Chapter Text
The latest Trial — your very own — had taken a lot out of you. You were exhausted, your eyes yearning to close and sleep the events of the day away.
The first two Trials — Jen and Alice's — were difficult to get through, had even cost you a coven member and gained you a new one along the way (who just happened to be Agatha's ex girlfriend, but neither one of you was ready for that conversation), but they were nowhere near as anxiety-inducing as yours had been.
If not for Agatha talking you through the entire thing, offering encouragement despite your strained relationship, you never would have been able to pass it.
"That was… something," you said as the two of you walked down the Road.
The rest of the Coven was a good way ahead, too lost in chatter and laughter to notice the two of you had fallen behind.
Not that you cared — Agatha even less so. You wanted some alone time with her, a chance to talk about the day's events. A chance to approach the elephant that had been in the room since before the Road had even come into existence.
You'd tried to broach the subject multiple times, to no avail. Agatha had shut down each of your attempts, claiming she needed to focus on the situation at hand — the Road that shouldn't exist; the Trials she'd had to bullshit her way through; the boy whose name nobody could hear, who may or may not have been Wanda Maximoff's son. The topic of before — of your relationship, of the things you'd both done to fuck everything up — would be dealt with later.
Only, later never came. There was always something new, something more urgent that demanded her attention. In classic Agatha fashion, she avoided, avoided, avoided. Why deal with a problem when she could pretend it didn't exist? Why confront it when she could deflect? Why talk when she could just… not?
It was one of her most irritating traits. You knew she was just trying to protect herself, that all she wanted to do was hold back the pain — as temporary as it was — that inevitably came with such conversations, but that didn't make it any less frustrating.
She should know by now that she was safe with you. That her hurt and tears were safe, never to be exploited or used against her. That, as scary as it was to open up, she had nothing to be afraid of. You had never harmed her on purpose, and never would.
On purpose being the keyword.
What you'd done by accident — or rather, what you hadn't done — was the root cause of the issue.
"It sure was," Agatha said, nervously looking around, her hands firmly placed in her pockets, no doubt gripping the fabric tightly between her fingers.
"Thanks for having my back in there," you said. Then, with a smile, you added, "Literally."
At one point, near the end of your Trial, the mirrors in the posh, castle-like room you were stuck in had started shattering. Agatha, having noticed the cracks forming, had leapt and thrown herself over you just as the first mirror had exploded.
She'd held you in her embrace, her body a shield from the flying glass, until the commotion had stopped, and the door, red as blood, leading back to the Road had appeared amidst the pale white walls.
Agatha shrugged, feigning indifference, nonchalance. "I just didn't want us to have to resort to summoning another backup witch."
You knew her better than that. "Right. It was more practical to save me."
"Exactly."
You sighed. She was a horrible liar when it came to things like this. The truth was written all over her face, woven into her voice, a tattoo that she wasn't even trying that hard to conceal. She knew that you knew the truth, that you could see right through her thinly veiled bullshit, and she didn't care.
She could always shut down and walk away from this conversation. She could always say something new had demanded her attention. She could scream at you to leave her alone, that, after what you'd done, you didn't deserve a heart-to-heart.
So far, while clearly displeased by the direction the conversation was taking, she was playing along.
You decided to make the most of it.
"Agatha." You made sure to say it in that way that told her enough was enough, that you needed to talk like adults. That avoiding it was a tantrum you were losing tolerance for.
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, eyes straight ahead, refusing to meet yours. "What?"
"We need to talk."
"Do we?"
"You know we do."
Agatha swallowed. She straightened out her coat and pressed her mouth into a line that would be cute if it wasn't frustrating. Her own little way of rebellion, one you knew all too well.
If she couldn't avoid the issue, she could pretend it wasn't there. She could pretend that she didn't see what was right in front of her, that she didn't hear the words spoken right beside her ears.
You weren't going to let her.
Noticing she's fallen behind, you stopped in your tracks and turned to look at her. She was pale as a ghost, her lips a purplish color that looked unsettling even under the Road's odd lighting.
"You okay?" you asked for your own peace of mind. Surely, she couldn't have dreaded the conversation that much.
Agatha frowned, uneasy at being asked. People usually didn't check on her. Nobody cared how the infamous Witch Killer was doing.
Nobody but you.
"I'm fine," she said abrasively. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"You look a bit pale."
She scoffed. "This place doesn't exactly do wonders for one's complexion."
Fair point.
"You're sure you're okay?"
"Just peachy."
As soon as the words left her mouth, her left hand — her dominant one — shot out to grab onto your arm. Her fingers, unusually pale, deathly cold to the touch, dug into your flesh. Her nails, long and sharp as talons, cut crescents into your skin, pinching, almost drawing blood.
"Agatha?"
She responded by finally allowing her eyes to meet yours. The glassy, haunted look in them sent a concerned shiver down your spine.
"Sweetheart, what's wrong?"
Agatha pulled in a breath to steady herself. "N-Nothing, I'm-I'm fine."
In contrast to her words, her grip on you tightened. She could lie all she wanted; her body never did. Not to you.
"Don't do that. Tell me what's wrong."
She forced a chuckle. "Why? So you can leave again?"
You flinched as if slapped. Was that seriously how she wanted to play it? You'd done wrong here, of course you had, but she didn't get to twist it. She didn't get to rewrite history as if it was an article that needed revision.
She didn't get to strike that low while you were already on the ground.
"You're the one who left!" you snapped, sick of her nonsense. Waiting for days to let it all out, wild and free from the constraints of your self-control.
"And you didn't follow!" Agatha shot back.
She was right.
You didn't follow.
You'd stayed home and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
You'd cried yourself to sleep for many nights, thinking she'd left you for good. Thinking, in the years that had followed, that she'd shacked up with someone new and had forgotten all about you.
She had forgotten you, but not out of choice. Not out of want.
All she needed was for you to come and get her.
Yet you never did.
"How long are you gonna keep punishing me for that?"
As if you weren't punishing yourself enough. Every time you were alone with your thoughts, the unpleasant reality hit you like a pile of bricks straight to the face. Agatha was there, locked inside her own mind, begging for help, but it never came. You never came.
Even if she were to ever forgive you, you would never forgive yourself.
"I'm sorry," you said with tears in your eyes, begging to be let free. "For the thousandth time, I'm sorry.
You could say it a million more times — it wouldn't change what had happened. Nothing could ever possibly change it.
Agatha breathed in, taking in your words. Swishing them through her head like a mouthful of water.
"What do I have to do to get you to forgive me?"
If she could find it in her heart to forgive you, to absolve you of your infraction, maybe, eventually, you would be able to try to forgive yourself. Maybe this pain, this hurt that ravaged you from the inside — that had been ravaging you since Agatha had shown up at your door with Teen, pissed as high hell, demanding answers — would subside.
Just as Agatha took in a few resolving breaths, preparing to respond, her right knee gave way and she tumbled forwards.
"Oh, my god," you breathed as your arms, led by instinct you'd grown into over your centuries together, leapt up to catch her.
You pressed her against you, holding her upright as tightly as you could, even as the full weight of her on you threatened to topple you both.
"Sweetheart, what's going on?"
"It's n-n-nothing." Her voice was strained, tired, as if she were forcing the response out. As if each and every word that left her mouth scorched her throat.
You grit your teeth, frustrated. Exasperated by her stubbornness, by her complete and utter refusal to talk, even at times like this.
"Agatha, please, talk to me. Let me help."
"I d-don't…" The words died in her throat. She tried to raise her hands to push you away, to get you to let go, but her arms, as deathly pale as her face, remained hanging at her sides. Dead. Useless.
"It's okay. I got you," you assured her, nuzzling her neck like you always did when you held her. "You can hate me all you want. I'm not letting you go."
"I don't hate you," she uttered weakly, as if it took all of her to force the words out. Then her head fell against your shoulder, and her body, limp, unusually heavy, slumped against you.
It took everything in you to remain on your feet. Your grip around her tightened, squeezing her to you. Pressing her against you as firmly as you could.
"Agatha? Agatha?" you called, but no response came. No words. No grunts. No moans. Just deadly, deafening silence.
Blood ran cold in your veins. This wasn't good. Whatever was going on, Agatha wasn't doing well.
"Sweetheart, please."
Something sticky engulfed your hand that was pressing against her side. You raised it to inspect it, and your eyes widened at the substance glistening under the Road's dim lighting.
Blood.
Scarlet. Warm. Vibrant.
So much of it that it soaked through her coat.
The smell of pennies clung to your tongue, so thick that you could taste it.
"Oh, god!" you exclaimed, your heart racing as you stared at your smeared hand, at the blood coating your skin. Blood that shouldn't be there. Blood that Agatha didn't tell you about. "Guys! Help! Please, help!"
The coven, far up ahead of you, turned their heads and looked back, startled from their carefree conversation.
"What happened?" Teen said, the first one to run towards you, having sensed the urgency, the sheer panic in your tone.
"Agatha's hurt," you whimpered through tears that drenched your face and obscured your vision. You kept your arms firmly around Agatha, focused on keeping her upright, on making sure whatever injury she had wouldn't be made worse.
"What? How?" Teen asked, worried, as Alice bent down to examine the bloodstain on Agatha's coat.
"She protected me when the mirrors shattered."
She'd more than protected you. She'd shielded you. Had taken on the impact of each and every shard of glass. Had grit her teeth and beared it. All for your sake. For your safety. As strained as your relationship was, the last thing she wanted was for you to get hurt.
She'd risked her life for yours.
"I didn't-I didn't know she got hurt. She didn't tell me." You swallowed a hard, heavy lump in your throat. Shook the tears from your eyes. "Why didn't you tell me? Why?"
Because she didn't want to show weakness. Because this was yet another problem she could avoid and ignore until, eventually, she no longer could. Until the pain became too much and her body had lost too much blood to keep her on her feet, and she collapsed in your arms.
With Lilia and Alice's help, you lowered Agatha to the ground, gently, carefully. The other witches removed her coat and raised her shirt, exposing her back. Her skin, usually smooth and silky, was speckled with cuts of various shapes and sizes, as if someone had marked her with a thin, red marker. On her right side, just below her ribs, blossomed a large, bleeding wound.
"Oh, my god," you gasped, bewildered at the sight.
It had to have hurt like a bitch. Why didn't she tell you? Why didn't she ask for help? Why did she think she had to bite back the pain and suffer in silence?
Alice pressed her hands over the wound, closing it as much as she could. "This is bad. We have to stop the bleeding."
"Jen, can you do something?" you asked.
The witch in question stared, unmoved, unbothered. As if the scene before her didn't faze her a single bit. As if she didn't have it in her to care.
Agatha was easy to hate, easy to leave for dead.
Loving her, on the other hand, was difficult. Challenging. Near impossible for most people.
Not for you.
Never for you.
"Do the thing you did with Teen!" you shouted; an order, a command. Leaving no place for debate.
The woman you loved was bleeding out, and there was nothing you could do about it. Your skills, your magic, everything you knew and had was useless. You were useless.
The only one who could do something,who could help her in any meaningful way, was Jen.
"Please!" you begged, holding on to Agatha, whose head was resting on your lap, as if your life depended on it. As if she would disappear if you were to let go. "Don't let her die. I know you don't like her, but please help her."
As much bad blood there was between them, Agatha didn't deserve to die. Not like this.
She didn't deserve to be abandoned again.
"I'll owe you," you said through sobs that, no matter how hard you tried to suppress them, kept coming, one after another. Choking you. Suffocating you. "Please."
Jen sighed, then shook her head. "You know how this works. Water. Moonlight."
Lilia jumped at the task, Teen following in her stead.
Rio watched the scene unfolding before her, amused, like a cat playing with her food.
As your brain registered her presence, you bent over, hiding Agatha from her line of sight. As if that would do anything. As if anyone could ever hide from Death, herself. "You stay away from her! You're not taking her!"
Rio smiled, the picture of innocence. As fake as the Road that you were on.
"Stay back!"
She raised her hands in mock defeat and walked away. Alice and Jen shot you a glance, baffled by your outburst. You must have come across as hysterical. The new girlfriend, jealous of the ex who just happened to join you on the Road. Too lost in panic, in concern to think straight.
They didn't know who — what — Rio was. They didn't know that she wanted Agatha dead. They didn't know their history.
A long time ago, Agatha had filled you in on everything that had transpired between them. Their failed relationship. The loss of her son. You'd never seen her cry as much as she had that day; not before, and not since.
Everything that had transpired between them was still a gaping wound on her heart and soul; forever to bleed, never to close.
There was nothing you could do to make that pain go away. Nothing you could do to lessen it, to soothe that never-healing ache. The woman you loved more than life itself would forever bear that pain.
The only thing you could do was not add to it.
Today wasn't Agatha's day to die. You would be damned if you let Rio try to speed the process along.
You closed your eyes as Jen started chanting her healing spell, your arms firm around Agatha. Please, work, you begged as your tears dripped onto her hair, onto her deathly cold cheek. Please, stay with me. I can't lose you.
You would forever regret the three long years you'd spent without her.
She never should have stormed out that day.
You should have followed after her.
She should have told you she was going to Westview.
You never should have thought that that was it, that she was done with you for good.
Agatha said she didn't hate you. You hoped it was true, that it wasn't delirium brought upon by blood loss. There was still hope for you to make things right. To make her forgive you.
If she didn't — couldn't — that was okay with you. You could live with that. So long as she lived.
It would hurt, probably forever, but you would learn to deal with it. You would learn to live without her, as you had for the past three years.
All that mattered was that she kept her life. Even if she wasn't in yours.
As Jen finished her spell, Alice removed her hands from Agatha's injury, allowing Teen and Lilia to pour the enchanted water over it. You allowed yourself a peek, squeezing Agatha's shoulder. Please, work. Please. Please. Please.
You held your breath as Alice, as tenderly as she could, brushed her hand over the blood, smearing it away.
Revealing perfect, untouched flesh underneath it.
You released a long breath, relief flooding your veins like a long-awaited high.
The spell had worked.
The wound was gone.
"Thank you," you whispered, loud enough for Jen to hear. Hoping she knew how much this meant to you. How much you appreciated it. "Thank you so much."
You pulled Agatha closer, holding her tightly against you, rocking her back and forth like a sleeping child. She was still as cold as a corpse, but she was no longer bleeding. Her breathing, while shallow, was steady. Her heart beat in a healthy rhythm.
"She'll be okay, right?"
You needed someone to tell you that she would. To assure you that the worst had passed.
Lilia laid a tender, comforting hand on your shoulder. "She's strong."
"She has to be okay.
"She will be." It was a statement of fact. A promise. Her tone leaving no room for doubt.
You believed her.
"She's lost a lot of blood," Alice said. "She needs rest."
You gave a small nod. Agatha would get all the rest her body required. She would be warm and comfortable. Safe from any further calm.
Anything she needed, she would get.
You would make sure of it.
"Jen, I owe you."
The witch in question shook her head and allowed a small smile to graze her face. "You don't owe me anything. Agatha, on the other hand…"
The others chuckled at the remark.
You didn't have it in you to join them, Agatha's condition the one and only thing occupying your scrambled mind. You needed to look after her. To tend to her until she opened her eyes and uttered one of her sarcastic remarks that would be insulting to anyone who didn't know her enough to know she meant it with love.
Right now, that was all that mattered.
Anything else could wait.