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“Why are you doing this, Aesop?”
Victor’s voice was hoarse, cracking from overuse as he looked up at the embalmer. Aesop didn't turn to face him, still inserting a nail into some sort of device.
Victor had long given up on struggling. He had fought wildly, at first. When he woke up strapped to an operating table, every muscle in his body had screamed at him to fight, to run, to get out of there. He’d pulled at the restraints on his wrists until the skin was rubbed raw, inflamed and oozing blood onto the table below him.
Now there was cotton padding wrapped around his wrists and ankles, and he was no further from where he’d started.
At least, some part of Victor’s brain thought, Aesop was kind enough that he didn't want Victor to be in pain. It was sweet, in a way.
“Shh, my Victor. All that screaming couldn't have been good for your voice. You'll get a sore throat if you keep talking.” Aesop moved to stand over Victor, gazing at him with a spark of warmth in his eyes. Aesop didn't look at anyone else like that, Victor knew. The gentleness, the kind gaze, it was only for him.
Victor wondered if Aesop was capable of feeling love.
“Aesop… I want to leave.” Victor said shakily. Aesop tilted his head curiously.
“For what?” His perplexed expression looked genuine. Victor faltered, at a loss for words. How could he explain the most basic of human desires to someone who had none of his own? How could he explain wanting to live to someone who saw such beauty in death?
Victor wished he saw it like Aesop did, in a way. He wished he could see that magic in the end of a life, he wished he could face the end as fearlessly as Aesop no doubt would.
But he was not Aesop, and he was afraid.
“I have… I have my job. I love my job. And I love Wick. She’d miss me too much.” Victor hesitantly explained, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. He’d already cried every last tear he had, or so he thought. His face was no longer stained with the tear tracks, not since Aesop carefully wiped them away with a handkerchief, but the feeling still remained. Turns out, he did have more tears left in him.
He thought about Wick’s barks of delight when he came home. As much as he wished he were crying thinking about how much Wick would miss him after he died, he wasn't. Selfishly, he was crying at the thought of never getting to see her again.
“Oh, you don't need to worry about that. Wick had a lovely death too.”
Victor didn't say another word, but a small piece of his heart shattered into irreparably tiny pieces.
“I let her have as many treats as she wanted. I made sure she didn't feel any pain. I even pet her as she drifted off.” Aesop continued, stepping backwards until he was out of Victor’s sight. Victor wished he had energy left to struggle, to be angry, but he only let out a defeated sob.
“You may die in peace, knowing her death was less painful than yours will be.” Aesop murmured, more quietly than before. Victor closed his eyes, body going boneless as he surrendered himself to the peaceful darkness. Some part of the oppressive fluorescent light seeped past his eyelids, but he ignored it. He wanted to pretend this was all nothing but a nightmare.
That had to be it. He would just close his eyes, and when he awoke, Wick would be licking his face to wake him up, punctual as always for his morning deliveries.
“Why does my death have to be painful?” Victor asked, hearing the clink of something metal being picked up behind him.
“... It shouldn't be. I should've just drugged you and ended it quickly. You deserve that much, a death without any pain or fear or suffering.” Aesop sighed, sounding genuinely regretful. Victor frowned, but didn't respond.
“Selfishness. That's why I'm doing all this. I am selfish, and want to know as much of you as possible before I let you go. I… I care for you, Victor. More than I have cared for anyone.” Aesop’s voice was tinged with more hesitance than Victor had ever heard from the decisive embalmer.
“Then why do I have to die at all?” Victor murmured, his voice sounding even to him like that of a scared child. Victor was not a child, and he was not as scared as he should be. Against his better judgement, he felt comfortable. Safe. Secure. He felt protected under Aesop’s watchful eyes.
“Oh, my lovely Victor. You will die regardless. You will always die, whether it is tonight or in sixty years. You cannot do anything about that. You have always been living on borrowed time.” Aesop placed a bitterly cold hand on Victor’s cheek, and he leaned into the touch. Human hands were not supposed to be that cold. Then again, Victor had never considered Aesop someone who did what he was supposed to.
“If I let you die in sixty years, you will suffer so much more. You will experience pain, your bones will become porous and break at the slightest touch. You will lose your memory, and die as the faintest shadow of your former self. Maybe you will die loved, surrounded by family or friends or well-meaning strangers, but maybe you will not. That's a risk I cannot take. I’d hollow out my own chest before I let you die alone.” Aesop murmured. Victor felt a bud of warmth bloom in his chest, nestling comfortably between his lungs.
Of course. Aesop was doing this because he cared.
“Instead, I must die tied to a table, away from my dog and everyone I have ever known.” Victor whispered, so quietly he didn't think Aesop could even hear it.
“Don't be afraid of that, I’ll untie you before it’s over. You think I’m some kind of monster. I’m doing this for you, not to you.” Aesop responded. Victor opened his eyes open for a second, seeing Aesop standing over him. The prospect of being freed from the table was enticing enough to draw his attention, even if he knew Aesop likely had the doors locked.
“And you will not die away from everyone you have ever known. You will die safe, warm, in the arms of the person who loves you most in the world.”
Victor stared at Aesop in shock. That was the closest the sordid embalmer had ever come to saying he loved anyone or anything at all.
And of everything in the world, it was him that Aesop loved. The thought made the corners of his lips tilt upwards in a half-smile.
“I love you too, you know.” Victor met Aesop’s eyes, which quickly flickered away from him.
“Victor… Please don't make this more difficult. You… You don't know how much this hurts me.” Aesop choked out, a white-hot stab of real emotion bleeding out through his voice. Against his better judgement, Victor felt a pang of sympathy. Grief was painful, agonizing like flesh being sliced right down to the bone.
He thought about Wick for a brief moment, pulling away from the thought like it was a hot iron.
Perhaps Aesop was right, doing this as a mercy. When he died here, Victor thought wistfully, he would never feel that grief again.
“You didn't kill me in my sleep, Aesop. You went through all the trouble of tying me down and locking me here so you could tell me exactly what you were going to do. You wanted to hear me talk.” Victor frowned, twisting his arms to ease the ache that was beginning to build up in them. He hadn't been here for very long, an hour or two at most, but already stiffness was starting to settle into his joints.
“I wanted to talk to you.” Aesop corrected.
“Without me responding?” Victor asked, his frown deepening.
“Yes. There is a sort of freedom in helplessness. It makes the inevitable more comfortable, when you know you cannot change it. I have dreamt of that freedom for years, and it is the only gift I can possibly think to give you in your final moments.” Aesop said matter-of-factly, finally standing at the side of Victor’s table. A strange metal implement rested comfortably in his hand.
“What is that?” Victor eyed the tool warily, dread churning in his gut. Aesop’s eyes glinted.
“Your freedom.”
Victor wasn't sure if he wanted that freedom.
“Do I need to strap your neck down for this? It will hurt quite a lot, even more so if you can't hold still.” Aesop asked, not a hint of sarcasm in his tone. Victor paused to contemplate the question. It wasn't like refusing altogether was an option, anyways. He wasn't going to waste his energy.
“I can stay still.” He finally answered. Aesop smiled, the motion eerie on his pale face. The smile was just slightly too wide, as if it would split his entire jaw off.
“You are brave, Victor. Shall I tell you what this is for?” Aesop held the tool up so Victor could see it clearly. Victor nodded, not trusting his voice not to waver.
“It is a sort of nail gun. It’s used when embalming a body to wire the jaw shut. I use this to inject short nails into the upper and lower gums, above and below the canines. After the nails are embedded in the skull, I wrap a wire from the upper nail to the lower one and tie the ends around itself. With a corpse, this makes it so its jaw won't open during the funeral. For you… This is so you won't need to worry about what to say.” Aesop combed a hand through Victor’s hair, and Victor smiled even as his stomach churned.
“What should I do if I want to say something, then?” Victor’s stare flickered back towards the nail gun, eyeing it apprehensively.
“Say it now.” Aesop said simply. He held Victor’s head down to the table, pulling back his lip and pressing the nail gun to the gums above his top row of teeth. Victor inhaled sharply, squeezing his eyes shut to brace for the pain.
The click of the instrument was entirely drowned out by Victor’s scream as he felt the nail drive into bone. Splitting pain reverberated through his entire skull, pulsating out from where the nail pierced his gums. Aesop wore a look of professionalism, concentrating solely on his task as he loaded another nail into the gun.
He repeated the process with the lower gums, then did another set of two nails on the opposite side of Victor’s mouth, and Victor couldn't remember at what point his broken screams finally gave out and he slumped weakly back on the table. The pain was unlike anything he’d ever felt before, and deliriously, he tasted tangy iron and he wanted Aesop to hold him, to take him away from this and just hold him. It hardly even registered that Aesop was the one still holding the nail gun, still soothing him in low tones with words he couldn't understand over his own crying.
The pain numbed after what seemed like forever, replaced with a dull throbbing that echoed through his head like an earthquake.
“Oh, my Victor. My lovely Victor.” Aesop whispered, pressing his forehead to Victor’s briefly.
“I love you, Aesop.” Victor managed, each word horrifically painful around the nails in his mouth, and it didn't matter, because Aesop was going to wire his mouth closed and he had to say it now.
Aesop breathed heavily as he set down the nail gun, picking up a length of wire and returning to Victor’s side.
“I love you, I love you, I love you—” Victor repeated like a mantra, his frenzied words tapering off into a groan of pain when Aesop started to fasten the wire, aggravating the puncture wounds. Aesop pressed his mouth closed, and Victor didn't struggle as Aesop tied the wires, not even as he stepped back and the throbbing in Victor’s mouth plateaued at a persistent ache.
He tried to open his mouth, unsurprised as the resistance of the wires kept it securely shut and fresh pain bloomed through his jaws.
Victor was not as upset at this as he should've been. He said what he needed to say, and he didn't need to say anything more. There wasn't anything more to say, anyways.
Perhaps this was the “freedom” Aesop had described.
“I promise, it'll stop hurting soon enough. I just have one last thing to set up.” Aesop reassured Victor, moving out of his visual range.
Victor tried not to think about the finality of death as Aesop returned to his sight, holding two syringes, both filled with clear liquid.
“This one is fast-acting. It’ll put you to sleep instantly, no pain or anything. This one takes a bit longer to kick in, and it’ll hurt quite a bit, but you'll be conscious right until the end.” Aesop held up each syringe as he described them, and Victor nodded in understanding.
Aesop sucked in a deep breath, as if unsure for a split second.
“I will let you decide which one I inject you with, and which one I give to myself.”
Victor jolted in surprise, meeting Aesop’s lowered gaze. The question was apparent in the look in Victor’s eyes.
Aesop sighed deeply.
“If you must know why… I suppose it is because I could not imagine myself being alive without you. This way is better, I suppose. I, too, will be freed from the uncertainty of a natural death.” Aesop explained slowly, as if the words scraped at the inside of his throat coming out. Victor nodded. He understood.
He would not want to be alive without Aesop, either.
“Which one do you want to take, my Victor?” Aesop held the two syringes, and it took Victor barely a second to nod his head towards the second one. Aesop nodded in understanding.
“You think I cannot handle pain. You take it for me, as you always have done.” Aesop stated, like it was an irrefutable fact. Victor smiled weakly.
Without another word, Aesop set the syringes down and undid the straps holding Victor in place. As soon as Victor was freed from the restraints, he sat up on the surgical table, gesturing for Aesop to sit beside him.
Aesop picked both syringes back up and took his place by Victor’s side, quickly sticking the needle into his own vein and injecting the liquid.
Victor held out his arm, trembling slightly, and Aesop gave his hand a comforting squeeze before taking the other syringe and aligning it. He administered Victor’s injection with much more care than his own, sliding it into the vein so smoothly Victor hardly noticed the pain. As soon as he removed the needle, he pressed his lips to the spot, kissing it gently. He pulled away, a smear of Victor’s blood on his lips and a tired look in his eyes.
“I… I need to lie down. It’s working already. It’s almost time.” Aesop murmured, slumping down in Victor’s lap. A warmth spread through Victor’s veins, gentle and sweet, not the slightest bit painful.
He ran his fingers through Aesop’s hair the same way Aesop had with him earlier. He hoped it brought Aesop the same comfort it had brought him.
“I love you… Victor.” Aesop sighed softly, his breathing slowing to the rhythmic pattern of sleep. Victor didn't have to speak for Aesop to know what he said in return.
He held Aesop tightly as the embalmer’s breathing slowed, each breath more shallow than the last, before after one final breath out, it went silent.
Looking down at Aesop’s lifeless body in his arms, Victor realized why Aesop had told him it would hurt.
Victor had no desire to speak, to undo the careful wiring in his mouth just to tell the empty room how much he loved Aesop. Perhaps the room already knew such things, and perhaps wherever Aesop was, he knew as well.
Victor finally started to notice his own eyes fluttering shut against his will.
He rested his head on Aesop’s shoulder as his muscles started to relax, every limb feeling like warm liquid.
He couldn't remember what reason he had to be afraid of death, in the end. The only thing he could think was that it was a shame Aesop would not have the privilege of embalming his body, of making him look alive even in death.
After all, Victor knew, no one would care for his corpse the way Aesop would.