that’s reasonable,” she weakly replies.

“Yeah, well…I pride myself on being a pretty reasonable person.”

Agatha clears her throat, trying to regain any semblance of composure. She manages to square her shoulders, but she’s still not herself, and she hates it. “Thank you, Jen,” she says diplomatically. “I won’t bother you any longer.” She glances toward the tent, a pit of anxiety settling in her stomach as she stares at it.

“This is quite literally the least you’ve ever bothered me,” Jen deadpans.

Agatha nods, distracted. If she weren’t, she’d be much snarkier about Jen’s comment, but at the moment, she can only think about Rio.  

Rio hears Agatha come back in — hears Agatha lie down beside her — but she takes care to keep her breathing slow and even, keep her eyes shut, so she can pretend she’s asleep. 

Until, after a few moments, she can hear Agatha turn to face her. Hear her whisper, “Rio?”

“Hm?” she mumbles in response.

“Can we talk? Please?”

Rio sighs. “I’m sleeping, Agatha,” she says, though her voice is unusually soft.

“I know you were awake when I laid down,” she counters, her voice just as quiet. “Please.”

Rio considers, taking a deep inhale and letting out a slow exhale before reluctantly obliging, opening her eyes and rolling to face her. “What?”

Agatha stares at her for a long moment before she can gather the courage to speak. “I meant it. I hope it’s not too late. I still—” She stops. She can’t say it. It’s too much. “I don’t want it to be.”

Rio reaches out, gently brushing her hair from her face. “I promised to help you on the road — and the road is long.”

“I know, but I want to try again. After the road.” Agatha can’t meet her eyes. Being this vulnerable is hard. It’s been a long, long time since she let herself.

Rio tenderly cups her cheek, beckoning her to look at her. Agatha leans into her touch, obliging for a brief moment. “You know that isn’t how this works, baby. You can’t outrun fate forever. Your number has been up for a long time — ours, together, has been up even longer.”

“Then we can rewrite fate. Please, Rio. You’re—” She swallows. “You’re my person.”

Rio sucks in a breath at that — a small one, unnoticeable to most, but likely not to a woman who knew her so intimately, who knew her best, especially when they were face-to-face. 

“The whole point of fate is that there is no rewriting it — not without consequences the world can’t afford.” Rio puts her chin atop Agatha’s head, tucking it under. “That’s your Achilles’ heel, baby — you’re never satisfied, always grabbing for more. Can’t you just enjoy now? Can’t ‘now’ be enough for once?”

Agatha curls in closer out of instinct, breathing in Rio’s smell. Her scent — earthy with a touch of floral — is so familiar. Is everything she’s missed. “This 'now' is perfect, which is why I want more of them.” Agatha Harkness doesn’t beg, but she feels a plea slip from her mouth along with her shaking breaths. Feels more tears slip from her eyes. “Please, Rio. Please, my love.”

“Relax,” Rio firmly soothes, a hand combing through her unruly hair. “Don’t think about the past right now. Or the future. Just be here with me. In this moment.”

“I’m here. I don’t want it to end.” She shuffles closer still, closing any remaining distance between them so she’s pressed up against her entirely. “I just want you. I need you.” She’s said that before — in the backyard of Agnes’ Westview house — but it means something entirely different now.

“You have me,” Rio assures her. And she does. Agatha has Rio right now — will have Rio until the moment the time comes for her to meet her end. And even then, Rio will have Agatha — a permanent scar. “You have me.”

“I don’t want to die, Rio. I want another chance with you.” Tears begin to well yet again, and she hates herself for it. Hates that feeling of wanting, of needing, another. It’s so fucking weak.

“Right now, you need to rest,” Rio declares. She hates seeing her cry — cry like this, at least — just as much. It makes her too tempted to change her mind about…about everything. “You’re tired, and it’ll do nobody any good for you to be exhausted on the road.”

“I am tired, but I’m not out of sorts,” Agatha pushes. Because she always pushes. Buttons and limits and boundaries. “I want you. I want to live. I want to see your stupid smirk every day and hear your laugh.”

“Agatha,” she whispers, tilting her chin to kiss her temple. “You need to stop this. I need you to stop this.”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t…promise you all the things you want me to promise.”

“You can promise to try, Rio. That’s all I want.”

“I did try, baby. For a long time, remember? You weren’t interested in trying back, and that…” Hurt me, she thinks. Broke me. Left scars that will never heal. But she doesn’t say any of that. “That means this doesn’t get to be on your terms,” she sternly states. “It can’t always be on your terms.”

“I know. And I know I hurt you. I know I fucked up. I wish I’d been able to work through it, but I—” She stops. She can’t quite recall feeling pain and confusion the way she had then. Can’t even seem to vocalize it now. “I just want to try again. I’m not asking for anything other than that — and maybe my life.”

There’s a long beat of silence. “You realize that’s a lot to ask, right?” Rio asks quietly. “On both counts.”

“I know, but I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t serious. You being back…there are a lot of feelings I can’t explain, but the only thing I know for sure is that I’m finally not…hollow anymore.”

Agatha was great at acting. At performances. At playing a part to get what she wanted. 

But Rio was great at seeing through them. And this? It wasn’t an act. For once, it was all real — raw and bare and honest. It was everything she had, and still, Rio isn’t sure it’s enough. Not after everything.  

“I’m giving you the road,” she reminds her. “And I gave you time. You need to give me some now in return.” With one more card of her hand through her hair, she turns onto her side again — the one facing away.

Agatha sucks in a breath. She wishes she could feel encouraged by this, but at this moment, all she’s left with is loathing. Is dread. Is regret — about what she did then or now or both, she can’t parse out. 

“That’s fine,” Agatha finally whispers, though it’s anything but. “But please, can you hold me?” It’s been a long time since she’s asked, but she has no more dignity to lose at this point. And she needs it — she needs it from Rio.

Rio cranes her head back to look at her. She should say no. That’d be the smart thing — for both of them. So Rio’s walls didn’t drop any lower, so Agatha’s hopes didn’t lift any higher. But she can’t find it in herself to deny Agatha. Or to deny herself, for that matter. 

Rio rolls back onto her other side and wraps her arm around her, fingers lazily tracing down her spine. “Goodnight, Agatha,” she says, voice soft but with an undeniable air of finality.

Agatha doesn’t say anything more. She only sinks into the touch and holds the hand that’s draped across her body. This is home — the only one she’s ever had — and she’s missed it. 

With that small sense of comfort, she falls asleep more deeply than she has in centuries.

Chapter Text

Jen gets up first. She’s used to waking up early to do sunrise yoga and grab a green juice before work. She really wishes she had said green juice now. Or anything she knew without a doubt would not poison her if she consumed it. Or sunrise, for that matter. It did seem to be eternal night “as a vibe,” as Teen had said.

It’s not long before Lilia joins her. “I’m too old for this,” she grumbles, her curly hair wild. Jen’s very glad, at this moment, to be rocking the shaved look.

“Same,” Jen agrees, reaching back to massage her stiff spine. “And too pretty for it.”

“You aren’t old,” Lilia dryly retorts. “Stop complaining.”

Jennifer gives her a look. “I’m well into my 200s, Lilia.”

“And? I’m in my late 400s. You still have a young body.”

“Okay, but I’m not some newborn witch like Alice or Teen,” she spits, affronted.

“Oh, would you calm down?”

“Wow, an old white bitch starting shit and then telling me to calm down about it.” Jen rolls her eyes. Story of her fucking life, from her midwife days to her wellness brand ones to the road. It was a tale as old as time — the same fuckery in a different package. “How original.”

Lilia rubs her temples. “All right, be old if you want. Point is, you’re young, comparatively speaking.”

“Noted, Karen Calderu.” Jen rolls her eyes. “How’s Teen? He didn’t, like, wet the bed in the middle of the night or anything, did he? If I have to smell piss all day, I swear…that’s why I moved out of the city.”

Lilia scowls, protectiveness toward the boy flaring up. “He’s fine. He had a nightmare, and that’s perfectly normal.”

Jen drops her gaze at that. It certainly was — was to her, at least. She still woke up screaming, dripping in sweat from images of the doctor. From the feeling of powerlessness. Of emptiness. Of—

“Did you see Agatha after that?” Lilia’s voice asks, pulling Jen from her daze. 

She snaps her gaze up to meet Lilia’s, narrowing her eyes. “Maybe.” She’s not exactly sure why she’s not excited to spill all of the delicious, humiliating tea on Agatha, but something about her had seemed so genuinely…sad that it didn’t feel right to. Jen didn’t like to kick a dog when she was down, even if that dog happened to be a feral pit bull with rabies. “Why? What’s it to you?”

“I was just wondering. She stuck her head in the tent and was clearly upset. As much as I dislike her antics, I don’t want to see her suffer.”

“Oh, I definitely do,” Jen says. A beat. “But…not to that extent. It was…pretty bad,” she admits. “Apparently, Rio wants to bang her and…” She makes a gun shape with her fingers. “Bang her. It sounds…reaaaally complicated.” She sighs. “As if we needed more complications here.”

“Jesus.” Lilia runs a hand down her face. “I enjoy women as much as the next person, but the lesbian drama can be a bit much sometimes.” She tilts her head, a small frown on her face. “Did she say why?” 

“Not really.” Jen shrugs. “She could barely speak. I just assumed it was for one of the multitude of reasons everyone else wants to see her six feet under.”

“Don’t mistake this for me saying I like her — because I don’t — but I think you may believe some of your reasons are universal when they aren’t. I’m well aware of your history with her. Most people want her underground because she’s snarky and reckless but not enough to actually seek it out. I’m intrigued by this.”

Jen wrinkles her brows. “Uhh, many people have sought it out — they just haven’t lived to tell the tale. She’s a witch killer, Lilia.”

“Her mother was a cruel woman,” Lilia says, defensive for reasons more mysterious to her than those toward Teen. The kid at least had a few redeeming qualities. “Her coven wasn’t much better.” 

“She’s a serial witch killer,” she clarifies. “She wiped out half of Salem back in the day beyond just mommy dearest and co. — not to mention the child sacrifice of it all.”

“The child sacrifice was never confirmed. Between you and me, I have my doubts it went down exactly as rumored.”

Jen narrows her eyes once again. “She’s your Teen, isn’t she?” she asks after a moment. “For some bizarre reason, you care about her like she cares about that weird kid.”

Lilia stiffens, clearly attempting to think of some plausible way to deny it. Evidently, she comes up empty. “I passed through her village — only for a brief time, but it was enough to see how poorly Evanora treated her. It’s not difficult to understand why she has trust issues.”

“Well, she’s going to have to trust you here to an extent,” Jen says, voice patently less sympathetic. “She’s going to have to trust all of us.” She sighs. “And we have no choice but to trust her — god help us.”

Lilia rolls her eyes. “What even happened between you two?”

Jen looks down at the ground again, kicking the dirt with her bare foot. God she missed her Louboutins. “She’s a terrible person and an even more terrible girlfriend, though I use that term loosely — very loosely.”

“Well, I gathered that from your interactions, but what actually transpired?”

“It’s far too early — in the morning and my relationship with you — to rehash all of that.”

“We’re on the road. We need to trust each other,” Lilia parrots her words from earlier.

Jen gives her a forced, humorless smile. “You can trust me without being all up in my business.”

“It’s our business. How do I know I can trust you to not murder Agatha yourself?”

“You can’t,” Jen deadpans. There’s a beat before she rolls her eyes. “I’ve had several decades to do that. If I was dead set, no pun intended, on seeing her in a body bag, I would’ve put her in one already. Now, I’m going to forage for some hopefully non-poisonous breakfast,” she announces before turning to walk down the path.

A moment later, Teen wanders out of the tent, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Lilia turns at the sound of footsteps. “You’re up. Did you sleep well?”

“I slept okay, thanks to you.” He gives her a small smile as he wraps his arms around himself, still a little embarrassed at the whole ordeal. “Thanks again.”

“It’s nothing.” Lilia waves him off. “Don’t worry about it. Happens to all of us.”

“Still,” he insists. Because it was nice of her — really nice of her. “What about you? Did you manage to rest?”

“I did, but my old joints aren’t happy,” she groans, rolling her neck.

“I’m sorry.” He frowns. “Maybe Jen can make you a potion or something.”

Lilia lets out a dry laugh. “I wouldn't hold my breath.”

Agatha sleeps well. It’s where she’s supposed to be, after all: in Rio’s arms. God, she’s missed her — even if she hates to admit it.

On the surface, Rio loves having Agatha in her arms just as much as Agatha loves being in them. Under the surface, however…things started to get more complicated. 

Rio can’t afford to have gray in her life. Things are either black (the color of her heart, the one that beats for Agatha; the color of Agatha’s pupils, dilated when she's fucking her) or white (the color of Agatha’s knuckles as she grips the sheets; the color of Nick’s soul, so innocent and…no. No. She’s not going there. She can’t go there.) 

Agatha had introduced more colors into Rio’s life — her purple magic; her blue, blue eyes — but she had made her see red, too. Rio needs to see a different shade of it. Needs to see it on Agatha. Needs to get under her surface. That’s what she deserves for introducing this fucking uncertainty back into Rio’s life with that speech last night.

“I know you’re the one who insists on dressing like a schoolteacher,” she whispers in her ear to wake her up. “But I have a pop quiz for you.”

“Mm?” Agatha mumbles, eyes still closed. “What do you mean?”

“I have a pop quiz for you,” she repeats, finger tracing up her arm, touch feather-light. “Are you ready for the first question?”

Agatha grumbles, reluctantly rolling over to face her and cracking her eyes halfway open. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Rio doesn’t answer, launching into the test. “Question 1: How long does that silencing spell you cast last?” she asks, voice still soft — touch still softer.

Agatha shrugs. “Probably six hours?”

“Question 2: How much time is left on the silencing spell?”

Agatha sighs. “I don’t know — I can’t tell time down here.” A beat. “Why? You wanna fuck me?” she half-jokes.

“You’re jumping the gun, sweetheart. Question 3 was whether you think I have time to properly fuck you without the others overhearing. You know Jen would want to join, and I won’t have that. You know why?”

Agatha raises a sleepy brow as a small smirk creeps onto her face. “Why’s that?” 

“Because you’re mine. Only mine,” Rio says, voice still low but somehow dangerously so now. In one quick, practiced motion, she has Agatha pinned to the ground, flat on her back as she hovers over her. Her touch is still soft, too, but instead of her arm, Rio’s touching her neck. And instead of her finger, it’s the tip of her knife making contact with the skin. “You got that, baby?”

Agatha lets out a whimper. The sudden movement is enough to jar her awake — and make her increasingly aware of the rapidly growing wetness between her legs. The knife only makes it more intense. “Yeah, but what would you do if Jen came in here and tried to take me? How are you gonna make her know I’m yours?”

“Well, that depends. Can I trust you to let her know yourself?” She puts the smallest amount of pressure on the knife, but it’s enough to feel the difference. “Or do you need a reminder, too?”

The ghost of a grin flickers across Agatha’s face. Fuck, this was hot. “I think a reminder would be great.”

“Do you?” Rio asks, shaking her head and breathing out a deep laugh. “Okay. Well, just remember — you asked for this,” she warns, beginning to deftly, slowly cut away at her shirt with one hand, the other inching down to her pussy. “All of this just for me?” she asks. “Or were you dreaming of someone else, hm? Is that it? Thinking of some other slut while you’re asleep in my arms?”

Agatha moans a little at just how gentle Rio’s hands are in tandem with the sharp knife she can feel grazing her skin as it’s cutting away her shirt. “Who else would I be thinking about?” she breathes.

“You tell me.” Once she’s halfway down her shirt, she opens it carefully, Agatha’s shoulders and chest exposed. Rio draws absentminded patterns with her finger over her canvas.

Agatha arches up into her touch. “No one,” she finally answers.

Rio puts her palm between her breasts. “Say it, then,” she orders, firmly pressing her back down. “‘I’m yours.’”

Agatha lets out a whine of protest but doesn’t fight being pinned. She’s silent for a few seconds before she submits. “I’m yours. Only yours.”

“‘I belong to you,’” she prompts again, holding her still as her fingers expertly dance around her clit. “’Do whatever you want with me.’”

Agatha squirms under her touch. “Fuck,” she hisses. “I belong to you. Do whatever you want with me.”

“I intend to,” she coolly replies, releasing her chest in order to hold the knife to her left collarbone. “Now, as for that reminder…” Rio slides the blade down slowly, so gently — so teasingly — she’s not even drawing blood yet. “I figured my name would do. My name as it appeared on your list before you devoured it. Stuffed it inside you like a naughty little whore,” she says, emphasizing the last statement by shoving two fingers into her cunt. She’s so slick that they meet no resistance, but still, it’s sudden and harsh enough to make Agatha jump — make the knife finally puncture the skin by default. “A scar of my heart. Fitting, don’t you think — all things considered?”

Agatha’s head starts to spin, though she manages a nod. “Please.” Only this could make Agatha bypass the bratting — the blinding, pleasant sting of the knife.

“So polite,” Rio purrs, adding her thumb directly onto her clit as a reward. “Now are you going to keep being a good girl for me and behave?” she asks, testing her by beginning to slowly move the knife — carve a curve into the top of her breast. “Or do I need to tie you down?”

“Maybe you should,” Agatha breathes. “Just in case.”

She temporarily halts the motion of the knife but refuses to remove it, instead leaning her head down and holding it in place with her mouth — teeth around the handle — as she waves her now free hand to cast a spell.  Green tendrils of magic wrap around Agatha’s wrists and ankles, spreading them wide before locking them to the ground.

Agatha groans at that, not bothering to fight the way the magic feels against her skin. “More,” she half-commands.

Rio arches a brow, taking the knife into her hand again and plunging it deeper as she starts on the other curve. “I don’t really think you’re in the position to be making demands, do you, sweetheart? Not when you’re so open and pliable for me. At my mercy.”

“No. Fuck.” Agatha nods, bucking her hips against Rio’s hand as much as she can, though her mobility is limited at the moment. “I’m yours. Please.”

“Not yet,” she says with a stern shake of her head. “Don’t you dare come yet. Not until I'm finished.” She drags the knife down to make the bottom point with an almost cruel lack of urgency, pushing her thumb more firmly into her g-spot to make it even more difficult, more intense.

“Rio!” she moans underneath her.

More pressure on the knife. More pressure on her clit. Agatha had pushed her narrow emotional limits last night; Rio was going to return the favor physically. She leans in, faces inches away from hers. “I said not. Yet,” she growls. “You want to be in control with me when you can’t even control yourself. It’s pathetic.”

“I’m sorry,” Agatha yelps. She can’t get enough of this — the sting of her knife, the sting of her words, the sting of the magic rope — her whole body on fire. Rio had the magic touch. “Please.”

Rio holds her there a moment longer — on the very edge. Because Agatha was right — she does love it: the anticipation. Feeling her shudder and shake and struggle under her. Struggle not to allow herself the release she desperately craves. Not to give herself over to Rio’s power completely. 

“Since you asked so nicely…” she finally says, connecting the two halves of the heart with one final slash of the blade. “Come for me.”

Agatha screams as she falls over the edge, fists gripping tightly together, forming crescent moons on her palms.

Rio removes the knife from her flesh, giving it a lick, before removing her fingers and doing the same. She looks down at Agatha as she writhes, mouth curving into a wicked grin.

Agatha groans in protest at the sudden emptiness, taking a few moments to steady herself. “Fuck, Rio.”

“Hm?” she murmurs in faux obliviousness, raising her brow again. “Oh, did you actually think we were done here?” She laughs. “That’s cute.”

Agatha raises a brow, still panting. “What the hell do you mean?”

“I mean we’re not fucking done here,” she repeats, moving down so her head is between her legs. “Far from it, sweetheart. We’re going until the last second of that silencing spell ticks down.” She puts the knife to her thigh, lightly nudging her leg open even wider. “You’re going to take everything I give you without complaint.”

Agatha obliges as much as she can with the magical ropes. “How much are you giving?”

“As much as I know you can handle. Might be different from how much you think you can handle,” she warns, wasting no time bringing her mouth to her pussy — puffed and raw and extra sensitive.

She bucks her hips instinctively. “Fuck!"

“Was that a complaint?” Rio asks in Agatha’s head considering her mouth is rather busy at the moment. The fact Agatha couldn’t respond in kind anymore was the cherry on top. “Sounded dangerously close to a complaint.”

“No — god, no,” she snaps.

“So it feels good then?" Rio coyly asks. "Show me how good,” she orders.

Agatha scoffs. “How?” 

Rio looks up at her challengingly, the movement of her tongue not ceasing. “Figure it the fuck out.”

“What, do you want me to call you a fucking goddess?” she quips, though Rio blinks in consideration. 

“Give it a shot while you come for me again. And again. And again.”

“How many times do you want me to come? We do eventually have to walk this damn road,” she points out as Rio continues to work.

“Until you can’t anymore,” she says simply, tongue hitting a spot she knows Agatha loves.

“Rio!” she hisses before she can try to come up with a response.

Rio glances up at her, expression dark and hungry. “I thought you were going to call me something else.”

“Do you want a fucking apology?”

“Well, are you fucking sorry?”

“Should I be?”

Rio wordlessly presses her blade to her inner thigh, slowly beginning to drag it up, up, up toward her center. She makes eye contact again, silently initiating a game of chicken. “Are you sorry now?”

Agatha can’t help but squirm against the knife. “Now who’s trying to bleed me dry?”

“You didn’t answer my question.” She digs the blade a little deeper, trails it up a little higher.

It gets dangerously close to her clit before she breaks. “I’m sorry!” she cracks. “I’ll be good!”

Rio falters a little at that — those exact words. Agatha wasn’t a victim. Far from it. Agatha had done a million deliciously depraved things over the years without batting an eye. 

But Rio’s heart still beats for her. Breaks for her. Holds something close to sympathy for her. Or for the 18-year-old version of her, maybe, nearly murdered by her coven. By her mother. 

“Yes, you will,” Rio coos, removing the knife and tossing it to the side. “Show me how good,” she encourages.

“Yes, Goddess.”

Rio grins, rewarding her with all the ingredients for another orgasm. “Say it again.”

It’s a matter of seconds before she comes undone, body trembling. “Y-yes, Goddess.”

“Again,” she orders, giving her no time to recover before she coaxes yet another. Pushing her to her limits. Agatha screams, her palms bloody from how hard her fists are clenched.

They’re interrupted by another scream — Jen’s, from outside the tent. “Are you two fucking kidding me right now? Shut the fuck up!”

Rio smirks. “Guess the silencing spell wore off.”

Agatha, through heaving breaths, glares up at her. “No shit.”

Chapter Text

Rio licks Agatha’s thigh — an intoxicating combination of blood, sweat, and cum — patching the skin there. She plans on leaving the heart on her chest exactly as it was: bloody and burning and beating for her.

Agatha trembles at the touch. “Care to undo the ropes?”

Rio dissipates them with the flick of her wrist, moving up to plant a kiss on her jaw. “You did so good for me, baby,” she whispers. “You’re so good.”

Agatha nods a little. Good. What a loaded fucking word that was. She takes a deep breath, tears obnoxiously welling up again.

“Shh,” Rio hushes her — as gentle as she’s ever been — reaching out to thumb them away. 

“Are you guys gonna join us at some point?!” Jen yells. “Or are you just gonna keep—”

Rio flicks her wrist again, putting up another silencing spell.

“Don’t,” Agatha quietly pleads. “Don’t go.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she murmurs.  

They would have to get back to the road eventually. Rio would have to get back to her mission — to help Agatha regain power so she could finally see her finished off — eventually.  

But ‘eventually’ is not right now. Is not this second. 

“We can stay here as long as you want,” Rio promises. Part of her hopes she’ll try to stay forever. That they’ll never have to leave this tent, this moment, this reality where it’s just the two of them.

Agatha sucks in a few steadying breaths. “You’re the only one who’s ever made me safe,” she mutters.

“Shh,” Rio soothes again, though it serves a purpose beyond just comfort. She can’t handle hearing the irony of that — the devastation of that. Of Rio, of all Rio is and stands for, being her only comfort.

“But it’s true,” she weakly insists. “No one else has ever made me feel like I’m worth anything. Like my existence is more than a mistake.”

She cups her cheek, looking her in the eyes. “Agatha,” she says, voice impossibly soft.

“What?” she presses, annoyance creeping in. “I’m groveling for you. I’m on my knees begging for another chance — trying to ask you for a lifeline.”

“And I’m trying to tell you that a lifeline isn’t something I can give you. That this, right now, is all I can give you.” Rio closes her eyes, taking a deep inhale. “Please stop making me break your heart,” she whispers.

“Why do you have to?”

Rio tenses at that, opening her eyes and pulling away in order to sit up. To fix her with a serious look. 

Agatha was smart. Agatha was capable. But Agatha was still mortal. She had limits and weaknesses and a long, long list of enemies who wanted her dead. She should have died — she should have died half a dozen times. She would have if Rio hadn’t given her special treatment. If Rio hadn’t shielded her. Kept her safe from those seeking revenge or just hungry for a witch to burn.

Rio vowed that those days were over once Agatha was gone — once she started hiding behind dark magic. And once Rio made up her mind about something, she didn’t change it. Couldn’t change it. 

Agatha needed to pay. Agatha needed to die. She had made Rio break the rules one too many times, and she had to get rid of that temptation. She had to restore the balance within herself for the good of the balance outside it. She had to end Agatha’s time. She’d already given her far too much — with Nick, with herself, with all of it. 

“It’s bigger than you out there, Agatha. It’s bigger than us. It’s not my choice,” she says, voice cracking uncharacteristically. Because it wasn’t. It was simply what was necessary. Rio Vidal didn’t always do what was necessary, but they wouldn’t have to worry about Rio Vidal much longer. Once she got the Salem Seven or whoever else was strong enough to do the deed of killing Agatha, Rio Vidal would die with her. Only Death would remain. And Death always did what it needed to do.

Rio clears her throat, regaining her composure before she speaks again. “It’s not my choice,” she evenly reiterates. “It’s never been my choice. You couldn’t accept that back then, and it seems you can’t accept it even now, so what are we doing here?”

“I want to make it our choice. I know it wasn’t then, but who says it isn’t now?” Agatha shifts to lay her head on Rio’s lap. “Why isn’t it yours?”

Her body stiffens when Agatha makes contact again, but she doesn’t push her away. It’s just like when Rio sat on her lap before the road — though every instinct in her is telling her to, there’s one tiny part of her that can’t do it. That trumps all. 

“It’s not fair of you to ask me that when you know it’s more complicated,” Rio says. “It’s not fair of you not to give me time — the only thing I’ve requested of you.” Especially after I gave you yours all those years ago. She hesitates before reaching her hand down to run through her hair again. “You’re playing dirty with me, baby.”

Agatha nods a little, more tears welling up in her eyes. She thinks she’s cried more in the past two days than she has in the past two centuries. How stupid. How weak. How fucking humiliating. 

“I got you,” Rio assures her, slowly running her hand up and down her arm. “I got you.” She can’t bear to look at her as she does so. Could never bear to see her in this kind of pain. So instead, she stares at the tent — the shadows of the figures just beyond it.  

“I know what people say about me,” Rio softly muses after who knows how long. “That I serve no one. Others say I serve everyone just the same.” She purses her lips as her voice gets even quieter somehow. “But I can’t just serve you, Agatha Harkness. As much as I wish I could. It isn’t my nature.”

“Then also serve me,” Agatha pleads against Rio’s urges. Because she has to keep trying. She has to. Agatha Harkness doesn’t give up. Agatha Harkness survives by any means necessary. “It doesn’t have to be an ‘or.’ Let me serve you in return.”

Rio opens her mouth to reply, but before she can, the tent slowly opens, Teen peeking inside. His eyes widen at the scene in front of him. “Oh. I’m sorry. I—"

“Get out,” Rio snarls. 

“I just—"

“Get. The fuck. Out,” she repeats. She holds up her hand, green magic crackling in her palm. “Before I make you.”

His eyes flicker to Agatha, a silent plea to protect him from this woman, who seems to be even more bloodthirsty than her at the moment. He swallows hard, pressing on despite the danger he was putting himself in by continuing to stand there. “Um…I just…the mud stuff? Seems to be…spreading. It…already got my and Lilia’s tent.”

Agatha sighs, rubbing a hand across her forehead. “Get everyone together.”

“They are. Together and waiting…pretty impatiently,” he admits. 

“So help me god, I will leave your sorry asses!” Jen yells. 

Teen grimaces, giving them a little shrug as if to say, ‘See?’

“Two seconds, Teen,” Agatha snaps. The boy nods and scrambles from the tent, leaving her and Rio alone again.

“What were you going to say?” Agatha prompts.

“Nothing.” Rio shakes her head as she pushes herself from the ground, brushing the dirt from her clothes. “Nothing at all.”

“Rio—”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” she insists, her guard going back up. Because it has to. She needs walls outside the ones of this tent. She kept putting cracks in Agatha’s heart, but Agatha had fully shattered hers — fully shattered everything about her existence. She couldn’t give her the power to do that another time. “You must be confused again,” she jabs, stepping out before Agatha can argue. Before she can see her face.

Agatha sucks in a breath, following a few moments later. “All right.” She claps her hands together, feigning nonchalance. “Shall we?”

Jen shoots her a look. “We shall have about 10 minutes ago. But so glad you managed to find it in your cold, empty heart to finally grace us with your disheveled presence.” She looks her and Rio up and down. “Sounds like you two worked it out, huh?”

“Maybe we did, maybe we didn't.” Agatha shrugs. “And it’s bold of you to say my heart is empty."

“Oh, my heart is full and healthy thanks to my gratitude journaling and Kale Kare supplements that promote cardiovascular wellness.”

Alice scoffs. “Drop the bullshit. Everyone knows you’re not doing the all-natural gig and probably use sweatshop labor. ”

“Kale Kare factory workers are all generously compensated,” she says through gritted teeth.

“Not sure I believe that.” 

Agatha grins. “And notice she didn’t deny scamming people and up-charging with the all-natural label. I wonder if that’s what those lawsuits are for.”

“I would've thought you guys were experts on those phony-ass lawsuits the way you bring them up every two fucking seconds,” Jen snaps.

“No, but it’s not a hard leap to know it’s true,” Agatha retorts.

“Maybe you could try leaping off something else for a change,” she says sweetly. “A skyscraper or a cliff, for instance.”

“If I did, that’s another lawsuit. This time a criminal one: man-slaugh-ter,” Agatha says, enunciating and dragging out every syllable.

Jen gives her a sarcastic smile. “Mm, considering you’re a literal serial killer, I think people would actually throw parades. Establish federal holidays in my honor. Name parks after me.”

“That’s…not how the law works, but okay,” Alice mutters under her breath. 

“Look,” Lilia interrupts the bickering, pointing to a modern mansion in the distance. “I think the road has taken us to our first trial.”

“It’s…a beach house,” Teen notes.

“Wow, thank you, Teen,” Agatha says. “Any more astute observations you’d like to share?”

“I guess we have to go in,” Lilia tentatively says.

“Yeah, I guess,” Alice agrees, shooting anxious glances at the others.

“Looks cozier than a tent,” Rio says with a shrug, leading the charge toward it.

Their entire environment changes when they walk into the house ripped straight from Huge Tiny Lies — including their wardrobe.

“Interesting.” Agatha looks down at her new attire. “Costume change.” 

“And wine.” Lilia points to a table not far away.

“I hope it’s organic,” Jen muses. 

“I don’t care if it’s made of fucking gasoline as long as it gets me drunk. Being around you sober is becoming increasingly unbearable,” Rio coolly quips, strutting past her to the table. 

“Um…okay?” Jen scoffs. “Rude and uncalled for much?”

“Much like your avid wishes for my death,” Agatha shoots back, following Rio. And god is she having a good time following Rio, watching her hips sway in a pair of light brown capris that would look hideous on anyone else but hug every curve just right.

Agatha leans in to whisper in her ear. “Your ass looks great in those pants.”

“Good enough to spank?” she quips.

“Mm,” Agatha confirms. “And squeeze.” She reaches down and down just that. 

“There’s a child here!” Lilia reminds them.

“I can take care of that,” Rio deadpans, summoning green magic in her palm again so it’s impossible to tell if she’s joking. Teen’s eyes widen.

“Leave him be, Rio,” Agatha says flippantly. “Surely there are better rooms in this house to christen later.”

She dissipates the magic, turning to her. “Oh, make no mistake — you’re not getting out of here until you ride me. Put that rich equestrian getup to good use,” she says, scanning her eyes over her creamy turtleneck, her sandy coat. It was a shame it didn’t come with a riding crop of some sort — for aesthetic and practical purposes if she so pleased — but still, Rio was certain they could make do.

Agatha raises a brow. “Ride what?”

“You heard me the first time. I know you have selective hearing, but I also know the kinds of things you select to hear.”

Agatha scoffs. “Well, it’s not like you have that equipment.”

“Why don’t you go on a little treasure hunt around the house then, hm? See what you can scrounge up?” She discreetly takes Agatha’s hand, pulling her close before putting it to her crotch. “‘X’ marks the spot at the end,” she whispers.

The corner of her mouth curves into a grin. “Maybe we can celebrate after the trial.”  

“Yeah, after,” Alice emphasizes. “Are we drinking the wine or what?”

Rio rolls her eyes. “Seeing as you insist on being a total buzzkill, I guess that’s the only way I’m going to get a good buzz.” She sets to uncorking.

Lilia rolls her eyes. “Forgive us for not wanting to be privy to your insatiable libido.”

“It’s satiable. It just needs re-satiating more often than yours.” Rio pours a glass, her eyes traveling to Lilia’s hips. “Are there cobwebs down there?”

“Why do you give a fuck? Get out of my business!”

“Sounds like a yes,” Rio stage whispers. 

“Oh, so now you think it's important to stay out of people’s business.” Jen rolls her yes.

Lilia huffs. “If you must know, I got laid two months ago,” she shares out of spite.

“By the spider that wove the cobweb?” Rio deadpans, passing out the remaining glasses.

“By a drunk thirty-something who came to my business.”

“Why was she drunk?” Rio asks. 

“Why would she come into your business?” Jen adds. 

“Was she cute?” Teen asks with a smile. “Or he. Or they. We shouldn’t assume.”

“She and they came into my business asking about her dead dog after a sad day-drinking stint.”

"Ah," Rio says.

“Did Agatha murder it, too?” Jen asks.

“But was she pretty, Lilia?” Teen presses again. “I hope she was pretty.” 

“Barf,” Jen retorts. “You’re such a little suck-up.”

“She was.” Lilia nods.  

Alice interrupts the story. “Are we drinking this or what?”

Agatha raises her glass. “Yes, shall we toast to Lilia getting some for the first time in centuries?”

Rio holds up her cup. “Or you getting some this morning after entire hours of celibacy,” she purrs in her ear. 

“Get. A fucking. Room,” Jen says, holding up her own. 

“We tried,” Rio reminds her. “Alice said we had to help finish the escape room first.”

“Yeah because I don’t wanna die.” Alice rolls her eyes, throwing her glass back. 

“That’s a little dramatic,” Agatha accuses, still holding onto her own while Lilia downs hers.

“Do I get some?” Teen asks. “I don’t particularly want to die either…”

“No,” Jen says.

“You’re underage,” Lilia agrees.

“There are a ton of European countries where the drinking age is only 16,” he points out. “Germany, Denmark, Belgium…maybe it’s the same for the Witches’ Road.”

“No drinking, Teen,” Agatha says, her voice leaving no room for argument.

Rio swirls the wine in her glass as she looks at her intently. “Just because the road dressed you like a MILF doesn’t mean you have to act like an overprotective one.”

Agatha doesn’t meet her gaze. “He doesn’t drink. That’s final.” 

Lilia raises an eyebrow. “What’s a MILF?” 

Jen chugs hers right as the timer starts beeping. 

Agatha does not. Rio doesn’t either, looking at Agatha. “Ominous,” she challengingly muses.

Agatha quirks a brow. “If you will, I will.”

She holds a hand out to her. “My lady first.”

“I don’t believe you’ll drink if I do.”

“Ditto, baby,” Rio says with a snort. “But one of us has a record of keeping our promises, and one of us is you.”

Agatha contemplates for a second. “Fine.” She rolls her eyes, downing the glass. She makes a face as she pulls it from her lips. “Cheap shit. Your turn.”

Rio follows suit, remaining poker-faced as she swallows it down. “I’ve had worse.” While she means it at the time, she’ll soon learn that isn’t true.

“Having a tolerance for bad wine is not something to brag about,” Agatha says.

“Um. My face?! What the fuck?!” Alice interjects, turning everyone's attention to her. 

Jen slaps her hand over her mouth. “Oh, shit — you and Grandma are busted.” 

Rio smirks. “Glad to see my nickname is catching on.” 

Jen ignores her, eyes widening. “Which means…which means…no, no, no — I cannot be next!” But she is. She can already feel her face puffing up.

Agatha can feel hers swelling a second later. “Fuck.”

Chapter Text

Rio’s face isn’t far behind, puffing up a beat after Agatha’s. She looks at Jen. “Hey, potions bitch.” She theatrically shakes her head. “Sorry, witch — it’s the lip swelling,” she lies. With the flick of her wrist, her own face goes back to normal — the beauty of still having her magic. “This is your area, right?”

“Jen!” Agatha barks. “What the fuck is this?!”

Jen throws her hands up. “How the hell should I know?! Face swelling can be caused by any number of things! Bee stings, bad botox, peanut allergies…” 

Rio looks at the wine label, significantly calmer than everyone else. “Nope, no Jif listed in the ingredients. Looks like she’s the only nut in this room.” She nods in Lilia’s direction.

“You’re our potions witch!” Agatha yells.

“Yes, but I can’t ascertain a cause from one side effect!” Jen defends.

Just then, Alice’s face goes back to normal, followed closely by Lilia’s. 

“I’m guessing the fact you now have no side effects is probably worse?” Teen asks.

Jen touches her own deflated cheeks, expression panicked.

He grimaces. “I’m…going to take that as a ‘yes."

“No." Jen gulps. “No, I know what it is now.”

Alice narrows her eyes. “Which is...”

“Alewife's Revenge,” Jen says quietly. 

“I’m guessing the fact it has ‘revenge’ in the name is probably not a great thing?” Teen asks.  

“I don’t know — how do you feel about hallucinations, loss of motor function, and death?” she replies, her voice devoid of its usual bite.

“Shit," Alice mutters.

Agatha snarls. "Fix it, potions witch!”

“Stop saying ‘potions witch’ like it’s a slur!”

“Then fix it! How do we fix it?!”

“We’re gonna need an antidote! Uh…uh…” Jen racks her brain. “Frankincense! I need frankincense. And zooplankton. And…and…the gut of a eusocial insect!”

Agatha glances at Rio. “We’ll take zooplankton.”

“Teen and I can take frankincense if you and Lilia can deal with the insect thing and figure out where to brew this,” Alice offers.

“Okay.” Jen nods. “Hurry. No fucking dillydallying,” she says, pointedly glancing in Agatha and Rio’s direction. 

Rio grabs Agatha’s arm and yanks her hard in the direction of the bathroom. Once they’re in, she slams and locks the door behind them, giving Agatha a grin. “Quickie?” she obnoxiously proposes.

Agatha glances at the equally obnoxious Kale Kare on the shelf. “Since we have our zooplankton in that, you have exactly three minutes to make me cum,” she says, grabbing her face and kissing her hard.

Game on. Rio kisses her harder, shoving her back into the shelf and sending several of the definitely not-organic products toppling to the ground. “I only need one,” she assures her once she pulls away. She yanks Agatha’s pants and underwear down in one fluid motion before patting the countertop. "Sit," she instructs.

Agatha happily obliges, effortlessly lifting herself up. “One is going to be hard, even for you.”

“Spread,” Rio commands, helping the process along by pulling her knees apart. “And don’t ever fucking doubt me,” she warns before quickly getting to work.

Agatha grips the counter for needed stability as Rio’s tongue dances on her already sore cunt. She lets out a moan, arching her back as her eyes fall shut.

“So greedy,” Rio accuses as the seconds tick down, pausing the skillful movements of her tongue to spit out the occasional degrading word. 50. “All you do is take, take, take.” 40. “So desperate for more even after I fucked you raw all morning.” 30. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

“Yes, Goddess,” Agatha whimpers, rapidly being pushed toward climax.

“You’re going to give me everything you have later.” 20. “Remember what I said? About how you’re not leaving here until you ride me?” 10.

Agatha nods a little, another whimper escaping her mouth. “Please.”

“Good girl.” 5…4…3… The unmistakable shudder of an orgasm rolls through her, and Rio stands with a smirk, wiping her mouth. “Two seconds to spare. Told you never to doubt me. You’ll pay for that later.” She tosses her a wet washcloth. “Clean yourself up and find us something fun to play with while I pour Jen’s gasoline on the fire.” She snags a bottle of the skincare product and reaches for the door handle.

Agatha runs the rag over her legs. “I’ll come with you. I should see the potion through.”

Rio arches a brow, taking her hand off the knob. “Feeling clingy, are we? I can wait,” she insists, perching herself on the toilet seat. She leans back and regally crosses her legs — as if it’s a literal throne instead of a porcelain one. “I do love to watch you hunt.” She licks her lips. Whether it was for witches in Salem or toys that hopefully weren’t manufactured by Jen’s shitty definitely sweatshops, she wasn’t particularly picky.

Agatha rummages around the bathroom. Unfortunately, she comes up empty — save for Jen’s equally shitty hair care line. She glances at Rio, a smirk forming on her lips. “Looks like good old-fashioned magic is how it’s going to have to be.”

Rio rolls her eyes, standing up again. “You know, I’m getting a little tired of having to do absolutely fucking everything around here.”

“It is absolutely not my fault the road didn’t summon you a strap-on.”

“No, but it is your fault you let Little Red Riding Witch take your magic so you couldn’t summon me one yourself,” she retorts.

“Forgive me,” Agatha says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “But I—"

Her world stops as soon as she opens the door. As soon as she sees the cradle — Nick’s cradle. A hand flies to cover her mouth. She can’t bear to look at it closer. She can’t stop herself from looking at it closer. She fights tears as she takes a tentative step forward. Then another. Then another. Until she’s kneeling right in front of it. Until she’s pulling back the blanket. Until she’s—

Until she’s screaming when she sees that book. That stupid fucking book.

She can’t stop the sob that escapes as it taunts her, the sound of Nick’s laugh wafting through the air.

“What the f—" Rio starts. Because, seriously, what the fuck was she losing her shit over? There’s nothing there. 

And then it hits her. The hallucinations. Of course. Of fucking course. She can vaguely hear Alice wailing about her mother. Lilia muttering in another language. Jen screaming and splashing around in the sink. She’d let Teen handle all that. Or not. She doesn’t really give a fuck. She doesn’t give a fuck about anyone but Agatha — and she hates that she still gives a fuck about Agatha. 

“Hey.” She sinks down next to her, snapping her fingers in her ears. “Agatha. Get ahold of yourself. It’s not real,” she says firmly. “Do you hear me? Whatever you’re seeing — it’s not real.”

Agatha clearly does not hear her. Clearly still sees whatever trick Ms. Alewife was playing on her mind.

“Agatha, look at me.” Rio changes tactics, grabbing her by the shoulders and turning her to face her. “Look at me. It. Is not. Real.”

It takes a moment for that to register, but once it does, Agatha glances around to make sure no one is nearby before collapsing against Rio in tears. “I thought he was here.”

Of course, Rio knows who she’s talking about. Who else could she be talking about? “He’s not here,” she says, running a hand through Agatha's hair. She’s certain about that. She personally made sure of that — because it was her job. “He’s not here, baby.”

Agatha nods into her, a few more shuddering sobs wracking her body. “I miss him. I miss him so much.”

“Don’t.” This is how it started last time. How it had happened. How it had all fallen apart. Agatha blaming herself, blaming Rio. Agatha hating herself, hating Rio. They could not open this wound again. It had never healed — it would never heal — but it had scarred after years and years, and that’s as good as it was ever going to get. “Don’t.”

“Rio, I—”

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Jen says as she storms over to them. “We don’t have time to fucking cuddle,” she seethes. “We need the goddamn—” 

Rio chucks a bottle of lotion at her head as hard as she possibly can. Jen ducks, narrowly avoiding a concussion. “Zooplankton,” Rio finishes. “Potions bitch.”

“Fucking psycho,” Jen mutters, shooting an odd look at Agatha buried in Rio’s arms as she picks up the now-busted bottle and heads back into the kitchen.

Rio is relieved Agatha isn’t talking. She probably shouldn’t be. It’s probably a bad sign. But Rio isn’t good at that part — the whole communication thing. Rio is good at feeling things only physically, at healing things only physically. Touch was black-and-white — words were every shade of gray.

“Rio, please,” Agatha whispers as soon as Rio thinks to be thankful, her gratitude shattered by the sound of Agatha’s voice. “I’m sorry that—”

“I said don’t,” she hisses again. All the apologies in the world would never make up for the other things she’d said — things Rio was reminded of every time Agatha futilely tried to undo them. If she didn’t have a heart like Agatha had loved to claim, then how had she been able to hurt it so fucking badly?

“I have to. I—”

She’s never been happier to see Teen, who tentatively peeks his head around the corner — hoping, it seems, not to get clobbered by a Kale Kare item by Rio’s hand. “We…we need your hair. And…both of you in there,” he says. “Like, um…now.”

Agatha closes her eyes and lets out a deep sigh before untangling herself from Rio and pushing herself off the ground.

“Are you okay?” Teen asks her as they start walking to the kitchen — voice trepidatious, as if she might bite his head off for asking. “I mean, nobody really is right now, but…”

“I’ll be perfectly all right as soon as this poison is out of my system,” she deflects, straightening her blazer and squaring her shoulders.

“Once again, we’re waiting on your selfish ass,” Jen huffs as she catches sight of her. “Hair. One strand. In the sink. Now. And where the fuck is tree hugger?” 

“That’s the best you could come up with?” Rio asks as she strides in with an infuriating lack of urgency.

“Yeah, that wasn’t your best,” Alice comments.

Agatha scoffs, plucking a piece of hair from her scalp. “There. Can I put it in?” 

Jen points at Alice. “You, shut the fuck up.” She points at Agatha. “You, put it in.” 

“That’s what she said,” Rio mutters. 

Jen points at her. “You, shut the fuck up and put it in.” She points at the sink impatiently. “We have less than two minutes.”

Rio rolls her eyes before beginning to stroll over to the counter. 

Until…until she can’t seem to. Until something seems to be blocking her path. Something she can’t just push out of the way like she normally would, both because she’s physically and…emotionally? Is that right? Incapable. 

She freezes, face going pale. It’s almost like she’s seen a ghost. 

Because she has.

Rio fucking hates ghosts. They make her job so much harder, both physically and…emotionally? She’s pretty sure that's what that feeling in her gut, that tightness in her chest, is. 

It can’t be real. It can’t be real because it’s just a hallucination. It can’t be real because Rio ferried this soul herself — ferried it with all the gentleness and care she possibly could — to the other side centuries ago. 

Nicholas Scratch is not a ghost. Nicholas Scratch’s soul is resting peacefully. Nicholas Scratch is not in the kitchen crying out for Agatha, his mama, and Rio, his mo— 

No. No.

She’s snapped out of it by Agatha’s hand on her shoulder, the touch making the spirit disappear — poof into the air. 

So why does she still feel so awful? So poisoned by something that’s more lethal, more lasting, than Alewife’s Revenge? 

She yanks her arm away. “Get off me,” Rio says, though her words lack the venom they usually do. She walks over to the counter as if on autopilot, eyes glassy and far away — as if she isn’t even there. 

Rio reaches up to pluck a piece of her hair from her scalp, the tiniest, split-second sting of ripping it out offering a drip of relief from…this. This state she’s not even supposed to be able to experience. This state Agatha had introduced her to, subjected her to, doomed her to.

Agatha glances over at her with a sigh, knowing they don't have even close to enough time to unpack everything that's happening right now. So instead, she looks back at Jen. “Is it ready to drink?”

“It has to glow cerulean.”

“What color is that again?” Alice asks.

Teen scoffs, personally insulted. “Have you never seen The Devil Wears Prada?”

“No…?”

“Once we get off the road, I am so showing you The Devil Wears Prada. I bet Agatha has it on Blu-ray. Her collection is massive.”

Jen promptly ignores this side chatter. “Everyone needs to have the same intention — for us to not fucking die in here — for that to happen. So focus, people. Focus.”

After a few beats of it staying the same shade of purple, Agatha impatiently turns to Jen. “What did you do? Why isn’t it cerulean?!”

“I don’t fucking know! Maybe you or tree-hugger is sabotaging it!” 

“30 seconds before the poison is permanently in everyone’s bloodstream…” Teen nervously announces. 

Jen’s face lights up with an epiphany. “Wait, that’s it. Blood — we need the blood of the unpoisoned!"

“Well, hop to it!” Lilia hisses.

Before Teen can even register what’s happening, Agatha’s slicing his palm over the potion. “Thanks for being underage.”

“Happy thoughts, happy thoughts,” Jen orders. 

“10 seconds…” Teen updates, now nursing his wound. 

Jen dunks her cup in the second it fades into the correct shade of blue. “Go! Now!” 

Rio fills a cup, throwing it back without so much as a gag or nose wrinkle — without so much as a blink — as the oven falls open.

Agatha cringes as she chugs hers — this was somehow even worse than the wine — and looks at it. “Is that the exit?” 

Just then, the walls slowly begin to crack, water starting to leak in at a rapid speed. “I sure hope so!” Teen squeals.

Rio flicks her wrist, and the crack in the window mends itself, the water drying up. 

Teen looks at her, wide-eyed. “What…what just happened?” 

Rio doesn’t reply, wordlessly walking out of the kitchen and back down the hallway, toward the bedroom they'd passed on the way to the bathroom. 

“Okay, bye,” Jen huffs. “Antisocial bitch…” she mutters. 

Teen looks around at the remainder of the group. “Should we…still try the oven?” 

Jen chews on the inside of her cheek. “If it’s not flooding, I don’t know that I’m in a rush. I mean, besides the poison, this place does seem better than a sinking tent. There’s indoor plumbing. And AC. And Kale Kare…”

Agatha goes to follow Rio — but not before turning to Jen. “Kale Kare is horse shit,” she says. “We both know that.”

Chapter Text

Rio’s lying on the bed — on the impossibly fluffy duvet and impossibly soft, million-thread-count sheets. One of the blessings to go with their burdens, though it doesn’t feel like one. It feels wrong. Everything feels wrong. 

“In here,” she says once she hears the unmistakable sounds of Agatha’s footsteps in the hall. Ones she’d recognize anywhere. “Lock the door.”

Agatha does as she’s told (there’s a first time for everything, Rio supposed) before stripping and coming to kneel beside the bed, resting her head on the mattress. Rio reaches out and lightly touches her face — turning it slightly to make eye contact with her. “I need you to hurt me,” she says, voice soft but serious.

The space between Agatha’s brow wrinkles. “What do you mean?”

Rio strokes her cheek. “I need you to take control again. And I need you to make it hurt.”

Agatha frowns. “Why do you need to hurt?”

Because it’s the only way. Physical pain is the only way to get any kind of release from this…emotional? Pain she’s feeling — so foreign and misplaced in the body of Death herself. It’s the only way to stop feeling like the ghost she saw. It’s the only way to bring her back to herself. The sole catharsis.

She grits her teeth at the lack of compliance, nails digging into Agatha’s face now. “For once, could you just do as I fucking ask the first time? I wouldn’t if it wasn’t important.”

Agatha tilts her head, unfazed and unafraid and understanding. “You saw Nick. You saw our son.”

Her nails dig in harder. “There is no ‘our’ anymore,” she snaps. She’s trying to hurt her — she’s trying to make it so Agatha can’t resist hurting her, too. Agatha’s not the only one who could bait people into blasting her. Bait people into attacking her so she could get exactly what she wanted from them. “There is no ‘us,’ and there never will be again. Get that through your stupid fucking head.”

Agatha’s face drops, growing cold. “You think I can’t see right through this shit? You’re doing exactly what I do.”

Rio lets out a dark, humorless laugh. “I’m nothing like you. You’re weak,” she pushes. “You’re so fucking weak. That’s why you’re stalling. You’re weak, and you’re scared that you won’t be able to do it. Won’t be able to give me what I need.”

In one fluid motion, Agatha breaks out of Rio’s grasp and turns the tables, grabbing her chin. “If you want me to fuck you, I will, you little brat. Summon the fucking strap. But don’t you dare call me weak.”

“Then prove it,” she hisses as she fulfills her request, ridding herself of her own clothes and conjuring a strap-on around her hips with the wave of her hand. “Show me how fucking strong you supposedly are,” she mocks.

Agatha grunts and mounts Rio in record time, sinking down on the strap. She begins to move her hips, fighting the soreness. “You have no right.” 

“I have every fucking right.”

Agatha moves her hand down to her throat, using the other to slap her across the face. The shock of it makes Rio suck in a sharp breath — something that’s getting increasingly harder to do with the tight hand around her neck. “Again,” she manages to choke out. She needs handprints. Needs them to burn. Needs to be branded by them, like when Rio took a knife to her chest.

“Don’t be a stupid bitch and ask for things,” Agatha growls, rocking her hips as hard as she can. “I decide what you get.”

Rio bares her teeth, reaching up to claw at any part of her she can manage to make contact with. “Do it.”

Agatha only swats her hand away — as if she’s nothing more than a little gnat. She’s getting close already, no thanks to Rio’s little shenanigans. “You’re useless,” Agatha spits. “Fucking useless.”

Rio will show her useless. Right when Agatha’s about to cum, she waves her hand and disappears the strap. The ultimate brat. The ultimate edge. The ultimate dare.

Agatha does slap her at that. Then she squeezes her throat tighter and slaps her again. “I need that. Now.”

Rio’s getting lightheaded at this point — which is nice because it’s helping keep the thoughts out. Her eyes are starting to well from the sting settling in her cheeks — which is also nice because it helps blur out the image of the ghost. But it’s not enough to rid them completely. It’s not enough. “Or…what?” she wheezes out.

Agatha slaps her again, harder. “Don’t fucking question me. I’ll get off right now and make you watch me get myself off. Then you’ll really be a useless slut.”

The threat’s enough to make her comply…sort of. She conjures the strap back, though this time, she places the harness around Agatha’s hips. She didn’t specify, after all.

Agatha rolls her eyes and gets to work — movements rough and unrelenting. She won’t give Rio time to get used to it. Won’t reward this behavior. The only thing Agatha wants to hear come out of Rio’s mouth is a scream.

Rio won’t give her one — she hasn’t earned one yet — but she can’t help the little yelp that escapes at the harshness. Can’t help the way her body jolts up.

“Stay still,” Agatha commands, one hand going to Rio’s waist to keep her in place, nails digging in as she keeps going and going and going, never relenting for a millisecond.

Rio squirms under her touch — part intentional test, part pure instinct at being held down. Being pinned beneath her when the pain was yelling at her to get away — when the pleasure was yelling at her even louder to buck her hips and get closer.

Agatha only pushes down more firmly in response. “I said. Stay. Still.”

It's not long before Rio approaches a breaking point — physical, emotional, all of it. Which is why she struggles harder, attempting to flip onto her stomach. “Turn me over," she says, voice hoarse and coming out somewhere between an order and a plead.

“Shut up.”

“Ag—”

Agatha shoves a hand over her mouth. “I said shut the fuck up.” She keeps going. Hips thrusting, using Rio as her toy until she can feel herself slip over the edge. Only then does she relent, going slack over her.

Rio uses the chance to roll over underneath her. She thanks the fact she could have plausible deniability here — she does like it when Agatha takes her from behind, and she knows it — but the truth of the matter is she doesn’t want her to see her cry. Doesn’t want her to see the tears that will inevitably come out along with the scream when she releases the climax that’s been building. Releases the emotions that are trapped, threatening to break free. She just needs a little more pain, a little more pleasure. 

“Hit me,” she says, another combination of a command and a beg. “Finish me.” She grips the sheets in anticipation, hands shaky. “Please,” she adds after a beat. She’s so close. She’s so desperate. "Please."

Agatha slaps her ass hard and transitions to using her fingers inside her, still leaning against her all the while — practically lying on top of her.

Her grip on the blanket tightens. “Don’t stop,” she whimpers. “Any of it.” She needs the combination — a potion all its own. The burn of her hand harsh on her flesh, the bliss of her fingers in her cunt, the comfort of the breath on her skin. “Please. Until I tell you what you want to hear." Agatha will know when she hears it. She'll know.

Agatha keeps going with her fingers, though she changes tactics with her other hand, raking her nails down Rio’s back as hard as she can — down the same red lines she slashed in her bedroom the day before.

“Fuck,” Rio whines, knuckles white now as they clench the comforter. Her legs attempt to clench together, too, though whether it’s to keep Agatha’s fingers there or attempt to stop their relentless movement, she’s not sure.

Agatha wordlessly uses her knee to wedge her legs back apart and adds a fourth finger. Her nails rake up and then back down. Up and down. Up and down.

Rio buries her face into the pillow, letting out something that doubles as a shriek and a sob. She’s a mess — tears leaking onto the pillowcase, cum leaking onto Agatha’s hands. Still, Agatha doesn’t stop stretching her out. Doesn’t stop her punishing rhythm. She’d asked her not to. Not until she says the magic words. 

“I—” she starts to stutter. “I—”

Agatha lands another harsh smack on her ass. “Say it,” she spits, punctuating the demand with another spank. Then another. And another. And another. Until Rio loses count.

She moans, futilely attempting to hold out. To push through. Win the game of wills she’d initiated herself — and given herself a disadvantage in, no less.

Agatha eventually grows tired of painting her cheeks red, of waiting for her to break this way. She stops the assault on her ass in order to dig her nails into her back again — hard enough to draw fresh blood. “Fucking say it,” she hisses.

Rio gasps, head snapping up from the pillow, which makes it easier for her to hear it, loud and clear. “I’m sorry!” she wails. For calling you weak. For doing what I had to do. For, for, for… 

Her body goes limp, face falling back into the pillow. She trembles as she lies there, prone and naked and vulnerable. Agatha had carved her out and emptied her of everything. That was Agatha’s talent — her gift that others thought a curse.

As soon as Rio collapses, Agatha moves to wrap her arms around her tightly. “I’m sorry, too,” she whispers.

Rio doesn’t respond. She can’t — too busy heaving her own shuddering breaths.

Agatha pulls her closer, thumb tracing soothing circles on a rare undamaged part of her back. At one point, she begins to hum a song she used to sing to her all the time. Sing to Nick, too.

“No,” Rio weeps. This is the kind of hurt Rio didn’t ask for. The kind she was trying to avoid. She knows Agatha’s not doing it on purpose this time. Because how could she know it was all but an invitation for the ghost to return, to continue haunting her? How could she know that Rio sang it, too, the last time she ever held Nick? How could she know it was the lullaby for his final rest? Rio had never told her. Rio never would. “Please no,” she whispers.

“Rio…” Agatha stops her humming, stops her rubbing. “Talk to me. I know you’re furious, and I know words are hard. Trust me — I know. Please, though. Please try,” she quietly pleads.

“No,” she softly repeats. It’s not out of stubbornness this time — she’s simply…incapable. Especially when she’s this sore, this raw, this spent. “I can’t do that for you."

Agatha sighs. “Soon, then. You need to promise you’ll do it soon.”

‘Soon’ was a relative term for them, with Agatha 350 and Rio even older. ‘Soon’ could mean 100 years, and still, Rio isn’t sure that's something she could agree to. “Or what, Agatha?” she asks quietly, curiosity and challenge both evident in her tone. Maybe it’d piss her off to the point she’d dominate her again, push the fake ghost even further out of sight.

But Agatha doesn’t sound pissed. Agatha sounds…tired. “There is no ‘or what,’” she says with surprising calmness. “I just…I’m sick of running, Rio.”

After a long moment, Rio turns her head, her cheek resting on the pillow instead of her face buried in it. She couldn’t give Agatha the words she wanted besides the two she already howled out, but she could let her see her tear-stained face. She could ask for something softer. That was something. She had to believe it was something. She had to believe Agatha would see it that way, too. 

“Are you going to clean me up?” she inquires. It was an absurd question disguising an even more absurd request. Rio could clean herself up with the flick of her wrist — could patch herself up, too. But that would defeat the purpose of all of this. That would defeat the purpose of bleeding. Of hurting. Of giving Agatha the control.

Agatha reaches out to wipe a few of Rio’s tears. “Let’s get in the shower.”

“Mm,” Rio agrees with a small nod. This is, obnoxiously, the bedroom without a bathroom attached, meaning they’re going to have to cross the hallway to get there. “Cover me up. Nobody else gets to see me like this.”

Agatha sighs, scooping her still-naked body off the bed — careful to navigate the plethora of angry red marks she’d made. “You’ll be shielded this way.” She’s so fucking transparent. She wants any excuse to hold Rio close.

“Agatha.” Rio cups her chin. “At least wrap me in a goddamn blanket before you carry me like your bride.”

Agatha nods, somewhat reluctantly setting Rio down again before grabbing a throw from the chair and loosely cocooning her with it. “There,” she says, picking her up again.

She doesn’t bother with her own clothes. Half of Westview had already seen her naked, and she doesn’t care if Jen catches a glimpse of her ass. In fact, let her look. Let her see what she’s been missing. Let her be like Agatha toward Rio, realizing her mistakes too late. 

And let it break her fucking heart.

Chapter Text

Jen is standing outside the bathroom, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed impatiently over her chest. She looks Agatha (butt-ass naked) and Rio (seemingly maimed) up and down before deciding she doesn’t even want to know. “Get in line, freaks. Teen’s been taking a shit for the past 10 minutes—"

“Sorry!” he calls. 

“—and I broke the seal with that stupid wine, so I have to piss again. Did you see a scented Kale Kandle in there?”

Agatha promptly decides she’s not dealing with this. “We’ll find another bathroom,” she announces, ignoring her inane question and walking into the living room. Alice groans under her breath at Agatha’s audacity to parade around in the nude but keeps her mouth shut. Lilia seems to be taking a nap. 

Luckily, Agatha easily locates another bathroom at the end of the other hall. Rio drops the blanket as soon as she shuts the door — no need for privacy when it was just the two of them — and deposits her on the sink before turning on the shower. Rio blows out a breath as her ass, burning and bruised, makes contact with the cool marble. Winces as she leans back and lets her slashed spine touch the mirror behind it, leaving trails of blood not yet dried on the glass.

Agatha scowls to herself as she rummages through the cabinets, finding nothing but Jen’s sham line. Unfortunately, that would have to do. She takes a washcloth from a drawer, wetting it before gently leaning Rio forward. “What do you need from me right now?” she asks, cleaning the scratches on her back.

Rio lets her eyes fall closed at the gentle touch — such a stark contrast to just minutes ago — and shakes her head. “Just this. You’re doing great, baby,” she whispers.

Agatha nods, sticking a hand in the shower. “The water’s hot. Shall we?”

“You’re not going to take me the final two feet? I’ve never known you to be a quitter, Harkness.”

Agatha lets out a laugh, weak but genuine, before obliging. Once they’re both inside, she immediately wraps her arms around her.

Rio sinks into her embrace easily — dangerously easily, really. She doesn’t want to think about that right now. Doesn’t want to think about how perfectly her head fits into the crook of her neck, like they’re two broken, jagged puzzle pieces made for only each other. Doesn’t want to think about how her hand absentmindedly goes to play with her long, long hair the same way it had done countless times before.

Agatha hums, a small smile forming on her face before dropping abruptly, the lack of magic in her veins and the fact she couldn’t hear Nick playing with Señor Scratchy down the hall a cruel reminder of where they are and why they’re here. Her heart aches — aches in a way she can’t fully comprehend.

It’s like Rio can feel it — the moment Agatha’s heart twinges. She pulls back slightly, tucking the wet tendrils of hair behind Agatha's ears before leaning in to kiss her, soft and slow, a hand on either side of her face. Agatha kisses her back with that same care and softness. She’s missed this. These perfect little moments. These vacations from reality.

After a few minutes, Rio reluctantly untangles herself and turns to face the wall. She braces her hands against it before looking over her shoulder. “You need to properly wash me off before the water goes cold."

“I will.” Agatha nods, squirting some body wash into her hand and running it over Rio’s shoulders.

Even with how careful Agatha is being, Rio can’t help but let out a hiss of pain as her fingertips brush over her back. “You got me good, baby,” she notes, though there’s an undeniable admiration in her tone.

“I hope that’s a good thing.”

Rio glances back to give her a look. “You know it is.” She lets out a moan, rolling her head back toward the ceiling as Agatha reaches to wash between her legs.

Agatha shakes her head. “No. You’re not coping with more sex right now.”

Rio slides her foot over, lazily attempting to trap her hand there anyway, but Agatha’s quick enough to push her thighs apart and move her hand away. “No.”

Rio looks over her shoulder again, this time with a pout.

Agatha manages to stay strong. “No,” she repeats, though her voice is markedly softer this time.

She rolls her eyes, though without a lot of vitriol, facing forward again. Her marked-up back and red ass are enough to drive Agatha fucking crazy. She runs a tempted hand over her face. “You’re beautiful.”

“I know,” Rio simply responds as the water continues to cascade down on them. “Do you suppose there’s lotion in one of those cabinets?”

The reminder of Kale Kare is enough to snap Agatha out of it. “Probably. It’s Jen’s shitty stuff, though.”

“Get it,” Rio says anyway. “And wait for me back in the bedroom while I dry off.”

Agatha nods, running a towel over herself before abandoning it on the floor. She grabs an obnoxious pink bottle before strutting out through the living room once again.

Teen’s eyes widen as Agatha walks in — as…all of Agatha walks in. He feels someone slap a hand over his eyes. Alice or Lilia, he assumes, as Jen is too busy gloating. 

“Well, well, well — looks like someone’s become a Kale Kustomer,” she notes.

Agatha scoffs. “Rio has. Not I. Pester her about it.”

Jen shrugs, unfazed. “I’d rather do a brand deal with her anyway.” 

“‘Skincare to die for,’” Teen quips under his breath. Jen punches him in the arm — hard. “Ow.” He rubs at it.

Agatha gestures to him. “Teen’s got the spirit. Collaborating with Death for health products is like using an oil company to promote water drinking.”

Jen narrows her eyes. “Weird, nonsensical analogy from a weird, nonsensical maniac.”

“Are you dense? She’s literally Death.”

Jen blinks. “I’m sorry, what? Am I the only one who wasn’t briefed on this little factoid?” 

“No.” Teen looks pale. “I was just making a dig about Jen’s lawsuits…” he says softly. 

“Why the fuck would you bring literal Death on the road with us?!” Jen hisses. “You fucking dumbass! Thinking with your pussy, just like I said!”

Agatha rolls her eyes. “Death is fucking multifaceted, and she can heal. Stereotypes much?” 

“Oh, please don’t get her started again,” Teen mutters, already sensing another Lilia rant coming on.

“It’s true!” Lilia insists, proving his point. “Stereotypes are harmful. As long as she doesn’t murder us—”

“She can’t, actually. Like, as a rule,” Agatha says.

Lilia holds out a hand. “—well, there you go. I’m willing to give her a chance. And Death isn’t always inherently negative, I suppose…” she says, though she’s not quite sure where — or when — the thought came from.

“You're right,” Jen says sweetly. “I would feel very positively about strangling the life out of you right now.”

“Yet another potential lawsuit,” Agatha quips before turning and walking down the hall, Rio following suit a few moments later.

“At least you had the decency to wrap a towel around yourself,” Jen grumbles as she passes through the living room. 

“None of you are worthy of seeing what’s underneath,” Rio casually retorts without missing a beat or a step. 

“Ugh,” Jen huffs.

“Don’t forget what I said about that threesome,” Alice reminds her.

Rio doesn’t hear, already returned to the bedroom with Agatha. “You’re back," she notes, glancing up from her place sitting against the bed frame.

“Mm,” Rio hums, shutting the door before crawling onto the bed and draping herself across Agatha’s lap. She turns her head to look up at her. “An erotic massage is not sex,” she notes.

“Your back?”

“If you want.” She gives her a flippant shrug. “I was thinking a little lower.” Her thighs are tender from their escapades the previous day, her ass bruised for the same reason.

Agatha begins to knead the spot. “Is this what you wanted?”

She nods into the sheets, feeling her body relax, the ache somehow soothed and deliciously magnified by her hands.

Agatha works for about 10 minutes before she pauses. “How are you feeling?”

By this point Rio’s on the verge of drifting off — which is somehow more humiliating than the actual humiliation Agatha had inflicted — but she gives her another small nod. It feels good. Agatha always knew how to make her feel good. Agatha also always knew how to make her feel very fucking bad, which is why they’re in this situation at all. She tries not to think about that.

“I’m sorry,” Agatha whispers. She’s not exactly sure what for this time. Maybe for what she did all those years ago. Maybe for existing at all.

“Just keep showing me. Keep making it up to me.”

“I’m trying,” Agatha promises, switching to comb through Rio’s hair.

Rio releases a soft sigh of contentment. “I know you are, baby. It just takes more than a day of trying.”

“I know. I— I love you,” she breathes out.

Rio can’t say it back, even if deep down she knows it’s true. She can’t even process her saying it, even if deep down she wants so badly for it to be true. She doesn’t look up, though she reaches her hand back — unsure, even as it’s moving through the air, whether she’s going to use it to punch Agatha hard in the gut or reassuringly stroke her arm. 

She ultimately does neither, instead wordlessly resting it, palm up, on the small of her own back — a silent invitation to take it.

Agatha clasps it tightly. “I mean it. I want us back.”

“I’ve heard you, Agatha,” Rio says, though there’s no bite to her tone. “I’ve heard you loud and clear. Have you heard me?”

“I have. But the only way I know how to articulate that I’m trying is to say it. To tell you that you’re worth it.”

“Oh god, Agatha.” Rio breathes out another sigh, far less contented this time. “If I wanted a fucking self-worth, self-care speech, I would’ve invited Jen in here. And she would’ve jumped at the chance to touch me.”

“I’m not convincing you — I know that you know. I want you to know that I know.” Agatha pauses, fingers still gently carding through Rio’s locks. “Eventually, Jen will probably try to fuck us.”

Rio turns her head to look at her then, raising a brow. “You sound eager,” she accuses, letting go of her hand and using it to travel up to her chest — to the heart she’d hacked with her blade earlier. She presses on the fresh wound. “Are you tired of me already? Am I not enough for you? Is that it?”

Agatha manages only the smallest flinch. “Never tired — I just think it could be fun. I’m sure Alice would like to watch, too, since she suggested it.”

Rio considers this for a moment. Jen didn’t seem like a particularly big threat. And she was hot — there was no denying that. 

“Jen can join,” she coolly agrees, lightly tracing the heart with her finger. “And Alice can watch. We’ll have Grandma babysit the kid.” She stops her movement, pushing down hard on one area. “If — if — you can remember your place. Remember who you belong to. Can you do that, sweetheart?”

Agatha winces but instinctively leans into her touch. “Yes, Goddess.”

There’s a beat as Rio’s mouth quirks into a smirk. “Are her skills really on the higher end of average?”

“Yeah, she’s good,” Agatha admits. “She’s no you, but she knows her way around.”

Rio presses her finger down harder. “Is this turning you on? Thinking about it?"

Agatha whimpers. “Yes. I’m assuming that makes you happy.”

“Very.” She nods, slowly beginning to grind her hips on her lap, her pelvis creating friction against her bare legs. She coyly bites her bottom lip. “It makes me very happy.”

“I know,” Agatha breathes, trying to keep herself still. “I also know you’re going to fucking edge me until we keep walking and move on from this place.”

“Correct.” She continues her rhythm. “You’ve left me no choice, baby. You don’t want me coping with more sex, so there’s nothing I can do for you.”

Agatha grits her teeth, abruptly untangling herself and standing from the bed. “Should we get going?”

“Since my baby’s so scared of a little edge—" She gives a pout of faux sympathy. “—I guess we should.”

“I am not fucking scared,” she insists. She knows Rio is baiting her, but she has an image to uphold. Still, she begins putting her clothes back on. “Care to dry my hair with that pretty magic of yours?”

Rio redresses herself with a flick of her wrist before examining her nails. “Not particularly. I like seeing you wet.”

Agatha scowls. “Well, if I get sick because my hair is dripping, you can’t fuck me.”

“You think a fucking cold would keep me from fucking you?”

“Rio, please. I just took care of you. This is the least you could do for me.”

Rio rolls her eyes. “Right. That was all entirely for my benefit. You got absolutely nothing out of it at all.” Still, she complies with another wave of her hand before striding out the door ahead of her.

“Finally,” Lilia greets as she steps into the kitchen. “Let’s go, you freaky bitches.”

“At least I don’t fuck my customers, Grandma,” Rio retorts. “I’d ask Jen if that was against some kind of entrepreneurial code, but as we’ve established, those aren’t really her strong suit.” 

Jen scoffs. “Well, considering your clients are fucking dead people, that’d be necrophilia, which is worse than some minor fraud allegations.”

“‘Minor’ my ass,” Agatha argues as she joins them. “They were suing you for an arm and a leg.”

“Admittedly very nice arms and legs,” Rio says, tilting her head as she appraises Jen’s body, eyes scanning her up and down. Looking at her in a new light since Agatha mentioned the threesome. 

Jen shifts, freaked out but flustered. “Okay, what is happening?”

“I was thinking that if you’re still so angry at me, after the next trial, you can take it out on me,” Agatha explains. “Fuck it out on me.” She glances at Alice. “You can watch. And Lilia, you make sure Teen isn’t in the room.”

Lilia wrinkles her nose. “Gladly, perverts.”

Teen’s expression matches as he walks in from the bathroom, catching the tail end of their conversation. “I’m beginning to wish I wasn’t in the room right now…”

“Oh, grow up, Teen,” Jen snaps. 

“What?! But you guys are the ones who are always…” He stops, shakes his head. “Never mind.”

Agatha gestures to the oven. “Shall we?” Nobody jumps to go first, and she certainly wasn’t about to do it, so she glances around the circle, calling out her most manipulatable targets. “Teen? Alice? Lilia?”

There’s a beat before Alice rolls her eyes. “Fine,” she says before climbing in.

“One of my friends went into an oven once,” Lilia comments, particularly apprehensive. “It did not end well for her.”

Teen blinks at her. “Did…did she know Hansel and Gretel?”

“Unfortunately."

“Fascinating.” Teen nods. “You know, I—" 

He’s cut off by Jen kicking him into the oven. “Foot slipped,” she lies before daintily stepping in herself.

“You next, Jennifer,” Agatha says sweetly.

Jen looks back at her with a glare. “Yeah, I’m goi—” 

She’s cut off by Rio nudging her down with her foot. She turns to Agatha and Lilia with a shrug. “Foreplay,” she explains.

“What’s wrong with you, you psycho?” Lilia asks. She doesn’t give her time to answer before she manages to swallow her fear and crawl into the oven, sliding her way down.  

“And then there were two,” Rio notes, looking at Agatha.

“You first, dearie.”

“Nice try. You don’t sacrifice a goddess, sweetheart — you make sacrifices to your goddess.” She gives her a prompting pat on the ass.

Agatha glares at her before she begrudgingly crawls in. Rio smirks as she watches her go before getting in the oven herself. 

Maybe there was still a part of her — bigger than she’d like to admit — that did want to follow Agatha wherever she led. 

Chapter Text

Rio slides down from the oven and into the mud, crashing into Agatha with a thud at the bottom. She sits there for a beat. “That was fun.” 

Jen looks at her like she’s fucking nuts. She’s in bad shape, as is everyone else. “Oh, yeah? The slip ’n slide from hell was fun for you?”

“Wasn’t the worst part,” Alice mumbles before pushing herself up. “Should we keep going?”

“That’s your cue, fearless leader,” Rio tells Agatha. Her scowl tells her she fucking hates the mocking nickname, which is, of course, why she continues to use it.

They don’t get far before another building appears in the distance — a rather eccentric house ripped straight from the ‘70s.

Alice freezes, face going pale. “On second thought, I think we should turn around.”

“Well, you’re not our fearless leader,” Rio points out. 

Jen promptly ignores her. “We could take a vote again?” she suggests. 

“Fuck that,” Teen mumbles, bitter at the fact he wasn’t included in the democratic process.

“Wow, so edgy with the explicit language,” Jen taunts.

“I agree with Teen on this one,” Alice says. “No need to vote because there’s no way in hell we’re going in there.”

“Alice, we have to,” Agatha insists. 

“Too bad. Not happening.” Alice shakes her head, turning and heading the opposite way. “Nope, nope, n—” Before her eyes, the house reappears.

“Doesn’t look like the road is giving you much of a choice, kiddo,” Lilia says, sympathetically patting her arm.

Jen fans herself. “It’s suddenly hot as hell out here anyway. God, I hope this place has air conditioning, too.”

“Exposure therapy is good for you. Lead the way,” Agatha orders, giving Alice a firm nudge. 

Lilia gives Alice a small, encouraging shoulder squeeze. The younger woman gulps before she takes a step.

Rio and Agatha fall behind the pack as they make the trek. “You’ll throw them all to the wolves if you need to, won’t you?” Rio asks.

“Will I?” Agatha challenges.

“If I’m the wolf and I’m very hungry,” she says with cool confidence, reaching over to lightly trace her fingers up her spine. “You’ve always kept me well-fed. Given me a buffet of bodies.”

Agatha can’t help but let out the tiniest of moans, arching her back into Rio’s hand. “And you liked that, didn’t you?”

“Mm,” she hums. “Very, very much,” she says, voice low.

“What else did you like?” Agatha presses.

“Your body. Eating it in a different way.”

“That I know well.”

It’s not long before the group reaches the door, their clothes immediately and appropriately changed to ‘70s rockstar attire to match the locale as soon as they walk in. 

“Oh.” Agatha grins, spying herself in the mirror. “I look hot.” 

Rio licks her lips. Yes, she absolutely fucking does. 

Once Agatha is able to pull her eyes away from her own reflection, they gravitate to Rio. “So do you.”

“Yes, I know,” Rio says, adjusting her hood in the mirror. She glances over at Jen. “You look good. Very…” 

“Goddess-chic?” Teen offers. 

“Yeah, sure. What he said.” 

“Th-thanks.” Jen clears her throat, unable to make eye contact. “I-I’m gonna walk around. Look for clues," she announces before fleeing to a different room of the house. 

Rio smirks. She was so fucking easy. It was pathetic, of course, but also kind of sweet.

“Don’t eat anything. Don’t drink anything. Don’t. Touch. Anything,” Alice adamantly declares, tentatively looking around. Almost immediately, she spots a portrait of Lorna. The road wasn’t subtle. Nor was it concerned about her feelings, evidently.

Teen trails behind her. It seemed the safest choice at the moment — most moments, really — as far as not suffering physical violence or overhearing more sexually explicit comments went. “Your mom,” he says softly as she looks at the picture.

“Yeah.” Alice nods a little, her eyes never leaving the photograph. “She was amazing. Troubled…but amazing.”

“Well, maybe we’ll find her here, right?”

“Maybe…”

Teen frowns. “You don’t seem very confident.”

Alice sighs, running her hand over a record on the wall. “She died. Hotel fire. She was trying to protect me, or so she said.” Her nail lightly traces the label in the middle of the disc. “How do you bring someone back?”

His frown deepens, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. “I…wish I knew,” he quietly admits.

Alice looks over at him then. “You lose someone?” 

My parents. My brother. Myself. He doesn’t say any of that. He can’t — not for physical or emotional reasons. All he can say, voice barely audible, is, “Yeah.”

Alice isn’t good at grief herself, so handling this is even harder. She’s trying, though. She needs to try something. “I’m sorry,” she replies after a moment, reaching out and squeezing his shoulder before continuing to wander around the space.

Sensing Alice wants to be alone, Teen ambles over to the person who is second least likely to cause him bodily harm or sexual escapade-related trauma: Lilia. She’s looking around with an equal mix of wonder and weariness. 

“You find anything?” she asks Teen, raising a brow as he wanders over.

He shakes his head. “Not yet. You?”

“No. Though frankly, I’m hesitant to look.”

He furrows his brows. “Why? Can…can people be poisoned just by looking at something?”

“No. Something just feels…off.”

He nods slowly. He might not have her abilities, but he doesn't have to in order to know she's right.

Agatha makes her way up to the sound booth, with Rio predictably following close behind all the while. She’d always take an excuse to get Agatha alone.

Agatha paws through some boxes of records, folders of sheet music, various tubs of equipment. Rio lounges on a chair, predictably following her behind close all the while. 

“You know, it’s terrible for my ego when all you do is stare at my ass,” Agatha quips, bent over a filing cabinet.

“As if you've ever given a shit about the size of your ego. And I don’t just stare at your ass. Sometimes I stare at your boobs.”

“Which do you like better?”

“Oh, I don’t play favorites.”

“Is that so? I always thought you were more of a tits girl.”

Rio shrugs. “I just get to see more of them more often,” she says, getting up and walking over to lightly trace the bare strip of her breast peeking out through her shirt.

Agatha lets out a contented sigh, head rolling back slightly. “And you like them, clearly.”

Rio runs her finger upward now. “I see your praise kink is flaring up again.”

“Maybe.” Agatha abandons her task, turning to face her head-on now. “I think you should indulge it,” she challenges.

“You need to earn it first, baby. And denying me at the last place?” she tuts, shaking her head. “Not exactly earning it.”

“So how do I do it, then?”

“Always looking for easy answers, aren’t you? Shortcuts, like the cheater you are.” Rio walks her fingers up Agatha’s torso. “Maybe you should do some trial and error — figure something out yourself for a change.”

Agatha grabs her hand. “I’ve been doing that,” she says, voice gravelly. “I deserve to be rewarded.”

Rio is unmoved by the thinly veiled desperation — egged on, really — mouth curving into a wicked smirk. “Only your goddess gets to decide that. And maybe Jen.” She leans closer, lowering her voice. “And that woman fucking hates you, in case you haven’t noticed.”

Agatha shrugs. “All the more reason for her to come play. Are you letting her dominate me then?”

“Well, we can’t very well let her try to dominate me — she doesn’t have it in her. She creams her panties every time I fucking look at her.” Rio slips her hand from Agatha’s grasp, going back to playing with her plunging neckline. “Unless you’d rather me handle you both?”

“No.”

“I figured you wouldn’t want to share me, being the greedy little whore you are.”

Agatha’s expression shifts into a small pout. “I can share sometimes,” she defends, kissing her jaw.

Rio scoffs, turning her face away, though Agatha is relentless, her lips easily finding the spot again. “When have you ever fucking shared?” Rio grills. “Willingly? With someone other than me?”

“Nick, Teen, even Scarlet Bitch at some point.”

Rio stiffens at the first name, scowls at the second, and fully shoves her away at the third. “Elaborate on the second two,” she orders. “The what and the why.”

“I’m sharing my knowledge with the kid. I think he has…potential. Can be molded into something useful. For a moment, I considered that Wanda could be…a friend.” She shrugs again, attempting to be more nonchalant than she feels. “Quickly proved me wrong, of course.”

Rio gives her a look. “That kid’s beneath you, Agatha. And the Scarlet Witch above you. You really do need to learn your place — in all of this.”

“Where is that?” Agatha leans in again, beginning to kiss her neck. "Where is that with you?”

“Oh, you’ll find out soon enough.” Rio pushes on Agatha’s shoulder, causing her to fall back into the chair she’d been occupying. “But I’m not done asking my questions.”

“Oh my god.” Agatha throws her head back impatiently. “What do you want to know?”

“Snap at me again, and I’ll make sure you regret it,” she threatens, grabbing Agatha’s chin and forcing her to look up at her. “Did you fuck her?”

Agatha lets out a whimper. She’s a sucker for this woman — a sucker for the way she handles her. “No, Goddess.”

“Did you want to fuck her?”

“What if I did?”

“Then maybe I should give you what you want. Make sure the Salem Seven get you so you can join her in hell and fuck her to your heart’s content.”

Agatha licks her lips. “She didn’t compare to you.”

Rio digs her nails into her face. “Did you get yourself off thinking about her?” she presses. “Thinking about her instead of me?”

“Only you,” she breathes.

“Are you lying to me, baby?” she asks, claws still in her cheek, though she pulls her thumb free in order to stroke her bottom lip. “Remember, I have ways of peeking into that pretty little head of yours and finding out the truth, and it’ll be better for you in the long run if you just come clean now."

Agatha sucks in an inhale. “I thought about her,” she finally whispers. “But only you made me come.”

“But you thought about her,” she says darkly.

“Yes,” she confesses, starting to drop her head.

Rio puts an end to that plan immediately, yanking her chin back up to look at her. “You will be.” 

With the flick of her wrist, she locks the door to the sound booth and pulls the curtains to the windows closed — Alice and Jen didn’t get to be involved…yet. That was a treat for after the trial. She could use magic for the other part, too, but sometimes more practical means were more fun. She drops Agatha’s face, beginning to saunter around the room to see what's on hand.

“What does that mean?” Agatha asks.

Rio ignores the question, instead continuing her search. She finds a couple of cords — for microphones or amps or whatever, who gave a fuck? — that she thinks will do nicely and takes them over to the chair. “Hands behind your back,” she orders.

Agatha rolls her eyes but complies. “What are you doing?”

She, again, ignores her, expertly tying her wrists together — tight — before moving to kneel in front of her. She roughly spreads her legs open and begins to secure each ankle to the opposite leg of the chair with a different cord. 

“You like to look at me when I cum,” Rio says as she works, fingers deftly making taut, intricate knots. “Don’t you, baby?"

“I like to look at you point blank.”

“Well, lucky for you, that’s exactly what you’re going to do.” She adjusts Agatha’s chair so it’s facing the couch in the corner of the room before going over to lie down on it. Her entire backside stings as she does, but Rio doesn’t care — this is going to hurt so much more for Agatha. 

Rio pulls up her skirt before dipping her hand into the waistband of her underwear. “You’re going to tell me everything about her — the woman you were thinking about instead of me.”

“But I want to think about you,” Agatha tries.

“I don’t give a fuck what you want right now. You’re going to tell me about her — paint the most beautiful fucking picture imaginable — while you watch me touch myself.”

Agatha swallows, entranced by her gorgeously fucked-up mind. After a second, she starts to speak. “She has red hair that’s incredibly soft — much more tamable than mine. Wide, delicate eyes that emote. Perkiest fucking tits you’ve ever seen. A low voice with an accent that comes out when she’s…distressed.”

Rio lets her eyes fall shut as she rubs at her clit, already slick down there, though it’s more from the sound of Agatha’s own voice — the feeling of Agatha’s own eyes on her — than the words she’s speaking, the image she’s conjuring. Not that Rio’s going to let Agatha know that. She’s going to pretend this show is all because of Wanda. “Keep going.”

“I often wondered what it would be like if she did fuck me. If I touched her. Her skin was so soft.”

“You use that word a lot,” she notes as she keeps going. “‘Soft.’ Did you want a fragile little thing to ruin, Agatha? To corrupt?”

“Mm,” Agatha confirms. “And I wanted her to ruin me, too. To prove that she had it in her to do it.”

“Well, she certainly did that, didn’t she, sweetheart? Ruin you? Had the ultimate control over you — for three entire years — and stole your power to boot. Pathetic,” Rio states. “Tell me more. Tell me exactly what you wanted her to do to you.”

Agatha whimpers, squirming against the restraints as the wetness starts to grow between her legs. “Bend me over. In every decade.”

Rio lets out a moan, exaggerating it to make things even more insufferable for Agatha. “But she chose the robot,” she points out. “She chose the vibranium and wires. The glorified vibrator. Why would she do that, Agatha? Choose him instead of you?"

“Because I’m worthless.”

“What else?” she presses, working herself closer and closer to climax.

“And beneath her. Beneath you.”

Rio opens her eyes and glances over at her. “Look at you. Getting all hot and bothered from degrading yourself, aren’t you?”

“Please,” Agatha hisses. “Please. I need you.”

“Too bad,” she says with cruel flippancy, holding eye contact as she cums. She bites her lip and arches her back, doing everything she can to drive Agatha insane with desire.

Agatha bites down hard on her own lip — no doubt to suppress another whimper, her own body unquestionably heating and swirling in a way she hasn’t felt in ages.

After milking her orgasm for all it’s worth — keeping her eyes on Agatha shifting desperately all the while, futilely attempting to get some friction despite the cords — Rio slumps back against the couch and catches her breath. 

“Are you going to think about her again, baby?” Rio asks. “The woman whose trap you had to claw your way out of?”

“No, Goddess,” Agatha breathes. “Only you.”

“Good.” Rio stands up, licking her fingers clean, and circles Agatha a few times. Finally, she kneels down behind her, whispering in her ear. “Now claw your way out of mine.”

She places her blade in Agatha’s still-bound hands before traipsing out the door. 

Chapter Text

“Hey…” Jen says as Rio saunters back into the main room, wrinkling her brows at the fact Agatha isn't with her. 

“Hey.” Rio winks. 

Jen feels her face get hot, and she looks away, continuing to search for clues. 

Teen, who has no reason to be flustered, says the quiet part out loud. “Where’s Agatha?”

“Tied up with something,” Rio deadpans.

Alice clocks the implications right away, shooting her an unamused look. “Please don’t tell me she’s literally tied up. If that’s—” She’s interrupted by a sudden screech of god-awful music — like an elementary school band concert but worse. She jerks around to try and find the source. “What the hell?”

“Sorry.” Teen grimaces. “I put a record on. Thought it might be the clue.” 

“Why?” Jen asks, covering her ears. 

“Because it literally said ‘play me’ on the sleeve!” Teen defends. 

“Well, it’s clearly not, so can you please make it fucking stop?!” Jen asks.

Alice is starting to panic — even more so than usual, that is — the anxiety that’s beginning to bubble quickly threatening to reach a boiling point. Quickly threatening to make her sick. In a blur, she lashes out, crashing the record player into dozens of pieces. The music goes quiet.

Everyone goes quiet, too. Who knew Alice had that in her? 

It would be a relief, but the sound of a metronome begins to tick, tick, tick… 

“I think that means the trial’s started,” Rio points out.

“No shit,” Alice mumbles before pausing for a second, taking it all in. “I feel…lighter,” she notes. And she does — lighter than she has…in years? In decades? In her whole life? “Does anyone else feel lighter?” 

Lilia clearly doesn’t, the weight of something dropping her to the ground. A scream rips from her throat as she clutches at her shoulder, a sulfuric burning smell filling the air. 

Agatha, newly freed from her restraints, walks into the room, Rio’s blade in tow. Alice deftly grabs it from her hand and begins drawing a circle around Lilia.

“Hey!” Agatha childishly protests. “What the fuck?”

Alice promptly ignores her, beginning to chant in Latin. The panic from earlier returns — and increases tenfold. 

Jen’s is pretty high, too. “Me next, me next,” she orders. “I am not letting my perfect skin get all crispy.” 

“But then you’d be able to relate to your customers,” Rio points out.  

“For the last time — my products did not burn their skin! The lawsuits are bullshit!” 

Rio doesn’t bother dignifying that with a response, turning to Alice. “Can I have my knife back?” 

“Why did Agatha have your knife?!” Teen asks. 

“Do the math, kid.” 

Teen whimpers, traumatized by this entire ordeal. “I don’t think I want to.”

Alice shakes her head, stiff and on high alert. There’s little relief in the fact that Lilia seems to be okay, as the same thing happens to Jen a second later.

“Ow, ow, ow, ow, fucking ow!” she cries out as Alice quickly tends to her.

“You have one, don’t you?” Lilia suddenly says. 

Alice tenses, her breaths shallow — that is when she can manage to suck them in at all. After a moment, she pushes her shirt to the side to show a mark on her shoulder. 

“A generational curse!” Lilia exclaims with a gasp. “Oh, you poor thing.”

“What do you mean ‘you poor thing?’” Jen asks. “She just infected all of us with it! I should have packed my face mask.” 

“I really don’t think that’s how that works…” Teen notes. 

“Well, you’re not the one whose skin is singed,” Jen says through gritted teeth.  

Just then, Teen flies across the room, through the glass window.

Agatha yelps, some primal instinct overtaking her and causing her to run after him, Lilia not far behind.

“You’re fucking crazy,” Jen mumbles as the two of them flee to check on him. No way in hell is she leaving the safety of her circle.

Rio sighs, plopping herself onto the couch. Growing impatient — with all of it.

Alice, in some sort of distressed daze, finally recovers enough to look at the two of them. “What does it want us to do?”

“How the hell should I know?! It’s your family’s crusty-ass curse!” Jen says.

“Beats me.” Rio casually shrugs, picking at a cuticle and being her characteristically unhelpful self.

Alice clenches her jaw. “You know, Rio, you could do literally anything other than fuck Agatha! You’re so—” She stops as the solution suddenly dawns on her — hits her like a bright light and burns her brain. “Oh, hell no,” she mutters, her eyes going to the metronome. It’s a familiar tempo. A too familiar tempo.

“What, Alice?” Jen snaps. “What?!” 

“Yeah, what were you going to say? I’m so fucking what?” Rio asks, almost amused by Alice’s outburst. 

“That is not what I’m asking ‘what?’ about!” Jen yells.

“They want us to sing my mother’s ballad. Oh, no. No, no, no,” Alice moans, putting her hands on her ears and shaking her head.

“We’re getting this stressed out about a glorified nursery rhyme?” Rio deadpans. 

“Would you please shut the fuck up for two seconds?” Jen spits.  

“Why don’t you come over here and make me?” Rio baits. 

Jen goes to lunge at her but then looks down and remembers the circle. What happened to her poor shoulder last time she left it. She scowls. 

Rio smirks. “That’s what I thought.”

Alice grits her teeth so hard she thinks they might crack in her mouth. She’s not going to explain it — she’s not giving Rio that satisfaction. Instead, she flips her off.  

“What’s going on?” Agatha asks as she and Lilia lead a rather bloody Teen back into the room.

“I don’t know! Alice is talking in fucking riddles — as if we don’t have enough of those already!” Jen proclaims, exasperated.

“I told you!” Alice impatiently retorts. “The metronome is set to the BPM of my mother’s ballad. It wants us to sing it, but there’s no way in hell. I heard that song way too many times in my life.”

Sudden realization washes over Agatha’s features as the puzzle pieces come together in her mind. “The curse.” 

Alice crosses her arms over her chest. “What about it?”

“Her ballad was so popular they played it everywhere, right? It’s a protection spell.”

“Like your tattoo,” Teen offers, voice soft — both for Alice’s sake and his own. He had lost a fair amount of blood during Windowgate.

“Her fans were her coven,” Agatha muses, her voice uncharacteristically soft as well. The gravity of Lorna’s devotion to her daughter — the beauty of the fact that fucking fan culture, of all things, fueled a protection spell so powerful it staved off a curse — hits her hard considering what Evanora never did for her. Considering what she couldn’t do for Nick. 

Because Rio observes her, intently and constantly, she can practically see it happen — Agatha’s own mommy issues rising to the surface, albeit in a different way than Alice’s. That was going to be fun to deal with… 

Agatha snaps herself out of it as quickly as she’d fallen in. “You have to,” she unsympathetically insists. “Teen, can you play any instruments? Jen? Lilia?”

“I play guitar,” Teen says, going to grab it. "Like Alice. Do you think it's okay if we have repeats?" 

“I took ballet?” Jen responds. 

Rio snorts. “Helpful.” 

“Well, you’re one to fucking talk!” Jen retorts. 

“I can play drums.” Rio shrugs, sitting down at the set. “And I’m not confined to a circle.”

“Naturally, I’ll sing lead,” Agatha says.

“‘Naturally,’” Jen mocks with a scoff and a roll of her eyes. 

“You’re playing bass, Baryshnikov. Backup guitar,” Agatha snarks back.

“That is…not what bass is,” Teen says, putting the guitar strap over his shoulder.

“Alice, you’ll play piano—” Agatha orders. 

Alice lifts her palms, vehemently shaking her head. “Hell no. I already said I’m not doing this.” 

Agatha grabs her shoulders, looking her in the eye — more serious than she’s ever been with her. “Alice, you have to. So be a big girl, and put on your big girl panties, and let's rock 'n' fucking roll."

“Don’t call me that,” Alice grumbles, ripping herself from her grasp and reluctantly making her way to the piano. It felt an awful lot like a death march.

“And don’t say ‘panties,’” Teen pleads.

“Agreed. Disgusting,” Jen says. 

“I have the triangle!” Lilia proclaims, holding it up triumphantly.

Jen rubs her temples. “Dear god — we’re so fucking dead.” She sighs and fixes her gaze on Agatha once more. “Since you cast yourself as the main character, are you going to count us in?”

“Wait, are we going on three or after three?” Teen asks. 

“Are you kidding me? You always go after three,” Jen says as if he’s the stupidest person alive. 

“Not always! Not when you play rock, paper, scissors.”  

“This isn’t rock, paper, scissors,” Rio contributes, bored. 

“No shit!” Jen retorts, irritated beyond belief.

“Shut the fuck up — all of you,” Alice barks. It took a lot more to make her snap than the rest of the group, but it seemed the culmination of everything had finally pushed her there. “I’ll start playing. You all can figure out the goddamn counts yourself.”

Teen purses his lips as he picks up his guitar. “Sorry, Alice,” he says softly. 

“Yeah, I’m…sorry, too, Alice,” Jen reluctantly apologizes as well. She looks at the bass — the bass that’s far, far outside the safety of her circle.

“It’s fine,” Alice mutters. “Let’s just get it over with.”

“That’s the spirit,” Rio says, which would be encouraging if it wasn’t dripping with sarcasm.

Alice glares at her before shooting Jen a pleading look. “Please?”

Jen chews on her lip, the burn of the curse still fresh in her mind — and on her shoulders. Was the bass getting further away? It couldn’t possibly be getting further away, right? That’d be crazy. 

Of course, this was the road — everything about it was crazy. 

“I…I can’t.” 

“That’s not the spirit,” Rio says. Simply to stir the pot. She couldn’t really care less either way. 

Jen glowers at her. “I don’t want to get any more blistered!” she defends. Just then, a fire begins to blaze around the entire room. 

“We’re all going to be ashes if you don’t go!” Teen points out.

“Jen! Hurry the fuck up!” Agatha spits.

She contemplates for another beat as the flames grow higher. “Oh, fine!” she finally agrees, sprinting out of her circle to pick up the bass. She hisses as she puts the strap around her tender shoulder. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck — I don’t even know how to play this!” She strums the strings anyway.

Alice starts to play. The notes, the chords, the movements — they were all wired into her brain, woven into her fingers, tattooed on her being somehow just like the ink on her arm. Her mother taught her this. She has the fleeting thought that maybe this would make her happy, to see her at the piano again. To see her play the song she wrote. Wrote for Alice.

Agatha begins to sing — something that’s difficult as the curse hits her as well. She sucks in a sharp breath, the lyrics interspersed with a wince here and there, but she keeps going. Keeps surviving. 

That’s what Agatha did.

“I feel like I’m on RuPaul’s Drag Race,” Teen mutters, also powering through the pain. He got the worst of it, but there was a little happiness with the hurt — this meant he was actually part of the coven, right? If the curse got him, too? 

Jen shoots him a look before focusing on Alice, her fingers moving with graceful precision and passion across the keys. Keeping her eyes fixed on her was…soothing somehow.  

Hold up. When the fuck had that happened? Alice becoming a calming force? Jen didn’t…she didn’t like her like that. Did she? It was just a product of being sexually frustrated and in a stressful situation…wasn’t it? 

Whatever. Whatever. If they made it out of here, she was going to hate-fuck Agatha and Rio and not think about that. At all.

They get to the bridge of the song before Alice suddenly catches a glimpse of something perched on a rafter, its grotesque, dangerous face maliciously grinning down at her. 

“The curse! I can see it!” she calls above the music. Somehow, this gives her renewed energy to keep going. “I can kill it,” she states, determined — fully locking in. She even joins in the harmonies, playing and singing with all her heart for the first time since her mom died. She pushes through the sadness. She pushes through the fear. She even pushes through the thing lunging at her, giving the song everything she’s got as she waits for impact.

She was going to die. That seemed pretty obvious.

But damn it, she was going to go out fighting. Go out in a blaze. Like her mother.

Just as Jen is not going to think about these new, weird feelings for Alice, she’s also not going to think about how scared she is when a creature who could definitely use her skincare line descends down on her. How relieved she is when the creature doesn’t engulf Alice in flames but instead disappears into thin air, the metronome and fire stopping with it. 

She’s okay. Everyone’s okay. 

Well…maybe not Teen. 

One minute, he’s standing, smiling that dorky little smile, and the next, he’s passed out on the ground, bleeding profusely from his stomach.

“Fuck!” Agatha exclaims. “Help me get him out of here — now!”

“Where even is ‘out’?!” Jen asks. Just then, the top of the piano opens.

“Now!” Agatha repeats as she hurries to him, Alice close behind.

Jen rushes over as well, definitely not thinking about the way something stirs in her stomach as her arm briefly brushes against Alice’s. “We’ll lift on three,” she asserts. There’s a short beat as she anticipates the same question Teen had. “And by that, I mean directly after three, got it? One, two, three…”

Alice breathes a sigh of…relief? Is that right? At Jen’s presence. Though she knows she doesn’t have time to interrogate or unpack that right now.

The three of them lift Teen as quickly they can, his lankiness making the maneuvering more difficult than it should be.

Rio glances over at Lilia. “Bones too brittle to help, Grandma?” She’s not helping either, of course, but that’s because she’s only here for Agatha and Agatha alone.

“Stop calling me Grandma,” she hisses. “Why don’t you make yourself useful?”

“I just might,” Rio assures her, though it sounds more like a threat. She perches herself on the piano. “Though I’m not sure how much you’d like that…” she says ominously before sliding down ahead of everyone. If the kid died, she’d have to take him…which would honestly be sort of nice. Fewer distractions for Agatha was always a plus…

Once the group gets him out, they gently lower him onto a flat rock. “Jen! Help him!” Agatha impatiently orders.

Jen doesn’t even pick a fight for the way she’s speaking to her. “Okay, okay! I need…” She racks her brain. “I need water! And…and moonlight!” she frantically lists. Alice spots a very convenient puddle of water and scrambles to find something to put it in. She miraculously locates a shell and carefully passes it to Jen.

Rio stands against a tree, watching it all. Waiting for it all — to see how it might play out.

She’s interrupted by Agatha’s voice, firm but with an undercurrent of pleading. “Don’t.” There’s a shakiness to the words — to her lip — forehead damp with sweat and eyes watering to match. She looks like she did when she was giving birth. Please, my love. Please, my love. Please, my—

No. No. Rio wasn’t going to think about that. 

Instead, she simply raises a brow at her while Jen pours, the wound slowly seeming to heal itself.

Agatha’s body releases tension she hadn’t even realized it was holding. Still, she knows the boy isn’t out of the woods — literally or figuratively — and is still in a lot of pain. She assumes that’s what makes him fall unconscious — the pain. Some sick part of her wishes she was unconscious now, too, with how much he reminds her of Nick. With how painful that fact is.

She and Alice wordlessly carry him to a softer patch of ground to rest on. Once the other woman leaves, joining the others at a campfire Jen and Lilia somehow manage to scrounge up, Agatha takes her coat off to cover him. And then she sits, and she watches him.

She knows exactly what happens when she doesn’t watch them.

Teen’s not sure what happens. One minute, he’s celebrating the fact they successfully lip-synced for their lives (except they literally sang for their literal lives, which was really even more impressive), and the next minute, he’s back in the woods, Agatha’s coat draped over him. 

With some effort, he manages to sit up slightly. “Where’s everyone else?” he asks her, voice groggy as he glances around. His eyes widen when he doesn’t see anyone in their vicinity, jolting up even more. “Are they okay?”

Agatha breathes a sigh of relief, motioning him to relax. “They’re fine." A beat. "Are you fine?

“I think so.” He rubs his eyes. “What…happened?”

She purses her lips. “You almost died.”

He grimaces. “I gathered as much. But…how? How did I almost die, and then how did I…not?”

“Jen,” Agatha says, and she’s pretty sure she’s not lying. Because while it could have been Rio, surely, it wasn’t. Surely, it wouldn’t have been her. “She healed your wound.”

“Huh.” Teen blinks as he tries to process this, his state making an already difficult concept to grasp infinitely more so. “That’s…sort of surprising. I kinda thought she hated me. And everyone. You two are similar in that way.” He puts his hands up to shield himself. “And you’re not allowed to hurt me for pointing out something you two have in common. I’m already, like, super injured.”

“Elaborate.” Agatha narrows her eyes. “And be very careful about how you do.”

“No offense, but you both have very…hostile auras.”

Agatha squares her shoulders, lifting her chin. “Well, there’s a reason for mine. You just might not think it a good one.”

“There’s probably a reason Jen is the way she is, too,” Teen gently counters. “Not saying that’s good either, but…”

“I know.” Agatha looks at him. Looks at him but sees someone else entirely. “You have a good heart,” she finally says.

My heart’s not even my own, he’s tempted to say. My body, my life — none of it’s mine. But he can’t. Again, for more than one reason. So instead, he looks down at the ground. “How could you possibly know that?” he quietly asks. “I mean, you don’t even know my name.”

“You don’t have to know someone’s name to know who they are.”

He traces a pattern in the dirt with his finger. He’s not sure it’s true, but it sure felt nice to hear. It sure felt nice to be talking to her like this — like a real person. “Be careful that you don’t say something nice to me,” he teases.

Agatha breathes out a chuckle. “Never.”

Teen bites the inside of his cheek, risking a glance up at her. Weighing his odds. “What is the reason?” he asks softly. “That you don’t get close to people?” A beat. “Does it have to do with your son?”

Agatha’s demeanor changes instantly — a flip switched, a temperature dropped subterranean in a second flat. She shoots him a sharp, warning look. “What do you think?” 

“I don’t want to think — I want to know.”

Agatha pushes herself from the ground, her walls shooting up the inches they’d dropped as she was keeping watch. Rising even higher than before. “You need to rest.”

He frowns. “You’re making excuses. You act tough, but you’re being a coward by pushing me away and pretending it’s for my benefit,” he accuses, voice blunt but devoid of malice, not that Agatha is likely going to care.

Agatha runs a hand over her face. “You got anything else? Huh? You don’t know the kind of person I am.”

“You’re right — I don’t know the kind of person you are. I only know the kind of person everyone says you are, and it can’t get much worse than that,” he points out. “You’re hurting me more by not just telling me the truth and letting me decide for myself.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Because it didn’t. It never mattered. No matter how good she promised she could be.

“It matters to me,” he assures her, voice so certain and yet so naive. She doesn’t respond. “You’re really not going to tell me? About Nick?” he presses — pushing his luck, to be sure.

Agatha gives him a hard look. “No.”  

At that, she storms off to the campfire. She needs to get all of this out of her head, and she knows just the way to do it. 

“Lilia, it’s your shift,” she asserts. 

Lilia doesn’t need to be a psychic to know exactly what they’re planning to do. The vibe in the air is charged — unmistakable. She lifts her palms. “Better than witnessing whatever debauchery is about to happen here,” she agrees before pushing herself off the log and walking down the path to Teen.

“How is he?” Jen asks.

“Who cares?” Rio retorts. 

Jen glares at her. “I just want to make sure my healing spell is holding up,” she says, overly defensive. Because she does care. Despite herself, she does care about the little twerp’s wellbeing.

“Mouthy,” Agatha simply replies. She was done thinking about him for now. She had to be. 

Alice nods, some anxiety alleviated. “That’s good.”

“Hey, um…speaking of healing spells,” Jen clears her throat awkwardly, thrusting a small vial of liquid and a blunt into Alice’s hands. “I know you mentioned wanting some Advil earlier? I don’t have that, but the oil should help with pain if you put it on your pressure points. Plus, it smells nice. Not that you smell bad—“ 

“Eh.” Rio makes a so-so motion with her hand.

Jen shoots her an even more intense glare before turning back to Alice. “And the joint is…well, it’s a joint. And weed should help, too.”

“Thank you.” Alice gives her a grateful smile, taking them both from her. “Seriously. I…really appreciate it.” 

Agatha leans in to whisper in Rio’s ear. “I need you to make me your bitch. Now.”

“You’re always my bitch,” she reminds her. “But gladly.” She looks at Jen. “Are you finally ready to have some fun, princess?” 

Jen’s not sure if the term is meant to be endearing or patronizing. She’s also not sure she cares. Either way, it’s turning her on — and exactly what she needs to get her mind off of the fact Alice’s mere presence is now evidently enough to fucking frazzle her all of a sudden. Jennifer Kale is cool and collected. Jennifer Kale does not get frazzled. 

“Yeah, I’m game,” she says with forced nonchalance. 

“Cool.” Rio looks at Alice. “Are you sticking around for this? Price of admission is a hit of that.” She points at the blunt. She could grow her own in an instant, of course, but what was the fun in that?

Alice considers for a moment. After a long pause, she reaches over to hand it to her. “Light it, then I don’t care.”

“Is that a yes?”

“It’s a sure. Why not?” She glances over at Jen. At the reason she’s sticking around.

“I love the enthusiasm,” Rio says, taking the blunt and summoning a small spark on her finger. She lights it before taking a long, deep drag. “You really know how to make a girl feel special.”

Alice merely shrugs. “I have nothing to lose and everything to gain from this.”

Agatha raises an eyebrow at Jen. “Hope you didn’t lose your touch with me.”

Jen gives her a look — her eyes full of some odd combination of disgust and desire. “You’re lucky I’m going to be touching you at all.”

Chapter Text

Agatha begins to shed her clothes, smirking at Jen. “Well, now’s the time to slap me around like you so clearly want to. As long as my goddess gives you permission.” She’s feeding Rio’s ego and getting under Jen’s skin — a double win.

“Your goddess?” Jen raises a brow. 

“Oh, don’t be jealous, princess,” Rio says, softly stroking Jen’s face. Jen can’t help but swallow hard. As infuriating as Rio was, she was irresistible. “You get to pick what she calls you, too. What do you think?” Rio begins peppering gentle kisses up her neck, breath hot against her skin. Goosebumps immediately rise on Jen's flesh. “Lady?” Another peck. “Mistress?” Another. “Queen?”

“Priestess,” Jen says. “I want her to call me Priestess.” 

“Excellent choice,” Rio praises. She’s feeding Jen’s ego and getting under Agatha’s skin — a double win for her as well. This was her and Agatha’s twisted version of chess, after all, with Jen a willing pawn.

Agatha glances at Rio. “It's a ridiculous one, and you know it."

“Well, it's what she wants," Rio says without an ounce of sympathy before pulling away from Jen in order to slowly circle Agatha a few times — predator and prey. “Now, I find it interesting that you would still be standing in the presence of a priestess and a goddess. Maybe you could help her get into the proper position, princess.” 

Jen smirks, approaching Agatha and harshly shoving her shoulder down, forcing her to kneel. 

“Mm.” Rio nods appreciatively. “Much better I think. How does it feel, sweetheart? To be naked and bowing before us?”

Agatha grits her teeth. She knows what Rio wants her to say — she'd handed it to her on a silver platter in the sound booth. She also knows what she wants Rio to do to her and knows playing the game is the only way she's going to get it right now. “Like I’m beneath you,” she admits. There’s a weird thrill to it buried deep, deep down.

Rio gives her a mocking pout. “Poor baby. Princess, why don’t you throw her a bone and undress as well — see if that helps.” 

Jen gives her an indignant look. “But—“ 

“Shh.” Rio holds a finger to Jen’s lips. “Trust me.” 

Jen considers for a moment before slowly slipping her dress off. “Good, darling,” Rio says. “That’s so good. Now give it to her.” Jen does as instructed, handing it over to Agatha. 

Rio glances at her. “Fold it nicely,” she instructs. “And tell her how gorgeous she looks.”

Agatha stares at Jen for a moment. Fuck. She is still gorgeous. It’s infuriating. Unfair, even. “You’re beautiful,” she reluctantly admits. “Fucking beautiful.”

“Thanks.” Jen gives her a tight smile. “But I think you’re forgetting something.”

“Hm?” Agatha raises a brow before her eyes trail down to the balled-up dress in her hands. With a scoff and a roll of her eyes, she begins to fold it.

“I don’t think I like her attitude,” Jen tells Rio. 

“It is rather bratty,” Rio agrees. 

“And the fact she can’t seem to follow basic orders without a reminder…” 

“Troubling,” Rio finishes. “Severe enough to warrant a punishment, to be sure.” She examines her nails. “Then again, you could show mercy just this once — give her a chance to make it up to you.” 

Jen considers this. And then, without any indication of which option she’s choosing, looks back at Agatha and says, “Put your hands behind your back.”

“Suit yourself,” Agatha says, dropping the dress in the dirt before complying. 

Jen scowls as she reaches behind her own back, unhooking her bra and tossing it on top of the dress. “You do the rest,” she tells Agatha, nodding at her underwear. 

“No magic, no hands…you’re going to have to get creative,” Rio tells her.

Agatha huffs, leaning forward and taking them between her teeth. She’s sure to scrape down each of Jen’s thighs as she slowly lowers them.

“Fucking bitch,” Jen breathes out, grabbing Agatha’s hair to steady herself. It feels good, but she knows Agatha isn’t doing it to make her feel good.

Agatha hums, glancing back up as soon as she’s successfully pulled them down. “There.”

Rio goes to pick them up once Jen has stepped out of them, placing them in her pocket for safekeeping. 

“Are you hungry, slut?” Jen asks.

“To get fucked?” she replies with faux innocence. “Yes.”

“Mind your manners, baby. You know better,” Rio warns. “None of that until you serve your priestess.” 

“I was thinking you could eat me out,” Jen says. “As a little appetizer.”

Agatha wrinkles her nose. “Why?”

Jen tilts her head back, incensed. “Are you fucking questioning me?”

“What happens if I am?”

“She’s allowed to ask questions,” Rio says coolly, happy to play referee for now. “But you’re allowed to shut her up how you see fit.” 

At that, Jen places a hand on the back of her head, harshly yanking her forward and giving Agatha a split-second decision: move her hands to steady herself or fall face-forward into her crotch.

She chooses the latter, though with no mercy. She’s going to play rough, too. She starts to suck on Jen’s clit with a ravenous fervor, tasting her for the first time in years.

Jen grips onto Agatha’s shoulders, tilting her head up to the sky. “See what you miss out on when you act like an insufferable cunt?”

At that, Agatha lets her teeth graze over her clit — not nearly as gentle as she could be. Jen tightens her grip on her shoulders, blood draining from her knuckles. “If you bite me, I swear to fucking god,” she hisses.

Agatha doesn’t respond. Instead, she goes back to sucking, adding in her tongue for some alternating sensations. Agatha really liked testing her limits — and, as a result, she was quickly pushing Jen to hers, pleasure flowing through her entire body, about ready to explode. 

Rio goes to stand behind Agatha as she works, whispering in her ear. “Did you forget about me, baby?”

Agatha whimpers, pressing her ass up against her. Staying focused on Jen to make her come in record time. Rio, however, is not having it. Is selfish.

“Come on. You can multitask,” she encourages, tapping one of her wrists. “These have been in time-out long enough — now let’s make good use of them.”

Never one to back down from a challenge, Agatha obliges. She trails a hand up Rio’s thigh and begins to tease, fingers brushing her clit.

“Good girl,” she praises. “Finding exactly where you’re supposed to be without looking.”

Agatha whimpers into Jen again, grazing her teeth a little harder.

Agatha might not need to look, but Jen does — at Alice, more specifically. She’s already on the precipice with the added pressure Agatha gives her, and locking eyes with the woman sitting on the log — the woman who’s now stoned and seemingly entranced by it all — is enough to push her over entirely. She moans, fingers digging into Agatha’s shoulders for dear life as a shudder runs through her body.

Agatha happily carries her through her orgasm, lapping up the cum that spills into her mouth.  

“How’d she do, princess?” Rio asks as Agatha’s hand continues to work her clit. 

Jen can’t speak, panting too hard. She simply nods, gaze never leaving Alice. Nor does Alice’s gaze leave her.

“You want to take a little breather?” Rio gently prompts. Another nod. “Okay, darling — you do that.”

She doesn’t allow Agatha the same luxury, turning her head from Jen’s center and immediately catching her lips in her own, kissing her deeply.

Agatha lets out a short groan into her mouth, her hand still working Rio's cunt.

“Do you want a break, too?” Rio asks on a rare occasion she lets Agatha pull back slightly for air. Her stupid mortal lungs.

Agatha shakes her head.

“That’s good to hear, baby, because you weren’t fucking getting one,” she says, moving her head down to begin planting harsh kisses on her neck. “Heads or tails?”

The hand that was fucking Rio freezes at the odd inquiry. “Heads?”

Rio shoves her down so she’s lying on her back, lips never leaving her neck. “We'll take you face-up, then,” she says decisively. “See or speak?”

Agatha squirms, arching up into her touch. “See,” she finally answers.

“Then open your mouth.”

Agatha obliges, lips parting as she stares up at her.

Rio spits into it. “Now swallow and say thank you — the last thing you’re going to say for a while — and open again,” she evenly instructs.

Agatha nods a little, swallowing like she’s told before opening her mouth again.

Rio raises a warning brow. “I didn’t hear my ‘thank you.’”

Agatha rolls her eyes. “Thank you, Goddess.”

Agatha’s mouth is open again at this point, but Rio takes her chin in her hand anyway, forcing her jaw down further. “That’s the second time you’ve gotten an attitude and the second time you’ve neglected to follow basic fucking instructions the first time.” 

She holds her free hand out, beckoning Jen over. “Come here, princess,” she says. “I need your help.” Jen — albeit with some reluctance — finally takes her eyes off Alice and crouches down next to them.

“You know there are rules and consequences for breaking them.” She looks at Jen. “Hold her head up.” 

Jen moves to sit above Agatha and does as instructed. “My how the mighty have fallen,” she mocks with a smirk, though she massages her scalp with her nails. Mercy, like Rio had said.

Agatha whimpers, leaning into Jen’s hand. “I’ll be good,” she promises.

“Yes, you will be.” Rio plucks Jen’s underwear from her pocket, stuffing them into Agatha’s mouth and securing them behind her head with a firm knot — a makeshift gag. 

“Do I taste just as good secondhand?” Jen asks. There’s a beat before Agatha reluctantly nods. “Good to know.” She places Agatha’s head back on the ground with a shocking amount of gentleness. 

“Okay, sweetheart,” Rio says, adjusting herself so she’s straddling Agatha’s hips. “You’re going to pick two numbers between one and five. Hold one up with the fingers on your left hand, the other with your right.”

After a moment of contemplation, Agatha holds up a three and a one, grinding up against her.

“Huh-uh.” Rio shakes her head, placing a hand on her waist and pressing her down. “None of that. You’re going to be still, understand?"

Agatha groans but doesn’t fight her. She only stares up — wide-eyed and needy.

“We’re getting there, baby,” Rio promises, taking some pity of her own by leaning down to give her cheek a gentle kiss. “Enjoy the journey. We’re both going to help you reach the end of this little road within the road. You’ll get what you’re missing, just not without some trials first.”  

She sits back up. “Now, about behaving — do you think your arms or your legs are going to have more trouble with that? Hold up a hand or a foot.”

Agatha considers before holding up a hand. She might put up a fight later with her legs, but she’s known to be clever with her hands in more ways than one.

In one swift, agile movement, Rio pins Agatha’s wrists to the ground. “Princess, why don’t you go down there—“ She nods her head behind her. “—and start repaying the favor she did you, hm?” 

Jen strokes Agatha’s hair before giving it a tug and complying, spreading Agatha’s legs and positioning herself between them. Agatha whines as the cool air hits her cunt, making her even more aware of how much she needs this.

“Is she wet already?” Rio asks her. 

“Soaked,” Jen confirms.

“Hand or mouth?” Rio asks, voice calm and steady. Taking her time but guiding Agatha through it. “Wiggle your fingers or bite down on the gag.”

Agatha wiggles a couple of fingers eagerly. 

“She wants your fingers, darling,” she tells Jen. The woman complies, entering her with one to start. 

With Agatha’s arms raised above her head and easily accessible, Rio begins kissing up and down the soft, delicate skin just above the crease of her elbow. The muscles quiver under her lips. “When you’re getting close, you’re going to squeeze my hand,” she tells her. “Got it? Nod for yes.”

Agatha nods rapidly, rolling her head to the side. Jen’s infuriating lack of fingers inside of her has her losing her mind.

Rio takes the hint, moving her lips back to her neck. “Give her another, princess,” she tells Jen after a few of what are surely agonizing moments for Agatha. “Actually…give her two more — three’s the number of the day.” 

Jen's middle and ring fingers join her pointer to swirl around her cunt. “You’re taking me so easily,” she notes. 

“Seems like you’ve missed her,” Rio accuses Agatha. “I told you I missed you, and all I got was hate. But you have nothing but love for your priestess, it seems. I’m not sure I like that.”

Agatha shakes her head, mumbling around the gag that it’s not true. But she can’t deny how fucking good Jen’s finger still feel — her long, talented fingers.

“It is true,” Rio insists. “Your body doesn’t lie, and that’s all your mouth seems to do. You’re a deceitful little whore,” she says, sinking her teeth into her throat.

Agatha lets out a yelp, quickly being lulled into a state of dumb bliss.

“Is she close?” Rio asks Jen. 

“Seems to be,” Jen replies. 

“Remind her that she needs to warn us about that.” 

Jen gives her inner thigh a harsh smack with her free hand, the sound echoing off the trees.

Agatha lets out a small cry, feeling tears well from pleasure and the pain and the pleasure of the pain alike.

“Two more times, princess — for good measure,” Rio instructs. “And three’s the number of the day, remember?” 

Jen slaps her other thigh and maneuvers the hand inside her in such a way that she can place the final one directly on her pussy without removing her fingers. 

“If you forget — or worse, you deliberately disobey me — believe me, you’re going to be one very sorry girl,” Rio warns. “Things will not end pleasantly for you, that I promise. And unlike you, I actually keep those.”

Agatha’s eyes widen. Part of her is tempted to test her luck and limits, but between the way Jen slaps her cunt and continues to fuck her so hard she can barely function, she has no choice but to finally submit, squeezing Rio’s hand tightly to try and tell her she’s close.

“Stop,” Rio orders. Jen’s fingers halt immediately, and she pulls them out completely so Agatha can’t try to clench around them. 

“The first number you picked was three,” Rio reminds her. “So that’s how many times you’re getting edged,” she reveals. “Once you take two more like the good girl I know you can be, you’ll get your one orgasm. Understood?”

Agatha moans loudly in protest but nods. She feels woefully empty now, her body buzzing with almost realized energy.

“Do you want me and your priestess to switch places for this next one?” 

Agatha can barely comprehend what Rio’s asking at this point. Once she can manage to string the sentence together in a somewhat compressible way, she gives her a rapid nod.

Rio lets go of her wrists, scooting down her body while Jen stands and comes to take the place Rio’s abandoned. “Having fun, witch killer?” she asks.

Agatha glares up at her, but between the gag and fuzziness of her brain, she can’t do much else. And then there’s the fact of Jen’s beauty. Fuck, she really is beautiful.

“Answer her,” Rio demands, giving the most sensitive area of her cunt another smack.

Agatha yelps and finally nods. Her eyes grow wide and pleading.

“Oh, don’t give me that look,” Jen says, unsympathetic. “A day ago, you were bitching about how I made you want to—” She tangles her hands in Agatha’s locks and pulls. “—tear your hair out.”

Agatha’s look doesn’t change, though, to her credit, she attempts to whimper out a halfhearted apology around the gag.

“What a pathetic little sound. Am I hurting you?” Jen asks, giving her hair another tug. 

“Probably,” Rio answers for her. “But she gets off on the pain. In fact, I bet I could make her cum just by doing this.” She gives her pussy another tap — not as intense as the first strike but still plenty hard. “You know the drill — let your priestess know when you’re close,” she orders, continuing to land harsh pats to the area.  

Rio reaches her other hand around Jen’s front to play with her breast, her touch gentle — a stark contrast to what she’s currently giving Agatha.

Agatha hates how good it feels to be hurt by these women. Hates how much she craves it — needs it. Hates that all she can do is squirm around Rio’s touch.

“Stop moving around,” she warns, giving her a particularly brutal blow. “You make things harder for me, you make things harder for yourself.”

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles out.

It’s barely coherent considering the gag, but Rio understands. She knows she’s reaching the tipping point — of both a climax and her sanity — and eases up. She makes the next strokes especially soft, nothing more than love taps really, toying with Jen’s nipple all the while.  

It seems to inspire Jen, too, as she lets go of Agatha's hair and cups her breasts, massaging them in her hands. “You’re an obnoxious bitch, but my god, you've always had perfect tits," she admits.

Agatha’s back arches up into Rio’s touch, her chest into Jen’s hands. The combination is blissful and brutal alike since she knows she won’t be allowed to bring the feeling to full fruition. She’s just on the verge of reaching it when Jen speaks up.

“Stop,” she says. 

Rio’s hand freezes in mid-air. “Did she tell you she was close?” 

“No,” Jen confesses, looking over her shoulder. “But I can tell.” 

“You’re looking out for her, princess?” Rio asks, raising a brow. “Getting soft on me?”

Agatha’s chest rises and falls rapidly, finally squeezing Jen’s hand.

“There, now she’s said it,” Jen points out.

“Because you helped her.” Rio nods her head back impatiently. “No cheating for this last one — get behind me.” 

Jen sighs, giving Agatha’s tits one last squeeze before reluctantly swinging her leg over and going to sit by Agatha’s feet. 

Rio glances up at Alice. “You’re awfully quiet.”

Alice, who’s still staring at Jen — who’s been staring at Jen pretty much this whole time — finally breaks away after a moment. “I’m just watching.”  

Agatha scowls and huffs around her gag, annoyed at the delay.

“Quit whining.” Rio puts a palm over Agatha’s face. Neither her tone nor touch is particularly vicious, which makes it almost comical. 

She keeps looking at Alice. “You’re not even the least bit curious about what it’d be like to join in? Not even the least bit interested in getting your hands the tiniest bit dirty?” she entices. 

“It might not be so bad,” Jen hears herself say. Anything to get Alice closer to her. Anything to share another experience — no matter how depraved — with her.

That’s all Alice needs. With weed-fueled confidence and spontaneity, she snuffs the blunt out and charges over to Jen, grabbing her and kissing her hard.

Jen kisses back immediately, hands wandering up to delicately hold her face. Getting fucked by Agatha was fun, and getting felt up by Rio was hot as hell, but this? Nothing beats this. Nothing comes close. 

Rio wrinkles her nose as she watches the two make out. “That’s…literally not what I meant,” she deadpans. “I was gonna have you hold Agatha’s hands while Jen got her ankles.” She looks at Agatha like, ‘Can you fucking believe this shit?’ 

Alice doesn’t reply, leaning down and loosely wrapping her arms around Jen’s neck. 

“Do it yourself,” Jen says flippantly, everything but Alice long forgotten.

Chapter Text

Rio sighs. “Whatever. Since Princess fucked everything — by not finishing fucking you — I’m going to give you another choice. We can stick with the original plan, one more edge, or you can complete a mystery trial. It might take a little longer, but it’ll also probably be more fun — for both of us.” She runs her fingertips, feather-light, down Agatha's torso. “What do you say? Do you want to try your luck, baby? See what’s behind door number two?”

Agatha nods rapidly. She just needs it — in whatever form Rio’s willing to give it to her. She needs it more than anything. 

Rio straddles her again before untying the gag, removing Jen’s underwear from her mouth. “Take a few deep breaths, sweetheart — you’re going to need them.” 

Agatha sucks in a few inhales. “What,” she asks between them, “are you doing?” 

Rio shoots a look back at Jen and Alice, the two still kissing and whispering sweet nothings. “Jesus, they’re already nauseating.” She shakes her head before turning her attention back to Agatha. 

“Remember how Princess accused me of not knowing good pussy if it sat on my face?”

“Mm.” Agatha nods, breath still heaving.

“We’re going to test if you do. And then, once I’m satisfied, you’ll finally get your prize.”

“Mm,” Agatha hums again, licking her lips. “How are you gonna fuck me?”

She shrugs. “Depends on your performance.” 

Rio traces her thumb over Agatha’s forehead, slick with sweat. “I’ve had to do my job over the years,” she quips. There’s an undercurrent of resentment — there would always be an undercurrent of resentment, she thinks — seeping in even now. Maybe especially now. This is the only language she and Agatha spoke, after all: one that blended sex and violence, love and loathing. A hatred for each other and a hatred for themselves, the latter more secret and perhaps more prevalent as well. “Now, it’s time for you to do yours,” she says, shifting up so her center is hovering right above Agatha's face. 

Agatha takes the unsubtle hint, leaning up to start lapping at Rio’s cunt — specifically avoiding her clit. Just because she’s complying doesn’t mean she won’t tease, too. Doesn’t mean she won’t make Rio crazy with want.

Rio squeezes her legs together, part instinctually — because fuck it felt good, especially from this angle — and part intentionally. A display of dominance she knew Agatha would go feral for. She knows what Agatha’s doing, of course. Loves it. The anticipation, just as Agatha had said. “You realize the longer you make me wait, the longer you’re making yourself wait. You’re so stubborn you can’t even see how fucking stupid it makes you.” 

Agatha whimpers, the delicious degradation encouraging her to work a little harder. 

The effort does not go unnoticed. Rio grabs at the ground, trying to anchor herself — a fistful of Agatha’s hair and grass mixing in her desperate grip. “Fuck, baby.” 

“I know I’m not really your type,” Jen whispers into Alice’s neck, some genuine anxiety creeping into her tone. “Calm and collected and sweet…”

Alice pulls away just enough to look at her. “You're collected. And you can be sweet. You’re also beautiful, and I think it’s kinda hot when you put people in their place.”

Jen breathes out a laugh, looking down at the ground — uncharacteristically bashful. “Well, two out of three’s pretty good I guess.”

Alice grins. “Above average.”

“I’m fairly certain a 66.6% is still a D — below average — in most books,” Jen tells her.

Alice shakes her head. “Not mine.”

Jen gently strokes Alice’s hair, tucking it behind her ears. Looking into her beautiful brown eyes, the moonlight hitting them just right. “I think you might be one of the kindest people I’ve ever met, Alice Wu-Gulliver. You know that?”

Alice shrugs. “I’m only kind to people who deserve it. People I like.”

“You’re nice to Agatha,” she deadpans. “And she doesn’t fit either of those criteria.”

“She can be…sweet…ish, too,” Alice defends. Jen raises a skeptical brow. “Okay, well I don’t hate her,” she amends. “She’s annoying as fuck but not worth the energy it takes to hate.”

“She does taste surprisingly sweet at least...” Jen admits. “But you’re right — not worth our energy.” Our. She'd accidentally made it an 'our.' Her lips crash down on Alice’s again before either of them can think too hard about that.

Alice kisses back hard. “I need you,” she pants out once she pulls back for a breath.

“All of me?” Jen asks. “Here? Now?”

“Yes. Please. Fuck me,” Alice mumbles, cheeks flushing ever so slightly.

“Alice,” Jen says with a surprised laugh. But she’s not mad at it. God, she’s not mad at it at all. “Okay, come with me.” 

Jen grabs her hand, pulling her up and toward a thicker patch of trees still technically on the road. “Let’s do it away from these bitches, at least. I…” She purses her lips. “I want privacy with you,” she admits. “I want it to be special.” 

“Hey,” Rio snaps as she sees them begin to flee, still riding Agatha’s face. “What the fuck?” 

“Sorry,” Jen says, though her voice makes it clear she’s not. She drags Alice over to the duo momentarily, giving Rio’s lips a soft, lingering kiss. “That was fun.”

Rio rolls her eyes. “Yeah. Okay,” she grunts. 

Jen pulls away, looking at her with a smile for a beat. “See ya.” She pulls Alice’s arm again, leading her away. 

“Bye?” Rio says. “And I’m the fucking weirdo…” she mumbles under her breath.

Supremely irritated by the distraction, Agatha’s tongue works more furiously, trying to redirect Rio’s focus and get any reaction out of her she can.

It does the job. Rio’s back arches, head tilting toward the sky. “Just like that,” she encourages.

In her current state, that small bit of praise is all it takes for Agatha to finally brush her tongue along Rio’s clit. 

Rio lets out a moan in response — practically howling at the fucking moon — her legs quivering. She must be practically suffocating Agatha at this point. Or drowning her. She doesn’t miss the irony of that — the fact she’s nearly making good on her threat from their fight, albeit in a much more pleasant way than tying rocks to her and throwing her in some body of water. Using her own body’s water instead. Her own body’s sweat and cum. 

At once, her trembling stops — her entire body stilling for a moment as an orgasm rolls through her, more powerful than she’s had in quite some time. 

Once it’s finished cresting over her, she slumps onto her back, lying side-by-side with Agatha. “I…should really…do that more often,” she pants out. 

Agatha nods, attempting to catch her own breath. She feels dizzy from the lack of oxygen — high on her own ecstasy and need.

Rio rolls her head to look over at her then, reaching out to gently stroke her cheek, wipe some of herself off of it. “You did so good for me, baby — so good. I’ll fuck you any way you want me to.” 

“Hard. Fast. Rough.”

She licks her lips. Rio enjoys doing that, obviously. Rio herself asked for that, obviously, right after the first trial. But…it gives her the slightest bit of pause. “All we’ve been doing is hurting you, Agatha,” she reminds her.

“It feels good,” she breathes. “Need to hurt. Need you in me.”

“It should feel good,” Rio emphasizes. “Because you were good — so good for your goddess and your priestess.” 

If Agatha wanted her to be hard, she’d be hard; but she could give her something soft, too. Feed her hunger for praise. An indulgence she rarely allows on this level. An indulgence she's not sure why she feels the need to give so freely at this moment. 

“It’s your reward,” Rio continues. “Your prize. The end of your own adventure. Tell me, sweetheart — exactly what you want to happen next. Where you want my mouth, my fingers, my everything."

“I want you to fuck me,” Agatha insists. “Strap-on, morphed shit — don’t care. Just hard.”

She nods. “As you wish.” She pushes herself up to a seated position and waves a hand, a strap — larger than the one at the beach house — appearing around her hips. She puts a hand on each of Agatha’s knees, spreading her apart before crawling between her legs again. Agatha whimpers, letting herself fall open.

Rio grabs onto her waist and thrusts into her, moving her hips hard and fast from the get-go. Agatha can’t help the long whine that leaves her throat as she arches into her. “Ri—! Goddess,” she quickly corrects herself.

In another instance, she might smack her for the error. But Rio, still riding that blissful high of her climax, finds it amusing at this moment. Endearing, even. She smirks. “Say it again. Two more times. Number of the day.”

“Goddess. Goddess,” she repeats. “You feel so fucking good.”

“It’s what you deserve for doing me so good. You’re so fucking talented, baby. Nobody can do what you do. Make me feel the way you feel.”  

It’s maybe, probably, definitely fucked up, but this is quite possibly the purest and loveliest Rio and Agatha have been to each other in centuries — at the same time, at least. Who would’ve guessed that all it would take was a threesome with Jennifer fucking Kale to accomplish that, however temporarily it might last before something happened to turn them? To start their vicious, endless cycle all over again?

Agatha’s body shudders, basking in the praise. It almost felt like being hit with power. It almost felt like being high.

“You’re fucking exceptional, Agatha Harkness,” she says as she keeps going, voice and actions both firm. “Fuck anyone who tells you that you aren’t.”

Agatha lets out a deep moan. The praise seeps deeper than the surface level it usually hits — makes her feel almost complete.

“Exceptional,” Rio repeats, shifting in order to go even deeper inside her as well. “Fucking exceptional.”

“Fuck.” Agatha hooks one leg around Rio’s back, the angle heightening the intensity as Rio pounds into her. “Fuck a baby into me,” she whimpers. 

Rio can’t help but clench her jaw at that — feel herself deflate, her eyes get darker. That pure and lovely wavelength hadn’t lasted long. But how could it when Agatha started with the baby talk, however metaphorical, when she knew how fucking sensitive that topic was for the two of them?  

Rio goes as hard as she possibly can now, knowing Agatha will be mere seconds away at this point. “Cum,” she says, her voice colder, sharper. “Now.” 

Agatha knows she’s fucked up as soon as the word leaves her mouth. Knows she’s fucked up so badly she simply — for once — obeys. She rides out her orgasm with a short scream before her body goes slack on the ground. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. She’s always apologizing after sex these days. 

“Don’t,” Rio replies, voice hard. And then, before she can argue, “I respected your ‘don’t’ when it came to not taking the kid,” she reminds her. “The least you could do is listen to mine now. We are not talking about that — any of that.”

And for the second time that night — practically the second time in her entire life — Agatha doesn’t fight. After 350 years, Agatha has finally tired of fighting. 

Of course, Rio would do this. Hold the kid over her. And, of course, Agatha would do this. Let herself get attached to another one — attached enough that Rio could.

The two lie on their backs, staring at the sky. Though they’re right next to each other, there’s never been so much distance between them.

Alice lets Jen pull her around a heavy patch of trees, in a happy daze of weed and desire. When they’re finally, truly alone, she wastes no time kissing her again. “You’re so hot,” she breathes.

Jen smiles into her mouth. “You’re so adorable.”

Alice pulls away with a giggle, lightly slapping her chest. “I am not!” 

“You are,” Jen teases. “You’re cute.” She lightly nips at her nose for effect.

“Shut up,” Alice demands, grabbing her face and pulling her in for another, harder kiss. Jen doesn’t argue. Nor does she argue when, a few minutes into their make-out session, Alice lowers herself to the ground and pulls Jen down with her. “Please,” she whispers.

Jen obliges, slowly helping her slide her shirt off, breath catching at her rock-hard abs. At her tits — somehow even more perfect than Agatha’s. “Fuck, Alice — you’ve been hiding all of this under there?”

Alice grins. “I frequent the gym. You like?”

“You’re like a statue of a Greek fucking goddess.” She reverently rubs her hands over her muscles, awed. “You should take Rio’s title.”

Alice scoffs. “Says you. You’re perfect.”

“I know,” Jen flippantly replies. “But you…you’re…you’re something else, Alice Wu-Gulliver.”

Alice’s mouth curves into another shy smile despite herself. “Well, so are you.”

Jen shakes her head. “Flattery will get you everywhere,” she admits, undoing Alice’s pants and delicately slipping them off. She places gentle kisses on her legs on her way back up.

“Will it?” Alice teases, toes curling.

Jen continues kissing a trail up Alice's stomach until she lands at her breasts, taking more time with those. “Well, it’s already gotten you to second base.”

Alice tilts her chin up in pleasure. Her fingertips trail down Jen’s back, feeling the smooth skin. “What else will it get me?” 

“Third, likely,” Jen says. “Maybe even a home run.” Jennifer Kale has never once used a baseball metaphor in her life. But here Alice is, effortlessly making her use sports analogies like a fucking idiot.

“I think I’d like that.”

“You didn’t even let me buy you dinner first,” Jen teases, still mesmerized by her tits.

Alice leans into her touch, but after a moment, she takes Jen’s face in her hands — looking at her seriously. “After this road, let’s go to dinner then.”

“Mm.” Jen closes her eyes wistfully. “What I wouldn’t give to be at a restaurant with you right now instead. Drinking a glass of unpoisoned wine…”

“Maybe even go back to one of our places after…” Alice continues.

“Mine,” Jen says quickly, going back to kissing her breasts. “No offense, but I’m pretty sure my house is nicer and that I make a lot more money than you. Which obviously means I’ll pay for dinner. Anything you want. All you can eat.”

“How very chivalrous,” Alice replies, charmed and amused and less offended than she maybe should be. “Your house may be bigger, but I promise, mine’s cozy. I even have a cat — total sweetie. My friend is currently taking care of him.”

Jen grimaces, pausing her kisses to look up at her. “I’m allergic to cats. And are they your friend or, like, your housemate?”

“Friend.” 

“Thank god,” Jen mumbles — the thought of dating someone who still had to share a house was…well, appalling, frankly.

“And you’ll love Pickles.”

Jen breathes out a laugh. “Pickles?”

“First day I brought him home, he got into a jar of pickles.”

“How the hell did he manage that?”

Alice shrugs. “He stuck his face in there when I opened them.”

“Ew.” Jen snorts.

“It was not gross!”

“It is inherently disgusting! Now you have cat hair in your pickle juice and pickle juice on your cat’s hair.”

“Both are fixable.”

“Yet neither is ideal.”

“And somehow I lived!”

Jen shakes her head with a sigh. “Oh, Alice — we have got to get you higher standards than furry pickle juice.”

“Maybe we can work on that?” Alice bites her lip, hope pooling in her eyes. “If you’ll be good to Pickles.”

“I would never bully your pet.” Jen scoffs. A beat. “I only do that to Agatha’s.”

“Good. Then I’m sure Pickles will love you.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re confident. But I’m going to be honest, I’m much more interested in a different kind of pussy right now,” Jen says, kissing back down her stomach.

“Good.” Alice grins, shifting slightly. “Make me yours. Put me in my place.”

“Well, I think your place is on a fucking pedestal.”

Alice raises a brow. “Oh?” 

Jen nods, suddenly feeling a bit shy. “You’re…precious, Alice. Like some kind of rare, priceless art or something. I want to be…delicate with you.”

“It’s okay to be rough,” Alice assures her. “I won’t break.” She purses her lips, a strange, unfamiliar feeling stirring in her chest. “You’re so…kind to me.”

She shrugs a little. “You’re kind to everyone — which is a trait I usually find fucking insufferable — but it’s…different coming from you. More genuine, maybe. You deserve someone to match that energy." Jen breathes out a laugh, tracing light circles on her skin. "And god knows I can’t promise I’ll always be able to because I am a proud stone-cold bitch at my core, but…you make me want to try. For you, at least.”

Alice tilts her head. “Opposites attract, yeah? I want you, Jennifer,” she proclaims, voice gentle and sure.

It hits Jen hard. She feels it in her chest, in her gut, in every cell of her body. People have wanted elements of her — versions of her that came from assumptions and parts she played for the world — but her? All of her? The real her? That didn’t happen often. It’s almost too much. So she simply ducks her head and gets back to work on giving Alice something she’ll hopefully feel in every cell of her body as well.

Alice’s hand finds Jen’s shoulder, gripping loosely. “You’re beautiful,” she repeats.

Jen’s heard that before — many, many times — but it, too, feels different coming from Alice’s lips. She lets out a soft moan into her mouth, getting lost in the moment. 

Until she sees a rat scamper by out of the corner of her eye. 

Jen doesn’t like rats on a good day. She especially doesn’t like rats when she’s trapped in the middle of the woods. She especially, especially doesn’t like rats when it’s clear this isn’t just any normal one. This thing’s staring right at her, murder gleaming in its eyes. 

She swallows hard. “Uh…Alice? I think we gotta go…”

Chapter Text

Alice tenses as she notices the rat. “Shit. You’re right.” She turns her head toward the clearer part of the path, hoping the others are in range, and calls out, “We need to move! Now!”

It’s faint, but Rio hears it — just as she spies a fox out of the corner of her eye. “Looks like your seven little friends found us,” she tells Agatha, pushing herself off the ground without sparing a glance at her. 

Jen and Alice come running toward them momentarily. Well, running and — in Jen’s case — jumping as she spots something slithering past her. “You bitches told me there wouldn’t be snakes!” she accuses, frantically looking around. “And where the fuck did my clothes go?!” she shrieks.

With absolutely zero help from Agatha or Rio, she eventually locates her garments abandoned on a pile of dirt. She wrinkles her nose as she pinches her underwear between her thumb and pointer, horrified at their state. “Ew. Your nasty-ass slobber is all over these.”

“Tough,” Agatha says, voice devoid of sympathy as she redresses.

“Fuck it — I’m going commando,” Jen proclaims, tossing them to the side before quickly throwing her dress back on.

“Brooms,” Agatha states, eyes darting around for suitable sticks. “We need to fly. Where the fuck are Teen and Lilia?!”

Teen finally wakes up, rubbing at his eyes — confused and still in a hell of a lot of pain. “What’s going on?” he groggily asks Lilia. “Do you hear someone yelling?”

Lilia’s sitting up, that dazed but knowing look on her face. “The Salem Seven,” she says, unblinking. She’s heard it all — lived it all. It’s coming back in pieces. It has been the whole time. “We need to go.”

Teen nods, panic in his eyes and a wince escaping his mouth as he pushes himself off the ground. Still, he has the chivalry to hold out a hand to help Lilia up.

Agatha and Rio are trading brooms as the two come to congregate. “Hurry!” the former barks.

“We’re coming!” Teen grumbles as he limps toward the rest of the group. His foot gets tangled in something, and he nearly falls to the ground, though he manages to clutch onto Lilia’s arm just in time to catch his balance. “Ow! What the—“ 

“Ew, get your foot off my underwear, you little perv!” Jen says. 

“What?!” he squeals as he kicks his foot, yeeting them across the woods before gagging and frantically rubbing his foot in the mud. That would somehow make it feel cleaner after that. “Are you insane?!”

Lilia grabs Teen’s arm, yanking him forward. “Stop bickering and make brooms!” 

“But they’re so fucking basic,” Jen whines, though she does comply, grabbing one she plans to exchange with Alice — a thick branch made of dark wood with light little streaks that remind her of the woman’s hair. Alice’s mouth curves into a tiny smile.

“I don’t understand — why are we finding them for other people?” Teen asks, though he is currently assembling one for Lilia.

“It’s part of the spell,” the older woman explains.

“We share blessings and burdens and…broomsticks?”

“Precisely. Now less talking, more assembling,” she chides.

He speeds up the process, rapidly adorning a makeshift broom with a few tangled branches that faintly resemble her curly hair before thrusting it out to her. He hopes it doesn’t suck. He hopes he doesn’t throw up. He’s never even flown on a plane before.

Lilia hands Teen his just as Agatha calls, “What part of we need. To fucking. Go. Did you people not understand?!” 

Lilia risks a glance behind her, coming face-to-face with a menacing coyote. That’s more than enough for her, and she begins to run with her broom before ascending off the ground.

“No, thank you,” Jen says, catching a glimpse of it as well before sprinting and lifting herself into the air, too. 

Rio goes airborne next, less rushed and more graceful. She wasn’t scared of the Salem Seven. She’d rather face a Salem Ten, a Salem Fourteen, a Salem One Hundred as opposed to one whispered comment about her son.

Agatha is elegant in a similar manner, though with more of an underlying urgency. She needs to get away from this. From that horrible exchange with Rio. Really, if death didn’t mean facing her guilt, she might settle for that at this point. But the road is her only option now, so she flies.  

Alice is next, a little less practiced than the others but still perfectly adequate.

Teen clutches onto his broomstick, knuckles white — now the only one still on the ground as the group rapidly approaches. “Teen!” Jen barks. “You’re about to become a Seven Snack! Get your ass up here!” 

“I don’t know how!”

“You just do it!” Agatha snaps. “Copy us!”

“That is not helpful!” he cries, though he takes a deep breath and begins to run before jumping and… 

And… 

Holy shit — he gets up in the air. He’s doing it! Not particularly well — it’s hard to balance, and he feels his spell book drop to the ground — but he’s flying! 

Jen’s body relaxes as if shedding the weight of everything — being bound, being indicted, being different. Being born everything the world seemed to hate.

Alice can’t help but look over at her — can’t help but be entranced by her beautiful smile. Jen makes her feel…something she can’t quite put a finger on. All she knows is it’s good. Is that she doesn’t want it to end.

Rio’s used to being grounded. She’s the Green Witch, after all — a being connected to the land and the soil more than any other. So it’s…a novelty to be up in the air. Freeing. It makes her almost…giddy. 

She can sense Agatha staring at her, too. The two of them never needed words. In fact, words were the things that usually fucked stuff up. Their relationship was everything between the words — touches and actions and stolen glances. 

“Do you remember the last time we did this?” Rio asks Agatha, tone unreadable as her eyes stay fixed forward on the vast, dark sky. 

“I do,” Agatha evenly replies. “I remember everything with you.”

“Tell me,” Rio orders, increasing her speed in order to break away from the pack — get some privacy. “About the last time we were on our brooms.”

Agatha purses her lips. “It was the late 1800s,” she says, voice hardly louder than a whisper. “Over a forest. We were laughing, and it was snowing — freezing fucking cold — but neither of us cared.”

“You cared. You bitched and moaned and made a big point of shivering until I gave you my cape.”

“Maybe I just wanted you to give it to me. Maybe I just wanted to wear your clothes.”

Rio glances over at her — only for a split second, but it’s the first time she’s looked in her direction since they stopped fucking. “You did always look good in green.”

Lilia knows you’re not supposed to think about falling while suspended in the air — flying 101 — but she has the odd thought that she’s…supposed to fall. Destined to, even.

Now? 

No, not now. 

Not now but sometime.

Not now but soon.

“Are you all right, Lilia?” Teen asks, finally managing to catch up to the older woman, body still shaking a bit at the unfamiliar feeling of being this high.

Lilia blinks out of her trance-like state. “Hm?” she mutters before her brain catches up — aligning to the present moment again. “Oh, yes. I’m okay.”

“Did you have a vision?” he asks gently.

Lilia squares her shoulders. “I’m okay,” she repeats.

“That’s…not an answer to my question, Teen points out. A beat. “Would it help to talk about it?” Teen asks. “Because you can. To me. If you want.”

Lilia’s quiet for a long, long moment before she glances over at him. “I was falling—”

Before she can continue, the road begins to tip. 

“What the fuck?!” Alice screams.

“Were we all falling?” Teen asks nervously. “Because that kind of seems like what’s happening now!”

Agatha curses as the road promptly and mercilessly deposits them on the ground. “Fuck!” She glances around, the air quickly filling with telltale hisses. The Seven are back. The Seven are there. “Run!”

Teen grimaces in pain as he pushes himself up, the fall not doing any favors to his injuries. 

“Run where?!” Jen asks.

“I don’t know — away from here!” Agatha barks, though there’s an undercurrent of terror in her voice. 

“There!” Alice points to a house in the distance.

“A cabin in the woods? That never turns out well for the gay kids in the horror movies,” Teen whines. 

“Or Black people,” Jen huffs. 

“I was born to be a final girl,” Rio deadpans.

“We don’t have many options,” Alice points out. “We let the Salem Seven get our asses, or we go into the creepy ass cabin.”

“This is the worst fucking game of would you rather ever. Jen groans before she and the rest of the group take off for it.

As they step in, narrowly avoiding the bloodthirsty shapeshifters, Lilia snorts. “Apt comparison.” The whole room screams ‘80s slumber party — as do their new clothes.

“This place…actually seems kind of cool,” Teen admits, walking around to examine the decor. It was very retro, with string lights and posters and pennants. He’s the only one who didn’t actually get to live through this era, and it’s sort of a novelty to get to be immersed in it.

Jen does not feel the same. “All of them seem kind of cool at first,” she notes, ever the skeptic. 

“Well, what do we do? Play sleepover games until something happens?” Agatha asks.

“That sounds so stupid,” Jen says at the same time Teen exclaims, “That sounds so fun!”

“I don’t see any harm in it as a way to pass the time…” Alice admits, glancing at Jen. The latter huffs but says nothing, already whipped.

“Teen—” Agatha starts, trying to shake the weird vibes this place immediately fills her with. She needs to stall and pretend like nothing is happening or she’s going to crawl out of her skin. “Teen, go find a bottle for the adults to spin.”

“You’re leaving me out again?” he grumbles, though he obediently goes to the kitchen to search.

“Not only would letting you play this with us be super fucking illegal—" Jen starts. 

“Since when do you care about the law?” Rio asks. 

“—and creepy,” she finishes through gritted teeth. “But I don’t think any of us are really your type, are we, kid?” Jen raises a brow. 

“Well…no,” he admits, handing an empty glass Coke bottle to Agatha. “Not exactly.”

“Great.” She snatches it from him and sits cross-legged on the rug. “Shall we?” She’s desperate to get on with this. Desperate for a distraction from the palpably ominous energy surrounding her. 

Jen sighs before slumping down onto a beanbag chair. “Okay, fine. Why not?”

Rio perches herself on a neon green inflatable couch. “We could raise the stakes — do seven minutes in heaven," she proposes. 

“The only heaven Agatha ever has a chance of seeing,” Jen quips.

“I’m down,” Agatha says.

Rio looks up at the other two. “Goth? Grandma?”

“What the hell,” Lilia casually agrees.

“Sure.” Alice sighs. If she was lucky, she would get a chance to finish what she started with Jen. But luck has never seemed to be on Alice’s side.

“I’ll go first,” Jen says, snatching the bottle from Agatha and giving it a twirl as soon as Alice agrees to play. Please, universe — she pleads in her head — just this once, do me a solid and don’t stick me with Agatha or Rio or— 

Lilia.  

It lands on motherfucking Lilia. 

Jen raises her hands. “Oh, no way in hell am I getting freaky with Grandma. I want a redo.” 

Rio smirks. “That’s against the rules.”

“Come on, Jen,” Lilia says, all business as she stands and locates a closet across the room. “Let’s go.” She holds a hand out to help her up.

“Careful of the cobwebs down there,” Rio warns. 

Jen shoots daggers at her, reluctantly taking Lilia’s hand.

Once they’re in the closet — the door firmly shut behind them — Lilia wastes no time pinning Jen against it and pulling her down to kiss. She’ll show them. She’ll show them all.

“Lilia!” Jen squeals, surprised at the action — and even more surprised at the fact that she doesn’t…hate it? Lilia is actually a pretty good kisser.

Lilia pulls away, expression unfazed despite a flicker of vague annoyance. “Well, do you want me to stop?” 

“I mean…I mean no,” Jen stutters. “I just…I kind of thought we were going to pretend we did something.”

“You’re an attractive woman, Jennifer,” Lilia says very matter-of-factly. “Why would I pass up the opportunity to kiss an attractive woman when the odds of us dying here at any given second aren’t particularly low?”

“You’re…not so bad yourself,” she admits. “You have…really, really nice hair.” She runs a gentle hand through her curls. “And the whole ‘older woman’ thing is admittedly sort of sexy.”

Lilia grins. “I had a feeling you thought so.”

“Did you?” She raises a brow, allowing Lilia to take the lead. “How?”

“Your eyes,” Lilia says, the words straightforward and sincere. “They’re thoughtful. Beautiful. Easy to read, and I mean that as a compliment.”

Jen blinks her apparently beautiful and thoughtful eyes. This coven never ceased to surprise her. “Thanks, Lilia. That’s…actually really nice.”

Lilia gives her a small, earnest smile. “I mean it. Some of you…may not be the easiest to get along with at times, but…you all have your admirable traits.”

“I mostly agree with you. Some of us — Alice and me — have more than others, by which I, of course, mean Rio and Agatha. Really depends on the day with Teen.”

“Either way, I notice. I also noticed you and Alice getting rather close.”

Jen feels her cheeks get warm. “Jesus, Lilia — weird time to bring that up considering you just stuck your tongue down my throat.”

“Well, maybe this’ll be fire for her to take you back,” Lilia says, leaning in to kiss her again.

Jen’s back knocks against a shelf, rows of Cabbage Patch Kids and Strawberry Shortcake dolls rattling with the impact. If Lilia wanted to stoke those flames, she was more than welcome to for a variety of reasons.

And stoke she does. The kiss deepens, and eventually, she begins to run her hands down Jen’s body — the curve of her breast, her waist, her ass. Her lips move to her neck and—

Agatha opens the door. 

“Time’s—” She snorts at their position. “Shit. You two got it on.”

“They did?!” Rio asks from the living room. 

Jen scrambles out of Lilia’s confident hold. It was a real turn-on — the fact she clearly knew her way around. Those four and a half centuries’ worth of experience had done her good. Not that Jen wants those other bitches to know that. 

“Shut the fuck up,” Jen hisses at Agatha, ducking her head and making her way out of the closet. She makes sure to shove her on the way out — very, very hard.

Agatha grins — a cat who’s just found her favorite irritated canary. “I don’t think I will.” She turns to Lilia. “How was it?” 

“Great,” Lilia says with a casual shrug, not an ounce of shame or shyness as she retakes her spot. “Who goes next?”

“Alice,” Jen says quickly, shoving the bottle towards her. She needs a redo — now. “Alice does.”

Alice flicks her wrist, sending the bottle around and around and around. God, she hopes it lands on Jen. She’d take Lilia, too, if she really had to. As long as it’s not—

Rio. 

Fuck.

“Well, well, well — guess you'll be joining in on my fun tonight after all,” Rio muses.

After a long pause, Alice stands. “So are we doing this, or…?”

Rio shrugs, amused, lifting herself from the chair more elegantly than anyone has ever managed to from a piece of blow-up furniture. “Those are the rules.”

Once the two of them are securely inside, Rio gives Alice a marginally terrifying smile. “Nervous?”

“No,” Alice responds. Not exactly a lie but not exactly the truth either — she’s not sure what she feels. It’s not fear exactly, but it seems like it could be its cousin. Sibling even.

“I can hear your heart beating from here.”

Alice rolls her eyes and weighs her options. She figures Rio will at least shut up if she kisses her, so that’s exactly what she does, grabbing her face and crashing into her mouth.

Rio’s lips curve into a smirk as Alice’s lips connect with hers. She can see right through it — knows exactly what she’s doing. “I’m surprised you’re taking charge.”

“Do you want to?”

“No, this is cute — like a kitten pretending to be a tiger.”

“If you can do better, then do better.”

“I’m not sure you can handle my ‘better,’ kitten,” Rio says, lightly tracing a finger over Alice's collarbone.

Alice sucks in a sharp inhale — one she valiantly tries yet unfortunately miserably fails to hide. “Why don’t we test it? I mean, Agatha clearly enjoys it.”

“So does your little girlfriend.” Rio presses her collarbone with her finger then, causing her to fall back against the wall. “She got so wet for me.” She deftly shoves her hand down Alice’s leggings. “Aww, it looks like you did, too.”

Another breath — shakier this time. “What can I say? You’re hot.”

“I don’t know,” Rio says, beginning to teasingly move her fingers. “Let’s find out what I can make you say. Make you scream.”

A wince. Then a hissed, “Then fucking do it already.”

Rio grins wickedly. “Just for that, I think I’m gonna take it reaaal slow, kitten.”

“We don’t have much time,” Alice says, tragically unable to keep the desperation from her voice.

Rio’s smile grows, her fingers staying at the same agonizingly slow pace. “You’re so needy. Princess couldn’t satisfy you?”

“The Seven interrupted us.”

“Aww, so you took Agatha’s last edge for her. She’s always doing that — making other people suffer in her place.”

“Then get on with it now,” she orders through gritted teeth.

“Why should I, kitten? I’m having so much fun dangling a little mouse just out of your reach.” Rio circles dangerously close to her clit but never touches it.

“Please!” Alice finally caves. “Please, I need it.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely…and pathetically…” Rio finally caves, too, giving the slightest brush against the spot she knows Alice is craving.

Alice bucks her hips up against her hand. “Yes. Right there.”

She brushes just a little harder. “Like this?” she asks coyly.

“Stop being a bitch,” she seethes.

“A bitch and a kitten. That’s fitting.”

“Rio!”

“Alice!” Rio says, imitating her voice. God, this was fun. It was absolutely nothing compared to Agatha, of course — either fucking her or being fucked by her; either teasing her or being teased by her — but it was fun.

“Please!”

A little more pressure now — enough to give Alice a decent taste. She whines, frantically trying to get friction — and she almost manages it, too. 

But then, the door opens.

Luck has never been on Alice’s side.

Chapter Text

“Heyyy,” Jen says awkwardly. Fuck her life. More importantly, fuck Agatha and Lilia for making her be the one to see this shit. “Uh. Time’s up.” 

“Darn,” Rio says without a hint of regret — she was enjoying toying with Alice — removing her hand from her pants. “Seems like you’re still cursed after all.”

Alice scowls. Instead of verbally responding, she grabs Jen and drags her down for a kiss. The other woman blinks but immediately kisses back.

After a few long but still too short moments, Alice pulls away. “Shall we go back?”  

“I guess,” Jen mumbles. “If we must.”

“You must,” Rio confirms. “You might get to go round two with Lilia depending on how her turn goes. You’d enjoy that, wouldn’t you?” She smirks. 

“Agatha’s going next,” Jen says. “We already decided.”

“Well, great. Even better.” Rio strolls back into the room, perching herself on her inflatable chair again…and immediately has to get back up once more, as Agatha’s spin lands on her. Agatha can’t decide if this is the best night of her life or a curse worse than Alice’s.

“Looks like I’m popular tonight.” Rio makes a big show of sighing and pushing herself up, heading to the closet yet again.

“Yeah, yeah,” Agatha rolls her eyes, following suit. Once they’re safely — or very unsafely, rather, considering the two of them and their penchant for violence — inside, Agatha raises a brow. “Well?”

Rio raises a challenging one back. “Well what?”

“What are you waiting for?”

“I could ask you the same.”

Agatha grits her teeth. “You know what I want.”

“I know what you need.”

“Just shut the fuck up and take me,” she growls.

Rio considers. “Will you take me after this trial if I do?” She walks her fingers up the center of Agatha’s chest. “Take all your anger out on me, too?”

Agatha can’t help the way some tension leaves her body at the touch. Muscle memory — just like her mouth opening when Rio’s fingers got near it, her cunt dampening when her hand got close. “I’m not angry.”

Rio doesn’t buy it. Not for a fucking second. “Lying may get you somewhere with everyone else, but it doesn’t get you anywhere with me. So either promise to use me as an outlet for all the big fucking feelings you’re bursting at the seams with, or I’ll stand here not touching you for the remaining six minutes. Choice is yours.”

“Fine, fine — just fuck me,” Agatha orders, harshly pressing down on her shoulder.

Rio drops to her knees without complaint, her head disappearing under Agatha’s long pajama shirt. “I’ve missed the dresses,” she admits. “Easy access. Patriarchy made one point, maybe."

Agatha whines, arching back against the wall in anticipation as Rio pulls her underwear halfway down her thighs, getting to work with her tongue. “I didn’t do this for Alice, you know," she tells her. "I’m always giving you special treatment.”

“I deserve it,” she quips. “Don’t stop.”

“I won’t. Well, not until the other five minutes are up. I can do a lot with five minutes, but I'm sure it still won't be enough for you, the greedy slut you are."

Agatha grabs onto Rio’s hair, the words doing almost as much for her as the action. “Fuck,” she whimpers. “Feels so good.”

“And yet you hid from me. For centuries. Denied yourself this.”

Agatha moans, grip tightening as she grows more desperate. “I’ll never do it again.”

Rio knows Agatha means that now. She knows Agatha won’t mean that later. Their whole relationship is a cycle of punishing and being punished and needing both. Needing to hurt and be hurt, sometimes simultaneously.

“You won’t do it again,” Rio agrees, continuing to work her magic — not literal. Not this time, at least. “You’re mine — only mine — until the very fucking end.”

“Yes,” Agatha breathes.

“Tell me what you’re going to do to me after this trial.”

“Fuck you. Until you scream.” Agatha’s close to doing that herself, biting down on her fist to keep herself quiet.

“But not better than I’m doing to you right now,” Rio taunts. She loves these kinds of threats. Loves pissing her off. Loves Agatha mad and loves making her madder. Not about the real stuff, of course — the deep stuff. But sometimes, she could pretend that this helped. Sometimes, she could tell herself that inflicting flesh wounds could heal the emotional ones somehow.

It’s not long until the door opens, Jen drawing the short straw once again. “Hey, time’s—" She shields her eyes. “Gross.” 

“Fuck me,” Agatha mutters — edged once a-fucking-again.

“I was trying to. Ran out of time,” Rio quips as she flicks Agatha’s underwear back up. She pops her head out from under her t-shirt and turns to face Jen. “You didn’t seem to have any problems with it in the woods when you were involved.” She wipes some of Agatha from her mouth with the back of her hand. 

“It’s different,” Jen insists.

“Sure it is, Princess.” She pushes herself off the ground. “Lilia’s turn to spin yet?” 

“Why, are you hoping to get her?” Jen retorts. 

“Nice deflection,” Agatha says, beating Rio to the punch.

Jen rolls her eyes. “We’re moving on to truth or dare. Teen’s feeling left out.”

Agatha sighs, retaking her spot in the circle. “Fine,” she looks at Teen. “You’re so desperate to be included, you can go first.”

“It kind of has to be dare, doesn’t it?” Jen responds before he can, lowering herself back to the ground as well. “He can’t tell us shit with that fucking sigil.”

Agatha doesn’t take her eyes off him, raising a brow. “So, what will it be?”

Jen scoffs. “Did you blatantly ignore what I just said?”

Yes. Yes, she did.

“Dare is fine,” Teen agrees.

Agatha narrows her eyes. “I dare you to use your magic.”

“I told you, I don’t have any power like that. And I lost my spell book on the broom,” he admits with a frown. 

“That’s a lame-ass dare anyway,” Jen cuts in.  

“What would you suggest, Princess?” Rio asks. 

“Something embarrassing. To...rap the Ballad or something.” 

“Rap the Ballad?” Lilia asks, puzzled.

“Well, I don’t know!” Jen defends. “He’s like 12! That limits our options here, but ‘use your magic’ is so not in the spirit of the game.”

“Fine,” Agatha relents. “Tell me where you came from. I dare you to be truthful.”

Jen groans. “Agatha, you suck at this game — which isn’t surprising considering you’re a pathological liar — but that’s not how any of this works!”

She scoffs. “How does my alleged lying relate to daring someone?” 

“It’s called truth or dare. You are physically incapable of the first part, and you’re already cheating at the second. You can’t dare someone to tell the truth — that’s a loophole!” 

“I agree with Jen,” Rio says. To piss Agatha off, of course, but she was also a stickler for the rules. Well, most of the time. She made exceptions for Agatha, but that always seemed to get her into trouble.

Agatha scowls, a bitchy response on her tongue, but she doesn’t get the chance to say it before Lilia jumps up, eyes wide. “The board! Death!”

“No, I’m not bored — I’m finding all of this quite amusing, actually,” Rio deadpans. 

Teen, as always, pretends she hasn’t spoken. “What do you mean, Lilia?”

Lilia blinks, demeanor going back to normal as if nothing ever happened. “Huh?” 

A second later, a Ouija board falls from a pile of games on the table, clattering to the ground. 

“What the hell?” Agatha mutters.

“Looks like the universe wants you to play something more in your wheelhouse, sweetheart,” Rio tells her with a smirk.

Agatha scowls. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re very acquainted with death,” Rio explains. 

“Capital and lowercase ‘D,’” Jen quips.

“Shut the fuck up,” Agatha snaps as the Ouija board flies out of the box — and directly at her.

Jen smiles smugly. “Looks like the spirit doesn’t approve of you being a fucking bitch to me.”

Agatha rolls her eyes. “Or it just wants us to play it. Correlation does not equal causation.

“Mm, but sometimes actions do have consequences,” Jen counters.

“And this is a consequence?” Agatha asks, brushing her nightgown as if she could brush the sudden fear that flares up with it.

“I guess we’re about to find out.”

“Feeling cocky, Princess?” Rio asks. 

Jen shrugs. “I’ve had my trial. And Alice has had hers.” She reaches over to hold Alice’s hand. 

“The stakes are still death for all of us — that’s how the road works,” Teen points out. “We can’t get complacent, and we can’t turn on each other.”

Agatha glances around, looking for a way out of this with subtle franticness. She finds none, ultimately clenching her jaw and moving the board in front of them. She peers at the directions — not because she gives a shit but because she’ll do anything to stall and give her more time. “We have to end the session with goodbye, and we can’t take our hands off.”

“Can’t take our hands off what?” Rio asks, hand slowly wandering to Agatha’s thigh.

She clears her throat. “The planchette.”

“Pity.” She removes her hand as fast as she’d put it there. 

“Blanchett? Like Cate?” Teen asks. 

“She clearly said planchette, with a ‘p,’” Jen corrects. “God, I hate that your idiocy has me defending her.”

Agatha shrugs. “I mean, if Teen’s too stupid, we don’t have to do this.” She really, really doesn’t want to do this.

“What does Teen’s below-average intelligence have to do with a Ouija board?” Jen asks.

“I’m sitting right here,” Teen reminds them. 

“They know,” Rio deadpans.

Agatha scoffs. “Fine. Let’s…get it over with.”

“Try not to sound so enthused, will you?” Rio purrs.

“How do we start?” Agatha knows damn well how to start, but she’s not about to help. Not when she has a sickening feeling where this is all leading.

“God, you’re even more useless than normal tonight,” Jen snips, ripping the instructions from the box. “We also can’t use it alone, talk over each other, taunt the spirits, or ask about death.” 

Teen sighs. None of those sound like easy — or even possible — tasks for this group. They’re doomed.

“Well, Lady Death is right here, so we can ignore her and we’ll have that one followed,” Agatha coolly points out. The fact that Rio was enjoying this was salt in the wound.

“You’ve never managed to successfully do that before, so I’m not sure what makes you think you’re going to be able to start now,” Rio responds, matching her tone.

Teen shoots Alice — his ally — a look. 'The girls are fighting,' he says with his eyes.

“Well, in a game of Ouija I can avoid talking about you,” Agatha confidently proclaims.

Alice feels his gaze and looks up, giving him a defeated shrug as she dutifully keeps one hand on the planchette, the other loosely playing with Jen’s fingers.

“Great,” Rio replies. “I hope you’re as capable as you think you are.”

“Someone ask a question,” Agatha orders. Only Rio could make her want to speed this along. That was probably her goal. Infuriating bitch. Being annoying was only fun when Agatha was the one being it.

“Is someone in the room with us?” Teen asks. Seemed like the most logical and basic first question.

The planchette moves to ‘yes.’ Agatha considers playing out an act — creating another distraction — but Rio would know. Rio always knows. And, unlike the old days when she’d cover for her around others, she would call her out on it. 

Alice speaks next. “Who…is in the room with us?”

Rio side-eyes Agatha, waiting for her reaction. Hers is the only one that matters right now. That matters ever. She’s straddling the line between enjoying seeing her squirm and anticipating something she might not want to see either. Rio doesn’t particularly like the space between life and death — the rogue creatures that manage to squat there.

The planchette starts to frantically move. P-U-N-I-S-H. Oh, great. Strong start. A-G-A. Fuck. Fuck. Motherfucking fuck. T-H-A. 

Agatha gulps as the thing starts to spin out of control. There’s something here — she can sense it. She feels like her world is starting to close in, giving her tunnel vision as she's made aware of the icy eyes of someone on her back. 

“What the hell is going on?!” Lilia asks. “Punish Agatha?”

Rio smirks. She doesn’t mind the chaos. She enjoys it, in fact. Feeds off it. “It would be my greatest pleasure.” 

“Leave that to me,” a voice booms. 

Rio's smirk drops.

Agatha freezes at the voice, resisting the weak, childish urge she rarely feels to hide. To throw up. To crawl out of her skin or, at the very least, slash it open.

“What the fuck is that?!” Alice’s eyes dart around, trying to locate the ominous source.

Rio’s eyes darken. “It’s a fucking ghost,” she growls. 

“It doesn’t sound like the Casper kind,” Teen squeals. 

“Well, who is it then?!” Jen asks, practically in Alice’s lap at this point. “Someone who died here? A ghost of Witches’ Road past?!”

“Who is it?” Alice prompts. A beat. “Rio, you know — I see it on your face. Who?”

“It’s her cunt of a mother,” Rio answers through gritted teeth. 

“How is she a cunt?” Jen asks. 

"You can’t run from me, child,” Evanora warns Agatha, towering over her in her ghostly, ghastly form. “Not now. Not ever again.”

Agatha somehow musters up the courage to speak — a shaky, sarcastic sentence. “Stop embarrassing me in front of my friends, Mom.”

“These people are not your friends,” she spits. “But they are fools — every last one of them.” 

“Okay…rude?” Jen manages.  

“She killed her entire original coven, and now you have let her lure you in so she can do the same to you,” Evanora informs them. 

“You assholes were trying to kill her first!” Rio points out.

Agatha once again somehow refrains from flinching by the skin of her teeth — by the grip of her hands, balled into fists as her nails dig into her palms for dear life. “Why do you hate me still?” she asks, even managing to punctuate it with a weak, humorless laugh.

“Because you were born evil,” Evanora says, voice cold and serious as can be. “I should’ve killed you the moment you left my body.” 

Teen flinches at the cruelty, and even Jen is shocked into speechlessness. Rio has to close her eyes. Has to turn her face away. She can feel Agatha’s pain. Agatha’s pain is her own.

“But it’s better late than never,” Evanora continues.

Agatha does what she does best and pleads. And fawns. Except while, ‘Please, my love,’ always worked on Rio, ‘I can be good,’ never seemed to work on Evanora. She tries it anyway. Because what else could she do?

“Please,” she starts. “Please, Mother. I can be good. I can.” 

She’s suddenly forced into movement, being dragged closer to the ghost — forced into a slow death march, though she thinks death may be preferable to a second more of life with Evanora. 

Her pleads grow more frantic. “I can! I can be good!” she screams. “Please, Mother! Please! I can be good!”

“No.” Evanora shakes her head. “You cannot.” She turns to look at the rest of the group. “Finish the road without her,” she orders. “Leave her with me.” The corner of her mouth curves into a smirk. 

“No,” Rio says firmly. She wants to physically step in front of Agatha, but she can’t get too close to the ghost. She can’t. “No fucking way.” 

Jen purses her lips. This woman is fucking awful. But…isn’t Agatha, too? “Maybe that’s not the worst idea…” 

“Yes, it is!” Teen snaps. “It is the absolute worst idea! We are not leaving anybody behind!”

“Jen, please,” Agatha sobs. “Please, don’t do this to me. You can’t do this to me.”

Alice glances at Jen. “We can’t leave her,” she says gently. “She’s not perfect, but nobody deserves this — to die by their mother’s hand.”

“Well, we don’t deserve to die at her hand, either!” Jen argues. “And it looks like there’s a good chance of that happening unless we give her what she wants!” 

“Save yourselves,” Evanora warns. “It’s all Agatha has ever done. The only thing she’s ever been capable of doing.” 

At that, Evanora lunges at Agatha, closing the small gap between them — her spirit possessing her body.  

Agatha feels all of the pain at once — of every slap stinging her cheek, every magical spark burning her body, every hunger pang aching in her belly from when Evanora would starve her for days on end. The unmistakable hollowness of dread, of fear, of abandonment. Her soul is being stomped out in a way she can't quite comprehend. Extinguished, just like her magic after Wanda’s spell.

She lets out a guttural scream — so awful and anguished it could make a person sick — and Alice can’t stand this. She can’t.

She lunges forward, orange magic flowing through her palms as she desperately tries to throw Agatha a lifeline to escape the spirit. Agatha grabs onto it — pulls and pulls and pulls. 

She can’t stop. She can’t stop, even though Evanora’s out of her. She can’t stop, even though — for the first time in her life — she wants to. Badly, even.

But she can’t let go. She can’t control it. She can barely even breathe. Barely even—

“Mommy, stop!” Nicky’s voice, small and unmistakable, snaps her out of her haze.

Agatha lets go.

And Alice falls to the ground.

Chapter Text

“No!” Jen screams as she runs over to Alice, any potential danger she may still be in be damned. (She doesn’t remember the last time she was selfless like this. Prioritized someone else over her own well-being or even comfort.) She falls to her knees, putting a hand to Alice’s face — cracked and grey. “No, no, no, no, no — fuck no!” 

“Alice!” Teen follows suit.  

Something happens to Jen, then. She snaps into action — just as she did at the potions trial. “I need lizard's leg, wool of bat, and toe of frog! Now! Lilia, help him!” She turns to look at Agatha with a snarl. “You.” She points to the door that’s fallen open without fanfare. “Get the fuck out of my sight.”

“I couldn’t help it!” Agatha snaps, though there’s desperation under the irritation. Her eyes frantically dart around the room, spying a dusty stuffed bat tucked on a shelf. She retrieves it and gingerly sets it down beside Jen.

Jen snatches the plush off the ground. “Wool of bat means moss, you fucking idiot!” She hurls it at Agatha, hitting her in the chest. “And I don’t want your help — you’ve done enough!” 

Teen looks over at her from where he’s picking some ivy, the aforementioned lizard’s leg, by the sink. His jaw is clenched, and there’s a hard look in his eyes he’s never directed at her before. “You should go,” he agrees.

Agatha internally withers, though she manages to keep some semblance of composure until she makes her way outside. The minute she steps out of the cabin, she releases a scream. Releases a sob. Releases the magic she siphoned from her palm, it quickly fizzling out.

Her brain spins, chest heaving for breath, and she throws off her coat in order to scratch at her arms, blood pooling under her nails. She can still feel Evanora, and she needs her out. She needs her out even if that means cutting herself open.

Rio’s not sure whether to stay or follow. It’s not that she cares about Alice — she couldn’t give less of a fuck. But…she might be dead. Rio might have to take care of business. She still seems to be holding on, though. For now, at least. Her pulse is weak — very weak — but she’s hanging on, literally for dear life. 

So she follows Agatha up the stairs, out onto the road. “Stop that,” she demands before she even sees her. She was unpredictable to most people, but Rio knew her patterns.

Agatha, stubborn bitch she is, doesn’t listen. Agatha never fucking listens. She continues to yell and tear at her skin, the leaves, the dirt like a feral animal, desperately seeking some stitch of control.

“Agatha.” Rio drops down next to her, deftly grabbing her ripped-to-fuck arms and forcing her to quit. “I said stop.”

Agatha finally goes quiet as she slumps forward, gripping her hands into fists. Her nails dig into her palms, deep crescent moons immediately forming. “I tried to be good. I can be good. I’ll be good,” she says like a mantra, rocking herself back and forth. She still hears Evanora’s voice echoing in her brain.

“Stop that, too,” Rio tells her, briefly releasing her arms in order to flick her wrist and heal the myriad of wounds she’d inflicted on herself.

“I didn’t mean to kill her,” she desperately insists. “I didn’t try to—”

“Agatha, take a breath,” she orders, voice as even as Agatha’s was distressed. She grabs her chin, forcing eye contact. “And use your brain. Would I be out here if she was dead?”

After an agonizing moment — so long Agatha would normally be humiliated by it — she manages a shaky inhale. A strangled exhale. “No,” she admits.

Rio still holds onto her face, thumb gently wiping a tear that falls down her cheek. “It was different this time. I know it was different,” she assures her, tone calm and confident. “I’m the only one who would know.”

“I just needed it to stop,” she manages to whisper. “And then I couldn’t stop. I could only feel it all. Feel her and hear her and—” She abruptly cuts herself off.

“And what?”

“I— heard him,” she says — voice somehow growing softer still. “I stopped because I heard our boy.” A fresh round of tears burns at her eyes.

Rio stiffens, the combination of Agatha’s confession and the ghost she just saw sending her right back to the beach house. There’s an ache in her chest — one that has to be brought to the surface. Violently exorcized from her, just as Alice had done for Agatha. She needs Agatha to repay the favor on her now. 

“You really want to be good?” Rio asks, the question met with a small nod from Agatha. “Then keep your promise for once. That anger you’re feeling at your fucking mother — at yourself — you take it out on me. You prove that you are capable of control.” She brushes her thumb across Agatha's lip. “Give all that pain she made you feel over to me. I can handle it. I want to handle it.”

Agatha stares at her for a moment, expression unreadable, before crashing into her with a rough kiss. She takes her bottom lip between her teeth, biting down until she tastes blood. Rio whimpers into her mouth as one hand comes up to roughly tangle in her hair. Still, she needs more. Knows Agatha needs it, too.

“You’re holding back,” she accuses.

“Am not,” she growls under her breath. She gives her hair a harsh tug as if to prove this, pulling her head to the side to have better access to her throat. 

“Yes, you are,” she presses even as her scalp burns. Because she could sense that she was — even if Agatha didn’t know it. And because she needed more than she got at the beach house since this time, the ghost had been real.

Agatha snarls, nails digging into Rio’s jaw now as her teeth sink into her neck, tasting more blood than before.

“There you go,” Rio breathes out as Agatha rips into her. “Fucking finally.” 

She grabs at Agatha with one hand, grabs at the ground with the other in an attempt to balance herself. “Can I lie down, baby?” she asks. Permission would make this easier. Denial would make this hotter.

“No,” she grumbles, yanking Rio up by her face. Her free hand goes to her ass, gripping it with enough force to bruise. “I need you close.”

She lets out an involuntary moan. “We can’t be close horizontal?”

“No,” Agatha answers again, giving her hair one last pull and shifting them slightly, thrusting a knee in between her legs. “Grind,” she orders. 

Rio scoffs. “You want me to dry hump you, Harkness? That desperate to keep those middle school sleepover vibes going?”

Agatha slaps her across the face, which spurs her into reluctant compliance. She halfheartedly begins to move her hips, managing to get some pleasant friction through her clothes, but not enough — not nearly enough. “This is fucking humiliating.”

“Good. Keep going.” 

Rio does, though it’s a pointedly lazy job. “If that’s the entire goal of this, it’s pretty mild. Maybe you’re even more deserving of the ‘kitten’ title than Alice,” she jabs, the implication of softness and the mention of the nearly dead woman a double shot.

Agatha slaps her again — harder — before grabbing her face. She shoves her other hand under the waistband of Rio’s pants and scrapes her nails across her clit. “Shut your fucking mouth,” she warns lowly.

Rio valiantly suppresses the yelp that rises up in her throat, attempting to break her face from Agatha’s grasp in order to nip at her — do what she’d ordered and close her mouth, her teeth, around the first part of Agatha's flesh she could reach.

Agatha tightens her grip so Rio can’t jerk away. “No. This is what you wanted — this is what you’re going to get.” She starts to fuck her with a fury then, plunging three fingers into her cunt with no warning, her nails clawing at her walls.

She can’t stop the yelp this time, though she does stop bucking her hips — the harsh, sudden change in sensation momentarily paralyzing her. The only way not to look directly at Agatha is to close her eyes, so that’s exactly what she does — a lone tear escaping right as she squeezes them shut.

Agatha squeezes her jaw. “Look at me,” she demands. “I want to see you fall apart.”

Rio shakes her head — as much as she can, at least, with her head held so still. 

Agatha slaps her once more, her cheek quickly going from a deep pink to a burning red. “Look. At. Me.”

She grits her teeth and slowly cracks her eyes back open — unlatching the floodgates. She wasn’t even fucking naked, and yet she felt more exposed than if she were.

Agatha’s face falters for a moment. Rio can practically hear her thoughts, ‘Why am I like this? Why are you like this? Why are we like this? Why is pain the only language we speak — violence the only dance we know?’ 

Rio knows because she’s thought it, too.

She doesn’t think it now, though. This is too intoxicating. This is too necessary. She has to see it through and make sure Agatha does, too.

“Don’t fucking give me that,” Rio snaps. “All soft and pitiful.”

The mask quickly retakes Agatha’s face, any hesitance gone in an instant. “Shut the fuck up.” She slaps her yet again, her nails digging into her cheek to draw more fresh blood.

“You’re not a kitten — you’re a pony,” she baits with a hiss. “A one-trick pony.”

At that, Agatha pinches Rio’s clit with the two fingers not pumping in and out of her. Holding the pinch — as well as her jaw — she moves her head down to suck on the top of her breasts without an ounce of gentleness.

Rio’s eyes snap shut again at that, taking advantage of the fact Agatha could no longer ensure they were kept open. The heels of her feet dig into the ground, instinctively trying to squirm away from her merciless touches.

Agatha squeezes hard before letting go in order to add a fourth finger to her cunt. Her mouth begins to nip at her hardened nipples through her shirt.

“Fuck,” Rio can’t help but rasp under her breath. That fourth finger always did her in — pushed her right up to her limits. “Why is it that you don’t want to see my body?”

“No time for all that,” Agatha flippantly declares, finally letting go of her face.

Rio flexes her jaw — deliciously sore inside and out now. “You could have time. But that would require you to swallow your fucking pride — demand I conjure some supplies to help you along.”

Agatha bites down hard on her nipple before ripping a piece of Rio’s shirt. She balls it up before roughly shoving it in her mouth and speeds up her other hand, thumb now circling her clit.

It’s all starting to make Rio’s vision — her brain — fuzzy, but she needs to go blind from it. Needs Agatha’s anger to go from simmer to full-on boil. Needs it to spill over and scald her. So she presses. 

Cute you think that could shut me up, she says in her head, not even attempting to try and form words around the makeshift gag. Though it is nice to finally see you using your resources, sweetheart. The few still available to you, that is.

Agatha swears under her breath, punishing her by abruptly removing her thumb from her clit and pressing it into her, too. Nearly her whole hand pumps in and out, in and out of her now. She rips the rest of Rio’s shirt — rips it right down the middle so her torso is exposed — and slashes at it like she did her own arms. Like she did the ground.

Rio takes a sharp inhale, feeling everything pour over her like the most twisted baptism — cleansing her of her ghosts, both literal and figurative. Put it all onto me, she pleads in her head. Into me. All your pain. All of you.

Agatha obliges, though Rio sees something…hollow in her eyes. Almost like she’s not there. Almost like she’s floating above. Almost like she’s a ghost, too.

Rio knows it’s not working. She doesn’t understand why it’s not working. She’s doing this for herself — of course she is. She needs the catharsis of it. But she’s doing it for Agatha, too. Her catharsis. 

The universe is all about balance — Rio knows that well. Life and death. It’s rational to believe, then, that if there is pain that exists, then it needs somewhere to go — needs to be transferred somehow. To keep the balance. 

She’s trying to be selfless by making Agatha purge herself of all the hurt, volunteering to feel it all in her place, but Agatha can’t see that. Agatha can never see her intentions. Agatha always interprets her gifts as curses, and it breaks her black fucking heart.

Still, she works and works. “When you’re close, cum,” Agatha says. “I want you to break in my hands.”

Rio nods. Don’t stop until I tell you why, she begs. She needs to release the words, but just like the apology at the beach house, she needs them tortured out of her. Pulled from her — as literally as possible.

Agatha unceremoniously rips the crumpled shirt from her mouth and keeps going. Her hands move rougher, and her mouth bites harder as she licks up any drop of Death’s blood she can have. 

Rio arches her back before falling onto it, the arms she’d been using to keep herself propped up finally giving out.

Agatha fucks her through her orgasm and then fucks her some more, going and going just as Rio had requested, though she does lessen the intensity slightly. 

Rio notices immediately. “Don’t let up,” she orders despite trying to catch her breath. “You can’t let up.”

Agatha wordlessly obliges, returning to her former harshness. “Tell me then,” she says, looking at her face intently. “When to stop.”

“Pry it from me,” Rio whispers, closing her eyes again as soon as Agatha’s face comes up to meet hers. She can’t look at her. She can’t. “Please, baby. I don’t know how else to say it.”

Agatha refocuses her energy, honing in on her sorest spots — her deepest, freshest wounds.

Rio cries out at that, hands going up to instinctively push her away — a weak attempt to get her to stop. One she doesn’t mean. This was so appropriate — her methodology being to reopen old wounds, press down on them until Rio couldn’t stand it. That’s all they did. All they’ve ever done for centuries.

“Say it,” Agatha gruffly mutters.

Rio winces, jaw clenched from the overwhelming combination of pain and pleasure — from the effort of trying to keep the words trapped inside. She can’t stand it. But she can’t say it either.

One hand digs sharply into her face, the other along the walls of her cunt. “Now, Rio.”

She chokes out a pathetic little noise. Still not as pathetic as what Agatha was dangerously close to getting her to admit. “I was trying to— to—" It’s like it gets lodged there. Stuck in her throat.

“Trying to what?” Agatha hisses.

With that prompting — and with one more particularly brutal scrape of her nails — Agatha manages to claw it out of her. But unlike the screamed apology at the beach house, this fucked-up version of a safe word is said so quietly she thinks Agatha might not hear it at first. “Be good for you, too.”

Agatha stops at that. She takes her hand out of Rio and uses the one that was buried in her jaw to brush her hair from her face. “I never hated you.”

She whines at the sudden emptiness, the feeling settling. Everything burns: her cunt, her chest, her eyes — still screwed shut and keeping the tears trapped in. She shakes her head a little. “Yes, you did,” she whispers. “Because I had to take something from you. I wanted to take something for you just now, but it didn’t work.” No matter what Rio does, it never works.

“You helped,” Agatha assures her. Rio can’t tell if she’s lying this time. She’s not sure if Agatha even knows. “And I hated myself. I thought you took him because I failed to protect him, and even when I realized it was balance, I was in so much pain.”

Rio wishes she could accept this, but part of her still fucking hates Agatha for what she did to her. She wishes she could trust the forgiveness, but she knows there’s a part of Agatha that still fucking hates her for what she did, too. “Your anger — your pain — it’s a bottomless well. It’s going to drown us every time.”

“I won’t let it. I spent 300 years letting it do that, and I’m tired of it.” Agatha traces her thumb down Rio’s cheek. “Please, I’ll let you in this time. Being near you again, despite all of this, has made me feel more whole than I’ve felt since that day you took him.”

Only then does Rio finally open her eyes — deep brown rimmed red. “You always do this. Plead when I’m vulnerable. It isn’t fair, Agatha. It isn’t fucking fair of you.”

“Because you push me away any other time.”

“Because you know I’ll give in,” she counters. “Because you know I don’t know how to say no to you.”

“So don’t say no,” she whispers, placing a tender kiss on her jaw. “We can have a second chance, my love.”

Rio sucks in a shaky breath, trying not to sink into the comfort she’s offering — the future she’s dangling — tempting as it is. “You feel whole, but you leave me in jumbled pieces,” Rio tells her.

Agatha pulls back enough to look at her, tilting her head. “What do you mean?”

“Everything was simple before you. Everything made sense. But then you came along, and you made it all complicated. You made me break the rules, and you broke me in the process.”

“I can’t fix the rules,” Agatha admits. “But I can help put you back together. Please, my love.” Her voice is breathy and soft as she looks into Rio’s eyes — seems to look straight into her nonexistent soul. “Por favor. Te quiero.”

It hits Rio hard — the fact she’s speaking her language. So hard she has to close her eyes again.  

“Don’t you understand that I am the rules?” Rio asks softly. “By being my exception, you are my problem — my beautiful, irresistible problem — which means you cannot be the solution. Which means you cannot mend me.”

“Rio, I can,” Agatha insists. “If you are the rules, then that means you can change them. I remember you used to call me your violet. Tu preciosa violeta. Tu amor. Quiero eso de nuevo.”

A switch is flipped in Rio at that. She snaps her eyes open again, shoving Agatha off of her and sitting up. 

“You think if I could just change the rules, I wouldn’t have?!” she seethes. Agatha’s not touching her anymore, but she pushes her again. “You think I wouldn’t have let our little dandelion grow forever?!” Another push. Another. Another. Another. “I offered everything I could! I’m offering everything I can! Why is that not enough for you?!” 

Sometime — and she’s not exactly sure when — her voice has transformed into a strangled sob. Sometime — and she’s not exactly sure when — she’s stopped pushing Agatha and collapsed onto the ground. “Why am I never enough for you?” she wails. I want you to break in my hands. Well, Rio’s certainly done that.

Agatha blinks, stunned and riled by Rio’s sudden aggression. “I know you offered everything you could — that doesn’t erase my hurt! I know I fucked up back then, but is it so wrong to want a better ending than dying by your hand after this fucking road?!”

“I can’t control the end, Agatha! I can’t fucking control it! You, of all people, should know what that’s fucking like!” Agatha’s number was up. It had been up, and it was Rio’s job to ensure that it was taken care of. She’d told Agatha that from the beginning. It hadn’t changed. So why did she keep pretending she didn’t understand? Why did she keep insisting another way was possible?

Rio covers her eyes, pressing the heels of her hands into the sockets. How did this happen? This was supposed to quiet her mind — get her brain in order — but it’s more loud and scrambled than it was before they’d started. “Hurt me again,” she pleads, grasping at relief.

“No, Rio.”

“Agatha.”

“I can’t hold the knife this time.”

“Fuck you, Agatha.” She snarls in frustration. She presses down on her throat — the deepest gash Agatha had given her. If she won’t oblige, she’ll have to try to do it herself. “You’re never the one holding the fucking knife. Even when you give me what I need, you always bait and switch so it’s all about you again.”

At that, Agatha lashes out, ripping into a gash on her stomach.

It helps the smallest bit, evacuates a bit of the black fog clouding her head. But Rio can tell Agatha’s heart’s not in it. There’s a roteness to it — a numb sort of defeat bordering on dissociation. It didn’t have that same release if she wasn’t a willing participant — if Rio couldn’t fully give her control. She sighs. “Forget it,” she says quietly.

“I’m sorry,” Agatha says — a rare apology. Rio hates her tone. She’s talking to her as if she’s a coworker. A stranger. “I’m not trying to upset you.”

“It’s fine.” It’s not, exactly, but what else can she say? A beat. Then, “Do you want to hold me?”

“Okay,” Agatha agrees, opening her arms.

Rio sinks into them, back to her so she’s playing little spoon. She silently places Agatha’s hand over the wound on her stomach and presses down, savoring the sting. 

They’re fucked. They’re cursed. They’re doomed. They cannot give the other what they need.

But maybe they can each take a little something they want.

Chapter Text

It’s not like the movies. Alice’s eyes don’t immediately shoot open. She doesn’t gasp for breath. She doesn’t shoot straight up from her position supine on the floor.

Instead, her eyelids flutter. She takes a soft whisper of an inhale and sighs it back out. She stirs the smallest bit.

But Teen catches it. Jen has taken to pacing and cursing and brainstorming another potion; Lilia has opted to meditate; and Agatha and Rio have run off to do god knows what. But Teen? Teen has never left Alice’s side — his eyes have never left her face — which means he clocks it right away.

“She’s waking up!” he exclaims.

Jen whips her head around to face him. “What?” she asks, as if she can’t quite let herself trust what he’s said. Can’t let herself hope.

“She’s opening her eyes!”

Jen is over in an instant, shoving Teen out of the way to crouch down beside her. “Alice?” she asks, gently tapping her cheek. “Alice, can you hear me? Stay with us, okay? Please. Please.”

Her eyes slowly crack open centimeter by centimeter. “Jen?” she mumbles, the smallest ghost of a smile appearing on her face.

A much larger one appears on Jen’s — one flooded with relief. “Yeah, it’s me,” she says. Alice is still so damn beautiful, even half-dead like this. Even through the haze of her own tears. “It’s me. How do you feel? What do you need?”

Alice winces, eyes squeezing shut for a moment in an attempt to both manage her pain and find the words. “Head hurts. Thirsty.”

“Teen.” Jen snaps her fingers. “Water. Now.” 

"On it." Teen stands, rushing to the sink.

Alice musters the strength to lift her head, lay it down on Jen’s lap. “Is Agatha okay?”

Jen melts at the action but scowls at the question as her fingers gently card through her hair. “How Agatha is is my last fucking concern right now. That bitch almost killed you.”

“She couldn’t control it,” she insists. “But I’m glad you were there to save the day.”

“Like hell she couldn’t,” she mumbles, though she feels a little tingle run through her at the implication she’d been the one to fix things. Had she done that? Actually been useful? Healed someone — without her magic?

Alice looks at Jen — gaze as serious as can be through the daze she’s still coming out of. “I saw her face. It wasn’t on purpose.”

“I saw her face, too, and I’m not so sure,” Jen argues.

“Well, I am,” Alice holds firm. “But it doesn’t matter anyway.”

“It does matter. It very much matters.”

“No. All that matters is that I’m here, and I have you, and we’re all okay.”

“I wouldn’t necessarily call your condition ‘okay,’” Jen pushes back. It’s compl—”

“Jen,” Alice cuts her off. “Stop. Just…lie down with me, would you?”

Jen purses her lips. She doesn’t have the confidence in Agatha that Alice has, but she’s not about to argue with her in this condition. Not about to deny her either. “In a minute,” she promises, taking the water glass Teen has fetched. “Sit up for me? Lilia, help her.”

Lilia puts a hand on Alice’s shoulder, helping steady her as she lifts herself up. “There we go,” she says, giving it a comforting, almost maternal rub. “I’m glad you’re all right.” 

Alice nods in appreciation before taking the cup and downing the whole thing in a couple of gulps.

“Teen, pillow,” Jen orders with another snap of her fingers.

He complies, grabbing one from the couch and helping Alice lower herself down onto it. He then grabs a throw for good measure. “I’m glad you’re okay, too,” he says as he drapes the blanket over her.

“Thanks.” Alice gives him a smile, tired but sincere, as Jen lies down on the floor — something she can never actually remember doing before and would normally not be caught dead even considering — and wraps her arms around her.

“Mm,” Alice contentedly hums, cuddling into her. “My knight in shining armor.”

“Ironic you’d call me that, considering Lilia was yelling something about a knight earlier,” Jen says. 

“Knight of Wands,” Teen offers as Lilia sits back on the couch. There’s a beat of silence that’s not altogether unpleasant. Everyone’s all right — or at least alive.

“Should we play another game?” Teen suggests.

Jen glares at him. “Considering the last game almost killed someone, I think I’m gonna hard pass. Plus, Alice needs to rest.”

“It could be a calm one,” he counters. “20 Questions or Would You Rather or something. To take our mind off of…everything.”

Lilia opens her mouth to respond, but she gets that far-off look in her eye before she can. What comes out is consequently — and, at this point, unsurprisingly — incoherent. To half the room, at least. “Billy!”

Jen gives her an odd look. “Who the hell is Billy?”

“Him,” Lilia says quickly, head jerking toward Teen before she can forget. “That’s his name. I put the sigil on him.”

“What?” Jen asks. “When? Why would you do that?” 

“And why would it be gone now?” Billy inquires. He’s relieved, he thinks, for them to have his name now — one of his names, at least. But it raises more questions than answers. Agatha had told him that sigils were destroyed when they were no longer needed. What had changed?

“When he was at his bar mitzvah,” Lilia says. “I saw what would happen.”

“'What would happen' meaning the road…?” Jen asks slowly. 

“Meaning the wreck,” Billy says softly, looking at Lilia. “Right?”

Lilia nods slowly, bittersweet sympathy in her eyes. “And with the hex.”

Jen narrows her eyes, trying to put the pieces together. “Like the Westview hex that happened a few years ago?”

“The very same indeed,” Lilia confirms, her eyes never leaving Billy. “You should pick up the story. It’s not mine to tell.”

“I…” He doesn’t know where to start. He still can’t quite wrap his head around it. He’s not sure how to tell them even if he wanted to — and he’s not sure he wants to. He trusts Alice, he thinks. And Lilia. Jen was…combative, but she did save Alice, which he thinks counts for something. 

Agatha and Rio, though…that was a different story. Agatha had almost killed Alice, and it’s not like Rio had contributed anything to their success thus far. At best, she wasn’t taking this seriously, and at worst, she was actively sabotaging them. And then there was the whole being Death thing. 

“I’m going to get some air,” he says, pushing himself off the ground. “Could we maybe…keep this whole thing just between us?”

Alice raises a groggy brow, seeing right through him. “You don’t look so hot.”

You’re one to talk, he’d retort if anyone but Alice had said it. But since she had, “That’s why I’m going to get some air.” 

“There’s no way breathing in that toxic-ass atmosphere is going to make you feel better,” Jen says. “Now sit the fuck back down and spill, Teen or Billy or whatever the hell your name is.”

He’s not inclined to do what Jen asks — especially when she’s this unnecessarily hostile about it. 

But then Alice says, “Please,” her face so exhausted yet so open, not a hint of judgment there. Like Jen, he’s finding it impossible not to indulge her right now.

He sighs before slowly lowering himself back to the ground. “It’s going to sound crazy. Really crazy,” he warns. 

“Crazier than singing a song and opening a door to a magical road in Agatha Harkness’ basement?” Jen deadpans. “Crazier than me willingly following Agatha Harkness into her basement in the first place?” She scoffs. “Try me.” 

Billy takes a deep breath, crossing his legs and staring down at the floor. He fidgets with a loose string on the rug. “I sort of…died. In the car accident." He shakes his head. "Or…or William Kaplan died.”

Alice blinks, letting that sink in before a flicker of realization — of recognition — lights up her face. “I remember that. I was there.”

“What?” Jen asks, brows furrowing.

“I was one of the police on scene,” Alice explains with a cringe. “Hated that job. So much corruption.”

“Yeah, I’m really glad I’m not dating a cop,” Jen agrees before it’s her turn to cringe a little. Were they dating? They hadn’t really made it…official official, but she’d talked about meeting her cat. Plus, they were sapphics — of course they’d leave the road in a U-Haul.

“But are you that kid…” Alice looks at Billy intently, trying to put the pieces together. “Or in the body of that kid? Like, who…are you, exactly?”

“That’s…a good question, honestly,” he says, breathing out a humorless laugh. “Yes…to the body thing. The rest is…more complicated.”

“Okay…” Alice says slowly. “Care to elaborate? I mean, was she right? Is your name Billy?”

There’s a beat. “Yes,” he says quietly. “Sort of, or…one of them, at least. I’m William Kaplan, but I’m also Billy…” He glances up at them only briefly before averting his gaze downward yet again. “Billy Maximoff.”

Alice’s head jerks back a bit in surprise. Everyone — within witch circles and even beyond it now — knew that surname. “The Scarlet Witch’s kid?”

“Wanda’s,” he softly confirms-slash-corrects. He doesn’t know why he does — he has a mom, and it’s not her — but if they viewed her as nothing more than a nexus being, the harbinger of the apocalypse, the destroyer, then what would they see him as?

“Sorry.” Alice shakes her head a little. “Wanda’s then.”

He purses his lips. “One minute, she was tucking me in — Tommy, my twin, right next to me — and the next minute, I was bleeding out in a car with a new body.” He remembers it vividly when he allows himself to think about it, which is why he so rarely does. On his and Tommy’s birthdays. On Wanda’s. On Vision’s.

“Reincarnation. Part of the prophecy,” Jen notes, shaking her head in disbelief. “Fuck me. And fuck Agatha.”

“Why?” Alice asks. “Besides the usual.”

“She brought Death and the Scarlet Witch’s son on our little field trip. There are very few people more dangerous.”

“Well, she’s a useless lesbian,” Alice reasons.

“Emphasis on ‘useless,’” Jen mumbles.

“And she presumably didn’t know he was the Scar—” Alice stops, correcting herself for Billy’s sake. “Wanda’s son. It’ll be okay, Jen. We’re all still alive.”

“Barely — you are barely alive.” Jen thrusts an arm out, motioning to the door. “Because of her, Alice.”

“I’m more inclined to blame her mother,” Lilia speaks up. 

“And I’m inclined to not give a fuck who you blame,” Jen counters.

“I looked into her eyes, Jen,” Alice says — voice soft but sure. “I watched her. She wasn’t here. She was screaming for help somewhere in her head.”

Jen sucks the inside of her cheek, unconvinced. “If you say so…”

“I do,” Alice asserts. “You can hate her for a lot of other things, but she wasn’t conscious of what she was doing.”

“Well, then she definitely puts the ‘con’ in unconscious,” Jen mutters.

“You would know,” Billy snarks. He doesn’t know why he does — he has a mom, and it’s not Agatha; plus, Agatha had just proven herself to be dangerous — but he doesn’t like people saying things about those who weren’t there to defend themselves. 

Jen gives him a dirty look. “Okay, well she’s also a child sacrificer. And a pathological liar. And a serial killer. And the list could go on and on until the end of fucking time.”

“I know she lies. I know she cheats. Hell, I even know she kills,” Lilia says. “But the child sacrifice thing is and has always been a rumor.”

Alice nods. “My mom told me she never believed it.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s credence to it,” Jen stubbornly declares.

“She’s had that rabbit for who knows how long,” Lilia points out. “Protected it for centuries. Who’s to say she wouldn’t fiercely protect a kid?”

“Who’s to say she would?” Jen retorts. “She’s unpredictable. And selfish. And volatile. And nothing you say is going to change that. I don’t understand why everyone is suddenly Team Agatha—“ 

“I’m not,” Billy says sharply — so sharply Jen blinks in surprise before looking over at him. He clears his throat. “I’m not,” he says more calmly. “Not anymore.”

“And I’m fairly neutral,” Alice defends. 

“So am I,” Lilia agrees, though she can’t deny the strange fondness. 

“I just think the way she avoids talking about it that there’s more to the story,” Alice explains.

“The truth could be worse than what everyone says,” Billy mutters. 

“Exactly,” Jen agrees. “Knowing her, it could be even worse.”

“What’s gotten into you, Billy?” Lilia asks. “You were pretty fond of her.”

He shrugs. “I saw the truth when she did what she did to Alice. Even if you think it was an accident…” He shakes his head. “I can’t trust her.”

“Not saying you have to — or even that you should,” Alice says, choosing her words carefully. “But I think it is worth not being angry at her.”

“I think it is worth being very fucking angry at her,” Jen pipes up. “Just my two cents.”

Alice sighs. “Jen, please.”

“Alice, please. I don’t think you get how serious this was.” She gives her a firm look, though the tears glistening in her eyes betray her. “How fucking scared you had us." Had me. "I need you to really understand that and focus on healing instead of defending her sorry ass.” She attempts to swallow down her emotion. “I refuse to lose you right after I got you.”

Alice purses her lips, silent for a moment. “I’ll be okay,” she promises, voice soft. “Once we’re off the road, we can rest.” 

“You need to rest in order to get off the road.”

“I’m resting now,” Alice points out, curling in closer to her. “With you.”

Jen sighs, brushing her bangs from her eyes. “Well, I’m going to need you to rest harder. As in try to get some sleep.”

Alice pouts up at her. “But I don’t want to miss any moments,” she says, her voice so earnest and pure it almost makes Jen want to cry.

“I’ll be here when you wake up,” Jen promises, but still, the other woman doesn’t close her eyes. She lets out a vaguely exasperated exhale. “Alice, please — I want to ensure you get more moments. I really don’t want to concoct a sleeping potion, but I swear to god I will…” she threatens.

“No, don’t do that,” Alice grumbles, begrudgingly shutting her lids.

“Thank you, honey,” Jen says, placing a kiss on her forehead. She looks up at Billy and Lilia. “You both better be quiet as fucking church mice. If that’s not something you think you can do, scram.” She jerks her head toward the exit.

“Jesus, you lesbians are dramatic,” Lilia replies.

Jen raises a brow. “Does that mean you’re staying or going?”

“I’m in a comfortable chair.” She leans back in her seat, making herself even cozier. As cozy as you could be on a road that wanted to kill you, that is. “I’m staying.”

“Teen-slash-Billy?” 

“Oh, am I finally allowed to go get air now?” he snarks. 

“Agatha’s right about one thing — you are mouthy,” Jen replies. A beat. “I hate that you just made me say that.” 

He stands, going over to the stairs leading out. “I’m taking a walk. Once again, can we please—" 

“Yeah, yeah — we’re not gonna tell Agatha and Rio about the whole Scarlet Witch’s spawn thing.” Jen rolls her eyes before narrowing them. “Unless, of course, you piss me off. Then there’s no telling what I’ll do.” 

“Noted.” He gives her an eye-roll of his own before opening the door.

He doesn’t have to walk far before spying Agatha and Rio, the two lying on the ground and clinging to each other tightly. The scene, however, is far from a Norman Rockwell painting. Rio is splattered with blood, her shirt ripped to shreds.

“Whoa.” He blinks, jarred by the gory scene before him. “Did you get mauled by something?” 

Rio turns and lifts her head only slightly, unfazed. “You could say that,” she deadpans.

His face twists into disgust. “I can’t believe you two. Coming out here to cuddle, take a nap—“ 

“That’s not exactly what we were doing, kid,” Rio dryly corrects.

“—while we were in there taking care of Alice. A woman you almost killed,” he tells Agatha. “It looks like she’s going to be okay, by the way, if you even care. Which you probably don’t, so I don’t know why I’m even bothering to tell you.”

Agatha glares up at him. “For the thousandth fucking time, I couldn’t control it. But even so, don’t act like you don’t know what you signed up for.”

“Why should I believe you? Huh? I signed up to battle the road — we all did. But the road didn’t almost murder Alice — you did. The last in a long, long line of witches you’ve killed from the sounds of it.”

At that, Agatha calmly pushes herself off the ground. She slowly approaches Billy. She gets inches away from his face. “Listen carefully because I am only going to say this one more time,” she says, voice calm and terrifying. “If you still can’t get it through your underdeveloped frontal lobe, that’s on you. I did not kill Alice. I did not try to kill Alice. My mother’s ghost — who you had the displeasure of meeting — possessed my body. I was not aware of what was happening around me.”

“Yeah, right.” He scoffs. “Convenient excuse.”

Rio growls in response. “The Salemites were a bunch of fucking cunts who would’ve burned you at the stake in a minute flat, little boy.”

But Agatha breathes out a laugh — a cruel, humorless thing. “You’re just like your mother. High and mighty.”

His blood runs cold. You’re just like your mother. You’re just like your mother. You’re just like your mother. The words rattle around and around in his brain. What does she know? How long has she known it? And what the hell did it all mean? 

He ignores it for now, too pissed to be confused or anxious or curious or anything but downright furious. “Even if that’s all true, it doesn’t change the fact that you kept taking Alice’s power even after she left your body. And that those are far from all the witches you've killed. I’m not high and mighty — you’re just low and a coward.”

“So dramatic — just like a Maximoff,” she snips back. “And I’d be careful what you call me. We’re more similar than you think.”

“I am nothing like you. And I don’t want to be!” 

Maximoff, Rio thinks. Of course he was a fucking Maximoff. Of course that’s why Agatha was doing all this. Agatha didn’t care about Rio — she cared about protecting this stupid kid. About distracting her from him so she wouldn’t take him with her — do what needed to be done. Rio had almost let herself get played. Again.  

Rio was so fucking stupid. And Rio hated feeling stupid. Hated having this black heart — this defect. She needed to make it stop beating. She needed to make Agatha’s stop beating, too. 

But more importantly, she needed that kid. 

She’d get him. Not here, not now — it wasn't the right time. But she’d get him.

Agatha can sense Rio’s change in demeanor. Can feel it without Rio having to say a word. Without her even having to move a muscle. 

“Rio? Rio, it’s not—” She purses her lips. She doesn’t want to accidentally dig a deeper hole if she doesn’t need to. “Talk to me.”

“I think I’m done talking, Agatha,” she says, voice cold. 

“Well, I’m not,” Billy says. “You can’t just ignore me.”

Agatha promptly ignores him. “I don’t care who his mother is,” she insists, reaching out to touch Rio’s hand.

Rio bats it away. “Don’t fucking lie to me — you admitted you thought about her, and then you brought her offspring to the road.”

“I care about him because he reminds me of Nicky,” she desperately admits.

In trying to make it better, she’s just made it so, so much worse. “And don’t you ever fucking compare that thing to our son!” Rio barks. 

“‘Thing’?” Billy asks, insulted.

Rio looks at him, eyes dark. “That’s me being extremely generous, you abomination.”

He laughs in disbelief. “I’m the abomination? Agatha’s the serial killer!”

“Oh, would you shut up already?” Agatha seethes. “The self-righteous act is played out. You survived. You’re here.” She claps, dragging out the next words, each dripping with vitriol. “Great jooob — gold staaar. But faulting me for killing my share when you’re doing just the same—”

“I haven’t killed anyone!” Billy fumes. “And I will never kill anyone!”

Agatha sneers. “Yeah, right. Like mother, like son,” she taunts.

“Stop. Saying. That,” he demands through gritted teeth. “I have a mother, and it’s not her.”

“Then who is, hm? Who are you?”

The question hit him hard inside with the others, but out here — from Agatha — it’s a sucker punch right to the gut, knocking the wind from him. He can’t think of a sassy retort. He can’t think of anything. Can’t speak. All he can do is rue the fact that all of this is almost certainly written on his face that has no easy name, contorted in a crisis of identity.

Agatha softens the slightest bit. “Believe it or not, I’ve missed you, Billy.”

He blinks, crossing his arms over his chest as a flash of memories — of feelings — hits him. He’d missed Agnes’ house. Missed that her mind was quiet. Missed her rabbit. Missed— 

No. No. 

He swallows down the emotion that rises up before he speaks again. “Rebecca Kaplan,” he finally answers. “She is my mother.”

Agatha sighs, disappointed with this answer. “If you say so.” 

“I do say so,” he stubbornly declares, ironically sounding very much like Wanda, his not-mother. 

Agatha turns to Rio, anguish laced in her eyes — her voice. “Please, my love. We can work through this. We can—”

“No,” Rio states, jaw clenched. She’s never been so certain of her mission. Of what she had to do. Of what she was planning to do from the beginning. “It’s just as I said before — it’s too little too late. I’ll help you finish the road as I promised to do, but after that? You’re done.” She looks at Billy. “You both are,” she warns. 

Billy swallows hard. “Y-you can’t do that.” 

Rio smirks, the corner of her mouth sharp and hungry as her blade. “I can. And I will. And believe me, I’ll enjoy every. Fucking. Second.”

Chapter Text

The rest of the group emerges from the cabin a few moments later, the road tinting yellow and a tower appearing in the near distance as they begin to walk.

“A castle meant for a queen,” Jen muses to herself. “Now that’s more like it.”

“Where’s the queen? She’s certainly not you.”

“Oh, fuck off, Agatha.”

“I am a covenless witch,” Lilia mumbles, hitting the side of her head with her hand. “A covenless witch. A covenless witch. A covenless witch!”

Jen looks over at her, raising a brow. “Lilia? You good?”

She blinks, and suddenly that strange look in her eye is gone once more. “What?”

Jen sighs. “Now’s not the time to go kooky, okay? I already have my hands full with this one.” She jerks her head at Alice, who she’s helping keep balance. “And god knows those three are fucking useless.” She nods toward Agatha, Rio, and Billy.

“I—” Lilia shakes her head. “There’s…something. We should…go inside.” She’s acting weirder than usual, which was really saying something. 

Though Jen has learned not to question it. “Vague as hell, but okay…” she says slowly. “Death, Killer, Spawn — you ready for the next trial?” she asks the other three.

“Guess so,” Agatha mumbles.

“Sure,” Teen mutters. 

“If I were you two, I’d try and enjoy it,” Rio says, dramatically lifting herself off the ground and floating herself the last few feet just because she can. Or maybe just because Agatha can't.

Agatha gives Rio a look, pissed and…hurt. Maybe mostly hurt, though she hopes the mask she’s putting on conveys otherwise. She strides forward through the door, shoulders squared, chin raised high, skin…green?

Wicked Witch of the West. Fitting, all things considered. She’s based on her, after all.

Agatha is far less pleased when she stops looking at herself to further examine the room. It doesn’t take long, as the centerpiece is a giant tarot table. Fuck. They’re never going to win this, stupid-ass, subjective-ass pseudo magic that it was.

She then looks over at Rio, displeased for a different reason. She looks sexy. Annoyingly sexy. She’s been changed into a black dress that hugs her body and touches the floor. Agatha's not sure what’s longer — her hair, now much longer than usual and with a rose tucked into it just behind her ear, or the fabric of the sleeves that drape down. Morticia Addams. 

“Why does everyone else get to be hot?” Jen whines, surveying everyone else’s new attire compared to her own old crone one.

“You’re still hot to me,” Alice assures her with a small smile, though she’s admittedly fared a lot better with her Melisandre getup. 

“Okay, enough of that,” Agatha says, pushing past them to get to the older woman. “Lilia, this is your area. What the hell are we supposed to do?”

Lilia, unfortunately, is zoned out yet again — in a different world, a different time. “I am a forgotten woman,” she mutters. 

“More like forgetful woman,” Jen mutters. Billy glares are her. “What? She can’t remember shit.” 

Billy ignores her. “I can help. I’m good at tarot,” he confidently declares.

“All right,” Lilia absentmindedly says, handing him the cards as she continues staring straight ahead, still half on that other plane she often went to. “Shuffle.”

Billy shuffles — very, very poorly.  

Rio lifts a judgmental brow, blinking a few times. She resists the urge to look over at Agatha — talk shit about him to her either telepathically or out loud — but Agatha had lost that right. Lost every single one of her special little treatments the minute she started hiding behind the Darkhold. Absolutely sealed the deal when she decided to protect this stupid kid — this disruption of the sacred balance.

She, along with everyone else, is snapped out of their thoughts when a sword begins to fall. And another. And another.

“Give her the cards back,” Agatha snaps. “Now.”

In a rare show of solidarity, Jen grabs them from his hands. “You’ve lost card privileges.”

Lilia takes back the cards. “I’ll read Billy’s,” she announces.

“Be our guest, Grandma,” Rio says — a comment that is promptly ignored by absolutely everyone in the room. 

Lilia lays one down, and another sword falls. Another card. Another sword. And another. And another. Each sword falls randomly but seems to inch closer and closer to them.

“Holy shit!” Jen shrieks, clutching onto Alice — though whether she’s trying to hide behind her or shield her from them is unclear even to herself.

“Please, please, please be careful with the cards,” Billy pleads, practically in the fetal position as he nervously looks up at the ceiling — which now seems to be descending, too.

“You’re one to talk,” Jen snarks.

“Is now really the time to be antagonizing me? You were on my team, like, two seconds ago with the Agatha of it all!”

“Why the hell am I in this?” Agatha mutters. 

“Quiet! All of you,” Lilia orders, closing her eyes. Allowing herself to go to the place that always seemed to be pulling her in instead of fighting it for once.

A few long, long moments later — too much longer later, if you asked Agatha — she snaps out of it again. Though instead of the dazed look that usually accompanies it, she seems clearer and more lucid than ever.

"It's for me. It’s always been me.” She locks in, expertly shuffling the cards. “Time is an illusion,” she explains as she does. “It really is. I remember now. I know who I am.”

“Great. Could you perhaps try knowing a little faster?” Agatha impatiently urges.

“I’m doing my best!” 

“Well, hurry your best up!” 

Lilia has two cards down when Alice notices the rat sneaking its way in. “Uh, guys? We have an issue.”

Jen shudders as she spots it, too. “As much as I fucking hate rats, I think that’s the least of our problems right now."

“I don’t think it’s just a regular rat, Jen…”

Jen lets out something between a wince and a defeated sigh. “Not these motherfuckers again.”

“Lilia, get a fucking move on!” Agatha orders.

The ceiling gets lower. Card number three.

A snake slithers in. Card number four. 

Another sword falls. The roof descends. A crow enters. Lilia slams down card number five and yells, “Go!” the second the iron maiden opens.

“Don’t have to tell me twice, Grandma,” Rio says before casually sauntering out. Her only stakes were — and have always been — Agatha-related.

And luckily, Agatha follows shortly after, though with the slightest bit of hesitation. “Thank you, Lilia,” she forces herself to say. Those are words she didn’t often utter, but she feels in her gut that they’ll be the last she’ll ever say to the woman. The woman who, while she’ll never admit it, treated her more like a daughter than her own mother ever did.

Billy and Jen and, by extension, Alice hover, putting aside their petty grievances to look at each other. Something doesn’t feel quite right.

“Go,” Lilia urges, ushering the trio out. “Go now, my coven. And be careful.” Despite the situation, Lilia looks…almost happy. Almost nostalgic. Almost at peace. “My coven,” she repeats as if she likes the way the words feel on her tongue. “I needed you.”

“No. No! Do not start speaking in the past tense!” Jen demands, tears forming in her eyes. Where the hell had those come from? She desperately grasps Lilia’s hand. “I am not leaving without you!” 

“Neither am I,” Billy vows.

Lilia squeezes Jen’s hand, voice wise and resigned though not in an altogether sad way. “You and Alice deserve to be happy.” 

“We’ll be happy when you come with us!” Jen argues.

Lilia turns to Billy. “And you deserve to find your path.”

“Lilia, please,” Billy begs, voice softer. “I won’t be able to find it without you. Who’s going to be there when I have nightmares? Plus, you…you never told me about playing the lyre. And the lute. You promised that you’d tell me. You promised.” He’s aware he sounds like a child — is crying like one, too. But isn’t he? Isn’t he still just a child?

“My path is winding and nonlinear. I’ll find you again somehow,” Lilia promises. “And I’ll tell you all about it. I’ll tell you more than that. But right now, you need to save yourself.”

He hesitates for a moment more before throwing his arms around her, letting out a sob. 

“You better find me, too, you old kook,” Jen threatens with a sniffle. “I never got to tell you what really went down between Agatha and me, and I know you want the tea.”

Lilia feels tears begin to flow down her cheeks. Grateful ones. She won’t die covenless. She won’t die forgotten. And because of that, in a way, it’s like she’s not even dying at all. That’s the beauty of it — of living this kind of life. 

“I loved being a witch,” she tells them, voice soft and serious and joyful — so joyful — as if she’s letting them in on the most wonderful secret. And isn’t she doing just that?

After one more long, long look at Lilia, Jen reluctantly nods and steps out. 

“Lilia, I can’t—" Billy chokes out. 

“Come on, kid,” Jen gently encourages. 

“But she can’t—" 

“Come on,” she says, reaching out to give his arm a firm tug, allowing Lilia time to close the door behind him.  

“No!” he screams as it latches shut, collapsing onto the ground outside. “No! No! No!” He pounds the door and knows, right then, the sound he hears will haunt his nightmares forever. The whispers of the Seven. The slip of a hand from a table before Lilia falls down, down, down. The unmistakable slice of her falling no more. 

It’s like he can feel the moment the sword pierces Lilia. It’s like there’s a sword piercing him, too — getting him right through the heart. “No,” Billy cries, voice barely above a whisper. “No. No. No.”

Jen shoots a panicked glance at Alice, extremely out of her depth with this display of emotion. Though Alice is crying too, she goes over to silently wrap him in a hug.

Billy clutches onto Alice tightly. “It’s not fair,” he mutters into her shoulder. “It’s not fair.”

“I know,” Alice soothes as she tries to refrain from crying harder. “I know. But she did that for us.”

“It’s still—” He sucks in a shaky breath. “—not fair.” 

“News flash, kid: life isn’t always fucking fair,” Rio speaks up, examining her nails. Biding her time until she had to usher Lilia to the afterlife. 

Billy lifts his face to glare at her. “Shut up! Just shut up! You’re the reason she’s dead! You’re the one who killed her!” 

“I didn’t lay a hand on Grandma.” 

“You’re the one who sent the Seven! After her.” He looks at Agatha with disdain. “Lilia was innocent, but she still got caught in the crossfire. Because of you,” he spits at Rio. “It’s all your fault.”

“Oh, cool it the fuck down, Billy,” Agatha says with a roll of her eyes. “We still have a trial to go, so if you want to get what you want — Toby, right? — you’re going to have to suck it up and make a deal with the so-called devils to help get you there.”

“I don’t want to go anywhere with you,” he seethes. “I fucking hate you — both of you.” He feels blue energy crackling in his palms. 

“Whoa.” Jen’s eyes widen and she takes a step back. “What the—”

Rio raises a brow, completely unfazed. “I’d be very careful about what you do next, little boy.”

Agatha gestures at the shoes they've walked back to. “In case you hadn’t noticed, the road’s a fucking circle and so is this conversation,” she tells him. “You need us to finish. End of story.”

He gives her a humorless laugh. “I don’t need you.” He holds up his hand, the magic still in it. “I don’t think I ever did. You’ve been no help since we got here. All you’ve done is create problems.”

“Aww, you think that because your temper tantrums come with a little light show you can do it all on your own?” Agatha mocks.

“Shut. Up,” he says through gritted teeth, some magic jumping from his palm and burning the closest person.

Alice. 

“Teen!” Jen barks, immediately grabbing Alice's arm to examine yet another fucking injury. God, she wished the protection witch could protect herself every once in a while.

Billy freezes. Seems to buffer almost. The blue magic fizzles into the air. “I’m sorry, Alice. I…I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine.” Alice gives him a look, teeth gritted as she looks down at her skin. It was singed and painful but not life-threatening. “Just calm down, okay? We have to get through this as a group. You can tear her apart afterward if you really want.” 

“Gee, thanks.” Agatha huffs.

Jen shoots daggers at her. “Oh, she is showing you way more mercy than I would be if you stole my power.”

“She still has her power, moron. She’s still alive, for fuck’s sake.”

“You are not seriously lecturing me about power right now,” Jen growls. “Do not piss me off, Agatha.”

“Fine,” Agatha says, putting on a sugary sweet tone. “Then let’s figure out the last trial so you don’t have to see me again.”

“Regretfully, I’m going to have to meet you there. I have a cleanup on aisle seven,” Rio casually announces. “Death duties,” she explains. 

“Yeah, feel free to not if you’re going to talk about Lilia like she’s a fucking grocery store,” Jen snaps. “She was a person. She was a witch. She was better than all of us, minus Alice!”

Agatha runs a hand over her face. “Are we going or what?”

“Oh, I’m sorry — are we mourning too slowly for you?” Jen asks. 

“She doesn’t care. You saw her — she couldn’t wait to get out of there,” Billy bitterly mumbles. 

“Why the rush, sweetheart?” Rio asks. “When you know what’s waiting for you after all this? You’re like a pig running to slaughter.”

“You know what? Maybe I am,” she admits, sarcasm shockingly absent from her tone. She’s tired. She’s so, so tired.

“Yeah, right.” Jen scoffs. 

“As if the ‘ultimate survivor’ would ever,” Billy agrees — a title that was once so inspiring to him now something he sees as a stain. As a mark of shame. 

But Rio blinks in surprise — in…something close to fear — head jerking back a bit as she looks at Agatha. Looks at her, really looks at her, for the first time since the revelation about Billy. 

Agatha does not give up without a fight. Agatha is relentless. Agatha has submitted to Death but never, ever to death. Succumbed to her as a person but not as a state of being. It has to be an act. (Right?) Everything about Agatha is an act. (Right?) Agatha is playing her, just like she always plays her, and she has to die for that. (Right? Right? Right?) 

She has to leave before she can think too hard about it. Do her job. Her purpose. The thing that comes before anyone, any witch. 

“Te veo,” Rio says, and with a wave of her hand, she’s gone.

“Te quiero,” Agatha whispers into the air before turning back. “So can we go now? Or do you want to keep wasting time by insulting me? Perhaps you’d like me to rip myself apart for you like I did after you rejected my help with Alice.”

Jen looks her up and down, unsympathetic. “Is that why you don’t have a single fucking scratch on you?”

“Rio healed them. She’s the only one who’s ever treated me like a person, which is ironic considering she’s literally fucking death,” Agatha spits. “While we’re getting it all out there, if you must know, Jen, yes — I am a murderer and a fraud and just about everything else you’ve accused me of, but I did not trade my son for the Darkhold.”

“Then what happened to him?” Jen asks, unsympathetic.

“His other mother was Death, you stupid fucking cunt,” Agatha hisses. “He was doomed from the start! I hated her, and I hate myself, but I still love him! I hated her and hate myself because of how much I fucking love him!” Agatha’s throat is raw and burning with tears. She feels like she’s making good on her promise to rip herself open again — this time from the inside out. 

“I think about him every goddamn second of every goddamn day,” she continues. “And I know this won’t change what you think about me because you decided that long ago — I mean, you couldn’t even muster an ounce of sympathy after seeing the fucking nightmare who raised me — but it’s the truth. I’m not a good person, but I’m still a fucking person, goddamn it!”

Jen looks at her hands. Billy’s gaze is fixed on a spot on the ground — both their eyes downcast in shame. They’re silent. The whole road seems to be silent. So quiet you could hear a pin drop.

Agatha breathes out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, you know what? Fuck this.” She kicks her shoe hard — so hard Billy flinches. 

Jen’s head, however, snaps up at the quiet poof that follows. “What the—" Her head swivels around, trying to locate Agatha. “Where the hell did she go?” 

Billy lifts his own gaze at that. “Agatha?” Anxiety creeps into chest — into his voice. Two seconds ago, he wanted her gone, but now that she was… “Agatha?” 

“Agatha, come on. This isn’t fucking funny,” Jen says, pushing herself off the ground and walking around, peering behind a tree.

“Where did she go?” Billy asks, standing to help Jen search.

“How the hell should I know?!” Jen lividly retorts. “Maybe Rio zapped her into her arms — is fucking her over Lilia’s dead body as we speak.” 

“Ew! That’s so morbid!” 

“Well!” Jen throws her hands up and shrugs. “I wouldn’t put it past them! Maybe lying and trauma-dumping gets them all hot and bothered. Is some sick kind of foreplay.” 

“For once, I don’t think she was lying,” Billy mumbles.

Alice holds a hand up. “I also don’t think she was lying, but she kicked the shoes. Maybe if we do that, we’ll go wherever she is.”

“Kicking a shoe,” Jen deadpans. “That’s your solution?”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“Well, I don’t know! Don’t you both have magic now? Can’t you locate her that way?” 

Billy lifts his hand and attempts to summon it, but no matter how hard he focuses — no matter how much he concentrates — he can’t seem to conjure a single spark. 

Jen throws her hands up. “Great. That’s just great. You’re magically constipated while looking literally constipated.”

“I don’t have the slightest clue where to start,” Alice admits, looking down at the orange sparks in her hands with a small frown. She puts it out, looking at Jen with a pout. “Come on — let’s just give it a go. Worst thing that could happen is we look stupid, and there’s no one around to see.”

“You’re here to see me,” Jen grumbles. “You’re the last person I want to look stupid in front of.”

Alice gives her a small smile. “Someone as beautiful as you could never look stupid.”

A beat. “Fine.” She rolls her eyes, though the corner of her mouth curves upward despite herself. “Billy first, though.” 

“Why do I have to go first?” 

“So we can point and laugh,” Jen says dryly. “And because I said so.” 

“You’re not my mother.” 

“Correct. You already have way too many of those it sounds like. Chop chop.” She claps.

“Please?” Alice pleads.

Billy sighs. He’d tell Jen to eat shit, but since Alice was asking… “Fine,” he reluctantly agrees, pulling his foot back. 

“God, you have awful form,” Jen says. “You’d never make it as a soccer player. Or a football kicker. Or a—”

Before she can continue taunting him, his foot makes contact, and he disappears into thin air. 

“Okaaay.” Jen slowly nods. “Well. Uh, it seems your theory was correct after all.”

“Told you.” Alice leans up, kissing her for a long moment before reluctantly pulling away. “Shall we?”

Jen moans — both at the kiss and the proposition, though for entirely different reasons. “We could stay here,” she proposes. “Have some actual privacy. Finish what we started before the trial that almost killed you…”

“As tempting as the offer is, we should probably get off the road so you can make me scream in a cozy bed instead of on the dirt ground.”

“All that stuff I said about standards earlier? Forget it. I’m actually not that picky about where I fuck you.”

Alice breathes out a little laugh. “Trust me, if I didn’t want to get off this road, I’d let you fuck me until I can’t walk right now. But we should do this first.”

“Yeah, and also, you can already barely walk right now what with the whole almost flatlining thing.”

“I’m okay, Jen,” Alice gently reassures her. “I’m alive. I’m here.”

Jen sucks in a deep breath before letting out a long sigh. “Okay,” she says softly. “Let’s…finish this thing, I guess.”

Chapter Text

Jen and Alice end up touching the shoe at the same time, which means Jen ends up on top of her…somewhere. Or rather in something. 

“Where— where are we?” Alice mutters, trying to crane her head around the woman, though it’s no real use considering the fact it’s pitch black. 

And tight. Very fucking tight. Which Jen does not love. “I don’t know, but I need to not be here — I’m getting claustrophobic!”

“You two better be clothed when you get out of there,” Agatha drolls.

“Don’t be disgusting!” Billy demands, thrashing around for a few moments before locating a zipper. He undoes the bag he’s in as quickly as possible and pops his head out, panting at the fresh air. The fresh morgue air. That wasn’t ominous at all.

He glances at the rapidly shifting bag a few drawers down — the one from which a truly impressive string of curse words is coming.

As if reading his mind, Agatha speaks. “Don’t take their struggle.”

“No, take it,” Jen frantically orders. “Take the struggle, Billy!” 

“I don’t want them to suffocate…” he says.

“Why not?” Agatha deadpans.

Alice manages to yank at the side hard enough for a small hole to appear. “There, Jen!” she says.

“That’s not the zi—”

“Shut the fuck up, Teen,” Jen snaps, clawing at the plastic. 

“You know my name’s Billy now,” he mutters.

Jen’s head breaks free first, and she immediately begins gasping for air — very dramatically, really. “I have asthma,” she defensively snaps before anyone can make fun of her. “If you make some stupid dig, you’re ableist.”

“Hey.” Alice pats her back. “As much as I love you on top of me, can you open the rest of the bag so you can get out and not crush my already fragile ribs?”

Jen looks down and spots a zipper, awkwardly maneuvering one arm out of the bag and tugging it open until there’s a large enough gap for her to even more awkwardly step out.

“Thanks, babe,” Alice replies, ungracefully rolling out of the bag and looking around at the rectangular lights making a circle on the ceiling. “What the hell is this? A clock?” 

“They’re grow lights,” Jen says. Just then, one goes out. “That…also seems to be acting as a clock.”

“Who’s trial is it?”

“By process of elimination, it should be Rio’s, right?” Billy asks. “She’s the last member of the coven who hasn’t gotten one. Kinda fucked up she's not even here to do it...” 

Jen looks at Agatha. It’s him, isn’t it? It’s always been him. Rio…Rio was something else entirely. 

Agatha meets her gaze for a moment before quickly averting it to Billy. “It’s yours.”

Billy blinks in surprise. “Mine?”

“You need your powers under control, and you need your brother.”

The excitement of being officially part of the coven is overshadowed by fear. By all the eyes on him. “But I don’t…I don’t know how to do that.” Another light flicks off. 

Jen huffs. “Of course you don’t. Which means it looks like I’ll be saving everyone’s asses. Again. Without even having my magic.”

“How did you lose your power to begin with?” Billy questions.

“Yes, do tell — how did the famous Jenny Kale fall so far from grace?” Agatha purrs.

Jen shoots daggers at her. “Call me ‘Jenny’ again, and I’ll rip your fucking voice box out,” she threatens. “But if you must know, I was at an obstetrics conference in Boston. Some fucking doctor there bound me — I still have no idea how,” she says, an undeniable bitterness laced through her tone.

Agatha blinks at that, an odd flicker of recognition flashing over her face — a bit of color draining from it, too. For the first time in her life, she stays silent.

It’s suspicious. Suspicious enough for Alice to narrow her eyes, “Agatha…” she says slowly. “What’s that look for?” 

“What look?” 

“The look on your face right now,” she presses.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She forces a laugh. “Is it the almost dying that’s made you loopy, or are you trying to replace Lilia as the crazy one in the group?”

Alice glares. “Cut the shit.” 

Agatha purses her lips, giving her a casual shrug. “It was the 1920s. Times were tough, and I had to make a living somehow. I might have done the odd spell for bank notes — so what?”

Jen slowly turns to look at her, the air in the room seeming to shift as the pieces come together. Of course it was her. All roads lead to Rio, but all of them stem from Agatha. She was the rotten root of it all.

“You have. To be fucking. Kidding me.”

“I didn’t know it was you!” Agatha defends. “If you think about it, I’m not the enemy here — the patriarchy is,” she tries.

“I don’t give a fuck about the patriarchy,” Jen hisses, voice low and dangerously calm. “I don’t give a fuck about what you did or didn’t know. And I don’t give a fuck about you, Agatha. You did this to me. You did this to me for one hundred years — for a century that I will never get back.” 

Jen is pissed — Jen is always pissed — but more than that, Jen is hurt. This is painful, so fucking painful, made even more so by the fact that she had been walking right beside her this whole time. Had been living within two miles of her for years. The universe had a sick, twisted sense of humor, and it seemed to love laughing at her expense.

Agatha clenches her jaw and steps forward. Jen thinks maybe she’ll lunge at her or scream at her or do something insane as Agatha is wont to do. 

And she does. Just…not in the typical Agatha way. Certainly not in the way Jen expects. 

Agatha reaches up and pulls out a clump of her hair, wordlessly handing it to her. Her own weird apology that, in some ways, was better than an actual one.

Holy shit, Jen thinks. Agatha Harkness actually wants to die. Or thinks she’s going to. Or maybe both — maybe they’re the same thing with her. Because why else would she be seeking forgiveness like this? Atoning for this most terrible sin? 

Jen is not currently in a position to look annoying fucking gift horses like Agatha in the mouth, so she grabs the hair from her hand and wraps it around Agatha’s wrist. “Little less fun way to be tied up, huh?” Jen snarks.

“Just get it over with.”

Jen wraps the hair tighter, cutting off circulation — not because she needs to but because she wants to. Wants to make Agatha feel an ounce of the hurt that she has for so, so long because of her. “I deny your power over me,” she starts, voice confident but cracking the faintest bit.

Agatha stares her dead in the eyes. She has a good poker face — the best, really — but Jen swears she can see the smallest glimmer of remorse. She doesn’t know what to think about that, so she decides not to think about it at all.

“You hold nothing,” Jen asserts. 

Does she believe that? Agatha held everything. Held her happiness — her purpose — and locked it away for all those years. 

“You hold nothing,” she tries again. 

Does she have to now, though? Agatha was right here, in her grasp. Jen’s powers were right here, in her reach. 

“You hold nothing.” 

She finally starts to believe it. Agatha was the monster in her closet, the villain of her story.  But you can slay monsters. You can triumph over evil. 

Jen weeps for her lost self. 

“You hold nothing.” 

Agatha held nothing over Jen. And Agatha held nothing for herself. She was a powerless witch, a covenless one. 

And because of that, maybe Jen cries a little for her, too. The smallest bit of sympathy, of understanding, of…something close to forgiveness in her next declaration.

“You hold nothing.” 

And I pity you.

Alice grips onto Jen from behind, giving her a tight hug. “You’re almost there,” she whispers. “I believe in you.”

Jen goes weak at the touch, but it gives her strength, too. She’d come to the road for her magic, but she thinks Alice might be the real prize. The one she’d choose if she had to. 

But she doesn’t have to. 

“You hold nothing,” she utters one more time, and suddenly, she feels…alive. On fire. Like she can breathe again. Like herself. 

It’s a blinding rainbow after the darkest storm, the sweetest taste after only knowing bitter for so long, and it bowls her over. She releases Agatha’s wrist and falls out of Alice’s arms onto the ground, the magic running through her veins alongside her blood. Coming unlocked and weaving through her once again, lighting her up. 

Her power. Her power. Her power. 

“Alice,” Jen sobs out, a shaky hand reaching out, beckoning her to kneel next to her. She wants to share this moment — the hardest and most rewarding of her life — with her. She wants to share everything with her.

Alice wraps her arms around her again, sobbing in the aftermath, too. “Jen,” she breathes. “I’m so proud of you. I think— I think I love you.”

“I…I think I love you, too,” Jen admits, pulling back a little from her embrace to look at her. She never wanted to stop looking at her. 

After a moment, she leans forward. And like the grandest fairytales — the ones people like Jen didn’t usually get — true love’s kiss seems to conquer all. Jen’s lips touch Alice’s. Alice’s lips touch hers back. And just like that, the two of them are gone. 

“Wh—" Billy starts. He’s not actually sure what he’s trying to ask. What? Where? Why?

“They got what they wanted,” Agatha muses, voice soft in a way Billy’s rarely heard. “It’s time you did that, too.” She inhales and claps her hands, regaining her composure as she lowers herself to the ground. “We’re going to find Tommy. Sit.”

He narrows his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “How do I know this isn’t some trap? That you’re not going to try something now that there are no witnesses?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Agatha rubs a hand over her face. “Is there a particular reason you insist on being this much of a dimwit?”

“Don’t act like I don’t have about a million reasons to be skeptical of you.”

“That may have been true a few days ago, but I have nothing to lose anymore, Billy. Rio’s, she’s—” Agatha sighs, voice deflating into something that sounded an awful lot like surrender. “I have nothing left to lose.”

Billy softens a little. Her defeat is…scary. Scarier than her anger. “Don’t say that. You have to fight, Agatha. You have to.”

She shakes her head and pats the spot in front of her. “Let me help you find your brother.”

“No,” he says. Two could play at this game. He could be just as stubborn as her. “Not until you promise. Tommy isn’t the only one I need.”

“I’m not helping you rehome two souls, Billy. I’m not a fucking animal shelter. Or a foster ho—”

“I’m talking about you, unfortunately.”

Agatha blinks as if this thought hadn’t even crossed her mind. Which was pretty fucking insane considering she was the one who was oh-so-adamant about him not being about to do shit without her.

“You can’t let her kill you,” he insists. “And…I would prefer if you tried to not let her kill me either.”

Agatha chews on the inside of her cheek, considering. “I will do my best," she eventually relents. "Now sit. We have to deal with this first, or neither of us is even making it out of here.” 

He purses his lips, the lights steadily going out above him and the knowledge she would happily do this the hard way — yank his ass down to the ground without a shred of remorse — finally making him comply.

“Okay.” Agatha nods, satisfied. “Close your eyes, and tell me the last thing you remember with your brother.”

He closes his eyes and swallows hard. “I don’t remember anything,” he half-lies. Because he doesn’t. Nothing concrete. It hurt too much to try and make it concrete.

Agatha sees right through him. Because of course she does. You can’t bullshit a bullshitter. “Yes, you do. Now focus on it. What do you remember?”

Vision's — no, his dad's — voice. Wanda's — no, his mom's — voice. Echoing in his head. “I'm about to fall asleep. I realize I’m breathing at the same time as Tommy.” It feels nice. Feels safe.

“Keep pushing. What happened next?” 

He lets out a small wince — one he’s certain she’s going to mock him for. So certain that it surprises him even more when she assures him, in a gentle tone, “It’s all right.”

It’s just three words, but they help. They encourage him to press on. 

“We were…we were breathing together.” He wishes he could do that now. His lungs somehow feel too shallow to get any air and far too full — like they might explode from his chest.

“Breathe now. Deep breath in, then out. You’re okay.” She places her hands on his temples, helping him concentrate — stay grounded. “You’re okay.”

It’s hard — everything about this is hard — but he manages to get it under control. Manages to keep going. To force his way through with her help. “The sound stops. Everything stops.” Another small wince.

“And then you came to this body,” Agatha helps. “Where is Tommy? Where did he go? Where do you want him to go?”

He balls his hands into fists, squeezing hard. “I don’t…I don’t know! It’s all…dark. And…and bad.” His heart aches for Tommy. Lost and aimless in the void.

“Search,” Agatha firmly demands. “Search hard for him.”

He grits his teeth, screwing his eyes shut tighter. He keeps breathing. Keeps breathing. Reaches out with his mind and, “I…I’m with him. I’m with him. Now what?”

“Find him a body.”

He looks down, frantically searching. Fire grass tree dirt roof fence porch water—

Water.

He centers in on that. On a pool. On a group of bullies holding one kid under — a prank gone wrong. He’s going to drown. He’s not a witch — not yet — but he’s going to die like one anyway. 

He doesn’t want to place Tommy’s soul there — Tommy will undoubtedly suffer if he places his soul there — but he’s quickly running out of time. 

“It’s awful, Agatha,” he says, hesitant. Because maybe she could fix this. Maybe she could give him a better way. “He’s alone. There’s no one to love him.”

“I know,” she not-quite-soothes. “I know. But he has you now. Give his soul permission.”

She’s right. Billy would never give up on trying to find him. Billy would never leave him once he did. He was sentencing him to a life of pain and confusion before that moment, but at least he’d have a beating heart, blood to flow through his veins, lungs to breathe air.  

Just keep breathing. Just keep breathing. 

His window is rapidly closing, open only a crack now, so he does as she says. He guides his soul down, down, down the— 

“Am I killing this boy so Tommy can live?” he can’t help but blurt. 

But he doesn’t get an answer. 

Tommy takes his second first gasp of air, and just like that, Billy is gone. 

Billy disappears, and Rio takes his place. 

“Well?” she prompts, sitting cross-legged across from Agatha. “What were you going to tell him?”

Agatha stares at her. Her heart breaks into what must be billions of pieces, but only a single tear runs down her face. “That sometimes…boys die.”

Rio nods, the motion slow — two more lights flicking off before she speaks again. “Yes,” she says softly. “They do.”

Agatha's hand goes to her brooch, gripping on for a moment before she opens it. She takes out the few locks of Nicky’s hair, holds it between her fingers. The last piece of her son fits between her pointer and her thumb. She can’t think of a worse tragedy than this.

The tear rolls down her cheek, rolls onto the hair, rolls down onto a small, exposed patch of dirt nestling a dandelion seed on the ground. The smallest sprout breaks through it, finding the light. The life.

Then, she’s gone too.

Maybe all she ever wanted from the road was peace, was closure, was Death.

Chapter Text

Agatha is in the dark — for so long that she figures that she must be dead, figures this must be what Rio’s other embrace feels like — before, eventually, she’s spit out in her backyard. Deposited like a body washed up onto the shore.

The sky is a sickly green. The wind is howling. Everything is loud, so very loud. 

She tries her magic. 

Nothing.

Tries again and again and again.

Nothing, nothing nothing.

All the pain…what was it for? What was any of it fucking for?

She lets out a scream, pissed and pained and feral. “Why?!” She looks around, though whether she’s searching for help or out for blood, she’s not entirely sure.

“Up here, my love.” Rio waves from her spot perched on the roof. Westview was so disgustingly domestic that she had to make it feel more like home by summoning some wind, some darkness, some green. “I promised to help you make it to the end of the road,” she reminds her. She holds out her hands. “Looks like we’re here, baby.”

“Where are my powers? Where is my prize?” Agatha barks. Still, in the face of certain death, she can’t get over it. The indignity of dying so weak. “I deserve my prize!”

Rio scoffs. “I didn’t promise you any of that. I merely said that I’d help you make it to the end of the road, which I did. See how pesky those little loopholes can be when you’re not the one using them?” she asks, evidently a rhetorical question considering she charges on without waiting for a reply. “As far as what you deserve — don’t you worry. You’ll get exactly that. If you’ll remember, I also promised to kill you. Not personally, of course — the rules and all — but ensure you die one way or another. Now, we can do it the easy way, or we can do it the hard way. I know which sounds more fun for me.” Her mouth curves into a wicked grin.

“Why?!” Agatha demands again. “Why are you so intent on seeing me dead?! On doing this without even giving me my power?”

“Because you upset the balance, Agatha — by the exceptions I make for you! And you upset me! And you hid a kid who does both, too! I think, after all that, we can call it even without your precious fucking purple.” She sneers.

“Would you fucking listen to me? It took me a minute to figure out exactly who he was, goddamn it! Why can’t you accept that the balance can be different?”

“Why can’t you accept that it can’t be?!” Rio snaps. “The balance is what it is — it’s unchanging, just like you. After all these years, you’re exactly the same.”

“No!” Agatha snaps. “I can be good, Rio. I can be good. Why can’t you see that?”

“It is not. About. Good,” she growls. “It is about the natural order. Something he has broken. Something you have broken. Something you have made me break. There can be no more of that. There can be no more of you two.” 

With the definitive flick of her hands, the windows bust out of Agatha’s house, the glass breaking and slashing her skin. It was a fitting end considering that’s exactly what Agatha had done to Rio’s heart — broken and slashed it into a thousand jagged little pieces.

Agatha yelps, though the words hurt more than the glass. “Stop!”

“No.” She shakes her head. She hates to admit it, but the word ironically feels like glass in her mouth, scraping her throat, her tongue, her lips. What a stark contrast it is, from Agatha’s warm hand around her throat, her talented tongue twisting together with hers, her soft lips— 

Rio has never been able to say no to her. She has to be able to say no to her. 

“There are no more ‘stop’s. No more ‘don’t’s. No more time, Agatha.” She shakes her head. “There is no more time.”

“It’s not fair!” Agatha screams, anguished and wild. “It’s not fair!” She begins to draw a frantic circle in the dirt, repeating Alice’s chant from the music trial. “Expelle hoc malum. Expelle hoc malum. Expelle hoc malum.”

It hurts Rio to hear her chant the spell — the one to expel evil. To expel her. It hurts just as much as it did the first time she called her that. The second. The third. 

She sends a particularly powerful gust of wind her way to disappear the drawing. “You’re a coward,” she accuses, literally throwing the kitchen sink at her. 

It’s true. Agatha was a coward. She doesn’t want to die because she doesn’t want to face Nick.

“You’re one to talk!” Agatha retorts, ducking before it can hit her.

It’s true. Rio was the bigger one. She took Nick while Agatha was asleep so she wouldn’t have to face her. Wouldn’t have to hear her cries. Her pleads. 

Rio would have caved. Rio always caves. 

She should have done this a long, long time ago. She’s still — after everything — having trouble doing it now. But Rio will not cave. Not this time. Not today.

That’s your Achilles’ heel, baby, Rio had told Agatha while she was curled up in her arms. You’re never satisfied, always grabbing for more. 

So Rio cuts it. She slashes the back of Agatha’s foot, incapacitating her. Because while Agatha’s Achilles’ heel was greed, Rio’s Achilles’ heel was Agatha. Rio’s vulnerable, bleeding heel. Rio’s black, beating heart. Rio’s everything.

Agatha lets out an animalistic yell, crawling toward a puddle. She cups it in her hands — tries to do what Jen did. “Please, my love! Please!”

Rio floats herself down to the ground. She wouldn’t be a coward anymore — she’d do this face-to-face. She could do it. She had to do it. 

With the wave of her hand, vines wrap tight around Agatha’s limbs, dragging her right where she wants her. Because she wants this. She does. She has to want it. 

“Familiar position for you, isn’t it, sweetheart?” she asks, slowly walking toward her. The recording studio. The tent. The Salem woods where she nearly died — where Agatha developed a taste for blood. Where Rio developed a taste for her.

“Rio, please! Please, my love!” Agatha cries.

“Stop calling me that!” She whips out her knife. “It won’t work again!”  

It will work again if Agatha keeps saying it. Says it enough times to wear her down. But Rio can’t let it. She can’t. She can’t. She can’t.

“My love! My love! My love! Please. I want you to stop. I— I want you!” A strangled sob escapes from her throat.

Rio wants her, too. She wants her so badly. But it was like she told Billy — life wasn’t fair. 

Death hadn’t been fair either. Death hadn’t been fair since 1693 when it first saw Agatha Harkness’ face. Since it first started wearing Rio Vidal’s. That ended now. 

“I said that’s enough!” She raises her knife high in the air. All that history boiled down to this one moment — stopped by a single slash. It always amazed and horrified people, how fragile and fleeting life could be. Rio finally understands that. 

Metaphorical sparks flew when they met. Literal ones fly now as they say goodbye. 

But as soon as Rio begins to lower her blade, she gets lowered, too. Gets flattened by a gust of wind that didn’t come from her. 

It’s the kid. Of course it’s the stupid fucking kid — now wearing a stupid fucking outfit, too. She’d be pleased that he made her job easier — that she could kill two rule-breaking birds with one magical green stone — if he wasn’t so goddamn annoying about it.

Agatha blinks in surprise. “Teen?”

“Please — call me Billy,” he says, the corner of his mouth curving into the smallest of smiles.

“Billy, then,” she pants. “You came back?”

“I told you I needed you.” He glances toward Rio, fuming as she lifts herself from the ground in that scary-ass way. “It looks like you need me, too.”

“I—” Want to say thank you. Owe you. Care about you. “I don’t have my purple back.”

“Have some blue. Just...just don’t take it all,” he says, blasting her. Trusting her. Thousands of witches must be rolling in their graves.

It’s not hard — not at first. But he can feel the moment she truly latches onto it. When it’s less him giving it and more her taking. Pulling it, yanking it, ripping it out of him.  

It drains his energy fast, which shouldn’t be as surprising as it is considering that’s literally what she’s doing in a way. He looks at her, the smallest glint of panic in his eyes. She’s enjoying it, that much is clear. Absolutely reveling in it. 

Would she be able to stop? Does she even want to?

Evidently, she can. And evidently, she does.

She cuts off the stream, takes a deep inhale — as if she’s smelling the freshest air — and looks at him. Really looks at him. “You know both of us aren’t getting out of here, right?”

His brows wrinkle. “What? But wasn’t that just the whole point of me giving you some magic back?”

She gives him a small smile, knowing and bittersweet. “That was so one of us had a fighting chance to make it out alive. It’s going to be you, Billy.”

Billy can interpret what that means. Agatha Harkness was planning to die for him. 

“No.” He shakes his head. “No, I won’t let you! I won’t—“ 

With the flick of Rio’s wrist, he’s flying through the air and crashing into the shed. 

“Do you think this is Sophie’s fucking Choice?” Rio asks Agatha. “I said you’re both coming with me, and I meant it.” 

She shoots a green ball of magic at her — the kind Agatha’s dodged a million times. Death enjoyed playing with its food, and Rio was stalling. Keeping her alive until she absolutely couldn’t afford to anymore.

Agatha hisses, fighting back with all of the magic she can. But in the back of her mind, she understands that the only way this is going to end is with her in a grave. Once Rio made up her mind about something, she didn't change it.

She manages to land a particularly hard hit — one that knocks Rio flat on her back — and uses the seconds, a few of her very last, to take it all in. She’d never admit it, but she’d come to enjoy the backyard. This cesspool of a town, to some strange extent. A lanky boy with curly brown hair she used to babysit within it.

She hopes Billy will remember to care for Señor Scratchy. She hopes he will try to explain what happened to his mama. She hopes he will be better than she is. 

These thoughts solidify the choice for her. She walks over to Rio, gait confident and firm enough to give the other woman pause, keep her from immediately attacking.

Rio swallows hard. She knows. Somehow, as Agatha charges over to her, she knows that this is it. That this is all they’ll get. 

“Just me,” Agatha says firmly.

Rio understands why people plead with Death now. She understands why people hate her. She understands, and she wishes more than anything she didn’t. The revelations short-circuit her to the point she hears herself agree. Hears herself give in to her one last time. How could she not? How could she ignore her lover’s dying wish? “Just you.”

What does it matter? This is the last rule she’ll break for her. 

“I love you,” Agatha says. At that, she grabs Rio’s face and pulls her in, kissing her hard.

Yes, this is the last time she’ll break a rule for her. The last time she’ll say, “I love you, too.” The last time she’ll kiss her back. Isn’t it?

It is. 

It is, and Rio will enjoy every last moment. 

She notices too late that her power is being tugged from her. Notices too late that Agatha’s absorbing it. Notices too late that she’s ending it on her terms. That fucking bitch. Constantly begging for more time only to cut hers a few seconds short in the end. 

Rio thought it would feel different. She thought she would feel relief, but all she gets is regret. But it’s too late to do anything about it.  

Isn’t it? 

Well, isn't it?

Westview melts away, the two engulfed in a blinding white light. (Death is not dark like Agatha always assumed.) They drift into an endless nothing. They drift into the end.

Chapter Text

Okay, so maybe it’s not actually the end. It’s the place right before the end. The blank screen before the credits roll. Limbo, purgatory, whatever you wanted to call it. Rio called it a rest stop. 

It was a nice, quiet little plane between Earth and the afterlife. Very fucking bright, unfortunately — she really wished she could black-out-curtain it — but it wasn’t a bad place to hang out for a bit. To think. And Rio needed to fucking think.

Agatha pulls away from their kiss, confused at her surroundings. Probably at the zero gravity feeling her body had, too. “Rio, my love. What— what happened?”

Rio needed to think, but first, she needed to yell at Agatha. So she does. “You died,” she deadpans, punctuating the words with a slap across her face. “You fucking idiot.”

“Ow,” Agatha says and clutches her cheek, though Rio is pretty sure she’s being a baby. She was fairly certain you couldn’t feel pain here. The physical kind, at least. “But where—”

Rio holds her palm up. “Just…stop. Chill. For a second. Okay?” She begins to pace. “Because you got me all…you got me all frazzled. And…and confused.” Death doesn’t do this. Stutter. Doubt. Chit-chat with souls in her equivalent of a gas station.

Agatha wipes at her face — at the dirt and tears and sweat there. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Agatha — as I said, you’re kind of extremely fucking dead right now, which means I’m kind of supposed to drag you to where you’re supposed to spend eternity. As a general rule.”

“Let me stay,” Agatha says, voice uncharacteristically soft. “Please.”

She side-eyes her — big mistake, looking at her pleading eyes, her pouty lips — before pinching the bridge of her nose and letting out a deep sigh. “Well, you can’t stay here — that’s out of the question. This isn’t a place people, like, reside.” She points a stern finger at her. “And you are not becoming some fuck-ass ghost.”

“Then let me feed on death like you do,” she proposes. She always was an excellent problem solver. “Let me take for you. Serve you. I can be yours — all yours. Just yours.”

“Like some kind of psychic vampire?” Rio raises a brow, looking her up and down as she considers. “That would be pretty on-brand for you, you witch-killing succubus." She spits the final word, her tone equal parts admiring and disgusted. 

She closes her eyes, rolls her neck. She doesn’t hate the idea. She hates that she doesn’t hate the idea. This would fix the one small problem (Agatha) and make the bigger one even bigger (work). 

“That’d be an even worse rule violation, you know — than me saving your life, than me giving you more time with him,” Rio informs her. “I’d not only be letting an abomination walk free — well-played with the kid, by the way — but I’d be actively creating one.”

“Even so, isn’t it worth it to have me?” Agatha asks — an admittedly extremely compelling and tempting argument. “To have us? It would be okay.”

She shakes her head. It will not be okay if Agatha stays with her. It will not be okay if Agatha doesn’t. No matter what happens, nothing will ever be okay again. Rio…Rio will never be okay again. 

She curses herself for bringing them here — a place where there was nowhere to run or hide. A place so bare and open it demanded its inhabitants be bare and open, too.  

Rio covers her face with her hands, doing her damndest anyway, and she cries. She cries like she never has before.

Agatha slowly walks over to her, gently wrapping her in her arms. Rio halfheartedly attempts to push her away — so she can tell herself she tried — but all Agatha does is hold on tighter.

“You’re impossible, Agatha,” she whimpers. Impossible not to hate. Impossible not to love. Impossible to say goodbye to. “You’re impossible.”

“But you love me,” Agatha whispers. “And I love you, too.” She sucks in a breath, slightly shaky despite her best efforts. “Don’t make me go.”

“You told me you hated me,” Rio whines into her chest, giving her another weak shove. “That you never wanted to see me again.” Another. Another. Another.

Agatha squeezes her, gripping on for dear life. Well, not exactly — she was already dead, after all. Agatha squeezes her, gripping on for dear undeath. “I was angry,” Agatha explains, as even as she can manage. “Lashing out. Lying.”

“You’re lying now.” Rio’s not sure she believes her own accusation, but she was fucking scared. Agatha was the only one who had that power — to make her afraid — and usually, that was part of the appeal.  

But then she got the Darkhold. Then she disappeared. Then Rio had to worry not about Agatha’s temper but about losing her. At least, if she sent her to where she was supposed to be, she’d always know. Rio wouldn’t be frightened anymore.  

Rio wouldn’t be anything. 

Rio wouldn't be.

Only Death would remain.

“You’re going to hurt me again,” Rio sobs. “You always hurt me.”

A tiny cry escapes Agatha’s throat. “I’m not,” she insists. “I’m not, my love — I’m not. I’m not going to hurt you. I can’t do that again.” 

Agatha strokes Rio’s hair, beginning to hum an unsteady lullaby. It’s the song from the beach house. The song that made Rio weep into a pillow. The song that, before that, she hadn’t heard or uttered since—

“The last time I sang that was right here,” Rio whispers. She’d swore she’d never tell her. Never go down this particular road. But fuck it — Agatha was dead. What did they really have to lose at this point? “It was 1756.”

There’s a long, long beat of silence. “Y—” Agatha starts, unable to get a single word out until she takes another long, long beat of silence and clears her throat. “You sang to him. You—” Silence. Throat clear. “You comforted our boy.” 

Rio doesn’t mean for it to be a test, but it’s turning out to be a pretty effective one anyway. She’s talking in detail about the most horrific moment of Agatha’s life — what she insisted was an unforgivable betrayal for centuries — and Agatha isn’t raging. And maybe it’s because she knows if she does, there’s a good chance Rio will send her to the afterlife forever. 

But maybe it’s not. 

And maybe Rio is stupid to cling to the hope that it’s not, but Agatha has always made her stupid. 

She pulls back, taking Agatha’s face in her hands. She’d tell her the whole story, and that would determine where they went from here.  

“He wasn’t scared,” she promises. “He wasn’t in any pain. I was gentle — I was so, so gentle.”

Agatha squeezes her eyes shut. She manages a nod before the first violent sob escapes — one she’s been holding in for centuries. 

She uses her newly returned magic to speak in Rio’s head. He adored you, even if he didn’t know you well. You were his mother, too.

“I held his hand,” Rio continues, thumbing Agatha’s tears away. She has to continue. See if Agatha can handle this. Handle her and what she had to do forever like she claims. “He didn’t cough even once.”

Agatha lets out another sob, somehow even more gut-wrenching than the last. She’s reliving that day — waking up to his cold, tiny body. Guilt. Sobbing over his cold, tiny body. Anger. Burying his too-cold, too-tiny body. Grief. 

Did you protect him until he got to rest? Agatha asks. 

“I walked him all the way to the door — stayed with him as long as I could — and talked him through all of it,” she says, voice patient and soothing. Even and sure. This isn’t easy for her, not by any means, but it’s harder for Agatha. She’d be strong for Agatha. 

Is he okay?

“He’s at peace. He’s at his forever home where he’s supposed to be — where he’s always supposed to have been.”

Does he…does blame me? For bringing him into the world?

“No, Agatha,” Rio says gently. “He loved the temporary home he had with you. The grand adventure you gave him.”

At that, Agatha collapses against Rio’s touch, and Rio immediately adjusts herself so she can hold her properly. So Agatha can sink into her — where she belongs. Rio feels unimaginable grief radiating from her and yet a strange, undeniable relief within her as her muscles relax.

“Our boy,” Agatha manages out loud through heaving breaths. “You— you’re the mother…” A sharp, desperate inhale. “...he needed then. Tha—” Another. “Thank you.”

Rio’s trying to be strong, but that hits her hard — in her gut, her chest, her black heart. She squares her shoulders and sucks in a sharp breath of her own, swallowing back these foreign emotions. 

Agatha has never thanked Death. 

Nobody ever thanked Death. 

Rio wants to tell her it’s okay — that it’s going to be all right — but the truth is, it’s not, and it probably won’t be. She probably won’t ever fully be. And she wants to shush her — murmur soft, comforting sounds — but the truth is, that would be selfish. Rio hates hearing Agatha cry, but she needs to. She needs her to let it out and let it go as much as she can before they could have any small sliver of misplaced hope that there was such a thing as moving forward. Of moving on from this. 

So instead, she holds her close, wordlessly rubbing her back — more tender than she’s been since…well, since Nick.

“Thank you for keeping him safe,” Agatha whispers once she’s calmed as much as she can. “For doing what I couldn’t. I’m sorry. That I broke us.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Rio replies, voice just as quiet. She’s sorry that Agatha fucked it all up. She’s sorry for the part she herself played — no matter how much she didn’t want to play it. Both of them are to blame. Neither of them are.

“I just want to be good for you,” Agatha mumbles into her, words slurring a bit. She’s beginning to get lightheaded, no doubt. This plane was not a long-term residence for souls for a reason.

Agatha is choosing her, Rio realizes. She is choosing Rio over her pride. Over her anger. Over her grief. Agatha was choosing Rio over everything.

It’s wrong, Death knows, to choose her back. But it would be more wrong, Rio can’t help but feel, not to. 

She can feel Agatha flush out — feel her drain in her arms — but she needs to ensure she’s empty. “Is there anything else you need to say?” she asks softly. “Anything last things you need to ask? To know? To get off your chest?”

Agatha is silent. Her brain is likely growing foggier by the second — plus, the wave of grief she has just weathered has unquestionably hollowed her out — but still, she eventually manages to open her mouth. “Do you love me?” she whispers. “Do you still want me the way I want you?”

Rio looks at her for a moment. She’d bared her body countless times to her, but her heart? Her heart was infinitely harder. Yet she was demanding honesty of Agatha. And she always prided herself on not holding back the stark, ugly truth of things. 

Rio nods. “More.”

“Then I’m yours. Soy tuyo.”

She cups her face again, looking deep into her eyes — staring right into her soul. “Promise me it’s not because you’re too afraid to face him.”

“I am scared to face him,” Agatha admits. “But I’m more scared to never feel your love again.”

Rio strokes her hair — her beautiful, unruly hair. She can feel her rapidly getting weaker, fading fast to the point of no return. To the point of irreversibility. They were running out of time. They were always running out of time. 

Rio was doing this. She was doing this, and there would be no turning back. 

“You know I wouldn’t have let him leave without saying goodbye,” Rio says. “I made him kiss you twice before we went. One from him, and one from me.” 

She does the same now. “One from him,” she repeats, leaning in to give her a chaste peck on the cheek. “And one from me.” She moves to her mouth — lets her lips deepen and linger there. Lets herself repay the twisted favor Agatha had done her earlier. Lets her magic do its job once more. 

Not the job it’s supposed to be doing. Far from it. She was making her own perfect abomination, but Rio won’t think about that right now. 

It’s not life, after all — just something close to it. Some middle state of being. Out of death, undeath. 

The white light melts away, Westview coming back into view. They drift into everything. They drift into the beginning.