Archive of Our Own ^beta

Robert’s feet ache.

It must have been hours since he last ate, and there’s been no water except for the Styx and he’ll be damned if he gets that desperate. Literally.

The back of his neck itches, hairs standing on end. It would be so easy to turn his head, to see if Aaron’s still there, but he can’t. He’s come this far and he’s not about to give anyone the satisfaction of taking Aaron’s soul.

The hill tapers off and he sucks in a breath. It’s not that far to the top, and he’ll know how close he is, know how quickly Aaron can be within reach.

“Come on, Rob,” he mutters to himself.

As he crests the top of the hill, he drops to his knees immediately, nausea stinging his throat. The stretch of land beneath him is vast, dark and tinged orange, a broiling mess of land that looks as vast as it is daunting.

“You didn’t think it would be that easy did you?” Katie says, and Robert startles, forgot she was even there.

“It never ends.” Robert’s voice sounds far away to his own ears, Hell stretching out beneath him like a foreboding shadow. The Styx winds through the burnt and blackened ground in a bastardised version of the Thames in aerial pictures of London. It’s empty.

Empty but for nightmares of your own making, Hades had told him with a gleeful smile.

Robert’s eyes burn with the want to cry, out of anger, frustration or despair he doesn’t know. It feels heavier and more profound than it did before, when there was just the forest. Now it’s infinite, a Hell built from his own deeds and mistakes.

“You could always give up,” Katie says, crouching down beside him. There’s an expression on her face Robert can’t place. “Aaron would expect it.”

Robert’s head snaps up, angry, and he rounds on her. “What would you know about what Aaron expects of me? You don’t know him now.”

“I know you.” This time Katie’s voice is softer, and her expression shifts into something he remembers from before. “You’re not about to let him down, are you?”

“No,” Robert says, feels the word down to his bones. He looks to his right, sees Pat next to him, face turned towards the hell that awaits. She hasn’t said much, just listens to Robert talking till his voice aches. He wonders what she’s thinking. “Will you-“

“I’ll be here,” Pat says, not giving him a chance to ask the question. Her smile is soft, but sad. Everything about her is sad. “If you want to do this.”

Robert doesn’t want to do this. He allows himself a moment to feel the fear, to let it roll through him. He allows himself a fleeting second to imagine giving in and walking back the way he came, watching the spectre of Aaron disappear into nothing. Forever. Shaking his head, he sets his jaw, refuses to give in to the part of him that wants to turn back. It would be easy, and he knows easy, but he knows what that means for Aaron.

“I need to do this,” he says at last, climbing back to his feet. The floor ahead looks hot and dangerous, but Robert grits his teeth, ready for it.

This is going to hurt.

Robert’s beginning to hate hospitals.

Aaron’s lying unnaturally still in the hospital bed, lights dimmed, and the sounds filtering in through the closed door aren’t enough to distract Robert from looking at his calm face. Robert rubs a hand over his eyes, shuffles further down in the chair. They’re uncomfortable, especially trying to fold his frame into one of them, but he’s not about to leave.

Aaron could wake up at any minute.

“You need sleep,” Victoria keeps trying to tell him.

Robert shrugs, never really answers, and every night Vic leaves with a sigh and a promise to bring him fresh clothes the next morning.

Robert doesn’t particularly care about that; he just wants to be with Aaron, make sure he’s alright and won’t wake up alone. Or without him. Chas comes, Liv too, and it’s okay when they are, he’s glad to have the company and people who care about Aaron as much as he does.

But Robert needs to be here. He needs to be able to smile when Aaron wakes, let him know that everything’s okay, that he’s going to be okay.

(“You need to prepare for the worst,” the doctor says, eyes sad.

Robert stares down at Aaron’s face, refuses to believe what they’re telling him. He doesn’t need to hear it.

“Robert, sweetheart,” Diane tries.

“He’s not going to die,” Robert says, adamant, because Aaron can’t. Robert needs him alive. Robert needs him to stay because they’re just starting to get somewhere and they’re in love and Aaron can’t leave him behind.)

So Robert stays by his bedside, uncomfortable and sad, but unable to be anywhere else.

“It’s admirable.”

Robert starts, jerks awake from his chair. There’s a guy, someone Robert doesn’t even know, sitting on the chair opposite him. “Who the hell are you?”

“Interesting choice of words,” the guy says, smirking. “Considering.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” The anger bubbles in Robert’s chest and he starts to rise, opens his mouth to yell for the nurses, but nothing comes out of his throat. Panicked, Robert grips the arms of the chair.

“Relax,” the guy says, and his eyes are intense. Robert doesn’t know why, but he feels his body sag in the chair. It’s terrifying, feels like he doesn’t have control of his body. With a smile, the man nods. “You can speak.”

“What the fuck,” Robert says.

“Indeed.” Amused, the guy looks down at Aaron. Something cold trickles down Robert’s spine.

“Don’t,” he says. He doesn’t know what makes him say it. Maybe he’s asleep and this is a bizarre nightmare. Maybe Vic’s right and he needs to go home and sleep.

The room descends into silence. Robert’s rooted to his chair, can’t move and it makes him feel sick. He doesn’t know what the hell this guy is doing here, or what he wants. It doesn’t make any sense. He’s asleep, has to be, god, wake up, Robert. Wake up!

“Oh, you’re awake.” The guy shifts in his chair and lifts his eyes back to Robert’s face. It makes Robert’s blood run cold. “This is real.”

“Who are you?”

There’s a pause. The guy’s lips twitch. It grates, makes Robert want to punch him in the face. “That depends on how you look at it.”

Robert frowns. “What does that mean?”

“Your mythology,” the guy says, shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Your location, your beliefs.”

Robert’s lost it. That’s the only explanation. His counsellor would have a ball with this one, he thinks, screwing his eyes up. God, not now, not here.

There’s a polite cough, and when Robert looks up, the guy tells him, without irony, “You’re sane.”

“Who are you?” Robert repeats, this time with a little more force.

That seems to get the guy’s attention, and he looks momentarily impressed. “There’s the Robert I know.”

“You don’t know me,” Robert snaps, clenching his hands into fists. He can move that part of him at least, and the only thing keeping his fear at bay is the anger currently pressing down on his chest, the rage that this is person is in Aaron’s room, looking at Aaron like he knows him, like he’s here for Aaron.

“I am,” the guy says, and Robert grits his teeth against the urge to ask how the guy knows what he’s thinking. “I know you, Robert Sugden. I know your deepest fears, the sins you think you’ve hidden.”

Robert’s chest tightens. “There’s nothing to know.”

“Oh, I think there is,” the guy says. He shifts and something changes. Black and dangerous, an edge to him that makes fear unfurl in Robert’s belly. “You have a lot to be afraid of, Robert. Aaron. Your father. Katie.”

Everything stops.

“What did you say?”

“Katie,” the guy says again. He’s not smiling. “I know you can’t have forgotten about her.”

Robert swallows past the lump in his throat. “Who are you?”

“Like I said, I go by many names. Dīs Pater if you’re old enough. Orcus.” There’s an expression Robert can’t make out on the guy’s face. “Some call me Pluto.”

Fuck. Robert wishes he could press his palms into his eyes, wishes he could run. Either he’s asleep, or he’s having a psychotic break. He wants Aaron. He wants his sister. He wants –

“Hades,” the guy adds.

“No,” Robert says, finding his voice. He stares at Aaron. “This isn’t happening.”

“Believe me,” the guy – Hades – says, rolling his eyes. “If it was up to me, we wouldn’t be doing this here. I’m not exactly comfortable.”

Robert doesn’t know what that means, doesn’t want to know what it means. He keeps his eyes on Aaron, fingers twitching against the arm rests. Aaron almost looks like he’s sleeping and Robert’s grateful. He doesn’t want him to wake up. Not while Robert’s having a breakdown metres away.

“That’s a little dramatic,” Hades says. “Though not the first time I’ve had that reaction.”

“You’re not real,” Robert says.

Hades looks amused. He looks like that a lot and it’s really pissing Robert off. This isn’t funny. “I feel pretty real.”

Robert doesn’t know what makes him ask, but he says, “Why are you here,” before he can stop himself.

“That’s more like it.” Hades gestures at Aaron. “He’s going to die.”

“No,” Robert says immediately, feels his chest constrict. “He’s not going to die.”

“And that,” Hades says, pointing at Robert, “is why I’m here.”

“Because I don’t want him to die?”

Hades snorts. “No, if that was enough to stop me claiming their souls, I’d have scant few people.”

Robert closes his eyes, lets out a slow breath. “Then why?”

Hades doesn’t say anything for a long time, and when Robert opens his eyes, Hades is staring straight at him. There’s something in his expression, something Robert can’t even begin to name, and it makes Robert’s skin crawl. “I’ve wanted your soul for years.”

Shivering unconsciously, Robert draws his chin up, the only bravery he can find bears Aaron’s name, Aaron’s influence. “You can’t have it.”

“If I want it,” Hades says, his voice deadly and tinged with anger, and Robert feels his heart quicken in his chest. “I could take it.”

“Then why don’t you? You could have,” Robert says, wondering why he’s testing Hades. “When we crashed-“

“This time or last time?”

Robert stalls, shoves down the thoughts of both crashes, the water, the tree, the fear rumbling under his skin. Why is it always Aaron. “Either.”

There’s a pause. “I may have claim to the souls after they pass,” Hades says, steepling his fingers and resting them under his chin, “but they aren’t mine to take.”

Feeling drained by the conversation, Robert’s eyes dart back over to Aaron’s. “So why are you here?”

“Sometimes,” Hades says, with a tip of his head, “my wife likes to remind me that I’m a good person.”

There’s enough of a sneer on Hades’ face that Robert doubts it’s true, but he holds his tongue – and as much of the thought as he can.

“Whether that’s true or not,” Hades says with a pointed look, and Robert’s pretty sure he wasn’t successful. “Even I am not immune to certain things.”

Robert doesn’t want to ask.

“Like,” Hades continues, snorting, “the fact that every time he’s been on the cusp of death, there you’ve been, begging someone, anyone, not to take him.” Hades leans forward, fingertips against his knees, eyes smouldering. “Thanatos isn’t the happiest.”

Robert doesn’t know who the fuck Thanatos is, isn’t sure he wants to.

Hades continues, regardless. “There’s only one person I know of who has ever been as adamant as you to retain something they covet.”

“I don’t covet Aaron,” Robert snaps immediately. The frustration, rage and fear blend into something primal and angry, and his fists clench against the chair. “This isn’t – this isn’t some fucked up thing where I want Aaron, to keep him or have him just for me. He doesn’t deserve to die. Not while-“

He trails off, running out of steam.

Hades raises his eyebrows. “Not while what?”

“If you let me live,” Robert grinds out, refusing to look Hades in the eye, “and take him. That’s not fair. He deserves life more than I do.”

As soon as the words tumble out of his mouth, Robert feels the truth of them.

“Are you willing to bet your life on that?”

“What?” Robert says immediately, fear thrumming under his skin.

“I said,” Hades enunciates slowly. “Are you willing to bet your life on that?”

Robert can’t speak, mouth dry. He swallows, tries to get moisture back so that he can form words. “Yes,” he says eventually, voice croaking. “Yes.”

“Are you willing to bet his?”

“No,” Robert says immediately. He closes his eyes, jaw clenching. “It’s not my life to bet.”

Hades laughs and it sets Robert’s teeth on edge. “Look at me, Robert.”

Robert does, slowly, like he’s being forced.

“I have a proposition for you. I know how much you love a good deal.”

“Only if there’s something in it for me,” Robert says, before he can think about it. He really wants to stop this uncomfortable truth thing he has going on.

“Oh,” Hades tells him with a nasty grin. “There’s Aaron in it for you.”

Hell is... hell.

Robert appears at the gates clad only in his shirt and trousers, no shoes, and curses Hades under his breath. He doesn’t care if he’s not supposed to, or it will make things worse, he can’t even believe he’d agreed to this.

For Aaron, he keeps having to tell himself.

Hades can’t have him. 

The gates loom above him like a giant mouth, beckoning him into the depths. Crossing the threshold means this thing begins, that he’ll have to keep walking no matter what and –

Robert doesn’t look back over his shoulder. Just the noises are bad enough; crying, denials, the whispers of so many people. Robert’s read novels set in Hell that are just like this. He’s always taken it with a grain of salt, figured it was creative licence, but he wonders how many authors could have imagined the reality they created with words.

Skin crawling, Robert clenches his hands into fists and approaches the gates.

There’s a giant mass of fur and teeth sleeping metres away and Robert swallows down a scream when the thing rises up, shaking out three, huge and intimidating heads.

Aaron would fucking love you, Robert thinks hysterically.

Looming above him, there’s drool hanging from sharp teeth almost as big as Robert’s arm. One of the heads curls down, growling low in the throat.

Robert’s frozen to the spot, heart thumping double time in his chest.

There’s a rumble from the chest of the giant dog as it regards him with six flashing eyes. They watch him in turn, a shift of three heads that makes Robert’s bones creak in sympathy. Finally, with a huff and a bend of the head, the dog shifts out of the way of the doors, chains clinking together harsh and loud.

“Uh,” Robert says, digging his nails into his hands. He desperately wants this to be a dream, imagines waking up in bed with Aaron and telling him this story hysterically, tinged with fear and mania. “Thank you.”

The dog huffs again, reminds Robert of the dogs Aaron brings home from the RSPCA sometimes, the shuffle of their feet on the wooden floors of the Mill. The three heads are still watching him, an air of interest and he shudders at the attention, wonders hysterically if Hades feeds it enough.

“I don’t mistreat him,” Hades says, insulted, materialising at Robert’s elbow.

Robert doesn’t yelp, but it’s a near thing. He tastes blood as he bites down on his tongue.

One of the dog's heads howls, another drops saliva on Hades’ shirt, and the third nudges Hades with its muzzle.

“Settle down,” Hades says, sharply, waving an arm over the drool. It vanishes and Robert swallows. He feels so very, very out of his depth and he doesn’t like it.

“He’s,” Robert pauses, tries to find a suitable word, “big?”

Hades snorts. “He prevents people from leaving, he’d have to be.”

Robert closes his eyes, tries not to think about how easy it would be to turn tail and run now.

“Then I’d have Aaron,” Hades says simply and without preamble.

“No,” Robert says, just as quickly. He clenches his hands into fists. “I said I’d do this and I will.”

“Well, then,” Hades says, waving his hands at the gates. “Hell awaits.”

“The terms.”

Robert stares ahead, at the darkness currently shrouding Hell from his view. “I keep walking,” Robert starts, unable to focus on anything but the thud of his heart in his chest. It’s like you’re talking about a contract, he thinks. This is just a deal that you need to fucking win. Except the stakes – and the payoff – were so much more than Robert could handle. “I keep walking until I get to the lake where there’ll be a boat waiting to take me back.”

Hades nods, leaning casually against a pillar.

“I don’t look back,” Robert continues, words sticking in his throat. “He’ll be behind me, following me out of hell, but the instant I look back, he’ll vanish and he’ll-“

He trails off, unable to make himself say it.

“He’ll be mine,” Hades supplies. “His life for your inability to put his needs above your own.”

Robert’s hands are shaking. Breathing feels tight, every nerve in his body is alight. He thinks of Chas, of Katie, of everyone who’s ever said he’s not good enough for Aaron, that Aaron deserves better. He thinks of every time he’s thought it to himself, wondered if he could possibly be what Aaron needs. Aaron wants him, that much is certain, but can he – can he really do this?

Yes, he thinks viciously. He would.

“Let’s get this over with.”

Hades nods, teeth flashing in the darkness. He waves a hand, the darkness shifting and rolling – the only way Robert can describe it – out of the way, revealing a wide archway that filters into a garden.

“Is he behind me already?” Robert asks.

Hades grins, a horrible thing that Robert will never be able to shake. “Take a look.”

Robert huffs a self-deprecating laugh, peers past Hades to the spread of land behind him. “So that’s what I have to cross, huh?

“That,” Hades agrees, pressing a finger to Robert’s chest. “And whatever’s in here.”

Nothing, Robert thinks, though it’s a lie. “You just said I would have to walk.”

“I did,” Hades says. “But this is Hell, Robert. It was never going to just be a walk.” 

There’s a cold feeling in the pit of Robert’s stomach. He takes a breath, closes his eyes. “Fine,” he says. “For Aaron.”

Hades laughs. It’s awful. “The things you do for Aaron.”

I’d do anything. Robert doesn’t say it aloud, but judging from Hades expression, he heard it anyway. “So I just start walking?”

“Indeed.” Hades gestures behind him with a flourish. “Enjoy Hell.”

The instant Robert steps onto the grass, his feet warm. He blinks, staring down at his feet. No shoes or socks. He’s still wearing his blue shirt, still had his jeans on, though they’re still bloody dirty and torn from the crash.

Cursing Hades wouldn’t do much good. Both because he doesn’t want to suffer anymore than he already is, and because he’s not sure whether it would be a blaspheme when he’s standing in the guy’s domain.

There’s a headache blossoming behind Robert’s right eye and he really doesn’t want to have to think so much anymore so he concentrates on putting one foot in front of the other, ignoring the breeze curling around his body like a dark omen, and the eerie silence that surrounds this place.

He’d expected screaming, moaning. He’d expected more of what he’d found outside, so to have such a stark contrast with the silence and the sheer eeriness of Hell, he’s startled. Usually he savours silence, working with Adam and Jimmy in the same Portacabin, but he finds himself missing it; at least with the sounds of people, however irritating, you don’t feel so alone.

There’s the rush of the river.

Robert’s eyes keep flickering towards it as he walks, frowning at the blackness of the water. He’s never seen water that colour, or unnaturally still. Sometimes the stream under the bridge back home is calm, but never this still.

The more he watches it, the thirstier he gets. He can’t remember the last time he had something to drink – or eat – wonders whether time down here is the same as back home. He wonders if he’s just sleeping in the chair, if Aaron’ll wake –

With a lurch, Robert feels sick. He closes his eyes against that last thought. Aaron isn’t going to wake, not unless he gets through this and out the other side.

“Dammit,” he mutters.

The grass tapers off into a forest somewhere in the distance, and Robert’s pathetically grateful for the change of scenery. There’s only so much grass he can handle. Especially grass that seems so out of sorts with Hell. It’s greener than any he’s ever seen, and he grew up in the country, and it feels soft and welcoming against his feet.

Nothing is what it seems, and he’s probably going to need to remember that.

Eventually, the sight of the water to his left draws him closer, too thirsty to stand it any longer. He drops to his knees, shifting to the bank of the river and leans down, cupping his hands.

“I wouldn’t drink that if I were you,” someone says.

Robert recognises the voice instantly. Panicked, he closes his eyes, opens them –

- only to find himself on the edge of a precipice; Wiley’s, his brain helpfully supplies. Beneath him, the broken form of Katie. He feels sick, closes his eyes. “No.”

“I don’t remember it,” Katie says.

Her voice is the same. He wonders if she’ll look the same, but he can’t make himself turn. He clenches his eyes shut, takes deep breaths into his nose, lets them out slowly.

“I do.” Robert doesn’t know why he says it, why he opens his eyes and stares down at the water. He swallows once, twice. “Every second.”

“And yet,” Katie says, and Robert can see her in his periphery, crouching down next to him, “you wouldn’t take the blame for it.”

“No,” Robert admits quietly. Feels guilt and panic well up in his chest. He thought he was over this but he’ll never be free of it. Maybe – maybe he shouldn’t be, he thinks. Maybe that’s why it’s here, in his Hell. “The water.”

It’s a weak attempt at diverting attention while he tries to get himself under control.

He can feel the heat of Katie’s expression on his face, but thankfully she brushes a hand against the bank.

“The River Styx will make you forget,” she says. “Everything and everyone you know. You’ll damn yourself to Hell forever.”

“Hades neglected to mention that,” Robert says, tone dry.

When he looks to the side, Katie’s got a half-smile on her face, though it doesn’t reach her eyes.

“He also neglected to mention I’d have to-“

He doesn’t know how to finish the sentence. Hell is one thing. Having to acknowledge and talk to people that he can’t is something altogether different.

“That’s not Hades,” Katie tells him.

Robert snorts. “Who else would be that sadistic?”

“You,” Katie tells him without pause.

Katie doesn’t leave.

There’s no sound; she doesn’t breathe – of course she doesn’t – and she only talks when he engages her. Robert doesn’t know what the point of her being there is, except apparently to make his (after)life even more of a misery. Though he can’t imagine why he’d want to do this to himself.

Yeah you do. The voice in his head sounds suspiciously like Aaron. You like hurting yaself because you think ya deserve it.

“Dammit,” Robert breathes, wondering if it’s possible for him to be any crazier than he already is. Just a day ago he was in a car driving home with Aaron, driving this time, and the next he was ploughing into a tree, negotiating for Aaron’s life, and choosing a walk through Hell. He rubs a hand over his eyes. His headache is blossoming into something deeper and the thirst that’s been prickling his throat is growing increasingly loud. “I need a drink.”

“By all means,” Katie says, tone nasty.

“I bet you’d love that.”

They trail off back into silence and Robert feels the stirring of guilt in his belly. It stays with him the longer they walk, though the forest seems to be getting closer. Even if he’s not sure how time passes down here, he can be sure that distance is a concept that Hell adheres to.

A breeze curls around Robert’s ankles and he snorts. “Hell isn’t what I thought it would be.”

“Think about it often do you?”

Sometimes, Robert almost says, but tamps down on the word before it can escape. He glances sideways. Katie isn’t looking at him, her eyes on the forest up ahead, but Robert finds himself asking, “What’s it like for you down here?”

Katie’s surprised by the question and she rocks back on her feet for a minute. They keep walking, Robert’s eyes darting to the forest and only back enough to see Katie in the periphery of his vision. There’s a thrum of fear under his skin that just an accidental look will mean Aaron disappears forever.

“It’s not like this,” Katie says, gesturing at the grass and the trees. “I don’t know what I expected when I died.”

“People would be surprised,” Robert says, thinking of Harriet. It’s not – he’s not generally religious, but he can imagine how life altering this would be.

Katie doesn’t say anything else, but this time, the silence between them is comfortable.

“I’m sorry,” Robert blurts out, because it’s all he can say. He didn’t – he never planned for her to end up here, no matter what he might have said. He didn’t want her dead, loves her still in the part of himself he tries not to examine too closely, and the guilt is overwhelming. “This wasn’t what I wanted.”

There’s a pause before Katie nods. She doesn’t say anything, and Robert’s not entirely sure he could handle anything she did say, but it feels right to have said something.

“I’m glad it’s not this,” Robert says, nodding at the forest that looms ever present in front of them. Beyond that is the rest of it, the worst of it, and he’s glad that she, at least, doesn’t have to live it, even if he’s dragged her along for the ride.

The green or what Robert’s assuming is a meadow of some sort, feels so at odds with what he puts together with Hades and death that he’s not entirely surprised when it’s framed with a forest that’s black and twisted and dark.

He is surprised by the small garden that sits just outside of it; there’s flowerbeds with bright and beautiful flowers, cultivated and well-looked after, and there are two pomegranate trees either side of a small bench.

He’s caught momentarily on the trees – thinks of Hades’ wife and her preoccupation with pomegranates – and wonders if the garden is hers. As his gaze drifts upward, he sees someone sat on the bench, a woman, and his breath catches in his throat. Robert recognises her instantly. He’s had photos of her in his wallet for as long as he can remember, greyed and damaged, but no less treasured.

“Mum,” Robert says.

His birth mother. Pat.

“Hello Robert,” she says, as Robert approaches. Robert doesn’t dare look back to see if Katie’s following. If he does, he’ll see Aaron and he can’t do that, won’t do that.

Robert doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. Can he hug her? Does he want to? He’s not sure, but as soon as his feet carry him to the bench, he’s reaching for her, desperate for anything she can give him.

Pat envelopes him in a hug, and for the first time in his life, Robert hugs his mother close, breathes her in. He doesn’t realise he’s crying until she’s pressing a kiss to his temple, running a hand through his hair.

She feels real beneath his hands. Devastated, he turns his face into her neck.

“I never thought-“

“I’m here,” Pat whispers, pressing a hand to his face. It’s warm to the touch and Robert’s heart thumps loudly in his ears. Pat looks sad, but there’s a warmth to her that he revels in. He wonders why he chose to bring her here. “I’m proud of you.”

Robert abruptly pulls away, cheeks aflame. Guilt wars with the want to accept the praise. “You shouldn’t be.”

There’s an expression he can’t decipher on her face. “Why?”

“This is my fault,” Robert says, and feels the truth of it down to his bones.

“Robert-“

“Don’t,” Robert says immediately, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. “It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t, but I can’t do this.”

Pat’s expression is unreadable, but she nods at the forest. “So are we going in there, or aren’t we?”

“We?” Robert can’t keep himself from asking.

“You didn’t think I showed up here for a quick visit, did you?” Pat says, with a quirk of her lips. Robert thinks she’s pretty when she smiles, wonders why his dad never talked about her. “I’ll be with you, Robert.”

“We both will,” Katie says, though there’s nothing kind in the expression on her face.

Robert holds his tongue, knows better than to say why bother to her. Perhaps his mind conjured her up to cause him grief. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s heard her voice in his head when he’s been doing something dumb.

The forest might not look as inviting as the Mill, but it’s what’s waiting on the other side that Robert cares about then what secrets a forest might hold.

“Yeah.” Robert steels himself for what’s about to come. “We’re doing this.”

Robert’s feet hurt.

The forest floor underfoot is harsh, cutting into the flesh of his feet with every step. It’s painful, but he can ignore it if he concentrates on other things. On the sound of the wind whipping through the trees, of the sight of his mother on one side, Katie on the other. Of the phantom ache of wondering – hoping – if Aaron is walking behind him.

He wonders how far back he is; what he looks like, sounds like, feels like. Robert drifts as he walks, thinks of the hospital room with its sterile smell and the steady, rhythmic beeps and whines that alert him to Aaron’s state. The brush of his fingers against Aaron’s face, pleas for him to wake up. He thinks of Chas, of Vic and Diane and familiar faces all filtering through the room, assuring him everything would be fine.

“It’s not fine,” Robert mutters, clenching his hands into fists.

“What isn’t?”

“Any of this,” Robert says, throat thick with emotion. “Aaron shouldn’t even be in hospital and now I have to do this and – he should be fine. I should be the one who-“

“Robert,” Pat says. “Would he want you to blame yourself?”

Robert snorts. “No. That doesn’t mean I don’t feel it.”

Silence descends over them and Robert knows he has to say something, the words have been crowding in his chest since he saw Pat, desperate for someone who might not look at him with pity or worry or something else he doesn’t want to analyse. He thinks of Chas, who sat beside him, hand on his face, telling him she didn’t blame him. He thinks of the liar running around his head as he’d stared at her.

“It’s my fault he’s in hospital,” Robert says eventually, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the clearing barely visible amongst the trees. “We were driving, you’d think we’d learn, but we were coming home from Leeds. I had a stupid meeting and I took him with me because I just wanted to spend some time with him. We haven’t seen each other, or Li-“ Robert cuts himself off, deliberately doesn’t think of her name. “I just wanted to spend some time with him and someone cut us off at a roundabout. I couldn’t stop the car and we hit a tree.”

He remembers the impact, remembers the sirens and the screams and the sound of his name cutting off as Aaron was knocked unconscious. Robert remembers coming too, remembers fighting off doctors and nurses. He remembers Chas’ hands on him, her tears, brushing them off of his face. He remembers Vic holding him, listening to the doctors tell him to brace himself for the worst, throwing around words like coma and possible brain injury and words Robert doesn’t want to remember. It’s just like the last time and Robert’s skin itches with how desperate he is for Aaron to never end up in another hospital.

“He’s in a coma and if I don’t do this, if I can’t do this, he’s going to die.”

It feels so much more final when he says it aloud. He’s cold, feels the shiver run up his spine, and the nausea is back.

Neither Katie nor Pat say anything, and Robert doesn’t know what he wants them to say, or if he wants them to even acknowledge what he’s told them.

“I need Aaron to stay alive.”

“Need,” Pat asks. “Or want?”

“Both,” Robert says, without hesitation.

Robert’s feet ache.

Empty but for nightmares of your own making.

This was going to hurt.

As he descends the hill, Robert can’t stop taking in the sight of what Hell actually means for him.

Though the ground is baked, fire winding through the cracks and breaks in the earth like a nightmare, there are twisted structures and buildings as well. They’re familiar to him, places he’s lived, places he’s worked, places he never thought he’d have to face down again.

Everything reminds him of something he’d rather forget, and he knew when Hades said a hell of your own making that it would be things he thought he could avoid forever, things he’s not even comfortable talking to his counsellor about, but the implications are so much heavier.

So many mistakes pave the road to his Hell, and he’s not sure he wants to revisit one, let alone all of them.

As ever, the Styx is a comforting presence beside him, but it only serves as a reminder that Robert’s not drunk anything since he arrived. His stomach reminds him every so often that he hasn’t eaten either, and he wonders how long he’ll have to go without it. The large hand on his watch keeps flicking back and forth over the same second; time is at a standstill, and Robert’s vaguely hopeful that his hunger will do the same eventually.

His throat prickles again and he's determined, so focused on not drinking from the Styx that he doesn’t notice the twisted and gnarled branch sticking out of the ground before it catches his ankle and he goes sprawling. He slams his eyes shut as soon as he trips, refuses to open them even with the throbbing in his ankle and the grunt of pain as he hits the ground.

“Where’s the Styx?”

Opening his eyes before he reorients himself isn’t an option. If he risks looking before he knows which direction he's facing, he might look at Aaron and his stomach swoops at the thought, terrified.

“To your left,” Pat tells him, and he feels the ghost of a touch to his arm.

His hand slides against the ground until he feels the mulchy ground of the bank. He risks cracking open one eye, enough that he can see the river and breathes out a sigh, turns his head so that the buildings and fire plumes are back in sight.

A sob works its way up and out of his throat and he wants to sink back on the ground, to turn and look at Aaron. He misses Aaron viscerally, thinks that if he were here, things would be so much easier.

“I want Aaron,” he says, through gritted teeth. “I need-“

“The Robert I knew didn’t need anyone,” Katie says, somewhere behind him.

Robert’s blood boils. “I’m not the Robert you knew. I need Aaron. He-“

He trails off, doesn’t know what he wants to say. Aaron’s always been there, always been someone he’s clung to, wanted.

Katie crouches down next to him, fire and hesitation in her eyes. “If you want him that badly, you know exactly how to get him.”

Hell.

That’s what Robert has to do to get him. He closes his eyes, breathes out through his nose. It should be easy to push himself to his feet, to save Aaron. This is what he agreed to, what he needs to do.

“Maybe,” Katie continues, something mocking in her tone. “You don’t want to save him as much as you want to save yourself.”

“You’re wrong,” Robert growls out, fingers clenching in the dirt. Katie doesn’t know what she’s talking about. He loves Aaron more than he’s ever loved himself and he’ll be damned if he lets her put down what they have. “I can do this.”

When he pushes himself to his feet, his ankle protests, but he pushes through it, puts one foot in front of the other and keeps going.

For Aaron’s sake he has to.

It doesn’t take long for the path to lead him to his first obstacle.

It’s the farmhouse.

Robert swallows. His childhood was spent within its walls, remembers love and laughter and happiness. He remembers the pain; it’s the same as it ever was, only twisted and dark here in this place. He closes his eyes against the memories.

There’s his mum, Sarah, smiling as she placed breakfast on the table. Andy and Robert playing computer games downstairs. Robert reading to Victoria as she lay in bed. A farmhand with his last paycheck, cursing Robert under his breath.

There’s a scared fourteen year old boy, staring up at his father.

For having the audacity to not be the boy his father wanted.

“I don’t want to go in.”

Pat lays a hand on his shoulder, squeezes. “You can do this, Robert.”

“You weren’t there,” Robert snaps, more bite to his tone than he wants. Pat moves her hand, but Robert refuses to feel guilty. “He beat me for kissing a boy.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath from Katie. “Robert-“

“What?” Robert snaps, wants to turn to face her but can’t, just barely stops himself in time. “Don’t feel sorry for me now, Katie. I’m still the same person that killed you.”

There’s a telling silence, and Robert lets the anger fuel him forward, propel him into the house. He doesn’t want this, wants to turn around and look Aaron in the eye and let it all fall away.

But Aaron matters more than whatever Robert’s going to have face in this house. Aaron’s worth everything, and Robert’ll be damned if he’s going to let his father stop him now.

As soon as the door shuts behind him, cutting him off from Katie and Pat, Robert’s fourteen again, trying to act brave as his father looms over him. Shaking off the memories, Robert’s gaze filters over the rooms of the house; the kitchen, the living room, through to the back. There’s a sense of trepidation as he takes the stairs, an eerie silence in the house. He doesn’t know what he expected, but it wasn’t this emptiness, a lack of anything.

Except when he reaches the top step and he looks toward his bedroom, the door is already open the familiar frame of his father is outlined in the doorway.

Robert can’t make out what he’s saying, only the familiar cadence of anger as he takes another step in the room. Robert can see beyond him, to himself on the bed, shirt off, the farmhand’s hand down his trousers. The farmhand looks like a deer in headlights.

Robert’s breath comes out quickly, skin hot, panic thudding in his chest. He remembers what it felt like to sit on the bed, to feel the wrath of his father and not understand it.

Not until-

Jack tossing the farmhand out of the room, cursing.

Robert jumping off the bed, shouting.

The farmhand cursing Robert, racing down the stairs.

The sight of Jack’s hands on his belt, threading it out of his jeans.

Robert’s jaw clenches, his breath stuck in his throat. Jack advances on Robert, kicks the door closed, but Robert doesn’t need to see it to remember; the feel of leather on his skin, the sound it made as it whistled through the air. The words his father muttered. Apologies. Anger. No son of mine.

Robert felt sick then, feels sick now. He sinks down the wall, presses his forehead to his knees. He thought he was over this. Telling Aaron was a release, it was supposed to help, but it feels the same as it ever did.

The door opens and Robert looks up, startled. He remembers the weeks after, the anger at his father, the hatred for himself, the sheer confusion.

What he doesn’t remember his this;

Jack stands in the doorway, hands shaking as he puts the belt back on. Robert sees himself curled up against the bed, skin raw and red, his father’s voice shaky as he tells Robert to clean up and we won’t talk about this again.

Robert looks Jack straight in the eye, imagines Jack looks back. The door closes, though Robert doesn’t remember if that ever happened, how it could possibly have –

“I hate you for that,” Robert says, his voice raw, the phantom pain of a belt hitting skin. “You made me feel dirty in my own skin. You decided for him how things were going to be, even when you didn’t – gran told me how you didn’t wanna work on the farm, not at first. She told me and when I didn’t, you were just like grandad. Made out that it was – that I shouldn’t-“ Robert doesn’t know what he’s trying to say, only that the words tumble out, Jack frozen staring at him. Robert doesn’t question it, just tilts his jaw and keeps going. “I thought I couldn’t be me because me wasn’t what you wanted. It was Andy. I brought Andy home, you and mum adopted him, but he was my friend and you made it so hard to be his friend and your son. I just wanted you to love me.”

Robert’s voice hitches on the last word, but he stands his ground, makes himself say it.

“I just wanted you to love me.”

Abruptly the house around them coalesces into nothing, and Robert finds himself sitting on the scorches ground, Pat and Katie in the distance, Jack still standing above him.

Robert immediately slams his eyes closed, fingers clenching into fists. “Which way is back.”

There are hands on his arms – Pat, Robert thinks – as she lifts him to his feet, sets him straight.

“You can open your eyes,” Pat says gently.

Robert does so, slowly, orients himself. He tries to find a landmark, something that will set the right direction apart from back and decides upon the bastardised version of the Woolpack he can see in the distance. If he keeps that in sight, at least he’ll know he’s not risking Aaron.

His skin prickles with the awareness of someone else, though, and Robert’s breath comes quicker as he lifts his shoulders, tries to find the strength he’d had in the house.

“Robert,” Jack says slowly.

There’s something in his voice that Robert can’t make out, but it feels like too little too late.

“Dad.”

It’s something Robert’s wanted for so long; the chance to talk to his father, to ask all the questions that have been on the tip of his tongue this whole time, but now that Jack’s here, now that Robert’s said everything he has, he can’t make himself do it.

He’d thought Jack a vague memory, giving him the freedom to say whatever he needs to, but now. Now Jack’s a real – whatever the hell they are. Apparitions? Remnants of the people they once were?

Robert’s headache blossoms once again and he takes a second to sort himself out.

“Let’s go.”

“Robert-“ Jack starts.

“I think-“ Pat says.

“Let’s go,” Robert says again, tone brooking no argument, and ignoring the throbbing in his feet, starts walking towards the Woolpack.

Eventually the silence drags on to discomfort, making it harder for Robert to concentrate on anything else.

“What did you think would happen?”

Nobody answers.

“Did you think that I’d fall into line? That I’d want to live at the farmhouse and be just like you? Be the person you wanted me to be?”

Silence.

“If you want me to look at you, you’re gonna have to come up here,” Robert says, defiant. “I’m not risking Aaron because you want me to stare you in the eye.”

There’s a huff of breath and a beat before Jack slides up next to him. Robert doesn’t bother looking, just catches sight of the familiar cap in the corner of his eyes. It feels like too much, like not enough, and Robert doesn’t know how to handle the myriad of emotions crushing his chest.

“I don’t have an excuse,” Jack says.

Robert snorts. “Good. Not sure I’d accept one.”

He knows it’s hypocritical of him; the things he’s done are infinitely worse than his father’s at times, but he can’t help the emotions broiling under the surface, the resentment that wars with love in his chest.

“I just wanted you to love me,” Robert says again, echoes his words in the farmhouse. “I wanted you to want me.”

“I loved you.” Jack’s tone is as familiar as his cap, and if it weren’t for the words coming out of his mouth, Robert thinks he could probably sink into it, imagine his father was holding him, chin atop his head. “You were enough.”

“No I wasn’t,” Robert says, fingers clawing at the palms of his hands. You’re enough. He remembers saying it to Aaron, wondering if Aaron would ever say it to him. He’s never felt like enough, not for anybody. “You protected Andy, you loved Andy, you wanted Andy. You let me go to Spain, didn’t even fight for me. You didn’t care that mum was dead and I was dealing with that and then you beat me.”

Robert’s voice rings out on the last, anger colouring every word, and he feels the familiar rage, the guilt and the desperation to be good enough. He feels like a child again, he’s not prepared for this, curses Hades and Hell and everything under his breath.

“I wouldn’t even be down here,” Robert says again, anger lacing his tone, “if it wasn’t for Aaron.”

Aaron.

“He didn’t think you were that kind of bloke,” Robert says, sounding choked up. He remembers sitting in the wood, Aaron a comfortable weight next to him, unyielding in his love and protection. “Said I wasn’t a disappointment, even if I was to you.”

There’s a momentary pause.

“Aaron’s smart.” It’s not Jack, but Pat. “He sounds like he loves you.”

Robert latches onto the subject gratefully, mouth curving into a smile without having to think about it. “I love him,” he says, sidestepping his thoughts on Aaron’s feelings. “I knew – when we went over the Quarry, I didn’t want to not have him in my life. I’d been trying to ask him to marry me,” he diverts away from those thoughts, doesn’t want to dwell on the bad. “We’re engaged, supposed to be getting married soon. We even have a house.”

“You sound settled,” Pat says, warm. “Happy.”

“I am,” Robert says, lets it wash over him. “I didn’t think I could be, not with someone like Aaron. Not ever without – without money and trying to be someone I’m not. I tried so hard,” he says, unable to let it go. “I wanted to be someone you’d be proud of, Dad.”

Silence reigns, and Robert tries not to let it bother him.

The path – and the Styx – tapers sharply to the right and Robert follows it, eyes drifting over the buildings in the distance. Shadows flicker in the light of the flames and it feels not unlike the thoughts in his head; unable to distinguish one from another, trying to sift through feelings like files in his cabinet.

“I’m proud of you,” Jack says, eventually. They’re words Robert’s longed to hear for so long, but they’re tinged with guilt and distrust and a myriad of emotions pressing down on Robert’s chest. A hand curls around his elbow and Jack shifts around him, stands before him.

Robert lets himself look. His father’s not that much taller than him, not now, but it still feels like he’s a kid, cowering under his father’s frame.

“With everything I’ve done, everything I regret, the biggest was you.”

Robert closes his eyes, knows his father doesn’t mean he’s the regret, but he can’t help the way his mind works, can’t help the tumble of never good enough from reverberating around his head.

“Robert,” Jack says, firm, squeezing Robert’s arm. “I regret what I did, never you. Never you.”

Robert looks his father in the eye, opens his mouth to say something, but he doesn’t know what. He settles for nodding, swallowing thickly, and believing that what his father says is true.

“I have to keep walking,” Robert says instead, and notes the flicker of regret in Jack’s eyes that he can’t lose. “I can’t – I believe you, I just-“

“Jack,” Pat say gently, and Jack’s gone, leaving the expanse of Hell for Robert to assess and push on.

The quiet is as eerie as the landscape, and Robert feels tired right down to his bones. It’s like a steady ache, the headache is back with a vengeance, and Robert’s ankle throbs. He just wants this to be done.

There’s no sense of time passing, and Robert wonders what’s happening in Aaron’s room. Have people noticed there’s something up? Is he going to wake up just as he left? He can’t imagine everything just being in limbo, time standing still while he tries to be a better person and actually have it stick.

Something settles uncomfortably in his chest. Before Aaron, he thinks, it was all about what he wanted and nothing else. Now. Now he’s desperate to keep a hold of Aaron and makes mistakes because he can’t let him go, but there’s a huge part of him, vivid and wild and unchained, that wants to give Aaron everything, that would put Aaron first as long as it meant Aaron stayed with him.

His counsellor’s told him time and again that though the sentiment is good, the idea itself isn’t the right way to want things. Robert’s found it hard to shake. Even now, down here, he wants to save Aaron because he can’t imagine a life without him.

That’s selfish, isn’t it? To want Aaron to live for him.

Except it’s not just for him.

“I need to rest a while.”

His feet have been screaming at him to sit for as long as he’s been walking. He doesn’t wait to see what the others do; they’re here because he hates himself enough to conjour them up, apparently, so he sinks to his knees, settles with his back against a misshapen tree. The Styx is ever present, the crackle and snap of fire the only sounds above his own harsh breathing.

Closing his eyes, head resting against bark, Robert lets himself think of Aaron.

“I miss you,” he says, low, hoping nobody can hear him. Perhaps it’s not even loud enough to carry to Aaron, but he keeps talking anyway. Dropping his head forward, he lets it rest against his knees, fingers pressed into his hair, threaded through unwashed strands. He feels gross, tired and in pain.

You’re an idiot, he can almost imagine Aaron saying, grinning as he kisses Robert anyway, fingers running through his hair. Need a shower and a haircut though.

Fuck off. Robert’d smile, lean into the kiss and refuse to let Aaron leave.

Robert’s heart aches with the want of it, so much of him screaming out for just a touch.

“Fuck,” he curses, clenching his teeth against the urge to cry. He isn’t going to, not here, not now.

When Robert manages to talk himself into walking again, it’s not long before the ground wavers beneath his feet.

The Woolpack has faded behind a building with just as much history, with just as much impact on Robert’s life.

It’s the lodge.

The image of it is seared into Robert’s brain, into every fibre of his life with Aaron. What he did, the way he behaved. Worse, his mother and his dad and Katie – they’re all going to see this, see how he treated Aaron and he doesn’t want that, doesn’t need the vicious reminder of the person he let himself become.

“I’m not him,” Robert says, outside the door of the lodge. There’s the sound of a crash and Robert knows, knows, what’s happening inside. “I-“

“You can do this, son,” Jack says, hand on his back. It’s ghostly pressure, insubstantial, and it doesn’t help. Jack can’t begin to understand the twisted and dangerous, broken person he was in this moment.

There’s a flicker of something old in his chest, anger and fear self-hatred. He remembers wondering whether this was something he could do, something he could force himself to follow through on now, after everything he’s been through.

“Fine,” Robert snaps, lets himself fall back on irritation and old anger at his father to keep from thinking about what he might face inside the lodge.

He doesn’t know if Jack’s going to stick around, if Katie and Pat will follow him, knows that his subconscious wants him to suffer so they’ll be on his heels the entire time. It’s not a comforting thought, but he enters the lodge anyway, remembers, feels, sees everything he did.

Blood. Aaron. The phone.

The gun.

Robert’s breath is shaky as he steps into the room.

It’s the first time he’s seen Aaron in this landscape, since he was in the hospital room and Aaron was unconscious, close to death. Robert feels sick with how desperate he feels to see Aaron, the blood, the look on his face, the disgust and hatred. It doesn’t matter, makes something blossom in his chest and he hates himself for feeling it, for being desperate to drink Aaron in when it’s in this place, holding a gun, doing something he can’t even begin to imagine doing now.

Looking up, Robert sees himself, scared and angry and broken.

No excuse for what he’s done, not even to himself, but he’s heavily aware of his apparitions, of the coldness in the air.

“I would never have-“

Robert doesn’t know what to say, drops to his knees next to Aaron and imagines he can reach out, touch him. Take away everything he’s done to Aaron in the past. The gun currently wavering where it’s pointed at Aaron.

“I didn’t know what to do,” Robert says, and the pleas sound ridiculous and devoid even to himself. “I was scared and everything in my head was too much, I just wanted it to end. I would never-“

He can’t finish a sentence, feels the itch of regret and horror under his skin. How he could ever have been this person, someone who would be willing to put the person they love in danger.

If Paddy hadn’t come.

Robert knows with every fibre of his being that he wouldn’t have killed Aaron, that he couldn’t. He loves Aaron with everything he is, but to have done something like this, he can’t shake it and he wonders how Aaron can stand to look at him, let alone touch him and love him.

“I don’t know why he loves me,” Robert says quietly, the image before them freezing as he closes his eyes. He brushes a hand over the memory of Aaron, imagines himself touching Aaron now, in his hospital bed, being able to kiss him and hold him. “I love him, can’t be without him. He’s so comfortable as he is, not like me. I could never accept – I didn’t want to be me, and I wanted him, I always did, I just felt like I should want other things more. It mattered more than he did then, but now – now I can’t imagine my life without him in it.”

The words ring empty in the room, but when Robert opens his eyes, he’s back on the scorched ground, fingers hovering in mid air. The Styx is to his left, and he lets out a breath. He doesn’t know if Katie’s there, if Jack or Pat are still around. He only knows that his heart is breaking, that he never wanted to remember the lodge ever, but he can’t unsee it, can’t forget the look on Aaron’s face.

“I wish Hades had taken my life instead,” Robert says.

He’s begged for it so many times, in the car, when he’s been wallowing in self pity, every time Aaron’s been in danger. Why does he get to live when he’s done things like this and Hades wants to take Aaron from him.

“Aaron deserves better.”

Robert sits on the edge of the Styx, hands itching to curl around the water, to lift it to his mouth.

“You can’t drink that, Robert,” Katie says, calm. She’s back then, at least. She doesn’t mention the lodge, and Robert hates how pathetically grateful for that he is.  

“I can,” Robert says, digging the nails of his hands into his palms. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“And you thinking drinking from the Styx is going to help?” Jack’s standing on the edge of the river, looking out towards the vast, empty plain. He doesn’t say anything about Aaron, about the things Robert’s done. “Come on, son.”

“No,” Robert says, stubborn. He buries his head on his knees, takes a deep breath to calm himself down. “I already knew I wasn’t worth Aaron. This is just making me realise-“

There’s a worried silence, and then Pat’s crouching down next to him, resting her hands on his face and drawing his head up. “Realise what?”

Robert looks her in the eye and something in him shatters. He’s crying before he can stop himself, doesn’t even care that his father will think him weak, that Katie’s never seen him cry like this. “He’ll be better off without me. I hurt him over and over and-“

“He chooses you anyway, over and over again,” Pat interrupts. “He loves you, Robert, and he deserves the choice of whether or not to stay with you.”

“He’s walked away before,” Katie says.

Robert’s body stills. Aaron has, told Robert over and over, and Robert’s heard, he has. “Sometimes,” he says, sounding the words out. “Sometimes people don’t make the best choices for themselves.”

It sounds a hell of a lot like advice he should have given himself years ago.

Silence reigns once again as Robert leads them through the maze of bastardised structures and gnarled trees. Maybe this is what Robert looks like, inside. Isn’t a personalised Hell supposed to be like this? The very worst parts of yourself twisted into reality.

There’s the house he lived in after his father kicked him out, a rundown apartment in Leeds that’s seen better days. Visions of himself sitting in the mouldy studio flat, eating beans out of a can because the gas and heating weren't working again.

Tommy’s house in Scotland where Robert had run, tail between his legs, letting his brother stand him up and push him forward.

“I should have gone back,” Robert says, running his hand over the bed Tommy’d given him, the money Tommy slipped into his bank account buying him books and a laptop and everything he’d need to get himself back on his feet.

Pat’s face is soft, too much, and Robert ducks his head. “You found him.”

“Sandie too,” Robert says, chest tight. “I wanted – I didn’t know where else to go and they were good to me.”

Too good, Robert thinks, hates himself for the way he abandoned them, hasn’t spoken to them in years, can't even remember the sound of Tommy's laugh anymore. 

Another beat of unifentifiable time and Annie’s villa in Spain appears before him, sprawling and alive over there, here in Robert’s Hell, dark and empty.

“It felt so much better when I lived there.” Robert doesn’t look at his father, but wishes desperately to know what he’s thinking. “I didn’t want to be here, I wanted to be at home.”

Because of mum, he doesn’t say, but the words fall between them anyway.

“Robert,” Jack starts, and there’s a touch to Robert’s elbow. “I’m sorry.”

It should be enough but it isn’t. Robert lets out a slow breath. “She was good to me. I miss her. I haven’t told her that, don't remember the last thing I said to her. I think I sent her a Christmas card."

Tommy. Sandie. Annie. So many people he’s used and abandoned. So many times he could have said thank you, could have shown appreciation and didn’t.

Back outside and Robert peers up at the Woolpack, still looming large over them all. Robert knows he’s focusing on that because  there’s something darker beyond it, something he’s not sure he has the courage to face. The Woolpack has given him Aaron in ways he’d never thought he’d have, so he’s focusing on that, gives himself over to the memories as he slips away from Annie’s villa and back into the Emmerdale countryside.

Robert’s focus is a rhythm of keep going keep going keep going when Pat asks him how he met Aaron.

“I thought he was after Chrissie,” Robert says. “She was my wife,” Robert says, around regret. Someone else he’s hurt and ruined. “He told me he was gay and I-“

I wanted him. He was everything I wanted to be. I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

“I called him and pretending that I’d broken down. I just wanted to kiss him, couldn’t stop thinking about it. We kissed and had sex and it didn’t even matter that I was getting married, or what I had done. I wasn’t – I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Robert’s all too aware of Katie, remembers hating her for prying, for trying to expose him and Aaron.

“I wanted both, I wanted everything, and thought I could have it, but I – I wanted him. I loved him. I didn’t know I did,” Robert says, eyes darting from the side of Pat’s face and back to the Woolpack. “I was willing to let him go, to hate him if it meant I got to keep Chrissie and the money.”

It sounds so stupid when he thinks about what he has with Aaron now.

“I hate who I was, who I still am, but I’m trying.”

There’s strength in the words, but Robert knows he still has so far to go.

“I want to deserve Aaron,” he says, risking a full look at Pat. He’s expecting disappointment and anger, but instead there’s just understanding. He doesn’t know why she’s not angry, why she’s not judging him for this, but he isn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. She’s his mother, and even if he desperately wishes Sarah was here, that he could see her just once, Pat is here instead and she’s still his mother, sill carried and loved him.

“Mum,” he says, voice wrecked.

“Robert,” she says, hand on his arm.

“I love him,” he says, knows he’s said it over and over, but it’s no less true. “I just want him.”

“I know.”

When Robert turns back to the path, steels himself for closing the distance between himself and the Woolpack, he stands abruptly on the edge of a precipice, literally.

The quarry.

It’s worse, somehow, in Hell than it was back then. The water looks as black as the Styx, and the cliff walls are littered with bones. Robert feels sick, heart pounding.

“Not here,” he says, voice low.

Silence meets his words. Robert dares a look to the left and right, but there’s no sign of his father, mother, or Katie. He feels lonely for the first time, despite his irritation at his subconscious for drawing them forward.

Throat thick with the want to cry, Robert stares over the edge, down into the water. It looks foreboding, and the memories are as vivid as if it were yesterday;

The car crashing into the water, pain, Aaron’s panicked shouts, Robert’s fear, pain, being asked to leave.

Dropping to his knees, Robert’s fingers dig into the dirt. There’s something hot and wet on his cheeks and he screws his eyes up against the burn of tears.

Time stops.

Something warm wraps around his shoulders, and it’s almost as if there’s a ghost of breath on his neck, against his cheek. Robert hardly dares breathe.

Aaron, he thinks.

Oh god, Aaron.

The feeling disappears, but Robert imagines that he can still feel it, that it was Aaron.

“Please be behind me,” Robert says, voice shaking. He climbs to his feet, stares down into the abyss. He doesn’t know if he’s supposed to fall, or what’s going to happen, but there’s no way around it, not bridge for him to cross.

Aaron’s worth this, worth a plunge into the depths for the second time.

Gritting his teeth, Robert closes his eyes and steps off the edge.

Freezing water, the rush of blood, the shudder of pain.

His own voice, I’m not leaving ya, no!

Aaron’s voice, Robert, just go!

Having to watch Aaron sink and give up and release him.

Having to drag him from the water, shaking as he pressed life back into Aaron’s body.

The sound of a flatline, wondering if he was losing Aaron after getting himself sorted, figuring out that Aaron was it, his everything, the only thing he’d ever need.

Robert’s kneeling on the opposite bank, chest heaving, fingers digging into dirt.

Sobs wrack his body, the ghost of a touch on the back of his neck.

“I can’t do this,” he says, doesn’t even know if anyone’s listening. “I can’t, I can’t.”

Forehead pressed to the ground, Robert tries to get himself under control, but his heart is beating double time in his chest, and he can’t shake the look on Aaron’s face as he’d told him to leave, the sound of him telling Robert that he can’t watch him die.

Robert can’t stop crying, can’t stop shaking or heaving in breaths, can’t stop.

“Robert,” Pat says.

“Son.”

“Robert,” Katie snaps, kneeling beside him on the ground. “Stop panicking.”

“Fuck,” Robert starts, snarls angrily. “Fuck you.”

The look on Katie’s face is wry but not unkind. “Get up.”

“No,” Robert says, stubborn. He can’t.

“Are you going to give up now? After coming this far?”

“I can’t do this again,” Robert grits out, fingers flexing. “I can’t relive every moment of my life, every mistake, every time I got it wrong. I can’t. I already know I’m not good enough.”

Katie’s face softens, and the touch of her hand on his skin is welcome. “Who’s ever enough for anybody? What makes somebody worthy of Aaron, Robert?”

“Someone who’ll love him,” Robert says slowly, feels the words roll over his tongue without his control. “Someone who’ll treat him the way he deserves, unconditionally. Someone who wants him to be happy, who’ll give him what he needs and show him how much he deserves to live.”

The words seem to settle around him, sinking into the ground like a beacon.

“Aren’t you that?” Pat says, gently, kind and caring. Everything about her is so much a mother and Robert wants desperately to believe her. “Haven’t you been that for Aaron?”

“Not me,” Robert says. “I’ve hurt him, done things he doesn’t deserve.”

“What do you deserve?” It’s Jack that asks the question, crouching down next to Katie.

Robert closes his eyes. “Not Aaron.”

He can’t shake the thought and can’t work up the energy to stand up, to keep moving. He settles on the ground.

“What if he’s not behind me?” Robert says, eyes darting to the side, the best he can hope for aside from full on turning around.

“If you loved him half as much as you loved me,” Katie says, still crouched down next to him. “Then you’d trust that he was not matter what.”

Robert nods jerkily, closes his eyes as he curls up on the ground. He’s tired, but knows he’ll get an hour or two if he’s lucky. He faces forward, keep a rock to the back of his head. He can’t risk waking up and looking, refuses to wake up and have that be the reason he fails.

Jack’s sat against the edge of the Styx, talking quietly with Pat. Robert’s heart aches, shuts his eyes against the sight. He wishes viscerally that Aaron was here really. That he could touch him, kiss him. Curling tighter in on himself, Robert lets himself sink into it. He thinks about Aaron’s touch, the smile on his face, the exasperation when Robert does something he hates, or Liv’s messed up at school again.

Liv.

Robert’s deliberately not let himself think about her, but now that he has, he can’t stop.

What if he never wakes up, what if he fails and Aaron never wakes up. He doesn’t know what will happen to her, but his chest aches when he thinks about her leaving. Their relationship isn’t conventional, but Robert loves her, wants the best for her, and not just because she’s Aaron’s sister.

He’s crying before he can stop himself, hates himself for it. How many times is he going to do this? But he can’t fight it, gives himself over to the pain, the fear.

There’s a hand on his head, in his hair, familiar, but he doesn’t open his eyes to see who it is. Can’t. It feels too much like Aaron, feels too much like home, and Robert doesn’t dare.

Emmerdale is as familiar as ever;

Robert crosses the bridge, runs his hand over the wood and remembers Aaron standing here, remembers telling him I believe ya, and so will the courts, wrapping Aaron in his arms and wanting to be there, to give him everything he needed.

Keeper’s Cottage, and Robert’s heart seizes when he thinks about Vic. “You’d be proud of her,” he tells his dad, refusing to look at him. “She’s so good, the best of us. Better even than mum.”

It hurts, the memories of Sarah and their family, but Robert smiles through it, wraps his fingers tightly around the gate.

“I should have come home sooner.”

It echoes through his head, worse when he gets to Debbie’s house.

“I can’t remember the last time I spent time with Jack and Sarah,” Robert says. They’re his niece and nephew and he hardly spares a thought for them. Digging his nails into the palms of his hands, the door to Debbie’s house wide open. He knows what’s inside of here.

This isn’t his obstacle to overcome. This shouldn’t be something he’s bastardised in Hell.

“This isn’t fair,” Robert grinds out. “This isn’t mine.”

There’s an obvious silence behind him.

“Why do I have to go in here?”

The air around him seems to grow cold and Robert shudders, mutters under his breath as he walks up the path. Every step feels like one too many, the thought of what awaits him in that room.

Aaron colours every moment down here.

Robert stands in the living room, aware of Katie next to him, the press of Jack and Pat against his back.

Aaron’s on the sofa, crying. Robert’s perched on the arm, the line of his back stiff and unyielding.

“I can’t hear this again,” Robert says, gently.

Aaron cries, says, “he raped me,” and the ground shakes beneath Robert’s feet.

Heart pounding, Robert shuts his eyes against the memory. He felt helpless, still feels helpless. It’s the one thing Robert can’t do anything about, can’t do anything except just be. If Aaron needs him he’ll come, but more often than not it makes Robert feel useless, like he’s floundering without an anchor.

Gordon is written into Aaron’s every action and Robert doesn’t know how to make something like that better.

“Sometimes you can’t,” Jack says, and startles Robert’s eyes open.

“I don’t-“

“You were there for him,” Pat says, squeezing Robert’s arm. “You were what he needed right then.”

“He didn’t want it,” Robert tells her, remembers the days, weeks, months of confusion and being cast away only to be tugged back in. “I didn’t know what he wanted.”

Katie stands next to the Robert on the sofa, head bowed as Aaron confesses his story. “Maybe he didn’t either. He just wanted you.”

The Woolpack is finally there, big and bold and as alluring as it is frightening.

It’s taken an age, and if Robert could risk looking behind him, he’d wonder how much distance he’s actually covered. Instead, he pushes open the familiar door and tumbles inside.

Robert’s expecting something good and remembers too late that this is Hell.

Chrissie’s standing at the bar, telling everyone.

Somehow Robert’s managed to avoid Home Farm, managed to avoid having to face Aaron confessing everything to Chrissie.

Instead he gets this, Chrissie and Aaron unrelenting both in front of the crowd.

Robert’s life shattered at his feet, so many people, lovers, friends, family, all looking at him and he can’t escape, can’t get out from under the scrutiny.

Given the chance, if he had to this all again, he’s not sure he’s strong enough to go through it. If he changes one thing, two, would he get what he has?

Would he still have Aaron?

As his life unravels before the memory of himself, Robert presses his hands to the bar and stares down at a ring of condensation left over from a glass.

“For Aaron,” he says, mostly to himself. “I’d do it all again.”

Robert hopes, desperately and with everything he has left, that this is the end.

He knows it isn’t.

The ground flares bright with fire.

Robert clenches his hands into fists. “No.”

Jack’s face flickers next to him. There’s fear on his face, pain. Robert doesn’t know who it’s for. “You have to.”

“I can’t go in there,” Robert says voice high. The fire flickers, threatening, and Robert’s there again. Screams, the smell, the fear. “Don’t make me go in there, dad.”

Jack’s pain is all for Robert. He touches Robert’s face, gentle, the way he never was when Robert was alive. “I’m sorry, son.”

“Please,” Robert says, a sob more than a word.

Jack’s touch tightens, and he pulls Robert in, buries Robert’s face in his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

Robert can’t do this, he can’t. Not even for Aaron. He can’t – he can’t do this.

“I believe in you,” Katie says, and Robert pulls back from his father to look at her. She’s unwavering, chin titled. “You’ve faced all of that,” she says, jerking her head behind Robert’s shoulder. “You can do this.”

“I can’t,” Robert says immediately.

There’s a soft sound from Robert’s left, and then Pat’s got her hands on his face, keeping him from looking back. “Not now.”

“I want it to be over,” Robert says with a sigh.

“You’re so close,” Pat reminds him. “Just one more border to cross.”

It’s one border too many. Robert deliberately didn’t think about it, didn’t want the realisation of what facing his demons actually meant. Not this. Never this.

Pat pauses, then her eyes harden. “Did Aaron face down Gordon in court?”

“What does that-“ Robert starts, and then stops. He closes his eyes. Aaron, who had spent his life terrified of Gordon, was in court. Aaron, for whom Gordon would always be there, looked a court in the eye and told them everything. Aaron, who Robert himself as hurt over and over, forgives him time and again. Aaron, for who Robert would die, was brave.

How could Robert do any less than this to save him?

The barn flickers with fire, dark and foreboding, and Robert doesn’t let himself think;

He pushes open the door and steps inside. 

It’s paralysing.

The fire licks up against the barn walls, the pillars, the hayloft. The smell is overpowering, acrid smoke and burning hay. The sound of fire cracking, of things falling, of his mum’s voice, screaming for help, for Jack, for anything.

Robert stands in the middle of the barn and shakes.

It’s like every nightmare, except he can’t wake up.

He’s rooted to the spot, can’t take a step forward, can’t look back. He’s breathing harshly, like every breath he takes physically scrapes against his throat. Hands shaking, body wracked with tremors.

Move, Aaron snaps in his ear. Rob, come on.

Robert can’t.

This, then, is where it all ends.

He could look back, it would be so easy.

He could escape this, could stop everything if he just turned around and looked at Aaron.

“Robert.”

When Robert raises his head, Sarah’s standing in front of him. Robert’s chest aches for a whole different reason.

“Come on, Robert.”

“I can’t.” It seems like the only two words he’s been able to say, the only words he can feel.

“Yes, you can.”

Robert’s aware vaguely of his mum screaming, of her crying and dying, but he can’t look away from the ghost of his mum, the transparency of her.

“I don’t understand what I have to do.”

Sarah smiles sadly. “Live it.”

“No,” Robert says, but he still can’t move, can’t escape.

The screams are tapering off and Robert can’t look, can’t imagine what Sarah’s feeling, experiencing.

“Were you afraid?”

“Yes,” Sarah says, and Robert’s heart lurches. Taking a step forward, Sarah holds up a hand, presses it to Robert’s chest. “I thought of your father, of you and Andy and Vic. I wanted-“

“I wanted to go with you,” Robert says, sounding every inch the fourteen year old he’s never been able to move away from. “I wanted to be with you and not dad, and then this.”

A tear runs over Sarah’s cheek, then another. “If I could have taken you with me,” she says, voice breaking on the words. “I would have.”

Robert knows, has always known, but that just makes it worse. “I missed you so much.”

Sarah steps closer still, wraps Robert in her arms. It’s not enough, nowhere near enough, but it’s everything Robert’s wanted for so long. He can move, his mother’s screams no longer audible, the sound of sirens and shouts from outside. Robert buries his face in the curve of Sarah’s neck, imagines it real and solid beneath his skin.

“I don’t know what to do.”

“You’re doing it,” Sarah tells him softly, running a hand through his hair. “You’re so strong, Robert, you just have to let yourself feel it.”

I can’t. Robert won’t say it, not again.

Sarah presses a finger to Robert’s chest. “You don’t think you can be what Aaron needs, but you have been, this whole time. If you’re solid and real, if you’re everything you wish you could have had, it’s more than enough.”

Robert licks his lips, closes his eyes tightly against the thought. “I don’t feel like enough.”

Sarah lets out a soft sound, and when Robert pulls back, looks her in the eye, she gives him a wry smile. “Do you think, perhaps, that Aaron feels the same?”

It’s not something Robert’s ever thought about, isn’t sure he wants to start, but it’s something.

“Don’t go,” he says, just so he doesn’t have to think about how broken and untethered he feels. “Mum, I can’t do this if you’re not-“

“I’ll be here,” Sarah says, running a hand over his cheek. “Only as far as the lake.”

It’s not enough, isn’t what Robert wants, but this isn’t his domain, this isn’t anything he has any amount of control over, and he nods. Any time he can spend with her, drinking her in, savouring every second so that when – if, if, if – he manages this and wakes up, he’ll be able to remember these precious moments, even if she’s not real, not whole.

Taking a deep breath, watching Sarah step away, Robert heads for the back of the barn, wood burned and broken in the fire.

As he steps outside, everything falls away Pat, Katie, Jack, the barn, leaving a graveyard stretched out ahead, one Robert’s spent so much time in. Only this time, Sarah's right next time him, her arm brushing his, and he's so grateful, so relieved to be able to have her, even if it's fleeting.

Headstones are cracked and broken, the ground parched and hard underfoot. Sarah’s at his side, an ever present comfort. Not being able to say goodbye to Jack, Pat and Katie isn’t fair, not after everything, but Robert’s done so much, just wants to be free, and while he regrets it, he just wants this to be done.

Sarah says, “come with me,” and leads him to one of the headstones. He could have found it without her, has seen it so many times over the past few years, has spoken to it more than he cares to remember.

Sarah Sugden.

“Mum,” he says.

“I love you, Robert,” his mum tells him, the ghost of her hand against his cheek. “I’m so proud of you for what you’ve done, the man you’ve become.”

“I don’t-“

He doesn’t know how to begin saying everything he wants to. The moments they shared in the barn don’t begin to cover how he feels.

“I know everything,” Sarah says, leaning forward. He imagines the kiss to his forehead real and soft. “I’m watching, Robert. I’ll always watch you. You and Victoria and Andy. I’m always there.”

“I love you,” Robert says, the words raw. It’s too much, overwhelming, and letting out a breath, his feet stumble and he finds himself dropping to his knees in front of her headstone. He can’t make his mouth work, fingers clenching in the dirt. It’s so close, he just has to get in the boat –

He feels the ghost of arms around his neck, a brush of familiar, and he chokes out a sob, feels tears hot on his cheeks. He’s done it, he made it, he managed to save Aaron and he’s –

He turns his face, forgets too late to close his eyes –

There’s Aaron’s face –

Aaron’s eyes –

His smile –

Aaron –

Robert opens his mouth and says, “No!” the instant before everything coalesces around him and Robert’s falling, heart lurching, a scream dying in his throat, the echo of Hades' laughter as he –

Robert wakes up, scream erupting from his chest.

He’s aware that he’s in a hospital bed. He sees Vic, Liv, Chas. He feels the tug of wires as he thrashes, hears the beeping of the machines in the back of his mind, but all he’s aware of is Aaron. Of looking and hurting and he’s failed.

“I looked,” Robert yells, head tipped back against the pillows. Tears make his throat thick, fingers shaking as he pulls at the wires, his gown, any inch of skin he can reach. “I made it, I did and he’s gone and I-“

“Robert!” Someone’s shouting, maybe Vic or Liv or Chas, but Robert doesn’t care.

He lurches forward. “I want Aaron,” he shouts it over and over as the door opens and more people tumble in. Robert doesn’t want them, wants Aaron, he did so much, he walked, he was doing this to save Aaron and at the last minute he –

“I didn’t mean to,” he says to Chas, whose wide eyes and hand pressed to her mouth make him feel worse. “I didn’t mean to kill him.”

“Robert-“ Vic starts, hand outstretched, shaking.

“Don’t touch me,” Robert says and by the door there’s a flash of a beard, familiar eyes and Robert needs to get out of bed to see if it’s Aaron, he can’t be here anymore.

There’s a huge pit of grief bursting in his chest and he can’t stop saying sorry, apologising, asking for Aaron over and over. It’s a mantra, something he clings to, but he knows Hades has Aaron. Took his soul because Robert looked, because in that moment of victory, Aaron was there and he wanted him so desperately and he failed.

Robert lets out a sound, something inhuman and broken, and the last thing he sees as he’s sedated is the look on Liv’s face, horrified and worried and angry, and he wonders if she’ll ever forgive him for this.

The next time he wakes, the room is silent and empty.

No. Not empty.

Hades is sitting in the chair next to Robert’s bed, leg folded over the other, a magazine about fishing propped up on his knee.

Robert’s voice dies in his throat and he feels like the first time, immobile and helpless.

“I wondered when you’d wake up,” Hades says, flipping the magazine closed.

Robert doesn’t know what he’d say if he even could. There’s hatred burning under his skin, sorrow and grief and anger. He was so close.

“If it helps,” Hades says, eyes burning into Robert’s. Robert doesn’t think it would take his magic and abilities to be able to read the emotions Robert’s currently experiencing. “Nobody who’s followed the path of Orpheus has ever managed to accomplish the task. They’ve never made it to the end.”

That doesn’t fucking help. The words die before they can even start and Robert closes his eyes against the burn in them. It doesn’t help, makes everything worse.

Hades shifts in his seat; Robert can hear the shuffle of material against the plastic chair. “Robert look at me.”

Helpless, Robert does, unable to relinquish the grief still wound tight around everything he is.

“The graveyard where you looked at Aaron-“

Robert lets out a noise of protest. Don’t remind me I failed, don’t.

“You didn’t fail,” Hades says, and for the first time, his expression is soft and yielding. “I said nobody who’s followed the path of Orpheus as ever made it to the end.”

“I didn’t,” Robert says immediately, finding his voice working. It’s raw and used, feels scratchy even against his throat. “I looked at Aaron.”

“The graveyard is neutral ground,” Hades explains slowly, but Robert doesn’t get it, doesn’t understand. “My powers ended the moment you stepped into it, the moment Sarah led you to her headstone.”

Mum, Robert thinks. He remembers the smile she’d given him, the promise that she’d always be there. She knew. Somehow, she knew.

“Indeed,” Hades says. He sounds amused. “You’ve won, Robert Sugden.”

It should feel like a victory. It should be everything, but Robert can’t make sense of the emotions currently swirling around his head. “What are you-“

Hades waves a hand, gives Robert a bright smile. It’s almost as terrible as his malevolent one. “I’ll be seeing you around, Robert.” He leans in closer, lips close to Robert’s ear. “But not for a long while yet.”

Robert turns his head, but Hades has already disappeared. Before he can figure out what the hell is going on, whether that means Aaron’s alive or he’s being messed with or-

The door opens slowly, and Robert looks up, sees Liv.

“Liv,” he croaks, voice sounding awful.

“Robert,” she says, crying and looks behind her.

Vic and Chas.

Robert’s heart aches and he closes his eyes, licks his lips. “Aaron.”

“You’ve been sleeping a long time,” Vic says gently, tears on her face.

Hades lied, Robert thinks.

“No, tell me he-“

Something flickers in Chas’ eyes, a tug of a smile at Liv’s mouth. What-

“Robert.”

Aaron.

Robert lurches forward, tugging at wires attached to skin, but he doesn’t care. He’s crying, saying Aaron’s name over and over.

Aaron pushes past his sister, past Vic, and gathers Robert up in his arms. It’s overwhelming; Aaron’s wearing his hospital gown, smells of antiseptic and disinfectant and it’s awful and so, so good.

Robert buries his face in Aaron’s neck, apologises, doesn’t know what he’s doing, clawing at Aaron’s back, trying to get him closer.

“Hey,” Aaron says gently, lips brushing Robert’s temple, his cheek, his ear. “I know what you did, Robert, I was there, I love you.”

Throat thick with tears, whole body wracked with tremors, Robert can only hold on. His feet ache even now, hungry and thirsty, emotionally drained beyond comprehension, but he refuses to let go of Aaron, even at the touch of Chas, of Vic and Liv crowding close. Aaron brushes a hand through his hair, murmuring, “I’m here, you did it, it’s okay.”

“I looked-“

“I know,” Aaron says, brushing a hand over Robert’s cheek, wiping away the tears. “What ya did, Rob. I can never forget it, right?”

“I love you,” Robert says, and he knows they’ll be forced to explain, somehow after this is done, but for now Robert looks into Aaron’s eyes and drowns, fingers clutching at his sleeve. “I had to, I couldn’t lose you, couldn’t-“

“I couldn’t lose you,” Aaron tells him, and everything is worth it to have him here, to see him alive and smiling and have him touch Robert.

Later, when they’re left alone and the nurses have promised them an hour, Robert has his ear pressed to Aaron’s chest, revelling in the stead thump of Aaron’s heart.

Aaron’s hand is running through his hair, scratching lightly at Robert’s scalp and it’s like everything coalesces into this one moment.  

“I almost turned around so many times,” Robert says, and then curses himself.

“I know.” Aaron’s grip is still soft, still present. “I was there, Robert, every step.”

“You saw everything?”

It’s a terrifying thought; there are so many parts of Robert that he doesn’t even want to face, let alone have Aaron see.

“I love ya,” Aaron says, softly. He presses gently against Robert’s chin until he looks up, meets Aaron’s eyes. “We’ll talk about it later.”

Robert doesn’t want to, can’t imagine he’ll ever want to relive Hell or Hades or any part of it, but if Aaron wants to he’ll –

“Only if you want to,” Aaron says, eyes knowing.

Robert snorts. “Never.”

“I’ll listen,” Aaron tells him anyway.

Robert doesn’t know if he ever will want to talk about, but he can’t know the future, can’t even trust that he really knows the past. “I’d do it again.”

Aaron looks pained, fingers curling tight against Robert’s neck, his cheek. “I don’t deserve ya.”

“Don’t say that,” Robert says, echoes of deserving too raw and open. “Please.”

“Alright.” Aaron presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t leave,” Robert says, unable to stop himself.

“Never,” Aaron replies, pulling Robert back into a hug. “I promise ya, I’d do what you did a thousand times over.”

Robert lets the words wash over him, sinks into Aaron’s hold, and thinks, worth it.