Archive of Our Own ^beta

When my time comes around
Lay me gently in the cold dark earth
No grave can hold my body down
I'll crawl home to him

Quentin is dead.

How typical of him.

The elevator's doors open. Penny—the original Penny—welcomes him to the Underworld and ushers him into a room that reminds him strongly of psych ward's padded cell room. The sign on the door reads modestly 'Secrets taken to the grave'.

He holds the mug of hot chocolate with shaking hands, its warmth bringing a modicum of comfort, but not enough to soothe his tattered nerves.

He feels old. Older than during his and Eliot's final years at the cottage in Fillory. Weighted down by all the pain and fear and heartbreak he has gone through.

"Did I do something brave to save my friends... or did I finally find a way to kill myself?"

He doesn't know the answer. Or maybe he does and simply isn't willing to admit it to himself, to afraid to face the truth.

Penny seems amused by his question. He gestures for Quentin to follow him. Where? He doesn't know. Nor does he care.

He leaves the mug on the table, untoched.

Eliot is alive.

He wishes he weren't.

The ceremony is solemn—almost absurd in hindsight of all the events that have led to it. They sit in silence, suddenly united again by the painful loss, and just for a moment he lets himself believe that any minute now Q will appear out of the cottage, tripping on thin air, and cheerfully announce his presence by doing one of his magic tricks.

Except that he won't. Never will now. He's dead. Gone. Lost. Not even a body left to bring home and bury.

He feels Alice grip his hand. He cannot bring himself to resent her now, for her betrayal, for the love that Quentin gave her, for all the wrongs that she's done. He will have time for that later.

The painkillers that Lipson gave him are wearing off now, and he feels as though he is being stabbed by the Ice Axe all over again, and isn't it a fitting name for the weapon that has saved him—Sorrow. He is consumed by it. He can bear the physical pain, he's been through some shit, but the emotional pain...

He wishes he were dead. What does he have left to live for, when Quentin is dead. As if sensing his thoughts, Margo leans into him and places her hand on his shoulder. He immediately feels guilty. His friends have done so much to save him from the Monster, and here he is—wishing that hadn't succeeded in their efforts.

What does it matter that the magic is finally back, when Quentin is dead. Dead because of you, because he was trying so hard to save you, because he sacrificed himself, because he was driven to it, whispers a traitorous voice somewhere in his mind.

Someone lets out a quiet gasp. He doesn't have the strenght to lift his gaze from the pyre. He is tired and weary and the only thing he longs for is to close his eyes and never open them again.

"Am I tripping balls or is that Coldwater standing there?" Kady's voice is a welcome ditraction from the pain and the thoughts that threaten to overwhelm him.

A moment ago, he was sure that he did not possess the will to move, but at those words, he lifts his head, which elicits a sharp stab of pain in his body that he pays no mind to, and frantically looks around.

"If you are, then so am I," Penny is the first of them to recover his wits.

He follows Penny's look and...

"Q!" Eliot isn't sure which one of them shouts his name. It doesn't matter.

All that matters is that Quentin is here, standing a few yards away from the fire and looking just as surprised as they all feel. He looks at the group of misfits gathered around the pyre in utter confusion, then turns to his right, making an aborted gesture, and opens his mouth.

Eliot cannot hear anything because of the of the ringing in his ears. His throat is dry, and so he has to clear it twice, before any sound comes out.

"Q..." he is immediately overcome by a bout of coughing. His throat is on fire.

Everyone has risen from their seats and is now crowding Quentin, shouting and hugging him, but somehow Quentin still hears Eliot's voice, through the noise that everyone is making.

"Eliot," he sounds relieved. He pushes through the small crowd of their friends and rushes to Eliot's side. "Eliot, you're alive!"

"Yes," rasps out Eliot, "and so it seems are you." All of a sudden he feels numb, the pain and and the emotional distress finally catching up with him. His vision starts to fade.

Quentin grips his shoulders, preventing him from falling over. "Eliot, don't— don't close your eyes!" He shouts frantically.

Eliot can hear the others' voices as well, somewhere in the background. But all he can concentrate on right now is the feeling of Quentin's hands. Warm. Alive.

Eliot closes his eyes and lets the darkness consume him. Q is here. Q is alive. That is all that matters.

Much later, Quentin will remember the mug of hot chocolate that Penny had handed him. He will think of Persephone, who was tricked into eating the pomegranate seeds. And he will smile, silently thanking the universe for allowing him another chance at happiness.

He will place a gentle kiss on Eliot's cheek, who is softly snoring next to him, relaxed and finally at peace.

He is sure that more trouble involving magical beasts and antique artifacts and bizarre quests is yet to come, but in that moment, he will let himself enjoy his personal happy ending.