Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Once upon a time, a fae and a human got into an argument, and they summoned Death to act as witness and mediator and judge.

“What am I to judge?” said Death, ancient and patient beyond measure.

“The definition of a favor,” came the answer.

And Death heard the words of the fae and the human, and Death hummed and hawed, and Death thought and considered. Finally, after a full dance of the sun and moon, Death stirred, and looked to the fae and the human.

And Death said, “You are both right, and you are both wrong. When you have lived as long as I, you shall understand that a favor is so much more. Thus is my judgment.”

And the fae and the human looked at each other, and shrugged, and for neither understood. Death did not chastise them, but nor was Death surprised. They were so young, after all, so full of life and promise. Only when Death came to guide them into the next life would they be able to understand, and Death could see that it would be many years before that time came to meet with the fae and the human.

So the fae and human, as one, bowed to Death, and said, “So what is the definition of a favor?”

Eventually, the commotion in the Court dies down. The fae look to the King and Queen, a thousand eyes and a thousand wings and a thousand faces, and Eggsy looks too, for he relishes in the surprise in their eyes. It’s not the first time he’s surprised a fae, but it may be his last, so he’ll take whatever he can get.

Fortunately, the King and Queen do not obliterate Eggsy where he stands. The King actually laughs, full bellied and loud, echoing through the air like a stampede of elephants, while the Queen joins in, adding peals of tinkling icicles to her King.

“Trust Hart to choose a pet of such power,” says the King to the Queen, as if confiding a joke behind a napkin and not speaking to an entire court.

“Indeed,” says the Queen. She tilts her head, eyes sharp as a hawk seeking a tiny mouse tail in a field. “But Hart was always fond of humans. I suppose even the best of us must have some flaw.”

The King scoffs. “Flaw? Look at this boy. He practically is overflowing with potential. He could be the greatest source the Court has ever seen.”

“But he won’t be,” the Queen says, a chiding tone in her voice, and lays a hand upon her King’s arm. “For he is set on his quest, and we do not take the unwilling.”

“No. We do not.”

The Queen looks to Eggsy. “I am truly sorry, my dear,” she says. “But raising the dead is beyond the power of the Court. Even were I to stand here with my King and with the King and Queen of the Summer Court at full power, we would not be enough. Death and Life came into existence together, and no other being is their equal. Harry Hart has passed into Death’s domain, and none can call him back from it.”

Normally, Eggsy’s first instinct would be to call the Queen a liar, but she is a fae, and fae do not lie.

Still: “Fae are not bound to tell the truth,” Eggsy remarks.

“I have nothing to gain by telling a lie,” the Queen replies. “Harry Hart was among the most powerful of the Court. We lost a warrior as much as you lost one.”

“Harry wouldn’t have fought in your wars.”

“We will never know,” says the King. “For he is gone now, from this Court and this world and this life. Make your peace with it, Gary Eggsy Unwin, for nothing can change the course of Death’s will. Death answers to no one.”

Eggsy wants to stomp his feet in frustration, but his time with Kingsman has changed him. Harry taught him to listen very carefully, to pick out seeds of half-truths and the signs of hidden stories, and Eggsy learned very well. And the King and Queen are full of seeds and signs – there is something they have, one last card to play, one last story to be told.

So Eggsy says, “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Are you accusing me of lying to you?” the King says, voice as soft as thunder in the distance, lightning flashing in his eyes.

Eggsy shrugs. He can see the way the King and Queen eye his hands, the way his finger rests on the deadman’s switch, and he can tell they’re itching to strike. Yet they are the King and Queen for a reason, and they know that no magic can tamper with cold iron weapons. “I asked what else there was. Not my fault if your mind jumped to lying.”

The King swells with anger, wings fanning up and out, but the Queen squeezes his arm, very lightly, and he deflates like a balloon, complete with tinkling sounds as the frost he summoned begins to swirl to the ground.

“There is a story,” says the Queen. “A nursery tale, as it were. I am surprised you have not heard it.”

“I’m human,” Eggsy reminds them.

“It involves a human,” the Queen replies. She leans back in her throne, the picture of innocence, and tilts her head. “And a fae. It goes, Once upon a time, a fae and a human got into an argument, and they summoned Death to act as witness and mediator and judge.”

Silence falls upon the Court as she speaks. Every fae goes still as stone, not even breathing, and Eggsy feels like he’s traveled back in time, hearing words that no human should be able to hear. Even the King seems enraptured by the words, and if what they say is true – if Death existed long before the fae – then it makes sense. Death, the one true equalizer of fae and humans both.

Death, who is apparently a being that can be summoned.

“And it is said that they asked Death to judge the definition of a favor, and Death listed to the human and the fae, and Death declared them both wrong,” the Queen continues. “And then Death departed, for Death answers to no one, and should not be seen except the day Death comes for you.”

“Yet these two managed,” Eggsy says.

“Yes. They managed.” The Queen smiles, a curve upon her lips, like a tsunami wave before it crashes upon the story. “Do you believe in nursery tales, Gary Eggsy Unwin?”

“A few days ago, I didn’t believe a human could witness a Court coronation. A few weeks ago, I didn’t believe that anyone would try and destroy the entire world. A few months ago, I didn’t believe that a secret international spy agency could have a base in a tailor shop near my home.” Eggsy settles his shoulders and inclines his head. “I’ll believe anything if it means I can get Harry back.”

The Queen looks at him, sober for the first time in their entire conversation. There is no sparkle in her eyes, no smile upon her lips, no twitch in her wings. If Eggsy closed his eyes and blotted out the wings, he’d say she looks rather like he does: someone determined and desperate and, above all else, willing to do anything. It makes Eggsy wonder who she has lost – and perhaps more importantly, if she only knows about the summoning of Death because she too has tried.

Eggsy isn’t foolish enough to ask, though. He clears his throat. “How does the tale say you summon Death?”

“Find a place where the wind blows, and the earth shifts, and the water runs,” the Queen answers. “Go at sunset or sunrise, in between day and night, when the stars dance with the sun and moon both. Bring with you blood, and willpower, and something you have hunted and killed with your own hands.”

“I need to kill something?”

“You must speak the language of Death,” the Queen says with a shrug. “Or so the tale goes. Do you still wish to . . . motivate us?”

Eggsy looks at the grenade and shrugs as nonchalantly as he can, given that his mind and heart are racing. He didn’t bring any Kingsman tech, mostly because they would cease to work the second he crossed into the Court’s domain, and so all of the information he has learned rest with him and him alone. He needs to make it back to Earth – and Kingsman HQ – if he’s to relay it to merlin and the others.

Which means he needs to not be obliterated, captured, or seduced by the fae.

“No, I think I’ve got what I came for.” Eggsy bows, deep and low, like Harry taught him, and smiles. “Thank you for granting my boon, Your Majesties. I will always remember your kindness.”

“As will we,” the King rumbles. “Do let us know if you succeed, young Unwin. We would be fascinated to hear your tale.”

Eggsy isn’t stupid enough to agree to that – words can be just as binding as actions, in the Court – so he just turns and walks straight back out, keeping his finger carefully on the switch. The fae part from him, silent as the wind, like a sea of wings parting as one. None of them seem to harbor him ill will, but Eggsy still keeps to the fastest pace he can without running.

Fae don’t need ill will to kill, after all.

“Good luck, Gary Eggsy Unwin,” calls the Queen. “If you don’t succeed, there is always room for another champion of the Court.”

As if I need more motivation to succeed, Eggsy thinks, and plunges headfirst through the portal back to Earth.

Merlin’s face is skeptical as Eggsy recounts his story, but then again, he’d been skeptical about building a fake grenade filled with cold iron shards. Roxy, at least, listens with an open, if exhausted face, because it turns out that rebuilding a century old organization from the ground up whilst rooting out traitors takes a lot of time, and they’re down more than a few knights. They’ve been so busy they haven’t even had time to elect an Arthur.

“So they said I need to bring blood and something I have killed,” Eggsy concludes. “Dunno what I could use, but I guess I can find something.”

“Well, there’s plenty of game around HQ,” Merlin says slowly. “But I assume the blood will have to come from you.”

“A few more drops won’t kill me.”

Merlin rubs at his eyes. “And I suppose you want me to run a search for all areas that match the Queen’s description?”

“I already did,” Roxy says, which is why she is Eggsy’s favorite person. “I took a few liberties, because, well, the description is probably meant to be more flowery than it might be in reality. There aren’t many places where you can physically go where there is crumbling earth, ocean waves, and strong winds that humans haven’t invaded and brought cold iron into, never mind a place where you can see the stars and moon and sunrise. It was probably easier in the original story.”

“Assuming, of course, that the original story is true,” Merlin interjects, rubbing at his forehead. “Lad, it’s one thing to walk into a Court with a fake grenade, but it’s quite another to try and summon Death based on a nursery tale.”

“And my fake grenade worked, didn’t it?”

“You might as well wish upon a star,” Merlin groans, as if he wishes he still had hair to yank on. “The King and Queen are notorious for setting people up just for fun. They’ve got nothing else better to do, they’re powerful immortals with nothing to use their power on.”

Eggsy shrugs. “They could have sent me away without telling me the tale or giving me the information, but they did,” he points out. “You and Roxy know the nursery tale, but you didn’t know how the tale contained information on how the fae and the human summoned Death. And yeah, sure, they could’ve made it up. But maybe they just want to see what happens if someone tries it.”

“That is exactly what they want, I bet,” Merlin says.

“But you’re still going to do it, aren’t you?” Roxy asks.

“I gotta try, Rox,” Eggsy says. “I gotta try. Harry would, if it were me.”

Merlin huffs. “Yes, he would, because you two are both idiots.” He stands, stretching his wings and cracking his neck, before he fixes his eyes upon Eggsy with deadly seriousness. “Eggsy. Do you know the one other thing they say about Death?”

“Nope.”

“Hmm. The saying goes only death can pay for life. Are you prepared for that?”

Eggsy swallows hard and looks at the floor. On one hand, yeah, he’s young and doesn’t want to die just yet. On the other hand, the fae did tell him to bring something he hunted and killed, and Eggsy is more than familiar with the fae habit of using one thing to stand in for another in magical rituals. Case in point: magical tattoos to symbolize an agreement, instead of a signed piece of paper.

“I suppose I’ll find out,” Eggsy tells him honestly. “Ain’t that how it is for all of us when the time comes?”

Merlin sighs. “You’re definitely like Harry. Why me.”

The search takes a week to run. Kingsman’s systems still manage to find a handful of sites that match the criteria laid out by the fae King and Queen, but some of them are inaccessible, some of them are out of the question, and some of them are just too crowded, even if the ritual turns out to be a dud. Eventually, they settle on one place that is reachable by Kingsman jet, is fairly uninhabited, and has a small forest nearby where Eggsy can conceivably hunt down an offering for Death.

Unfortunately, even though Eggsy is raring to go, he still has a commitment to the Kingsman and to his family. For Kingsman, this involves assisting in verifying that staff members were not part of Valentine’s scheme, so Eggsy spends a lot of time pouring over security footage to ensure that their necks are clean, their bank accounts don’t have any sudden deposits, and their travel is as expected.

For his family, it involves an actual visit.

His mum greets him with a hug, so tight that Eggsy feels like his organs are being squeezed out of him. He doesn’t protest, though, and hugs her back nearly as tight, grateful that she listened to him and ditched her free Valentine SIM card. She hadn’t been happy to return to using Kingsman tech, but Eggsy sorted that out by purchasing some regular phones from a store that Merlin vetted for him.

“Oh, you’ve grown so much!” his mum gushes. “And you’re dressed so smartly!”

“I could say the same,” Eggsy teases, because underneath the old kitchen apron is a brand new outfit, well-tailored and matching, pretty and fitting in a way Dean never would’ve allowed, once. It’s not too fancy, just comfortable clothes for lounging at home, but it’s miles and miles away from only a year ago.

His mum, predictably, swats him. “None of that from you,” she scolds. “Now, come on, you’re just in time for lunch! I reckon Daisy is dying to see you.”

Daisy indeed starts burbling the second she catches sight of him. She’s grown too, with curls on her head and bright shining eyes, and she bangs her cup on the toddler seat in emphasis until Eggsy rounds the table and lifts her out and cuddles her close.

“Hey there, Daisy mine,” Eggsy croons. “Look at you, so gorgeous and grown! Like a proper daisy.”

Daisy giggles in excitement, waving her fists at him, before Eggsy returns her to her chair. His mum bustles over with plates of steaming hot home cooked food, and Eggsy sits down for a proper lunch with his mum and his sister for what feels like the first time in forever, and it’s honestly wonderful.

Kingsman is his family too now, undeniably. Merlin has guaranteed him a position, due to his skills and the fact that they can’t just let him loose on the streets with everything he knows and has seen, and Roxy and Amelia are at the top of his speed dial.

Yet the warmth in his stomach when he sees his mum’s brilliant smile and hears Daisy’s playful shrieks is unmatched, familiar and sweet like the best hot cocoa, and Eggsy soaks it all in.

“How’s your job?” his mum asks, in between spooning food into Daisy’s mouth.

Eggsy shrugs and smiles. “Bit of a slow time, now – the shop got little wrecked with the. Well. You know. But online orders are keeping us in business, and they’ve started training me up for that position now that they have more demand. So it’s likely if I do well, I can stay on in my new position, and the pay ain’t too shabby.”

“You better be putting some of that pay aside for yourself,” his mum says, pointing a spoon at him like a lance. “Don’t spend it all on me and Daisy, you hear me?”

“Of course I will.”

“I mean it, Gary Unwin,” his mum tells him. She sets down her utensils and looks at him full in the face, dead serious. Even Daisy senses the shift in atmosphere and settles down, quietly finger-painting with her mashed baby food. “You’ve done all you should and more. You got a house – don’t even try and interrupt me, I knew it were your doing, your finger prints were all over it – and you bought a lot of furniture and clothes. It’s time you thought about yourself, now.”

“It came with the job,” Eggsy protests weakly.

His mum snorts. “Unless that job involves some adult stuff that shouldn’t be said around Daisy, we both know it’s more than that. You called them, didn’t you? You called in the favor.”

Eggsy gapes at his mum. He’d forgotten, really, how sharp she used to be, before Dean and drugs and sorrow got their sharp claws in her. Used to be that he couldn’t get away with anything under her eye, not even an extra cookie in the middle of the night, but after Dean had come around, his mum wouldn’t have noticed if he’d brought in ten of his mates and burned the house down.

But Dean is gone now, and his mum is clean as a whistle thanks to Kingsman’s recommendation for a top rehab place, and now her eyes are veryknowing.

His mum raises a hand. “I knew your da didn’t tell me everything about what he did,” she says softly. “And I know maybe you can’t either. But. You called in the favor to get rid of Dean, didn’t you?”

Eggys looks at the floor. Scuffs his shoe. Clears his throat. Thanks his lucky stars he isn’t a fae and bound to speak the truth. “Yeah,” he says.

His mum nods once, sharp and decisive. “Then you’ve more than done your part to take care of us, my love,” she says. “You got rid of Dean, you got us this beautiful house, lord knows you’re probably putting aside money for my retirement and Daisy’s uni studies. But that’s enough, Eggsy. I’m your mum. I can take over from here, I promise. It’s time for you to think of yourself. I want you to be happy, darling.”

“But this – all of this – makes you happy. Seeing you safe. Seeing Daisy happy.”

“But we can’t be everything for you,” his mum replies. “You need your own life too, and your own happiness. You find it and you hold onto it with everything you got, you hear me?”

“Yeah,” Eggsy answers weakly. “I hear you.”

“Good. Now. Seeing as you haven’t stopped by in six months, you get to be treated to all the stories about my coworkers and Daisy. Cuppa?”

“Yeah. That’d be good.”

Eggsy finally bides goodbye to his mum and Daisy late that night. His heart is full, so full, after an evening on the sofa watching crappy television and sharing takeaway for dinner with his mum and cuddling Daisy as she dozed off. He’s even more pleased to note that Merlin didn’t skimp on the Kingsman protective measures, and while they aren’t as good as Harry’s or any other active agents, they’re still more than enough to give any intruder a nasty surprise. It’s nice, to know that they’re safe and happy.

His mum gives him another hard, bruising hug when she sees him off. He almost wants to ask her if she’s guessed the truth, if she has any idea, if she’d give him her blessing – but in the end, he doesn’t.

Because he knows that she knows what it’s like, to live on after the death of the man she loved with her heart and soul, and he also knows that if he fails, he’ll just have to pick himself up and be like his mum. To survive and be strong and keep moving forward. To find his own happiness.

“I’ll drop in again soon, okay?” Eggsy says.

“We’ll be here,” his mum says, and kisses him on the cheek. “Now, be gone with you, and go to your secret agent things.”

“Mum!”

Finally, about a month after his visit to the Court, everything falls into line. The knights have all finished their most pressing missions and are returning to HQ to vote upon an official new Arthur, and so Eggsy doesn’t have to worry about taking a jet out of the fleet’s service for his own personal reasons. Merlin gets a satellite into place above the patch of land his systems have identified, so that he can keep an eye on Eggsy and – hopefully – scramble the medical teams if Eggsy is successful. And, perhaps most importantly, his mum and Daisy head off to a vacation, the first in forever, and so won’t be surprised if Eggsy doesn’t immediately return their calls and texts.

Roxy also forces Eggsy to sit down with some of the Kingsman’s legal counsel, so he gets all of his accounts and assets into place just in case. She’s the only one to walk Eggsy to the plane, since merlin is wrangling the knights.

They walk mostly in silence, but on a whim, as they reach the plane, Eggsy speaks. “Do you think I’m crazy, Rox?”

“I knew you were crazy from the moment we met,” she says with an eye roll.

“I meant for this.”

“I knew what you meant.” She comes to a stop and takes a deep breath, her fingers and wings twitching. Otherwise she is composed, dressed beautifully in a polished Kingsman suit, and looks every inch a regal knight. “But love makes us all do crazy things, right? I don’t think you’re the first or the last who’ll try this. The story exists for a reason.”

“Would you do it? If you were me.”

Roxy hums. She tilts her head to the side, evaluating him as if he’s a target. She smiles tightly. “No,” she answers. “But I’ve never been bonded to someone. Maybe if I were, I’d give a different answer.”

Eggsy blows out a long breath. He looks to the jet, fully fueled and ready, even equipped with top of the line medical supplies and enough rations for two people at Eggsy’s own request. Everything is ready and yet part of him wants to call it all off, to run back into HQ and monitor the vote, to take the jet to Daisy and his mum and enjoy the beach, to sprint to the kennels and cuddle with the puppies that will soon be assigned to the new candidates for the positions still empty.

But only part of Eggsy.

The other part is fully motivated by the one hand in Eggsy’s pocket, which has a single preserved butterfly and flower, so delicate that if he were to remove them from their case they’d crumple into dust and fly away in the wind.

“Harry took a chance on me,” is all Eggsy says. “I think it’s time I took a chance on Harry.”

Roxy inclines her head. “Good,” she says.

“Good?”

“A strong will and a good heart,” Roxy says, eyes glimmering with the magic of a fae, the magic she so rarely uses around Eggsy. “They can overcome even the most powerful magic. And you have them in spades. Good luck, Eggsy Unwin.”

They hug there, at the bottom of the plane’s stairs, and then Roxy turns smartly on her heel and strides back to HQ, to the waiting seat at the table with her name on it besides the other knights where she will cast her vote to decide the fate of Kingsman going forward. She does not look back and does not waver, as Orpheus should have done.

Eggsy, though, can’t resist the call of Eurydice, and he looks back, and gets in the jet.

Once Eggsy lands, he divests himself of most of his equipment. He has a feeling that bringing a gun to a standoff with Death would be useless, and so he brings only a satellite phone, three knives, some basic medical supplies, and a tarp. He also locks the jet up so that only a Kingsman can unlock it, just in case. He does not, however, record any message for his family, because he knows Roxy was right about the power of a strong will, and he does not wish to step into the pond of doubt until it grows and fills him up, drowning out any call to Death. That done, he sets off in search of something to kill.

It’s a strange little place, this forest in the middle of nowhere. The birds chirp and the critters rustle and the wind blows, but gently, as if there is no need for alarm. It’s like when Eggsy stepped through the door to the Fae Court, that same pressure on his lungs and head, like he has stepped back in time and is feeling the weight of a thousand years of ancient history that cares not for little old human him.

Even the creatures do not seem to fear him; Eggsy sees at least one fox and two squirrels who look at him and continue right on their merry way. They also look a little bigger than a normal fox, but Eggsy isn’t exactly in the mood to do research, and so he presses on.

Finally, he comes to a small clearing. He can hear the ocean in the distance, waves crashing against the earth, and he can feel the power of the wind, just barely minimized by the ancient trees. Even more promising, there’s a herd of small deer at the far end of the clearing, lazily grazing on the fragrant green grass, little dancing fawns and gracefully calm mothers and prancing young males. In no time at all, Eggsy picks out an older deer, a large one with tall antlers and a limping back leg who is set a bit apart from the herd. Quietly, he drops his tarp, arms himself with a knife, and forms a plan of attack.

Fortunately, Eggsy had been tapped to set up some of the wilderness courses, and so he puts those skills to use now, and edges forward.

As sunset approaches, Eggsy finally reaches the beach. It looks untouched by time or humanity, with a jagged shore and pebbles aplenty, and the sun’s rays reflect beautifully off the roaring waves. Behind him, Eggsy drags the deer he stalked and killed on the tarp, grateful for the long hours in the gym that Harry insisted upon to maintain his strength.

When he reaches the waves, he pulls the tarp up and, with great difficulty, rolls the deer onto the sand, so that nothing manmade interferes. He folds it away, weighing it down with a rock, and lays two of his knives on top. One is crusted with red blood; the other is pristine. Eggsy doesn’t think Death will think a knife of any threat, but he isn’t eager to offend either, so he approaches the shoreline with nothing but the clothes on his back, the medical supplies in his pocket, and one knife in his hand. He stands next to his kill, holds out his hand, and pricks his finger. The blood wells up slowly, fat red droplets like dew in the dawn, until they are enough to slip off his finger and land on the deer, the sand, and the rising tide. Eggsy takes a deep breath, and thinks of Harry – his beautiful smile, his barely tamed-curly-hair, his glorious wings, everything that he was and everything he was to Eggsy.

And then he waits.

And waits.

And waits.

And waits.

And then, finally, just as the sun is halfway past the horizon, a change comes through the air. The wind, which has been strong and constant and salty, dies as suddenly as though someone flicked a power switch, and even the waves grow gentle and calm and soft. Eggsy’s bleeding stops, the wound closing around the clot until his skin appears as though he had never touched it, and the knife goes ice cold until Eggsy drops it with a gasp.

When he looks up, there’s a figure standing before him. They are not tall, but with the glare of the setting sun behind them, Eggsy has to squint to make them out.

“Hello, seeker,” says a low voice, thrumming full of power in a tone that vibrates Eggsy’s very bones.

“Hello, human,” says a high voice, sharp and squeaky in a way that raises the hair all over Eggsy’s body.

“Hello, Gary Eggsy Unwin,” says a soft voice, sweet like a child, and the figure spreads their arms until they block out the sun and Eggsy can finally focus.

Only to stumble back in shock, because instead of a tall creature in a dark hooded cloak with a scythe, instead before him stands Daisy. She’s smiling at him, dimples in her cheeks, hair done up in pigtails, a neat black dress with matching shiny black shoes on her tiny feet. The only hint that it’s not Daisy is that her eyes are completely black, like the sky on the night of a new moon.

Eggsy swallows hard. “Are you Death?”

“I have been called many names,” says the figure posing as Daisy. She tucks her hands into her pockets and tilts her head, smile widening. “But yes, Death is how you would refer to me in this tongue, although I must warn you that it is not entirely accurate.”

“Are you trying to frighten me off?”

“Frighten you?” Daisy throws her head back and laughs, and the earth itself trembles beneath Eggsy’s feet. “No. Why would I need to do that?”

Eggsy waves a hand at Daisy’s figure, half afraid to look at her and half afraid to look away. “Then why take my sister’s form?”

Daisy looks herself up and down, a thoughtful crease upon her forehead. She appears genuinely surprised to see her short stature and cute little dress, even holding out her short arms to admire them. Then she looks to Eggsy, and says, “Ah. I see. So this is who Miss Daisy, firstborn and lastborn of Michelle and Dean, is to you.”

“You didn’t – ”

“I am Death,” she interrupts. “Your human mind cannot comprehend me as I truly am – indeed, only one being in all of existence can comprehend me as I truly am. So I appear to you as the closest thing you relate to Death . . . or fear thing you most fear Death touching. Do you fear the death of Miss Daisy, Gary Eggsy Unwin?”

“She’s my sister!”

Death shrugs, neat and precise as a needle sinking into cloth. “I have ferried sisters to the other side before. Some met their fate at the hand of their brothers.”

“I would never – ”

“Perhaps, if this is too discomforting, I can change forms,” Death says. She closes her eyes and spreads her arms wide again, and the sun grows bright again, too bright, until Eggsy must look away.

When he looks back, it’s even worse.

“Mum,” Eggsy croaks.

His mum smiles at him, fond and indulgent, crinkles in her eyes. Her hair is a wild mess, barely contained in a ponytail, and she’s got her apron on. Yet her eyes are black too, unfathomable and unyielding, and Eggsy swallows and stands straight again. He’s faced down the end of the world and the void of space; what’s Death, after all that?

Eggsy lifts his chin and stares Death in the face. “I am Gary Eggsy Unwin,” he says, because true names are important. “I have come to ask you a question.”

Death seems amused. “Ask away.”

“Did you ferry a fae called Harry Hart to the other side?”

Death taps a finger on their leg. They take a while to answer, but Eggsy gets the impression it’s not out of rudeness or forgetfulness; Death simply operates on a different plane altogether, a different stream of time, and so what Eggsy perceives as a while might be only moments to a being as old as Death. Finally, Death answers, “What is it to you?”

Eggsy opens his mouth. He means to say a thousand things: Harry was his bonded partner, Harry was his mentor and friend, Harry was the fae who held his collar and who Eggsy owed a favor.

Instead what comes out is a rather sappy, sorrowful: “He is the one I love.”

Death’s eyes sharpen. They rock forward in their shoes, like they mean to loom over Eggsy. Their lips part, and they sigh, “Ah. I see.”

“Do you?” Eggsy demands.

“No one understands love more intimately than I,” Death says. “When I said I am Death, did you think I meant only the end of life? I am in all things, Gary Eggsy Unwin. I am the death of a season, giving way to a new one; I am the death of a day, giving way to night; I am the death of wood in a fire pit, giving way to warmth. I am the death of joy and love and hope, and I am the death of anger and hatred and fear. Of course I understand love. Perhaps I am the purest form of it, for I have seen love that transcends even me, and that is a rare thing indeed.”

Eggsy wets his lips. He would claim to be among that which transcends death, but he’s not stupid enough to try and suck up to Death. So instead, he asks, “Is my love one of those?”

“I do not know,” Death says with a shrug. “You haven’t passed into my care yet, have you?”

Death takes a step forward, perfectly balanced in the water without leaving a single ripple behind upon the surface of the water. And then another, and then another, and then another, until they stand on solid ground, and can kneel at the foot of deer that Eggsy hunted and killed and left as a sacrifice. Death smooths a hand down the deer’s neck, familiar as a mother to a babe, and says something in a language Eggsy does not know.

“Why have you summoned me with blood and sacrifice and will, Gary Eggsy Unwin?” Death asks. “Do you desire to join your beloved in the next life?”

“No,” Eggsy answers, too-quick, to try and shut off the temptation before it spreads.

Death tilts their head. “It would only take a moment. It would be as painless as slipping into sleep.”

“No,” Eggsy repeats, firmer. He settles his feet into the ground, looking at the visage of his mother, and thinks of his mum and Daisy and Roxy and Merlin and Jamal and everyone else he loves, still alive, still here, still waiting for him. “I’ve got people depending on me. It ain’t my time.”

“Well,” Death says, rising to their feet, “at least you are wise enough to know that. I assume, then, that you intend to ask for your beloved to be brought to you instead of going to them?”

“Can you do it?”

Death sighs, like wind blowing through the trees. “So many have asked. So many.” Death looks at Eggsy, and says, “But so few are ready for what it will cost. It is not an easy thing, Gary Eggsy Unwin, for me to defy what I am, and release someone in my care back into Life’s domain. It would be like asking you to defy gravity, or live without breathing, or see without eyes.”

“Humans made planes to fly.”

“They still obey gravity. They merely compensate for it.”

Eggsy points at the deer he killed. It wasn’t an easy kill either, and Eggsy won’t let it go to waste. “There’s your compensation,” he tells Death.

“That isn’t enough. And I think you know it.”

Eggsy swallows hard. “I’ll pay whatever price you want,” Eggsy says. It’s hard to get the words out, and they’re soft, but there’s a difference between being soft and being unsure, and Eggsy learned a long time ago how to speak softly but firmly. “I won’t leave here without Harry. Even if I have to do this again tomorrow, or the day after that, or the day after that. I owe him a favor that is unpaid, and I intend to fulfill it.”

Death looks at him, for a long, long moment. Death’s features blur, fog creeping across them, and when everything settles again, Death looks like Daisy again, sweet and small and cute.

“Even if the price I demand is one you can’t comprehend?” Death asks.

“Nothing can be worse than being without him.”

“All of this,” Death muses, “just for a favor?”

“Yes,” Eggsy says. “For a favor, because it’s so much more than a favor. I’d call it a life debt. We struck a bargain and I made him a promise, and I’ll keep going until Harry is alive to see me fulfill it.”

And Death looks at Eggsy, and Death inclines their head. Death clambers onto the deer, using it as a stepstool, and reaches out with one tiny hand to touch Eggsy’s cheek. Their eyes are black pools, unreadable and ancient, and Eggsy can just make out the outline of two great, sharp instruments bound to Death’s back, positioned apart like a fae’s wings would be. Death blinks, just once, and then smiles, wide as a lion yawns, revealing a mouth full of teeth that sparkle like stars.

“You have a good heart,” Death pronounces, “and a strong will. Yes. I will demand a price from you, Gary Eggsy Unwin, and I will release Harry Hart from my domain back into the care of Life. Are you ready?”

Eggsy takes a death breath. He straightens his back, plants his feet, lifts his chin. If this is to be his end, he will not meet it cowering on the ground.

How can he, if he is to see Harry again?”

“Name your price,” Eggsy says.

“As only life can lead to death, only death can pay for life,” Death says.

And it’s words, but it’s not just words; Eggsy can feel each settling into deep into his bones, like a thousand tiny needles, burrowing deep and leaving some ancient magical ink. Faintly, he registers that Death is concentrating and pulling something out of Eggsy, but mostly, he is staggering under the weight of those ancient words and the meaning contained therein. Because as Death told him before – Death is so much more than the end of Life, and Life is so much more than the beginning of Death, and Eggsy thinks – for just a moment – he is getting a glimpse at the great dance between Death and Life, something no mortal being can truly comprehend, and his mind is overflowing and Eggsy is screaming and –

And then Death pulls away, abruptly and sharply, with the finality of ripping off a scab, and Eggsy collapses to the ground, panting and dizzy like he’s run a triathlon. Maybe several triathlons.

When Eggsy finally catches his breath and manages to look up, Death is holding one of those great sharp instruments in one hand, and Eggsy can finally see that it has solidified into a scythe. In their other hand, they hold a spot of pure light, so bright Eggsy can’t look at it, like a miniature sun.

“It is done,” Death announces, each word shaking the earth. “Death has paid for Life.”

So saying, Death raises their hands, bringing the curved end of the scythe to meet the shining pure light, and they hold them together as sparks begin to fly, as though they are forging a sword. The light grows even brighter, if that is possible, and there’s a distinct burnt metallic smell, sharp and acrid, like a volcano. When Death finally lowers their hands, the scythe is no longer half of a curved blade, but one circle of radiant light upon a black stick of darkness, like a halo.

Death points this halo at the deer Eggsy killed, and says, “How fitting. A hart for a Hart.”

Then Death touches the bright halo of whirling light to the deer, and presses hard, and the burnt metallic smell changes to that of burning meat. Eggsy covers his nose, wincing, but he does not dare look away, because deep down he knows that this is something he’d rather remember. It’s what he paid for, after all.

“Life has paid for Death,” Death says, solemn as a funeral speaker. “Now let Death pay for Life.”

And the deer . . . jerks.

Eggsy watches with wide eyes as the deer’s head twitches and its legs flail and its hide ripples all over, but Death does not seem alarmed and continues to press the halo to the deer’s hide. The bright circle of light is getting dimmer, spreading all through the deer, and its movements are getting wilder and wilder, until at last the side tears apart down the middle, like the deer’s skin has given way under immense pressure. Blood follows, and cracked bone, and torn up muscle, and in the middle of it all, a human hand.

“What the – ”

And Death pulls the reformed scythe away, and steps aside, and clears their throat.

“Here is your beloved,” they say softly. “I have returned him to the care of Life, and to you. Treat him well, for you have paid dearly for his return.”

Eggsy looks at Death, and at the now frantically waving hand, and scrambles forward. He seizes the blood-soaked hand and pulls with all his might, and slowly, bit by bit, an elbow emerges, and then a shoulder, and then a wing and a head and a torso.

Harry bursts through the split in the deer’s side, soaked with blood and bruised all over and naked as a newborn babe, gasping and shaking and alive.

“What – Eggsy,” Harry breathes, and nothing is more beautiful than the sound of his name on Harry’s lips, even hoarse, even said between spits and heaves, even confused and alarmed and on edge, because it’s Harry.

Eggsy hurls himself forward, uncaring of the blood or viscera, and hugs Harry so tight that he wheezes and flaps his wings a little bit, as if he needs air.

“Eggsy – ”

“You’re all right now,” Eggsy interrupts, squeezing hard. “You’re alright, Harry. Oh my god, you’re alright.”

And Harry – Harry hugs him back, squeezing just as tight, and his beautiful green and blue wings fold around them, and his heart beats under Eggsy’s ear and his chest rises and falls against Eggsy’s chest and he is alive.

When they finally pull apart, minutes or weeks later, Eggsy can see that the blood is starting to fall off Harry, drying like paint and peeling off. The deer Harry forced his way through to return to life is gone, with only a few scattered spots of blood to mark its presence. Death is gone too, as quietly as they had come, and the sun has fully set, with the moon twinkling at them.

“Eggsy,” Harry says. He frowns. “I had a very strange dream. I think . . . I think I died.”

Eggsy blows out a long breath and laughs. “Harry, we got a lot to cover. Like. A lot.”

“Is the first thing going to be finding me clothes?”

“Well . . . I have a tarp?”

The first thing Merlin does when Eggsy returns with Harry is to gas them, which isn’t at all surprising. Eggsy and Harry could hold out for a while, but Eggsy just rolls his eyes and breathes deeply and Harry just crosses his arms. When they wake up, they’re chained to medical bed, dressed in brand new clothes with monitors above their heads and a scowling Merlin looming over them. He interrogates them with rapid fire questions, magical curling around his wrists, and his scowl only deepens when they answer everything correctly. Even the last question, which is “And who is the current Arthur?”

To which Eggsy says, “I dunno, you?”

Harry sighs in aggravation and says, “I don’t bloody know, I’ve been dead!”

Merlin gives them a look of deep loathing, although not one tinged with distrust. It’s all fond exasperation, and it makes Eggsy grin to see it again, because he hasn’t seen that kind of relaxed emotion from Merlin in months. Plus there are no bags under his eyes anymore, which means that Roxy either sat on him or drugged him. Personally, his bet is on drugging because Roxy plays to win.

“Congratulations on not being dead,” Merlin tells Harry. To Eggsy, he says, “Congratulations on confirming your identity.”

Harry splutters. “What was the point of this interrogation if not to prove my identity?”

“I wanted to make sure your head was on straight,” Merlin replies with a shrug. “Now you get to submit to a proper and full physical examination, or you get to remain tied to the bed. Your choice.”

Eggsy winces. He went through one “proper and full physical examination” when Harry first brought him to Kingsman HQ, and that was enough. It’s invasive, of course, with vials of blood and hair samples and peeing in a cup, but mostly it’s just terribly tedious. The Kingsman doctors are merciless and rigorous, and if they have the slightest doubt about someone, it’s onto medical leave until they decide the person is fit for duty. Even Arthur bowed to their choice.

Harry groans and thumps his head against the bed. “Why did I agree to come back,” he moans.

Merlin snorts. “Beats me,” he says, and stomps towards the door.

“Oi,” Eggsy calls after him. “Who’s the new Arthur anyways, Merlin?”

Merlin pauses at the door. He takes a deep breath, and then tilts his head. “No one,” he says, and then leaves like he didn’t just effectively announce that their entire organization is leaderless.

Harry hums thoughtfully. “That means,” he murmurs to Eggsy, “that they wanted Merlin and he refused.”

“Smart man.”

“Indeed.”

Harry passes the medical examination after about a week, which he complains to Eggsy is mostly the doctors wanting to see if he can eat, drink, bleed, urinate, and defecate. Eggsy, who is busy clearing out the hundreds of emails in his account, just hums and nods mindlessly as Harry complains, and then goes and gets the car when Harry bolts as soon as he gets the official all-clear from the head doctor, a very stern woman who gives Eggsy her direct number and tells him to call her immediately if there’s any concern.

“Uh, sure,” Eggsy says, and puts the card in his pocket.

Fortunately, Harry hasn’t gotten far. Death brought him back, but they didn’t completely heal him, and so he walks with the aid of a cane and still has plenty a bruise and stab wound. His eye, too, is unsalvageable, and Merlin is already talking about either a replacement eye or glasses with special lenses. Harry had just grunted.

“Wait up, old man,” Eggsy calls down the hallway.

“Who are you calling old? I can still beat you in a spar,” Harry gripes, but he does indeed slow his pace considerably.

No one is in the halls except techs and support staff, since most of the knights are still arguing over who should be Arthur, so Harry and Eggsy manage to get to the cars without interruption pretty easily. Eggsy gets in first, just to prevent Harry from trying to drive, and Harry gives him a deeply annoyed look and gets in the passenger seat. He settles in with a sigh, readjusting his cane, and then opens his tablet and begins to type something, likely a report or whatnot. Eggsy just ignores him and begins to drive home, since he knows the route like the back of his hand.

“Home sweet home,” Eggsy says, as they pull up.

Harry looks briefly surprised. “Have you been living here in my absence?”

Eggsy shrugs, because he isn’t sure where else he was meant to take Harry. Homes for deceased agents usually remain in their file for at least a year, in case some agent was accidentally declared dead and wanders back to HQ. It’s happened three times, so it’s a standing policy. “Well, at first we were too busy stopping the apocalypse to clear everything out, but . . . well. Yeah. It’s close to the shop and HQ. Did . . . Did you not want to stay here?”

“No, of course not,” Harry says quickly. “I just. Well. Let’s go in, shall we?”

Eggsy did not make any major changes to Harry’s house besides more clutter, since he took home his own Kingsman laptop and also bought groceries and normal kitchen appliances that weren’t heavy as hell cold iron pots and pans. So Harry is able to key in the code and stride right in like he never left, dropping his coat at the door like always and toeing off his shoes in the entryway like always. Eggsy’s usually annoying ritual of hanging the coat up and fixing the shoe alignment is deeply satisfying now, and Eggsy finds himself smiling widely, because Harry is alive and home.

Harry even heads straight for the kitchen and the stack of mail, and Eggsy’s so happy that he can head straight for the tea kettle and pour two cups instead of one.

“Good gracious,” Harry mutters when he starts sorting the mail. He continues muttering to himself, but Eggsy can see the lurid flyers from where he stands at the counter, and so he does nothing. He’s not that surprised, really; people want to party, now that they’ve survived the end of the world.

Once the tea is ready, Eggsy grabs the closest tin of biscuits and brings it all over. He nudges the tin towards Harry, and is gratified when Harry absentmindedly and automatically grabs one. Roll back the clock a week, and the scene wouldn’t be out of place for their usual tea break.

“Some habits die hard, huh?” Eggsy teases.

Harry looks up mid-bite and blushes, faintly. “I’ve gotten used to living with another person,” he admits. “But thank you, Eggsy. Thank you very much.”

“Sure.”

They work in silence for a few minutes – Eggsy on his tablet, Harry on the steadily shrinking pile of mail – but then Harry clears his throat.

“Eggsy,” he says, voice full of hesitation.

“Harry?”

“I do have a question, and I hope – I hope you won’t find it offensive.”

“No, I did not smoke pot in your house, Harry,” Eggsy replies automatically with an eyeroll, because even though Harry has a good nose and an even better Kingsman sensor, he still thinks Eggsy would try to vape or smoke in his house.

“What? No. Not that.”

“Oh. Then what?”

Harry tears an envelope apart and chucks it in the bin. It’s almost like he needs to keep his hands moving, and it shows in his too-nonchalant tone. “I must ask . . . why did you continue living here? You are not bound to this house, or me. Not anymore.”

It’s a loaded question and Eggsy does not at all like or appreciate the implications, but, hey, that’s why he went through Kingsman training – to learn how to control himself, how to absorb the panic, to acknowledge the anger, to breathe and keep moving and do what must be done. Eggsy falls back on that training now so that he finish his sip of tea and set the cup down, just as gently and casually as if Harry had asked about the weather. He shoves the anger and fear deep down, the how can you ask that of me and the how can you say I am not bound to you and the how dare you. He breathes in the emotions, breathes out the panic, and looks Harry straight in the eye.

“I think that’s a rather insulting question,” Eggsy replies, astounded at how calm he sounds. “But gentlemen don’t get to act insulted, do they?”

“Eggsy – ”

“So let’s play a game,” Eggsy continues, overriding Harry. “I’ll answer you if you’ll answer me.”

Harry hesitates. To refuse Eggsy would of course be rude, and Harry would never be rude. But Eggsy also knows that Harry really wants an answer to his own question, otherwise he wouldn’t have mustered the nerve to ask.

Harry inclines his head. “I accept your terms. What’s your question?”

“You said you agreed to come back,” Eggsy says, watching the way Harry’s jaw twitches. “Why did agree to come back?”

Harry looks aghast. His wings droop and his mouth parts and his remaining eye quivers. He looks as torn up and hurt as Eggsy had felt, but he too has been trained and he too breathes out the pain. He reaches for his cup, picks it up, and takes a sip – but his hands are shaking, and Eggsy doesn’t think he actually got any liquid in his mouth. He sets them back down and clears his throat, looking at the floor.

“How could you ask that?” Harry says, pain in every syllable, looking back up as if Eggsy is too bright a light to behold without agony and yet too beautiful to resist. “Darling Eggsy, my dearest, how could you not know?”

He puts his hand on the table, palm up, beseeching, and finishes, “I agreed to come back for you.”

Eggsy’s heart takes flight. Wings he hadn’t even known existed burst into life around his heart and let it soar to the heavens, and Eggsy damn well knows he’s grinning ear to ear like an idiot. Because Harry’s good, but he’s not that good, and it’s one thing to hear a muffled warmth of adoration through the bond and another to hear it loud and clear.

Eggsy places his hand in Harry’s, palm down, fingers curling around Harry’s wrist. “Well, you have your answer, then,” he says, only barely aware of his voice through the pounding in his chest. “I stayed because of you.”

Harry’s wings flair to life, spreading wide and proud, sparkling in the light. His head comes up, his shoulders straight, his eye goes wide, and he looks like his own heart has just soared out of his chest. He looks alive, alight with magic and wonder and love, and it’s the most beautiful thing Eggsy has ever seen, right up there with Harry crawling from Death’s deer back into the world of the living.

“Eggsy, do you mean it?”

“Guess the fae way rubbed off on me,” Eggsy jokes. “Tell no lie, and all that.”

“Eggsy, darling,” Harry breathes, and he lunges forward and squeezes Eggsy tight, even tighter than when he came back to life. This time his wings fold around Eggsy, unashamedly brushing against his hair and skin and clothes, and Eggsy hugs back just as tight, relieved and amazed and joyous, happier than he’s ever felt.

And so it happens that their first kiss is like that, tangled in a hug, with a cooling pot of tea in front of them, tears on their cheeks and biscuit crumbs on their lips, in the kitchen of their home.

Eggsy wouldn’t trade it for the world.

One Year Later

Harry is well aware that of the two of them, he’s the most likely to be late to everything and anything. It’s his signature calling card, and even having two assistants, Merlin, and Eggsy nagging him aren’t enough to stop this particular habit. Eggsy likes to joke that it’s befitting of Arthur, the Once and Future King who “didn’t bother to rise on time during the goddamn phone apocalypse”.

That being said, without fail, it’s usually Eggsy who is late to bed.

In fact, tonight, as usual, Harry has bathed, changed, and climbed into bed to mindlessly scroll through drivel on his tablet for over an hour before Eggsy finally comes to join him. Eggsy claims it’s because of JB, but the little pug is right behind Eggsy and only wheezing a little bit, so it’s not like Eggsy took him for a jog or anything.

Harry tilts his head. “How is that you can send me seven texts about being late to a briefing and yet it takes you nearly seventy minutes to come to bed?”

Eggsy, who has half of his pants off, flies him the finger. “Cuz I get to set my own schedule of joining into work and it won’t matter if I’m five minutes later,” Eggsy replies, as usual. “But it looks bad when Arthur is late. Besides, JB – ”

“I owned a dog too. He was never the reason.”

“You were a trainee when you had Mr. Pickle, you had to be on time or get expelled,” Eggsy says with an eyeroll. He balls his pants up and tosses them into the hamper, breezing past the bed towards the washroom. “And JB’s still a little small to get up the stairs. I gotta watch him just in case.”

Harry sighs, louder than usual so Eggsy can hear it over the sounds of splashing. “I truly regret the day I let you tour the kennels after the candidates had had their pick.”

“Merlin has a photo of your face when I was playing with JB, and regret wasn’t on it.”

In truth, he knows Eggsy is right. Eggsy hadn’t been involved with the candidates during the first round, so he never got to know the puppies until they were grown and trained. After Harry became Arthur, though, it became clear that new trials would be needed to fill the handful of seats left empty, and so many more puppies were brought, and after a tour of the kennels, Eggsy had trailed behind and gotten a good look at JB’s little face and that had been that. It had been wonderful, to see Eggsy squirming on the floor with a little ball of fluff clambering all over him, and even though candidates hadn’t chosen their dogs, Harry hadn’t had the heart to refuse Eggsy when he’d trotted up with JB in his arms.

Merlin has sent him the photo. He is indeed not looking the least bit regretful.

Still, Harry can’t let Eggsy win without a fight. “Beauty of hindsight,” Harry says with a sniff.

“Blah blah blah,” Eggsy mocks, emerging from the washroom with minty fresh breath and his atrociously orange pajamas that Harry regularly begs him not to wear, for the sake of his remaining eye. (Eggsy always retorts that Harry’s grandpa brown pajamas are just as bad.) He ushers JB into his dog bed before taking a neat bound onto their bed, crawling up to Harry and batting his eyes. “Admit it, you like having a dog here again.”

“My shoes have been chewed on,” Harry says, lowering his tablet, “my walls have been used as scratching posts, and my garden has been dug up. And he urinated all over the entryway.”

“He’s a puppy!”

“Kingsman has an excellent dog training course. You should enroll him in it.”

“He’s not a working dog,” Eggsy scoffs. “He’s my pet.”

“But not mine.”

Eggsy slips up to Harry, elbowing his tablet off to the side of the bed and laying his weight upon Harry’s lap. He grins, wide and smug, and says, “But what’s yours is mine, darling. You promised me.”

Harry looks at the ring glinting at Eggsy’s finger and sighs. “I suppose I did, you brat,” he says, in a tone of exasperation, but it fails halfway through, because he still gets a thrill out of seeing his ring on Eggsy’s finger. It’s exhilarating, knowing that Eggsy is willing to accept them being bound the human way, after being bound so long the fae way – even if Merlin had literally slapped Harry on the head and said, “Eggsy’s gonna find out about the betting pool, if he doesn’t know already, and he’s going to join it and mock you for it when you do pop the question, so you might as well propose already.”

He had, that afternoon. Eggsy had accepted, squealed, kissed him, and then called Roxy and demanded his share of the pot.

Harry is brought out of such pleasant memories by the sound of JB farting. He sighs. “Why did I agree to this?”

Eggsy laughs merrily. He leans forward and kisses Harry on the lips, like no other answer could possibly compare, and honestly, he’s right. Harry kisses him back, folding a wing forward to brush lovingly against Eggsy’s face, and afterwards Eggsy slides under the covers and they cuddle close, as they always do, after the security protocols have been engaged. Usually Eggsy falls asleep first, with Harry following soon thereafter, and tonight is just like any other, because Eggsy’s breathing evens out into slumber in only a few minutes.

Unlike any other, though, Harry is just about to join Eggsy when he senses . . . something.

Frowning, he casts about the room, because Harry hasn’t lived this long by ignoring his instincts, and picks out a shadow in the corner that is darker than anywhere else – darker than the room should be.

Harry inhales quietly. It would be the first time that someone got past their extensive security measures, now even more stringent after Harry’s election to the post of Arthur, but that doesn’t mean Harry is wholly reliant upon said security system. There are about a dozen guns in the bedroom alone, and never mind everything else that is or can be turned into a weapon. And there are at least two panic buttons. That being said, Harry can acknowledge that he’s not the best of the best anymore, with his slow recovery and missing eye, and so he nudges Eggsy very, very carefully and hears the slight shift of Eggsy’s leg against his, the only clue that Eggsy has come to wakefulness.

Fortunately or unfortunately, before they can take action, the shadow speaks.

“Calm yourself,” comes a voice, cocky and boyish. “I am not here to hurt you. Merely to have a civil discussion.”

Eggsy grunts and slaps the nearest light on, but the figure in the darkness doesn’t blink or startle in surprise. In fact, they merely smile and step closer, hands tucked in their pockets, hat perched jauntily on their head, shoes white and pristine.

Harry, though, sits bolt upright, because the shadow in the darkness is Eggsy.

Well, with one exception: the doppelganger’s eyes are darker than the night, so dark it appears the light of the lamp doesn’t penetrate or even reflect off of them.

Eggsy makes a surprised noise. “Death,” he says.

“Hello, Gary Eggsy Unwin,” says Death.

Harry looks from Death-as-Eggsy to Eggsy and then back again. He blinks. Their voices are exactly the same, the same faint accent, the same inflection, the same speech pattern. If Death had worn sunglasses, Harry honestly isn’t sure if he could have picked out that this person was not, in fact, Eggsy.

Eggsy nestles into Harry’s side, patting his shoulder. “It’s all right,” Eggsy tells him. “That’s just Death. They, uh, can’t be viewed by mortal eyes. So they appear as whoever you fear dying the most.”

Death inclines their head, very neatly, and this enables Harry to glimpse two sharp shadows at their back. Power radiates from those shadows, old and unbreakable, so Harry spreads his own wings in acknowledgment and nods back. There are some things even fae know better than to try and challenge.

“Hello, Harry Hart,” Death says, as casually as to an old friend. “It’s nice to see you in the care of Life. You are looking well.”

“Thank you for agreeing to return me to Life,” Harry says cautiously.

Death laughs, head thrown back and shoulders relaxed, just like Eggsy does. It’s quite strange. “You should thank your beloved. He argued quite fervently for you. And of course he paid the price for your return.”

Eggsy’s fingers sink into Harry’s arm. It’s painful, but Harry bears the pain with joy, for it is Eggsy. He settles one of his wings around Eggsy’s shoulder and holds him close.

“Are you hear to collect it?” Eggsy asks, calm and collected and every inch the proud man Harry is so honored to have witnessed evolve.

That being said, Harry said pride aside a long, long time ago. He clutches Eggsy and begs Death, “Not yet. Please. Let me have some time with him. I’ll pay the price, if you need it. He is my everything."

Death tilts their head, and Harry gets the impression of ancient bewilderment, like a cat walking face first into a glass wall and discovering, to their shock, that it is in fact a wall and not a clear path forward. Death says, “I said I was here for a civil conversation, didn’t I?”

Harry feels more than sees Eggsy’s relief. Eggsy practically collapses against Harry, reaching up to hold his hand tightly, and Harry squeezes back just as tightly.

“Besides, Gary Eggsy Unwin has already paid the price, in full,” Death continues. “I am not without honor.”

Eggsy makes a soft sound of confusion. “But you said that only death can pay for life.”

“I did. And if you had not paid with death, Harry Hart would not be alive right now. Even I can only bend the rules so much.”

Harry looks at Eggsy, and Eggsy looks right back. This is how Harry knows that there is only confusion across both of their faces right now, which doesn’t bode well. If Eggsy, as the human who struck the deal, does not know and Harry, as the fae with the knowledge of magic and bargaining, does not know, well. . .

As one, they turn back to Death.

Death smiles at them, very gently, and this time Harry can tell the difference. Oh, Eggsy is good at jokes and pranks, but his eyes always give him away. Death, however, smiles so gently that Harry feels like they are giving a gentle proud pat on the head to atom-sized kittens who have only just now learned that they can walk. It’s different, humor with thousands of years of experience behind it.

“Only death,” they repeat, “can pay for life. I took your death, Gary Eggsy Unwin, to pay for Harry Hart’s life. The price is paid in full. I really just came to see how you were settling into your new existence. And you are looking well indeed.”

“ . . . Thank you?” Eggsy says.

Death smiles and dips a hand into their pocket, emerging with a watch. It’s circular in shape, colored gold and silver and bronze, but the similarities to a human watch ends there. Even from where Harry sits, he can tell that there are far too many numbers and arms. There’s even a skull and a flower.

“Well, I must be on my way,” Death says cheerfully. “Souls to collect, people to find, journeys to make. The usual. Have a lovely night.”

Death rolls their shoulders back, and those great ancient shadows expand, unfolding into great black wings with feathers at the top and sharp spines at the button, far bigger than any wings Harry has ever seen, even compared to the Kings and Queens of the Fae Court. Death’s wings could swallow the entire room whole, in comparison.

“Oh, by the way,” Death calls out casually, “I like the colors.”

Harry flexes his wings and tries to smile. He’s had complements on his colors before, of course, including an embarrassing sonnet comparing his wings to the freshest streams and oceans by a lovestruck fellow university student, but it feels a little different to get a compliment from Death, who surely has seen much more beautiful wings. And also is . . . well, Death.

Still, Harry knows better than to be rude to Death. “Thank you.”

Death tilts their head. They crouch, as if getting ready to jump, and say, “Actually, I meant Eggsy’s wings. Ta!”

And just like that, in a blink of an eye, Death vanishes, and the room goes from shadowed in one particular corner to bright as every other part under the light. Harry hadn’t even seen the wings move, which probably speaks to Death’s power.

Of course, then Eggsy makes a horrible, pained sound, and Harry forgets all about Death.

Harry whips his head back around to Eggsy, only to find him rolling on the bed, scratching frantically at his back. There’s nothing there that Harry can see, at least at first, but then Eggsy grabs . . . something and drags it away, letting out a moan of relief, and Harry gapes to see the pearly, luminescent, and barely visible silk of a cocoon.

“What – what is this?” Eggsy groans, reaching back to scratch furiously even more.

Harry can hardly bring himself to speak, so instead he joins Eggsy in the scratching and pulling at his back, until they begin to find their stride and pull what seems like yards and yards of that same pearly cocoon away. As soon as the last bit is removed, what the cocoon was covering finally becomes clear, and Harry can completely understand why Death paid Eggsy such a strange compliment.

Eggsy has wings.

Beautiful, stunning, gorgeous wings. They are still slightly damp from the cocoon, as are all wings when each fae is born, but as Eggsy keeps pinching them and rolling his shoulders and flaring them wide, they begin to dry and truly glow, so that the blue and green highlights from the lamp shining on Harry’s wings are joined by amazing orange, yellow, and blue highlights of Eggsy’s wings. The patterning is different, of course, as every fae’s is different, but the style is completely sleek and singularly – well, if Harry had to say for sure – singularly human.

“Eggsy,” Harry murmurs, “you have wings.”

“I have wings,” Eggsy breathes. “What the absolute goddamn f – ”

“I understand,” Harry interrupts, because he’s finally put the pieces together. “I understand what Death did.”

“Mind filling the rest of the class in?” Eggsy says, half hysterical. “I have WINGS, Harry, I’m a human, we don’t get wings!”

Harry gently grasps Eggsy’s shoulder, turning him around to get a glimpse of his beloved’s face. Even Eggsy’s face is changed, slightly, cheeks angled and hair shimmering and eyes glowing with the subtle tint of magic deep inside. Harry almost wonders how he missed it, all these months, even if he was lovestruck enough to mistake it for adoration and joy and love.

“You were human,” Harry tells him. “Death said that only death can pay for life, yes? So they took your death from you, the moment in time where you would pass on, and no human was meant to be immortal, but you couldn’t be in between. That’s not how this works. So if you could not be a human anymore – ”

“I had to become a fae,” Eggsy finishes, eyes growing wide with realization. “So all this time – all this time I’ve been growing wings? I thought I was just allergic to our new laundry detergent?”

“Clearly not. The evidence is right behind us.”

Eggsy’s wings twitch, inching forward, and Harry willingly brings own wings forward. Eggsy has, of course, touched Harry’s wings before with his hands, but this – this gentle meeting of magic and silk and color – this is different. This time, as their wings touch, Harry and Eggsy both shudder, and Harry knows he’s grinning like an idiot.

“So we’re both immortal, then?” Eggsy asks.

“I guess so. I think it’d be lovely to live an entire immortality with you, my dear.”

“Me,” Eggsy says, a sly smile on his face, “and our dog.”

“Eggsy – ”

Eggsy cuts him off by pulling into a hug, just as tight as when Harry had come back to life and when they had first kissed, hands brushing at Harry’s wings. Harry hugs back, indulging in the first time of brushing his hands against Harry’s wings, and it’s so ownderfl that he lets Eggsy get the last word. They have the rest of eternity, after all, to argue as much as tey want.

“Let’s live long,” Harry says to Eggsy, “and prosper.”

“Yeah. That’s a good idea.”

And Harry smiles.

And Death smiled, and laughed, and said, “Why, a favor is a life debt, a bargain and a promise both, carefully struck and forever honored, for it ties two souls together forevermore, in Life and in Death. It matters not who saves who, for when I come for you, I will come for you both, in this life and the next life and the life after that. There are some things even Death cannot sever. Would you not agree?"

And Death looked to the fae and the human, their hands clutched tightly together, the human’s ring upon the fae’s finger and the fae’s collar upon the human’s throat, and saw, just for a moment, a glimpse of true understanding cross their faces.

But only for a moment.

It was something, after all, that could not be truly understood in Life, but Death would come for them one day. Death always did.

And so Death bowed in return, and said, “Long may you live, happily may you love, and prosperous may your fortunes be.”

FINIS